WEATHER: Still nothing. The kind of cold that has opinions. Frost Wednesday morning hard enough to write your name in. Some did.

TWELVE NOW: THE CAFÉ CROSSES A THRESHOLD AND LORRAINE SAYS NOTHING, WHICH IS LOUDER THAN ANYTHING SHE COULD SAY

Twelve rolls, Monday morning. Nine gone before quarter past ten. Four separate regulars have confirmed this number independently, which by this district's standards constitutes a royal commission.

We note for the record that this paper reported eight rolls in Edition 25, and that the number nine appeared in subsequent community circulation, and that twelve is the current formulation. The trajectory is unmistakable. Tash Briggs is no longer testing the district's appetite. She is, at this point, managing it.

Lorraine Apps has still said nothing about the rolls at the store. This paper does not wish to be dramatic — and yet. The sourdough has been on the store shelves since before Edition 20. Lorraine has had time to form a view. Her continued silence is not neutrality. Lorraine Apps does not do neutrality. She does patience, which is a different animal with sharper teeth.

The café's formulation — she'll have to say something soon — has been in circulation long enough that it has become its own kind of answer.

CLARRIE BURTON, DES HARTLEY, AND THE WEIGHT OF FORTY-FIVE MINUTES

Clarrie Burton and Des Hartley sat together at Creekside Café on Monday morning. This has not, as far as anyone can confirm, happened before.

They were there forty-five minutes. The working theory — something about council records — has the advantage of being almost certainly true and almost entirely useless as information. Des Hartley always has something about council records. The notable element here is not Des. It is Clarrie.

Tash brought them the last of the rolls without being asked. The town has decided this is significant. This paper agrees, without being able to say precisely why, which is a feeling the district and I have learned to trust.

Clarrie was at the pub Saturday evening — non-match night, which he does not always do. He and Macca exchanged very few words and appeared to understand all of them. Clarrie checks in when something's in the air is the interpretation.

This paper does not know what is in the air. But Clarrie does, and that will have to be sufficient.

RAY CONNELLY ASKS FOR HELP, RECEIVES CLARRIE, WRITES IT DOWN, AND POSTS A LETTER TO NARRABRI STEEL FABRICATORS

A summary, because the week demands one.

Wednesday: Ray Connelly spoke to Lorraine Apps at the counter. A real conversation — forty seconds — asking about a fencing contractor. He asked for help is the town formulation, treated as significant on the grounds that he has not previously done so. Lorraine sent him to Clarrie. This has acquired the structure of a fairy tale and is being repeated in that spirit.

Wednesday afternoon: Ray found Clarrie at the bench and asked about the Henderson fencing. Which generation built what. Clarrie gave him the history. Ray had the notebook. He always has the notebook. He wrote it down.

Friday: Ray posted a letter to Narrabri. Not Cairns. Not a personal address. By Saturday afternoon the destination was in general circulation: Narrabri Steel Fabricators. He's ordering for the festival is the working theory and is, frankly, probably correct. Bruce Patterson's name is attached to this in the telling, though whether Bruce pointed Ray toward Narrabri or Ray pointed Narrabri toward Bruce is a question nobody has yet resolved cleanly.

We note only that a man who arrived with boxes from a Cairns family law firm is now writing to steel fabricators about fencing history. The distance between those two facts is, this editor submits, the most interesting distance in the district.

FESTIVAL NOTES: DEB FORSYTHE MEASURES EVERYTHING HERSELF AND PRIYA SHARMA KNOWS A DATE

The Tuesday planning session ran ninety minutes and finished on time. Priya Sharma was present from the opening. She's a proper member now is the table formulation, and this paper will not argue.

Priya named the fourteenth of August. The context is a Department coordinator visit. She knew the date before Deb did is the observation circulating by Thursday, paired with a silence that the district is still working out how to fill.

Deb Forsythe was at the oval alone Saturday morning with a tape measure and her festival folder. Bruce Patterson offered assistance. She said not yet. Two passing utes witnessed this. Not yet is not no is the formulation, and Deb Forsythe has never in her life said anything she did not mean to say.

FOOTBALL

Steve 'Steve-o' Mitchell was named the anchor at Keith's forward-line drill Saturday training. Keith said it out loud. Four people heard it. He's building the line around him was already the working theory — this is now considered confirmation.

This paper has been watching Steve-o since before he had reason to be watched. We continue to watch. We continue to say nothing about what that means, mostly because Steve-o deserves the room.

LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

From Helen Watts, via the store letterbox:

Marge — I see the rolls are at twelve. I said in March there was appetite for it. I believe I said so clearly. I am not asking for credit. I am simply noting it for the record, as someone who has the record. — H. Watts

(This paper thanks Mrs Watts for her ongoing contribution to the historical record. — Ed.)

From Gary McKenzie, Royal Hotel:

Marge, for the last time, the Tuesday special is a parma, not a schnitzel. It has always been a parma. I have never once served a plain schnitzel on a Tuesday. Thirty-one through Saturday, not bad for mid-winter. Clarrie had the steak. — Macca

(Noted. We regret the confusion, which we deny causing. — Ed.)

From a resident who requested anonymity but whose handwriting is extremely recognisable:

The bench is still holding up very well.

(It is. — Ed.)

AROUND THE DISTRICT

Frost Wednesday hard enough that someone left a message in it near the oval gate. It read RAIN SOON. It had melted by eight.

The shadecloth at Henderson is holding. Third mention. Not the last.

Fuel up again. No further comment required.

The bypass remains cancelled. The road remains as it was. The district remains, accordingly, as it was.

Marge Holloway was observed writing in her notebook at the store Friday while Lorraine's back was turned. What was written is not known. It is, as always, considered background noise. We consider this generous.

The Redgum Hollow Gazette is written, edited, typeset, and delivered by Marge Holloway, 66, who has no intention of stopping. Correspondence to the usual place. Lorraine knows where that is.