The PR Blog

It began, as many great revolutions do, with a plague.
Not of frogs, or locusts, or even Canberra lobbyists -  But of rats. In Outback Queensland. A humble commenter on our blog was besieged. Rats had invaded his patch, feasting on his oranges, chewing on everything he held dear, and turning his once-serene home into a clattering chaos of claws and tails. 

They were everywhere. 

But instead of despair, the commenters found inspiration. 

A good chuckle, even in the trenches, yes, even in the mud of the Somme,  was what kept our ANZAC boys human. A joke shared over bully beef or between bombardments was an act of quiet courage. It still is.

And so it was that Dusty Gulch was born...

"Why not," someone mused, "make the rats useful? If they’re going to eat the oranges, chew the wiring in the cars, infest our homes, let them fuel something with purpose!"

Enter Roderick (Whiskers ) McNibble.  

Horrified by what was happening, he started a Resistance movement. 

One Rat, One Mission. As Roderick said at the time :

" I came to the Outback to become a local. I didn't want to be a Rat Invader. I wanted to be a part of the community. I had studied my lessons gleaned from the " Rat Guide to Becoming True Blue." Fortunately, a few of my fellow rats felt as I did. The others just wanted to destroy Dusty Gulch. That was when I decided to start the Resistance. We contacted Dusty McFookit and Maude McPhee from The CWA. That was when we came up with the plan. " 

And so the Country Women's Association...  those beloved bakers of lamingtons and sentinels of civility...  were immediately on board.

Rumour had it their Friday stall was a cover operation. Behind their ANZAC biscuits and embroidered tea towels, something grand was brewing. 

The abandoned shed next door? That became HQ. Over the months, we small band of dedicated followers of foolishness embraced the idea that some of the rats were a rogue ragtag ratbag rabble and that they were true patriotic four legged friends fighting for freedom, fun and foolhardiness.

After all, if our elected representatives in parliament can get away with getting pissed and pop off to places far away, then why can we not do the same? 

Except, in our case, we did it on Ratty Airways and we actually never spent a dollar on fuel... we were fuelled by WhiskersDynamic Propulsion which leaves Chris Goingoingon's Net Zero plan for dead. 

As expert, Vernon McVermin, PhD in Whisker Propulsion Theory explains ( WPDT)  : " WPDT makes more sense than Chris. " 

It was as a result of Chris Goingoingon and Jim Monopolym oney - along with Albo McSleasy.

From its rusted rafters and tin walls, Ratty Airways was born. Orange-peel biplanes buzzed to life. Tiny goggles were fitted. Flight suits tailored. Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble, our heroic correspondent and reluctant pilot, took to the skies -  on missions that defied logic and physics alike.

In time, those rat-built planes dropped symbolic oranges on Parliament House, protested in fruit, and ferried diplomats of the animal kingdom to the most unlikely destinations. A kangaroo and a tadpole were indeed dispatched to Trump’s inauguration, where they politely declined cheeseburgers and requested Vegemite on toast instead.

From despair grew laughter. From pests, a purpose. From an orange shortage, a legend.

And now, newcomers to our cosy online burrow might be baffled by tales of whisker-propulsion or marmalade-fuelled diplomacy. But let it be known: Ratty Airways isn’t just a flight of fancy -  it’s a tribute to the imagination, resilience, and absurd joy we’ve all chosen to share in times of despair.

So buckle up. The hangar is open. The air’s warm. The tailwind’s favourable. And Roderick? He’s already halfway to Tasmania for an exclusive scoop on underground wombat resistance fighters. 

What began with a rat plague in the Aussie Outback  has somehow become a sanctuary. A place where despair turned into daydreams, where sadness was gently pickled in Emu Brew, and where laughter...  glorious, absurd, and often slightly unhinged...  rose from the ruins like a well-flung dose of Australiana over Parliament House.

We’ve turned rodents into aviators. We’ve sent kangaroos to inaugurations and tadpoles to summits.

We’ve watched as the CWA ladies ran a covert distillery under cover of sponge cakes and floral aprons. We have seen them fight back. 

But above all, we’ve reminded each other that laughter is a form of defiance.

And now, as the winds of change howl a little harder down here in the Great Southern Land, and the news grows darker by the day, we offer this:

If we forget to laugh, we forget what we’re fighting for.
Hope, joy, friendship, foolishness, faith...  the small things that keep a soul from withering.

So pour a nip of marmalade brandy. Salute Roderick McNibble as he hurtles whiskers-first into another diplomatic disaster.

And remember: while there’s still a rat in a flight suit and a twinkle in someone’s eye, there’s still a reason to smile.

And may your bunkers be dry, your oranges plentiful, and your spirits stay uplifted. 

The Hangar Team