I had originally intended to tell the tale of our trip to Australia, via the personal and revelatory diaries of Alan Bushman - an intrepid explorer who, in the early days of 2021, discovered the never-before-seen and perfectly exquisite ornithological marvels of the West Coast - relying on nothing but cans of coke, sweat, and his trusty porters, Janice and Hillary. Braving the hot steamy nights, naked under a flimsy mosquito net, fuelled by cigarettes and various viruses and the obsessive desire to lay eyes on, and eventually capture, the legendary B'Toon. It would have been hilarious. And probably very, very racist. And sexist.
Well. It turns out that I simply cannot do justice to Alan within the restrictions of this simple medium, and so, instead, I shall present here a pictorial journey in five parts - a symphony of sights and smells and sounds and the odd rock here and there. Here then, is Alan Bushman the Musical.
