On the road

Port Wakefield is perhaps named after Wakefield in the north of England, an insalubrious joint known for its maximum security penitentiary and garlanded by small towns with didactic names: Horbury, Ossett, Wrenthorpe, Stanley and Altofts, Pontefract, Knottingley, Featherstone.

According to Google, that paragon of veracity;

Port Wakefield is known mostly for its roadhouses and trucking stops, including Shell, United, Tucker Time and, the recently upgraded BP. The BP is open 24/7, providing dine in (sic) and takeaway foods, and freshly ground coffee.

To which I can mostly attest, though I dare not sample the coffee.

In a bid to educate the Tin Lid into the wider cuisines of the world we have embarked on a diner tour of the outback, starting with Port Wakefield’s Tucker Time, “known for it’s food”:

Wild Horse Plains far behind us, this is a skidmark of a town, smeared in the dank misery of the road, dilapidated diners and greasy motels, the cry “steak sanga with the lot mate, yeah… yeah, heavy on the old root eh!” clanking through the air. The motels seem to breed like mongrels, while the road signs are few and far between;