Wandering round Sovereign Hill Ballarat. Reconstructions of buildings frorm the gold rush of the 1850’s .Going down to the river to pan for gold, a big metal pan in hand scooping up a pile of silty river bed rocks and swishing them back and forth, the stones having a percussion party with the metal – it’s sort of like a wok. Crouching down, knees aching from being in one position so long. Feet planted in a bed of white quartz granules, chips and nuggets. Eye scanning the pan for a hint of the sparkling stuff, not fools gold. Not the stuff you find when wandering round barren hills in the district that seems to be painted on the fingeres of quartz that lie scattered around. Fools gold that has grown on the quartz like a moss. No, we’re looking for those tiny specs that are separate from everything else, pin heads amongst the bowling balls of the rocks that swish from side to side. The water is dark brown from all the disturbed sediment and all the hopefuls looking for the prize. I look at my watch, the silver band slighlty pinching may wrist proudly declares that it is ‘quartz’, something to do with accurate measurement of time- does that mean it oscillates or something? As is, my attention now oscillates toward something else having found no signs of the magic bullet- perhaps a photo in fancy dress, or a turn in the gallows? I imagine scrawny arms being placed in stocks and my head – perhaps a water balloon will be thrown, exploding above my head in shock of water – but OHS would surely not allow that to take place now – would it?