The original Picnic at Hanging Rock.

I'm in a room with no windows, sitting at a large table covered with old books and weathered archives, under a single burning globe. I've been here for three years. The world might have ceased to exist, except that I know it hasn't, because I go home occasionally. Hello, children.

I'm hauling bits of history into the present, like dragging two grand pianos bearing donkeys behind me. Buñuel knew what he was talking about in that scene, but especially the eye-slicing bit. Un Chien Andalou, an Andalusian dog. Radio theatre. 1976. Roll it, Syd. Syd was the grey-coated elderly projectionist, and the call to action was from Doug Ling, the world's only film buff who was not an insufferable intellectual. My mind is wandering. Back to the yellowing papers.

Now I'm in 1902 reading an account published in the November edition of sporting newspaper the Australian Cyclist, about an overnight trip by the North Suburban Cycling Club to Gisborne, from where its members will travel by drag (coach and horses) to a local geographic feature:

Next morning we were away on a drag picnic to Hanging Rock, our host being at his best when fingering the ribbons of a four-in-hand or unicorn team. The drive was thoroughly enjoyed, proceeding as it did in the Black Forest and Woodend, right around to the further side of Mount Macedon. After an al fresco lunch ... we started to climb the Rock, which a local word painter has described as "A mount of castellated rocks, forming an imposing and solitary monument, standing in the middle of a plain, and towering 350 feet high. A ... path to the pinnacle (from which a strikingly beautiful view of a diversified expanse of scenery for miles around may be obtained) lies through winding paths and natural arches formed by this wonderful conglomerate of rocks". After tea and a lounge on carpet-like grass the drive back, with the shades of evening falling over the mountain, was enjoyed.

Hang on a minute. A bell was ringing in my head. That extract was the actual November 1902 clipping from the Australian Cyclist, as glued into the Club's original 1898-1910 guardbook, treasured and protected so well by custodians of the North Suburban Club for well over a century.

The bell in my head was still ringing and kept ringing until I figured out why. Now read on:

The covered drag from Hussey's Livery Stables at Lower Macedon, drawn by five splendid bay horses, was already drawn up ... with Mr Hussey on the box. ... the scraggy stringybark forest lined the road on either side ... The road took a slight turn, there was a fresher green amongst the dun-coloured foliage ... . A glimpse of Mt Macedon ... the road ... turns sharply away to the right a little way out of the township of Woodend ... directly ahead, the grey volcanic mass rose up slabbed and pinnacled like a fortress ... Lunch had been set out on large white tablecloths ... shaded from the heat of the sun by two or three spreading gums ... billycans of tea ... sunny slopes and shadowed forest ... leaves, flowers and grasses glowed and trembled under the canopy of light ...

Not exactly the same, but not exactly a million miles away either. That second extract is from the novel (or did it really happen? - the author is vague on the point) Picnic at Hanging Rock, written by Joan Lindsay in 1967.