By Phil Jarratt
A couple of weeks back I wrote in these pages about a fabulous junket of long ago, travelling through Europe staying at grand hotels courtesy of the Relais et Chateaux group. These memories, culled from a rediscovered travel diary, seemed to hit a nerve with other toilers of the fourth and fifth estates who have peppered me with stories of their own outrageous junkets.
In case the word junket brings up only visions of a kind of custard for you, the Oxford Dictionary defines its other meaning thus: an extravagant trip or celebration, in particular one enjoyed by a government official at public expense. But, of course, you don’t have to work for the government to enjoy a good time at the expense of someone else. In fact, members of the media have long made an art form of it, and your humble correspondent accepts that he is as guilty as the next.
But to get back to the correspondence I’ve received on this subject, first up was the estimable Stuart Scott, who has been, in a long and distinguished career, a journalist, sub-editor, historian, author and, most importantly, a motoring writer. Travel writers probably get more junkets, but motoring writers get to play with more big boys’ toys. In my time I’ve been both, even though what lies under the bonnet is as great a mystery to me as ancient Sanskrit or electricity.
Stuart reminded me about the shocking mischief the motoring media (a very blokey mob in my day) got up to while performing road tests in borrowed vehicles, which brought to mind my own example of men behaving badly.
Back in the heady ‘80s I was freelancing for a couple of 4WD magazines and in that capacity I was invited by Toyota to join a bunch of revhead scribes in a trial of the new model Hilux and Land Cruiser, driving them from Cairns to the tip of Cape York.
Although I knew less about cars than any of the others, I knew more about the road, having driven to the Cape several times, and the pace they set as we got into the land of deep creek crossings and narrow, winding tracks was frightening. While there were some expert off-road drivers in the group, there were also a few who clearly had never left the tarmac.
The last section from Mapoon to the Cape York Wilderness Lodge turned into a flat-out race with the Toyotas copping a dreadful hiding, but since we were getting flown out, that would be someone else’s problem. When we arrived at the lodge, hot, sweaty and very thirsty, we made a bee-line for the poolside bar where many beers were drunk.
Ironically, the late Jim Murcott, an advanced driving instructor as well as a journo, who was the safest and best driver of the group and probably the most responsible, dived in at the shallow end and broke his neck, requiring an emergency medivac. But the party rolled on.
Apparently, Stuart informed me, this junket became legendary in motoring circles.
Another of the group, a hilarious little Scot named Davy Robertson, also became legendary in his own right for invariably being in the thick of the mischief. Unfortunately, it ended tragically for Davy on another Toyota junket when he ran into a boat while testing a new model jet ski. His death prompted many of the motor companies to send a medical crew with future media convoys.
But, according to Stuart Scott, motoring writers remarkably were not as costly as their television brethren.
“A weather presenter was doing a story from Far North Queensland so he borrowed two new Range Rovers for himself and crew. Both caught fire somewhere on Cape York so the crew simply flew home and told Rover where to go looking for the wreckage.”
In the late ‘80s and early ‘90s while retracing the routes of the explorers for The Bulletin magazine, I had a standing agreement with Toyota for long-term loan LandCruisers, several of which I became extremely attached to. Apparently there’s a name for that.
Stuart again: “I don’t recall anyone managing to sell a test car, but there were many cases of trying not to give one back. Long term test was the euphemism.”
Apart from the odd travel perk here and there (before Covid), I’ve pretty much passed my use-by date for junketeering.
I’m sure there are still plenty of freebies up for grabs, but I think the days of media bods going berserk on someone else’s dime have gone the way of the phone booths from which we used to call in our stories.
And that might be a good thing.
