This morning we spent on our own rather than with our visitors. There was a ton of housework that had to be caught up upon, and I needed to bring my ugly camera cleaning exercise to a conclusion.

I had gone and picked it up yesterday afternoon, only to find that again the battery had been drained of all power, ensuring that I was unable to check that the sensor had been cleaned as promised.

Sticking a battery in it this morning, it was with dismay, although not entirely unexpected, that I found the same scourge of a dust mote was still visible on the photos. I was furious, and stormed off, heading for a showdown at the camera shop. Thankfully the boss was in, as she is the one responsible for the cleaning, and I hadn’t wanted to pay out on one of the staff members for something they have no responsibility over.

Walking in, I dumped the camera on the desk and let her know I wasn’t happy. In her mind, she had cleaned the camera and her test shots had not revealed any remaining dust on the sensor. Thus I showed her the picture I’d taken this morning, resplendent with a huge black mark in the corner, that looked like a bug. She was shocked, as that had not been there when she had finished cleaning the camera. I then showed her a photo I had taken last week, exhibiting the exact same dust mark in the frame.

There was a half hearted offer to clean it again, as she demonstrated her lack of knowledge by telling me that she wasn’t able to see any dust on the sensor as she peered through the viewfinder. Anyone who has an inkling of how an SLR camera operates would know that the sensor is not visible by looking through the viewfinder. She had already lost me by this stage, but I made it known that I was not going to waste anymore of my time waiting for her to try and perform a miracle and clean it competently. So she handed the camera back and said: “There you go then. Goodbye.” That didn’t fly with me. I had paid her for a service, and I stridently let her know that it hadn’t been completed to my satisfaction. “Well I’ll give you your money back then,” she seethed, thrusting a couple of screwed up notes across the counter, as she continued, “Have a good holiday. You know I’m right though!”

Hmm, I was pretty confident that she wasn’t right. Actually, I was 100% confident that she wasn’t right, but I was no longer out of pocket and I have my camera, albeit still dirty, back, so I didn’t even dignify her with a response. Instead I turned around and silently walked out. The whole thing left a sour taste in my mouth though, as I hate being confrontational. I’m not one to complain for no reason, and rarely do unless I am absolutely certain that I’ve been wronged. As a result, I walked out shaking with a mixture of anxiousness and adrenaline more pronounced than I ever felt even yesterday with the crocodile.

By the time I got back to the caravan, where I had left Bec doing the housework, I was walking about on edge, a nervous energy still permeating throughout my body. It was a while before I finally settled down enough to help out with the chores. Then when I did, it took me 45 minutes to sweep out the ensuite. That’s five minutes to do the actual sweeping and 40 minutes chatting away to the neighbour. We’ve at least found a few people about the park that are happy for a chat, I think because we’ve been here a couple of weeks now, we’re not treated as just overnighters.

It was 2:30PM as we wandered down towards the front of the park, Alvin and Bethany in tow, for a quick walk, before being picked up at 3:00PM by Liz and Greg. It was therefore with some surprise that we saw them driving through the gates. It turns out that somewhere along the line last night, we confused what time we were being collected by our gracious chauffers. Whichever way, Liz and Greg hung around as we walked the babies, then finished getting ready. For what it is worth, we were ready to depart right on 3:00PM.

We were headed to see David and Heather at their hotel, for a cheese and crackers afternoon tea, leading into dinner, all accompanied by a single stubby of beer each for the boys. Admittedly, we are talking about the 2 litre flagons of beer, which are known as Darwin Stubbys. Whilst there had been talk of making good use of the hotel pool, the cooler weather saw us staying indoors, where we grazed all afternoon on a selection of nibblies, and sipping on the delicious amber fluid.

I won the race…

…for the first beer.

The girls sat by, also enjoying the odd glass of wine and cider while over the course of the afternoon and evening, with the platters of cheese and crackers, followed by a spread of roast chicken complemented by a selection of salads, food was consumed in equal quantity to drink, and we were all soon stuffed to the gills. The more the alcohol flowed, the taller and more interesting the stories became as the volume of conversation grew in intensity exponentially to the volume of alcohol consumed.

Three Wise Monkeys.

See No Evil…

…Hear No Evil…

…Speak No Evil.

When it came time to head for home, Greg and I were relegated to the back seat of the car and told in no uncertain terms to keep our mouths shut, while Bec tried her best to point Liz in the right direction to return us to the van. We needed only travel on four roads, but at each turn I am sure I heard Bec saying, “I think this is the one our caravan park is on”. Despite the overwhelming odds against us, we did actually arrive back at the van safely and, I have to admit, in good time, where it was time to collapse. A good nights sleep is in order before another adventurous day of exploration tomorrow.

Until next time, stay safe, have fun and don’t forget to write.