Way back in the silent movie days, theatre crowds roared with laughter at the antics of the Keystone Cops, a group of wildly incompetent policeman whose signature move was to run crazily back and forth, never catching the rather likeable bad guys.  Today was a bit like that.

South West Rocks is a charming little seaside spot, whose off-season demographic is reflected in having one pub, two bakeries, two pharmacies, and, central to today’s tale, two pathology collection centres.  

After Friday’s dramas escaping across the Queensland-New South Wales border, Nanette and I decide to get ahead of the game and pre-book the COVID test we must have locked away before we can beg permission to return home again.  

To cut a long story short –when we try each of the big-name pathology ‘collection centres’ the people on duty are emphatic that they do not do COVID tests, and no, they do not collect samples for testing elsewhere.  They firmly direct us to the local testing hub at the community health centre, a short drive away.

Ah – here it is.  The sign on the door says it’s open every day.  But – another sign below it says it’s only open for testing on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  And – the door is locked.  

We’re about to leave when a lady appears inside and grudgingly opens the door.  We tell her our story.  She’s not impressed and tries to send us back to the two places we’ve just come from.  “But,” we explain, “they sent us to you!”  She shrugs.  “Try Kempsey.”

So, here we are, thirty minutes later, driving down the backstreets of that small regional town, searching for the testing centre.  All we’ve found so far is a big industrial fuel depot, and a rather questionable looking dwelling with ragged kids running across the yard, guarded by one of those dogs that ‘strongly encourages’ you to stay in your vehicle.  Nanette is blaming Google, I’m blaming, um, on second thought, I decide it’s best not to blame anyone!

Time to bring out the big guns.  Nanette decides to call the National COVID testing hotline.  After the usual delays, a pleasant-sounding chap comes on the line.  We explain we’re in Kempsey.  “No worries,” says he, “I have a database of all the testing centres in Australia.”  “Great,” say we, “because we’re heading back to Queensland next week.”  “Queensland?”, says he, “is that still part of Australia?”  He then proceeds to tell us that our nearest testing option is back in South West Rocks, listing, in order, each of the places we’ve already tried. 

To our great surprise, through a combination of phone calls, googling, and just plain dumb luck, we eventually find ourselves in another back street, following a line of orange cones to a white drive-through tent.  A strange alien creature approaches, complete with ominous looking nasal probe.  “No, no,” we cry, “we don’t want a test today!  We just want to check whether we can get one next week.”  The alien pushes back its visor, revealing a smiling young man. “Ah.  No worries guys.  We’re open every day.  Drop in any time and we’ll fix you right up!”

As we drive back along the highway, I reflect that, after a day of running around in circles, we have at last caught our quarry.  (Well, we think we have – but – who knows – maybe we should try Port Macquarie)