Our Aussie Adventures

After a great nights sleep, I awoke with a sunny disposition that belied the dreary grey clouds that still hovered ominously across the morning sky. After our day from hell yesterday, if you thought we were going to be turning for home, tail between our legs, you had better think again. We’re in this for the long haul, and despite my most morose mood yesterday, we’re having a ball. In fact we had a great laugh as I recited yesterday’s blog to Bec over breakfast this morning. I have to admit, I do have a tendency to occasionally embellish things a little.

So with our batteries recharged, we were ready to and rearing to go, although there was not much on the agenda for the day. About the only task I did have to accomplish was to organise an oil change for ‘The Beast’. Apart from that, there was nothing other than checking out what Rockhampton has to offer.

Before heading out though, we tidied the van, making sure any foodstuffs were placed up high and well out of reach of the dogs. We are going to trial leaving them behind, in the van whilst we go off and do our stuff today. We haven’t been able to leave them before, as it is generally against the rules at caravan parks to leave them unattended. No such problem here though. I was somewhat anxious that they would fret, and leave us with a nice mess to deal with upon our return. Bec has the utmost of faith in them however, so we will see how it goes. A quick run around the yard in the mud, to wear them out a little, and we closed the door, crossed our fingers and hoped for the best as we headed into town.

It’s about a 20 minute drive into town, where our first stop was at the authorized Cummins agent in town. Being that ‘The Beast’ is powered by a Cummins truck engine, I figured they would be my best bet, and they would have been, had they not been completely booked out for the entire week already. They helpfully provided me with a few more numbers for other diesel mechanics around, but they were all also booked solid. I hadn’t reckoned that it would be an issue to get ‘The Beast’ serviced, but it ended up taking us almost 2 hours to finally work our way through our options, before we checked in at the local Chrysler/Jeep dealer. Thankfully, they can fit me in on Friday morning, although because they’ve never dealt with a Ram before, can’t give me a quote on the service until they know what they need to do. Sounds expensive already.

One thing that we have noticed as we’ve been going about our business today is that no one seems to be in a hurry round here. Actually, the general pace is downright sluggish, and it makes you realise just how busy and fast paced we are back at home. Not being used to it, we found it to be exasperating, yet to the locals, it’s just a way of life and no one seems to mind.

Crossing the Fitzroy River.

We were then finally able to take a drive about town. Rockhampton is a huge place, quite spread out and bisected by the Fitzroy River. It is billed as the beef capital of Australia, the evidence of the industry apparent at every turn. Dotted around are full sized cattle sculptures, whilst one of the entertainment draw cards as advised by the information centre is the cattle sale yards on the outskirts of town. One of the busiest in Australia, they hold cattle auctions daily. Along with beef, the cattle are used for sport, with a strong cowboy spirit perceptible and plenty of stores dealing in cowboy accouterments that I could otherwise only dream of.

Some of the local architecture.

The main business area consists of a main street lined with shops, surrounded in each direction, for a couple of blocks, by government agencies, businesses and other services. Some of the architecture is beautiful, with old buildings magnificently restored to the prior glory abundant throughout the town. A quick walk up and down the main street failed to provide us with much food for thought, although we did finally remember to call in at the post office to send a couple of packages home. In what could I guess be called the outer suburbs, there are various other retail areas, including a shopping centre that is sizeable, even by city standards, and a homemaker centre. We stopped only briefly at the former for an exploratory expedition.

Back at the caravan, having been gone for the better part of 5 hours, I was fully expecting to open the caravan door to be greeted by two dogs resplendent in the remains of our bedding. It was a pleasant shock to find that both of them had probably done little more than lay on the bed and sleep all day. They sure were excited to see us back however, and came out for an enjoyable waltz about the yard. Bethany was especially thankful to expend her pent up energy, bolting about from one end of the yard to the other at full speed, with me barely keeping up behind her, the leash at full stretch.

With the babies exercised, Bec went off to the bathroom, only to come screaming back out seconds later. It would seem that as far as Bec is concerned, the bathroom is no place for a frog to call home, and it needed immediate dispatching. I carefully re-located it to a suitably damp corner of the garden, with Bec standing a distance away, screwing her face up and making all sorts of funny guttural noises at the whole procedure. If that wasn’t bad enough for her, you should have seen the reaction only a short time later, when walking through some long grass, she got a small twig stuck to the back of her ankle. Admittedly, yes, it did bear a passing resemblance to a slug or a leech, but the squeals of fear were ear piercing, while the hopping around and mad swatting at it were comedic.

The rain, having held off for the most part while we were out today, decided to make an unwelcome reappearance not too much later, again restricting us to the confines of the van, although by this stage, I believe we were all quite contented to cook up a quick dinner, before relaxing hopefully in front of the tele. I say hopefully, because we have managed to tune in only a couple of stations, and they both seem to be dependent on fine weather to get a strong enough signal to provide us with a watchable picture. Them’s the joys eschewing civilisation, in favour of camping in the middle of no where. Oh, and one of the other joys, is that our Internet access is painfully slow out here, so I must apologise, as I won’t be updating our pics on Flickr for the time being. Not unless I remember to take the computer into town one day.

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

We were up early again today, for what we expected to be a quick trip up to Rockhampton. It’s only a bit over 300Km up the road, so we were expecting something in the vicinity of 3 ½ hours on the road ought to see us done. Naturally, as is our luck, whenever we envisage an easy trip, it all goes pear shaped, and you all get an extra laugh out of reading about our trials.

The day started out all well, driving out of what has become our favorite caravan park so far, at just 10:10AM. You can mark us down for another lost 10 minutes. As much as the caravan park has been to our liking, Bundaberg itself has not been our favored town that we have visited. That mantle remains so far with Tamworth, which I think will take some beating.

About to be demystified.

Our first stop for the day was about a half an hour away, on the way to the small town of Gin Gin. It was at a little known tourist attraction, the Mystery Craters. We weren’t able to unearth much information about this place, you could say it was a mystery, but from what we did find promised that it would be an experience to behold. How wrong were we? The mystery was, how do they get off charging $7.50 a person to look at some holes in the ground of somebodies backyard.

Thought to be a natural phenomenon, but proclaimed variously as the result of dinosaurs, UFOs or other unworldly energies, there is a series of small craters bored into the surface of the ground. Varying in size from about the size of a small dining table, to large enough to be a swimming pool, they are set in a strange tan hued rock, stippled with splodges of ochre. The first craters were uncovered originally, to much fan fare in the mid 1970s, there are now over 30 of the holes available for inspection. Far from the expansive vista, spread over acres and able to be walked among as I had expected, they are confined to an area no bigger than a standard house block. A viewing platform gives an overall look of the holes, while it is no more than an unhurried 5 minute stroll to complete the circuit of the perimeter fence which precludes access to the actual hallowed ground.

That’s it. Now you’ve seen them too.

Down the back of the property is a shed housing an antique machinery display, although antique machinery might be overstating it a little. More like a rusty lumps of iron display. There was also a display of polished rocks in the main foyer, although the protective coating of dust precluded any reasonable prospect of viewing them properly.

On our way again, we had nothing else on our list of things to see between Gin Gin and Rockhampton, preferring today to wait and see what comes our way. As it turns out, not much, apart from a seemingly never ending course of road works, with accompanying pot holes that would have been worthy of inclusion at Mystery Craters. Then, to make the drive even more tedious, a consistent dense drizzle began to fall, as we got cocooned between a convoy of slow moving semis hauling wide loads, which were next to impossible to get past.

It was just as we were finally rounding up the fourth and final truck, that Bec mentioned that she might soon need a rest break. Looking in the rear view mirror and seeing nothing but the flashing orange beacons of the escort vehicles, there was no way I was stopping and getting stuck behind them again for the final run into Rockhampton. According to Shazza, we were only a bit over an hour out by this time.

Noooo! Not more road works.

It was after 3:00PM by the time we finally stopped outside the Rockhampton Information Centre, located right on the Tropic of Capricorn, the border between the temperate and tropical zones. Strangely enough, it looked neither temperate nor tropical. With the rain still falling, it was just plain miserable and judging by the capacious grey clouds, there was to be no end in sight to the melancholy. By now, we had already been on the road for 5 hours and still had the final leg of todays journey on which to embark. So much for our quick, sunny 3½ hour jaunt.

Oh, and just to add to the joy, upon opening the caravan door to see how things were travelling, we found a puddle of water pooling by the bed. On closer inspection, this appears to have been caused by user incompetence, as the window had been left ever so slightly ajar. Not enough to notice, but enough to let a steady stream of precipitation access to the inner sanctum.

With a collection of brochures collected from the information centre, we headed off again, in search of our camp site for the night. We’re going to be bedding down at Becs Cousins place, so at least we won’t be having to pay for the bliss that is unhitching the van in the middle of a down pour.

It was only a half an hour or so before we were pulling up the drive, and ever so carefully negotiating the tight slalom course between trees to the concrete pad in front of the shed where we’ll be setting up. It was an entire hour later however by the time we were finally in position, Bec absolutely drenched to the bone from having to stand outside ‘The Beast’ to guide me in at a pace slower than walking.

Wet, cold, dirty, hungry and exhausted, we’d had a rotten day. We didn’t even have anything out for dinner, nor was there any chance we were going out again to get something, so we raided the fridge, and thankfully located the remains of yesterdays lunch provisions. So a dinner of bacon and eggs it was, which we hungrily devoured as we ruminated about the day.

It is days like today that are surely testing, and I was asking myself why in hell we ever thought that this trip would be a good idea. We can barely extricate ourselves from the van without getting saturated, let alone even take the dogs out and the forecast for the entire time we are due to be here is more of the same. Wet and miserable, but thankfully not cold, which of course just makes it unbearably muggy, as the humidity rises towards 100%.

I am almost looking forward to next winter, when I will be safely back in Melbourne, rugged up against the cold, the heater roaring, in a watertight house, and looking fondly back on the winter that wasn’t.

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

It was to be another day of nothingness today. Being a Sunday, which we only realised late last night, we chose to have a quiet day, mostly spent relaxing at the caravan park. It is so easy to lose track of days when we have no set agenda or structure to our weeks.

We were off to a reasonably early start however, heading to what promised to be a market of much grander proportions than that which we visited yesterday. This market is held weekly, in the grounds of a local school and boasts upwards of 200 stalls. On our arrival, we found the entire area to be an almost unmanageable jumble of cars and pedestrians, all streaming into the modest car parking area. As we dodged the drivers erratically and blindly searching for a car space, we struck up a conversation with another couple walking towards the main body of the market. They’ve been living on the road for 7 years, travelling around in a fifth wheeler, towed behind a big Ford ute. We laughed out loud when we mentioned that we were travelling with a couple of dogs, and their comment was that they did too for some time, but have found it more and more restrictive finding caravan parks that accept pooches. They found this odd, as “they bloody well let kids in!” They’re out sort of folks!

Once inside, we were greeted to a large array of stalls, selling all manner of fresh goods, craftwork and the usual junky market type bric-a-brac. The fruit and vegetables were fresh from the farms and it was hard to know what to buy as it all looked so delicious. Compared to what we are used to at the local supermarkets back home, there is no comparison. This produce is worlds apart, in a good way, in taste, smell and looks. Armed now, as we were, with plenty of bags full of avocados, tomatos, bananas and capsicum, we strolled through the rest of the stalls. There was everything from knock off sunnies and DVDs, to intricately handcrafted wood work and greeting cards, to 2^nd hand examples of just about anything you could imagine.

Marcus goes to market.

It was hot work wandering about in the glaring sun however, so it was a relief when we returned to the air conditioned comfort of ‘The Beast’, and headed off to do a tad more shopping. There were a few bits and pieces that I needed from the hardware shop, in an effort to get the fridge ready for travel tomorrow. Thankfully, whilst we have been stationary and running on mains power, it has been working reasonably well. We did have another fright with it yesterday when the temperature gauge inexplicably headed north again, but later decided that the probable cause of this might have been the placement of some warm food directly next to the temperature probe. It also probably doesn’t help that we have been hyper-vigilant over any slight temperature variances, causing our stress levels to elevate in direct proportion to the indicated temperatures.

With a few stops between the hardware store and the caravan park, at the grocery store and Supercheap auto, we managed to complete all of our allotted errands for the day. Well, almost. Back at the van, there was the by now ubiquitous load of laundry and some house work, while I got my hands dirty doing the re-wiring of the fridge. Being that we are on the road again tomorrow, the test will be when we stop tomorrow afternoon, to see if my temporary fix will hold up until such time as I can find the necessary part to complete a more permanent resolution.

Amongst our chores, we managed to have a hearty lunch of bacon and eggs. It was meant to have been our breakfast, but we were running a little bit behind schedule by the time we got round to frying it up.

Then we hooked the dogs up to a line we set up that allows them to run up and down alongside the van, and regaled in the sunshine, catching up on the weeks events courtesy of the Sunday paper. So much for the dogs expending any energy pacing back and forth the length of the van however. For the most part Bethany sat on Becs lap, while Alvin sat guard on his bed, barking at anyone who should dare walk within 100 feet of our camp. Scary dog he is, he occasionally even stood up to appear more ferocious.

We’re quite happy doing nothing.

Since they wouldn’t walk of their own accord, we strapped them into their harnesses and paraded them around the caravan park, for an afternoon walk. Back at the van, Bec took her daily afternoon nap, while I began typing up my dispatches for the day.

I was mid-way through when I heard what I thought were some birds prancing about on the roof of the van. It was a couple of minutes, and the thought that what started out sounding like small birds, was beginning to sound like rather large avian creatures, before I realized that it was a sudden tropical downpour. The hefty drops were what I could hear, slamming noisily down against the van.

The rush was on, as I hauled Bec out of her peaceful slumber, trying to gather up all the almost dry washing before it became saturated again. As well as the laundry, I had to clear up all of our furniture from under the awning, as the rain was pelting down, on an almost horizontal path, negating any benefit the awning could provide. The deluge lasted only a few minutes, but you could see how quickly a flood could occur, if it lasted for any extended period of time. As soon as it started, it was over, leaving me soaked, and the caravan strewn with dripping camp chairs, dog beds and semi-dry laundry. On a positive note, our leak above the bed failed to re-appear, so my liberal lashings of sealant must have done the job.

Dried up following our unintended shower, we headed out to dinner at the local Sizzler restaurant. We had seen this lair of all you can eat, buffet goodness when we first drove into town, promising ourselves a good old fashioned nosh up. And tonight was the night.

Two Plates Tooley.

An hour after we sat down, we left again, suitably over satiated, feeling physically ill, leaving the dishwasher wondering in awe as to who could ply through so many plates in such a short period of time, while leaving the establishments earnings for the days trade in deficit.

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

Another day in Paradise it was today, with the sun shining down upon us warmly, barely a breath of a breeze and not a wisp of a cloud to be seen in the bright blue sky above us. We left the caravan at about 10:00AM, with a vague plan of meandering around the surrounding countryside. We know that there are beaches nearby, and thought that the dogs might like a bit of a swim, or at the very least, a bit of a wade.

I dragged Bec first of all though, to Gavin Street, in Bundaberg, where at number 69 our old mate Bert Hinkler spent his formative years. The house he and his family lived in burned down many years ago, only to be replaced with a commercial warehouse. I wonder if the current owners even realise the historical significance of the property?

We then drove 5 minutes out of town to a strawberry farm, where we bought a huge punnet of fresh berries to have for supper later this evening. They ought to go down a treat with our meager left over supply of gelato.

I need a bit of sweetening up.

It was then off to the beach. A 10 or 15 minute drive through fields of thick, towering sugar cane, that stretched out in every direction for as far as the eye could see, we came to the small resort like, beachside town of Bargara. The main street and foreshore have a laid back, but posh feel about them, while the esplanade has been built up with 5 and 6 story holiday apartment blocks that exude a closed in, restricted and cramped Gold Coast type atmosphere. We let the dogs out to stretch their legs, before going in search of the boutique market we had read about in brochures. Upon locating it, in an old windmill, we enthusiastically scrutinized each and every one of the 3 stalls that it hosted. 10 minutes later we were all done, but that was only because we’d spent 8 minutes talking to one of the stall holders about her upcoming trip to Canberra.

Funnily enough, as we strode through Bargara, we saw a brother to ‘The Beast’, another Dodge Ram, parked on the side of the street. I think the bloke in the driver seat thought I was going to car jack it, as I rapped excitedly on the window, smiling and waving in what I hoped was a totally non-menacing fashion. We got to talking for a bit though about the merits of these ripper trucks, before wishing him well on his travels and going on our way.

Back at ‘The Beast’, we let the dogs out again, this time to take them for a run along the small beach. The shoreline along here is strewn with large boulders preventing for the most part, access to the water. There is a small area that has been cleared however and is now devoid of the rocks, to create a small crescent shaped swimming beach area. Both Alvin and Bethany had a ball, wading avidly into the water, only to turn and rush out again each time a wave threatened to swamp them. It was like a game for them as they pranced around in the tepid waters of the Pacific Ocean.

From Bargara, we travelled further up the coast to nearby Burnett Heads, although were disappointed to find that there was no easily accessible swimming beach here. In fact, apart from a fairly busy boat ramp, there was very little in Burnett Heads at all.

Twice the fun at Mon Repos.

We therefore backtracked a little to Mon Repos Beach, which is now designated as a conservation park, providing a safe rookery for Loggerhead Turtles. We are only a matter of a couple of weeks late for the hatching season however, so were unable to take part in the nightly walking tours that are available during the season. It is a beautiful beach, however, easily the best in the area, with silky smooth, warm sand leading down to a cool, gentle swell of crystal clear blue water. Yet, despite the warmth in the sun, there was only us and another couple of people evident along the entire ribbon of sand that stretched out for several hundred meters like a golden belt between the ocean and the encroaching mangroves. Due to the conservation park nature, it is off limits to the dogs however, so the babies missed out on this one.

I think we’re being shadowed.

There is also an historical significance to the area, which I found no mention of however, in that it was at Mon Repos that Hinkler first took to the skies in a homemade glider. Given the reverence with which he seems to be treated with in town, I had expected at the very least, a plaque asserting his early achievements.

Heading back towards town, we made a quick stop at the supermarket in Bargara to collect lunch and dinner, then took a circuitous route to the highest point in the area, the 97 metre high ‘Hummock Lookout’. Regardless of its lowly apex, a fantastic view is obtained across the surrounding flat plains. The coast is easily appreciated to the east, the lands covered with the bright green sprigs of sugar cane fields, whilst the township of Bundaberg is visible in the opposite direction.

On top of the world, at 97 meters high.

We then retreated to the van for a welcome spot of relaxing. Sitting outdoors, enjoying the sunshine (and waiting for the cessation of yet another load of laundry or two), when Bec declared she was growing weary and was going to take an afternoon nap, disappearing inside. Myself, I just sat outside in my chair, with a book and a beverage, but soon drifted off into a tranquil repose as well.

Relaxing by the van.

The washing eventually got pegged out some time later, before we dined and then settled in for the evening, to enjoy a further spot of relaxation. We could hardly call it a holiday if we didn’t take time out from our hectic schedules to kick back and spend time doing absolutely nothing on occasion now could we?

Just a reminder too, that there are plenty more pics of our travels to be seen over at Flickr. Just go to the home page and click on the photo at the very bottom of the page to be taken to our photo stream.

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

It has become a custom for us, that each morning I read Bec the blog entry from the previous day. This is not only so that she knows what we did, but so that she knows what others know we did, should she be talking to them. As I read this morning, I was confused at some of my own prose. Now, I could blame it on the automatic spell check, or on a lack of proof reading, but being in Bundaberg, I shall blame it on the Bundaberg Spirit, otherwise known as ‘Bundy Rum’, one too many of which may have passed my lips during writing last night. So, if you like me, had a bit of trouble deciphering some of my enigmas, I think I’ve rectified them, so you can have another read of the post safe in the knowledge that it should now be legible.

Our first stop having left the van park this morning was at the aptly named ‘Bundaberg Barrel’, the home of Bundabergs own ginger beer and other traditionally brewed soft drinks. Aptly named, as the display and retail complex is shaped like a barrel, laying on its side and semi-buried in the surrounding earth. Being avid drinkers of Bundaberg Ginger Beer, it was fascinating to see from whence it originates.

‘The Beast’ and ‘The Barrel’.

There is a self guided tour available, through a series of galleries, giving the history of ginger beer, the brewing process and the current activities and range put out by the factory. Being the true scrounges we are, we had managed to come across a coupon offering a 20% discount on entry to the display, setting us back $10.00 each instead of the advertised price of $12.50. We were provided with devices that looked similar to a mobile phone, which provided an audio commentary as we progressed through the exhibition.

Bec learns about the brewing process.

As well as the commentary, there was a range of interactive exhibits, ranging from trying to identify certain aromas, to pumping madly at what looked like a bike pump, to create bubbles in a large test tube. It was obviously aimed at a younger generation, but we had a ball, pushing and prodding, tugging and squeezing as we made our way through. At the conclusion, we got a thimble sized taste of each of the 15 or so beverages that are produced here. It was just enough to whet the taste buds and help the companies profit margin for the day, as we procured a couple of slabs of delectably sweet, but entirely natural, and traditionally brewed soft drinks.

Our haul from ‘The Barrel’.

We moved on next to the bastion of the harder stuff, the Bundaberg Rum Distillery. I am taking a tour later, as Bec is not interested. Apparently, having toured the facility some 10 odd years ago, once in a lifetime is enough. Not so for myself. We decided to call in quickly, on our way past, now however, so Bec could take my photo outside the factory.

All hail the Rum God.

Deciding that it was time for Bec to get some much needed practice in piloting ‘The Beast’, I handed her the keys so she could drive us to our next stop. Being fastidious (some would say “anal”) as I am, I dutifully recorded the odometer reading in my logbook.

We then drove to the nearby Schmeiders Cooperage, who now produce all of the barrels for the distillery. There is a small display room, showing a video, on the art of the cooper, as well as a chance to put together your own barrel. I soon lost my patience with that game, as the staves continually caved in on themselves. There is a definite knack to the art, and I just don’t have it. Oh well, I guess you can’t be good at everything.

Next door is a small store and the actual workshop, where you can view the master apprentice working on the small (and not so small) barrels you can purchase. How I would love one of these works of art, but with nowhere to store it, I thought it better left behind.

Back to ‘The Beast’ and planning to head into the center of town, Bec proclaimed that her confidence was lacking to handle the traffic, so I again took over steerage of the ship. My log book now reads: Bec: 1Km.

Nanas Pantry.

Our next stop was at a little store known as Nanas Pantry. It was a strange place, selling an eclectic mixture of dried fruits, nuts, cake mixes, lollies, fresh coffee beans, chocolate, mueslis and our reason for visiting, gelato produced fresh on site. As we drooled enough to leave more than just a trace amount of DNA over the glass screen protecting the iced delights, we decided that just one take home pack would not satisfy us this time. Up to three flavours could be crammed into each ½ litre tub, but we had both already picked out multiple flavours that we wanted to feast upon. So as it turned out, we decided to go it alone, getting a tub each to enjoy for supper, possibly spread out over a few nights, although not necessarily. Each with our own supersized ice-cream, and a few other delights which took our fancy, we had just enough time to do the grocery shopping for this evenings dinner, before cruising back to the van.

I had enough time to help Bec unpack ‘The Beast’ before I started to regret telling Bec that I had chosen this camping ground for its proximity to the distillery. It is proudly decreed on their web site and in all of their advertising brochures that it is within easy walking distance to the distillery, and therefore that is what Bec made me do. Walk. Probably a good idea considering the taste tests provided at the conclusion of the tour, but this was the exact reason I had hoped to give her some time in the drivers seat today. A lift wouldn’t have gone astray.

Hot, dusty and already parched by the time I arrived at the front gate, it was to be another hour before I was holding the bar up and enjoying a frosty glass of rum.

Before that, there was the self discovery tour, which was a self guided tour through the small museum and exhibition of the distilleries history. 125 years of rum distillation, give or take a few, due to a couple of fires that flattened the complex, in 1907 and 1936.

The guided tour took the group through the manufacturing plant, the bottling plant and into one of the bond stores. Spread across the facility are a number of bond stores, holding 300 vats of the delicious spirit. Each vat holds the equivalent of $6 million worth of liquid gold and is stored for a minimum of 2 years. As the guide said: “300 times 6 million, equals a bloody big electric fence.”

Finally, the moment everyone had been waiting for. We were escorted with pomp and ceremony to the onsite bar, where we each received a couple of samples. The choice is yours, from any of the tipples that they have available. I started with a tall glass of ‘Dark and Stormy’, a sweet concoction of original Bundy and the aforementioned ginger beer. Very refreshing, it slip supplely down my arid throat with ease. I changed it up for my second taste. A straight up shot of the top shelf, internationally acclaimed, gold medal winning, $100 a bottle, double barrel, small batch, limited edition rum. Didn’t like it.

Walking out of the gift shop, possibly feeling the effects of the liquor, I searched in vain for ‘The Beast’. My heart was thumping, as I wandered through the nearly vacant car park, unable to see the familiar lines of ‘The Beast’ waiting patiently to transport me back to the van. I was reaching for my phone to call the constabulary, a banshee like wail welling in the nether regions of my gut, bemoaning my extreme misfortune of having ‘The Beast’ stolen, when in a moment of clarity, I remembered that I had walked. The cold sweat I had found myself drenched with, evaporated almost instantly as I realized my stupidity, and I began to trudge back to the van.

I was about 10 minutes into what should have been a 10 minute walk back to the van, when I found myself in unfamiliar surroundings, and realised that I was somewhat misdirected. I wouldn’t say lost as such, because from right there where I found myself standing, I could actually see our caravan. The problem was, I was looking at it through the high chain link fence surrounding the back of the caravan park, with no idea how I was to get back to the front of the park. I called Bec to say I was running a little late. She helpfully came out to laugh at my predicament.

Finally back home, I found that Bec had been busy, churning through another load of laundry, before preparing me a delicious home cooked dinner. I really am a lucky bloke, but shh, don’t tell Bec I said that.

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