Irony

We were contemplating the folly of driving the equivalent distance of London to New York and half way back again, while towing two small boats to a regatta that could not be held because of inclement weather, past drought ravaged lakes and dams and rivers, none of which were in a navigable state because of the drought.

There must be a word, we thought to describe driving so far without so much as getting the boats wet.

Then, somewhere between Menindee and Broken Hill, the radio crackled and faded back into reception range to the tones of a talkback caller having a grumble about the difficulties he was experiencing with life in the outback, so far from a built up area.

"It's the irony of distance," he explained.

And it was.