Search Results for: label/Life

Xmas in Palm Cove, FNQ – 2015

December 31, 2015 by Fran Leave a Comment

This had been a long time coming. The long awaited Xmas holiday. Back to a place we first discovered almost a year ago to the day, thanks to a family recommendation (nod to Pam 😊) whilst exploring the East coast in a camper van.

And as if we hadn’t waited long enough, the holiday gods were transpiring to make us wait even longer. The 15.00 Jetstar departure to Cairns, Airbus A320, was being inspected in minute detail by not one, not two, but three engineers. I didn’t have a good feeling about this. Having extensive experience of budget airlines, I was expecting to have to disembark, and decamp back to the departure lounge. In the event, despite leaving Sydney a full one and a half hours late, I was glad to be leaving at all.

Pulling away from the terminal to the (in ear) strains of Del Amitri. Yes, that Scottish band from time ago. As I had to explain to my travel companion who had never heard of them. The youth of today. The very song I was listening to (The Ones That You Love Lead You Nowhere) was recorded from a concert I was at, in Leeds, 1997, at the Town & Country club for those that remember it.

Now cruising at altitude, sipping a cold Peroni, looking forward to the relaxing week ahead. Sun, sand, and good books. Or so I thought.

We arrived in the midst of a cyclone warning, and to torrential rain. The 30 minute transfer from Cairns airport, north up Captain Cook highway, past Yorkeys Knob (which always fills me with juvenile giggles, but is actually just one of the beach suburbs on the way north), had me very worried. Were we going to have this for the whole week, and be stuck indoors, under house arrest by the weather?

The eternal optimist within me found a silver lining to that worst case of scenarios. Our hotel was in a great location, with our 3rd floor room overlooking the pool, and BBQ area, ringed by trees, looking like the rain forests of the hinterland. There could be worse places to be holed up, with wine, crisps, and an unlimited supply of books (one of the benefits of travelling with an ereader).

Being English, and from the greatest place on earth, Yorkshire, I had learned at a very young age that a bit (read torrential) of rain wasn’t going to hurt me, so out for dinner we ventured. Although it is true we didn’t venture far. Then again, nothing is very far in (usually) picture postcard perfect Palm Cove. After about a 29 yard hike we arrived at the welcoming doors of Il Forno pizzeria.

A very cute, little authentic pizzeria, upstairs, with views out across the road, to the ocean. So relaxing, with a bottle of Tin Cottage sauv blanc, listening to the early evening waves crashing against the beach. The pizza was good, but I was just a little bit jealous of the child at the next table devouring a Nutella calzone! But, full, and tired after a long day, it was time to retire for the evening.

After a good nights sleep, benefiting from very rare air conditioning, I tentatively opened my eyes, and my ears, carefully listening. Yeah, I had woken to the strains of rain again. That cyclone remained a risk. That said, we ventured outside, determined not to have the inclement weather govern our holiday.

Over a very good breakfast, with the best coffee I ended up having in Palm Cove, at Jack and Shanan’s, I was surprised with an early birthday present. An afternoon massage, and a rain therapy treatment (ironic really, considering the amount of rain we were putting up with outside the spa), at Peppers Beach Club day spa. Relaxing, (as best I could when naked but for a modesty towel), getting gently pummelled and exfoliated whilst listening to dolphins having sex.

A great way to spend the first full day of the holiday, setting the tone for the rest. Lunch, accompanied with Margaritas. Not quite Jimmy Buffet standard, but it was 5 o’clock somewhere, so we didn’t need an excuse. The rain was relentless but we were kept company with our good friend Stella from Belgium.

The following day, Xmas Eve, dawned dry, and at 7am we were picked up and on our way to Cairns port, for our 8.30am snorkelling trip to the Great Barrier Reef. Replicating how we spent Xmas Eve last year, albeit that was further south, in the Whitsunday Islands. The 1 hour and 20 minutes on the boat to the reef was very choppy, and I was thankful that I had earlier taken a sea sickness tablet. Judging by the amount of green faces surrounding me, and the rate that the little white bags were getting filled up by retching ship mates, it turned out to be an inspired decision.

And as expected, the day turned out to be awesome. A ripper, in local parlance. Visiting 3 snorkelling/dive sites, we got to see some amazing coral, and sea life, which included a couple of white tipped reef sharks, sea turtles, and the ever elusive Nemo. Yes, this was my first time actually seeing the little fella, despite having snorkelled these waters on multiple occasions. The clownfish, Nemo’s “official” title, is a very small fish, and can only be found swimming amongst the anemones that he calls home. We were fortunate to have been directed there by one of the crew, a marine biologist, who knew exactly where the little chap hung out.

Definitely a Xmas Eve to remember. We were back in Cairns for 4.30pm, and soon on our way back to Palm Cove, for the last dinner and drinks of my 43rd year. And what a year.

Another day, another year older. Some people shy away from birthdays. Not even celebrating them. I’m not sure why. For me, it’s time to rejoice that I am lucky enough to have my full health, and people in my life that make me happy. We can’t take anything for granted, and shouldn’t. In keeping with tradition in recent years, it was down the beach with a beer for the obligatory birthday shot. I hope to still be doing this many years from now. The birthday gods had called rank over the weather gods, and I was blessed with a beautiful, sunny day. Another reason to be happy.

Xmas lunch was done more in the Aussie style, than English. No turkey, but bucket loads (literally) of king prawns. With free flowing fizz, and enough chocolate mousse at the end to drown in, we walked away (well, waddled), very full, and very content. As night closed in, I drew the curtains on another great year.

The remaining days of the holiday were blessed with the kind of weather we had packed for, and expected. Beach, and cold drinks weather. Reminding us what is so special about Palm Cove, and what drew us back here in the first place. Far North Queensland really is a beautiful part of Australia, and the world. My only regret was that we weren’t staying longer. But we were soon heading back to Sydney, and to finally celebrate “Xmas day” at home. opening presents, and watching Home Alone. Some traditions are too good to die off.

Musings from Mosman

May 9, 2016 by Fran Leave a Comment

Welcome to the latest update from the Yorkshire Expat, where we will spend some time talking about how the year is progressing so far (very well, since you asked), what is on the horizon (quite a bit actually), and whatever else springs to mind as I’m writing.

If you didn’t know, but I will assume you do, it is May already. We have passed the fourth, so no Stars Wars jokes here. Or is it Star Trek? I can never work out the difference between the two.

Looking in the rear view mirror, at the calendar, it never ceases to surprise me at what is already in the dust behind us. Where did the previous 4 months go? A full third of the year over already. Only 230 days to Christmas. Did any body else buy some Christmas crackers (bon bons in local parlance. No, I don’t understand either. They are crackers for gods sake) and cards in the January sales?

The biggest story of the year so far is the recent move to a new apartment. When I say move, I use the word loosely. More of a shifting. Just up the road. About 500 meters. Why would you do that you ask? Well, certain criteria had to be met. A second bathroom, for the overseas visitors bringing chocolate from the UK each year. Tick. A larger balcony to be able to make the most of the weather, allowing for al fresco dining. Tick. Still within walking distance of our favourite cafés, restaurants, and bars. Tick tick tick.

Now, as we weren’t moving far, in our wisdom we decided not to hire a van like normal people. We would use a car we were hiring for a trip to Mudgee (wine country, which was amazing), and just make a few trips. The hiring of cars is made very simple with the concept of “GoGet”, where you join up, receive a magnetic card, check the website for a car parked near you, book for any duration starting from 30 minutes, then turn up, swipe the card on the windshield, get in, and drive. Simple.

Driving through Mosman with a mattress hanging precariously out the back of the car, avoiding police cars, and looking a tad ridiculous. Multiple trips were made either side of Easter weekend, by which time we thought we would be done. We weren’t. Being only about 500 meters away from the new digs, we figured we could easily move the remaining bits on foot. And it would be easy. It wasn’t.

We looked at each other on a dark Tuesday night, with the dawning realization we still had lots to carry. And thus, doing what needed to be done, we traipsed through the streets of Mosman looking like Syrian refugees, carrying gas bottles for BBQs, mops, clothes horse, vacuum cleaner, and lots of other detritus. What happened to the so called de-cluttering, before moving? As always happens. It gets left til it’s too late, and all your shit comes with you to the new place.

In the lives we now find ourselves living in, the necessities are somewhat different than they were for our parents generation when they set up home. Their “wireless” was probably a big, dusty, brown hunk of a thing that sat on the mantlepiece, spitting out weekly episodes of the Archers. Or stirring speeches by Churchill. Ours is a little white box with flickering green lights. When it works. Which is another story.

We took the opportunity when moving home, to move broadband providers. This was driven by the fact that the rights to show the live English Premier League games (every single one of them) have been bought by Optus, with Foxtel (the local SKY) losing out. In readiness, a move to Optus broadband followed. Quickly followed by nothing but problem after problem with the reliability of the service. Our wi-if is patchy, at best. I am going to get very annoyed if the same problems start occurring during live football matches. At godforsaken hours of the night. If I was a project manager, oh, I am, I would be flagging this as my biggest risk to Optus being able to satisfy the thousands of subscribers wanting their weekly fix of the beautiful game.

Recently, we had a public holiday (you would call it a bank holiday in the UK), ANZAC day, where we took the opportunity to have a long weekend in the country again. This time in the Hunter Valley, where, conveniently, there are shit loads of wineries. This makes me happy. Also, like Mudgee, we booked somewhere quiet and remote. This time, very remote. The weekend involved lots of wine tasting. Lots of cheese tasting. Peace. Quiet. And a hot tub.

This (not the hot tub) got me thinking what it would be like to have a tree change? If this is not a term you are familiar with, I would usually call it a sea change. Up sticks, quit the busy city life, and move somewhere quiet, living a life far removed from the current one. Maybe make cheese. Keep animals. Open a little coffee shop. Etc, etc. You get the picture. One of the challenges is picking the right place. Getting the balance between social and solitude right.

For example, as much as I like Darwin, a very small place on the northern coast of Australia, I’m not sure I’d want to be ensconced there for any length of time. Subsisting on a diet of titties and schnitties may not be everybody’s cup of tea. And whilst Gulgong, near Mudgee in central NSW, does the best Rogan Josh in the whole of Australia, could I live in a place that only has one street, and you had to eat curry every day? Well, thinking about it…

So for now, the sea change remains a pipe dream. One that I continue to percolate on.

Maybe it will brew into something on my upcoming holiday, or vacation, as they like to say where we will be heading. A road trip up the west coast of the US ticks some long held boxes personally (Big Sur anyone?), as does finally getting to Canada. A place I have been threatening to visit since making friends with a Kelowna local, whilst travelling Australia many years ago. This year I will finally get to Canada. More specifically, to Vancouver. This is a trip that fills me with great excitement.

Will there be pics? You bet. Will there be a few American cheese burgers involved. Without doubt the burger spreadsheet will be getting updated. And will it all be captured in a future blog. You can count on it. Just keep reading.

Party like it is 1994

September 25, 2016 by Fran Leave a Comment

One of the pleasures in living in such a beautiful city, is being able to showcase it to visiting friends and family. Seeing the city through the eyes of a tourist brings to life how amazing it is. How picturesque it is. As sometimes you can take it all a little for granted.

I had the opportunity to do this again this month, albeit one of my visitors has indeed previously lived briefly in the Harbour City.

He had last visited Australia 16 years ago, but it was our original backpacking trip, many lifetimes ago, that we mostly reminisced on, having a great time catching up, visiting haunts old and new.

I don’t think we have changed a bit!

The last time we roamed these streets together was back in 1994. When we arrived as fresh faced 23 year olds, landing at the Youth Hostel in Glebe as our first port of call. Little did we know just how much that first stop on the grand tour would eventually go on to shape parts of our life. That we were very green behind the ears in terms of travelling would be an understatement.

Indeed, before embarking on our 12 month backpacking trip down under, I had only previously left the UK for as long as 1 week. And only twice. Formative trips to Ibiza, and Tunisia, were my maiden overseas journeys from England. And these were on 1 year passports, that were made of cardboard. Who is old enough to remember these?

And there we were, transitioning from colleagues at “the Halifax”, into friends who were planning (a term used in a VERY loose sense), to jet off down under, with nothing more than an over stuffed backpack, and a sleeping bag appended that looked more like a tog 32 quilt. Something I soon dispensed of in a St Vincent’s charity bin.

Steve had packed his so full that he couldn’t even carry his on day one, his dad having to traipse through Manchester airport with a 65 litre Eurohike pack on his diminutive frame.

Fast forward 22 years, and on a wet Friday afternoon, I logged off for the week, packed away the laptop, and I made my way around the corner to Kent Street for our first drinks together in Sydney in many a long year. For the Down Under leg of the “annual boy’s reunion tour”. Albeit without two key members. Fear not chaps, we drank your share too.

Any of you that know me well will know that I love a spreadsheet. Be that judging burgers, tracking my spending, or making sure I am in the right place, on the right day when I visit the UK. Laugh as you might, the spreadsheet is an indispensable tool in my armoury. One that people soon see the benefit of, and then request their own, tailored version. Steve’s spreadsheet was under my aegis, baselined via a Skype call, and subject to change control.

Now, whether a daily breakfast of white toast, and a cup of tea, made in his hotel room, was in my version of the spreadsheet is debatable. Once I had reiterated that Sydney, and Australia as a whole, is famed for the brunch offerings, he did finally venture out.

Then again, if the only eggs you will eat are of the fried variety, you don’t need to venture too far to satisfy your cravings. An insatiable desire for pineapple, on everything, proved a little more difficult to accommodate.

I used to, in fact I still do, to be honest, give my old mate some stick about his reluctance to part with any unnecessary cash. However, he gives me enough ammunition. He may not like actually buying a newspaper, rather he treats WHSmiths as his own personal library. But as they say, look after the pennies, and the pounds will look after themselves. And how else would he be able to act like the late Pablo Escobar, and roll around on his bed full of notes.

Line of the trip following a farewell dinner in Mosman…

“What is the fastest and easiest way to get back to the city?“

“A taxi.”

“What is the second fastest?“

I’m gonna miss you mate. We had fun. Safe trip back to the UK, and, subject to you securing gainful employment, I’m looking forward to taking the Annual Lads reunion to Spain next year. This time with a full complement. ¡Adios amigo!

For me, it is time to repurpose the spreadsheet, and start afresh, so that our visitors at Xmas, get the full benefit.

I need to start by checking those brunch options.

High Tea at the Devonshire Arms in Yorkshire

July 27, 2019 by Fran 2 Comments

Regular readers of this blog, and those who spend any amount of time with me, will know that I eschew sugar wherever possible. Now, did you spot that? The disclaimer I sneakily added in. Wherever possible. Because sometimes it just isn’t possible. It isn’t. Wine for example. I take the lead from the ancient Greeks, the Italians, and sometimes, the French. Wine is life. Wine should be part of life. What is food without wine? Ah, wine. But, I digress. Whilst I sometimes write about wine, this is not the subject of today’s blog. So what is, I hear you asking.

Over the years I have found myself looking for the perfect high tea. I have written about the best high teas in Sydney. And that blog will continue to be updated. In the last week alone I have had high tea somewhere new in Sydney. But recently, I was on holiday, and decided to see what the UK had to offer. Would I find the best high tea in the UK? Let’s just say, I wasn’t disappointed.

The beautiful Devonshire Arms, nestled in Bolton Abbey in North Yorkshire, home of today's high tea.

Once a seventeenth century inn, The Devonshire Arms Hotel and Spa in Bolton Abbey is a national treasure. Nestled in the rolling hills and valleys of North Yorkshire, only an hours drive from my hometown of Halifax, high tea is served in the rather beautiful conservatory. Walking across the car park, with the crunch of gravel under your feet, as soon as you enter the hotel your nostrils are assailed with the unmistakable aroma of open fires. For me, there is hardly a more evocative smell. Immediately conjuring up images of bitterly cold English evenings, curled up in front of a roaring fire, with a large glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, mesmerised by the flames. But again, I digress.

The entrance to the Devonshire Arms, home of one of the UK's greatest high teas — The very inviting entrance to the Devonshire Arms

On a beautiful English summers day (honest), we found ourselves sat in the bright, spacious conservatory, looking out across the cricket oval. The distinctive sound of cork against willow told me that there was an innings in progress. I was brought back into the moment as we were presented with the menu for The Devonshire Arms Fizz Afternoon Tea and I was very impressed that the fizz being served was Laurent Perrier NV champagne. Already a step up from the sparkling white wines we are often served in Australia.

Champagne with mum, one of the highlights of the trip as we enjoy a high tea — I wish we could do this a lot more often

As the four of us sipped our champagne, catching up on family events over the last 2 years since our last visit to the UK, our high tea arrived. I couldn’t suppress a smile. You know you are in England, when tradition is fused with fun. Not many high teas arrive with a great big hunk of sausage roll as one of your delicacies. And what a splendid sausage roll it was.

We each had a high tea with our mum, so I at least knew that I was in no danger of there being leftovers. The 3 tiers of the high tea, or 3 courses, were of such good proportion, that as we worked through them, I knew that nothing was going to waste. Less is sometimes more, and the ratios were a master stroke.

The best high tea in the UK? — Oh, where to start?

Now, time to talk about the cream for the scones. I have been out of the UK for almost 8 years now, and may have become accustomed to the second rate cream we get served in Australia. Rather bland. Rather tasteless. Akin to the canned cream kids have so much fun squirting in to their mouths. But readers, we are now in the UK, and the cream! What can I say? Real, thick, irresistible, delectable, clotted cream. Cream so clotted that it was hard to get a spoon through. Cream so delicious that one could be tempted to pack up and relocate to North Yorkshire.

Let us not forget about the scones. Perfection. Small. Served warm. Slight crunch on the outside, reminiscent of a rock cake, but oh so fluffy on the inside. I won’t get into the debate here of whether the jam, or the cream goes on the scone first, happy that you leave me your thoughts on this very controversial topic in the comments.

You would think this was her first high tea. — Happiest I’ve seen her for a long time

If you still have room, and some of us did, I’m looking at you Mary, there is the third course. The top level of the high tea tray. Fancies that look too good to eat, but eat them we did. By this time we had our tea, and coffee, and were loosening our belts, as we polished off each small cake, aware that the afternoon would be spent in a food coma.

The rather excellent cakes, adorning the high tea at the Devonshire Arms — Little morsels of deliciousness

In fact, the afternoon proved to be one of the highlights of the trip back to the UK. Yorkshire is probably the best part of England (I could be slightly biased), and The Devonshire Arms is the quintessential Yorkshire venue. If you are ever in the region, I can’t recommend the high tea enough. Treat yourself even more, and splash out on an overnight stay, I would certainly have loved to have done.

Next up on the high tea odyssey, The Pipe & Glass in South Dalton. A slight spoiler alert, this was another one that also greatly impressed, and I will share the experience with you all very soon. Would it take the title of the best high tea in the UK?

Having a tiny adventure

October 11, 2019 by Fran Leave a Comment

Coffee and a kookaburra

As I sat with my coffee out on the small wooden deck, watching the world slowly wake up and come to life, I was reminded of why I was here. On this trip. It was for the solitude. For a slice of the simple life. Off the grid. To have a tiny adventure.

In the early morning light, chapters of the book I was reading, The Truants by Kate Weinberg, were interspersed with trying to get the perfect shot of the friendly kookaburra that had come to say hello. At least, that’s what I thought he was trying to convey through his inimitable laugh. In the distance a cockerel was crowing, announcing to whomever would listen that it was time to get up.

The woods in the grounds of the off grid tiny house Robinson — Sometimes you have to slow down, to see the wood from the trees

This was the first morning waking up in the tiny house that we were to spend the weekend in. Owned by a company called In2thewild, there are a number of these tiny houses scattered across New South Wales, and Victoria. We were up in the Lake Macquarie region, in a small village called Wyee. Our home for the weekend was, called Robinson (Crusoe). This was actually our fall back option as we had originally planned to stay at Isabella, near Kangaroo Valley, but in the time between booking, and visiting, she had been moved to Orange. This would have doubled our planned travelling time.

Wildlife of Wyee, home of Tiny House Robinson, where we went off grid for the weekend. — The welcome committee

Refueling after a long drive

Located 100 kms from Sydney, the trip to our tiny house should have only taken 1 and a half hours. Having lived in Sydney for many years, I now know to add a lot of fat into that. On the way up, cruising up the Pacific Coast highway, we did it in under 2 and a half hours. Coming home was a different story. Labour Day weekend traffic, and a crash on the Pacific Highway had us parking back up at home some 3 hours later.

The road up to Tiny House Robinson, where we were staying off grid for the weekend — Trying to find Tiny House Robinson

We were told we had a strict 3pm check in. How this works in practice, as we already had the code for the key drop-box, I am not completely sure. But with time on our hands we decided to get some lunch in the nearby village of Morriset. We were not spoiled for choice. It was midday on the Saturday of a long weekend, so where were all the people? Maybe all the in the Lake Macquarie Hotel (pubs tend to be called hotels in Australia), but as we walked past, the doors were so dark we couldn’t even tell if that was open. Most things in the village appeared to either be shut up, or abandoned. Even the police station had a polite notice on the door telling all those in dire need of assistance that “the station was not manned today”.

Our saviour, which I use lightly, was the Star and Grill, which looked busier than it looked salubrious. Nevertheless, as the saying goes, beggars are not in a position to be choosers. Looking for options that are hard to get wrong I went for the homemade (my bold) chicken schnitzel, which left me wondering what other kind there was. Perhaps they have different chickens up here I thought. Where the schnitzel grows on the bird. Who knows.

Schnitzel demolished, we had now killed enough time to check ourselves into the tiny house that was to be our home for the next few days. It was time to start having our tiny adventure. Following our directions, which we had printed out knowing how patchy phone coverage would be, we did the short drive from Morriset to Wyee, then turned off the main road, down a side road, and up into the forest. Bumping around on the uneven gravel road up the hill, we spotted the gate, set back from the road, with a “In2TheWild” sign telling us we had arrived.

the Tiny House Robinson, our home for the off grid weekend in Wyee — Check out the dimensions on the Tiny House

First impressions

Driving through the open gate, and parking just off to the right, we could immediately see the house, nestled down amongst the trees. I use the word house, but I have to be honest, it was even tinier than I had imagined, and I had seen all the pictures beforehand. There were no cats being swung this weekend. With a faint smell of burnt wood in the air, and a constant waft of eucalyptus, we carried our bags, which included all our food and drink for the weekend, down to the house. Thankfully we had brought an esky, and had just bought a bag of ice from the local servo, as the fridge in the house was the size of a small beer fridge. Enough room for some milk, our wide collection of salami and cheeses, plus a few beers. All the essentials for a weekend away.

The kitchen in Tiny House Robinson, our off grid home for the weekend — Quite spacious, is it not?

The tiny house Robinson, off grid living in Wyee — Picture perfect

Now, hands up those of you that have seen Dr Who. Good, then you will know what a tardis is. Well, once you get past how small this house looked on the outside, check out the picture above, when I got inside it threw me how much room we seemed to have. There was a small kitchen, with a two hob stove serviced by the gas bottles outside. There was an oversize sink, that in my opinion could be swapped out for a smaller one creating additional, or some, food preparation space. The toilet looked like a real toilet, and it wasn’t until you flushed, that you were immediately reminded of pooing on an aeroplane. You weren’t plumbed in, and your waste was only going as far as the septic tank underneath the house. The bathroom also included a very modern looking shower that we could only ever get to spit out cold water.

Large windows all around the house created a further sense of space. What the windows upstairs didn’t have were blinds. The eye mask that is provided was going to come in useful if we wanted to sleep beyond the rising of the sun. We were going to be embracing our circadian rhythm this weekend. To get up to bed we had to negotiate 6 very steep, smooth wooden steps. If this looked challenging now you should have seen me attempting it after a bottle of cabernet.

The steps in Tiny House Robinson, off grid in Wyee — Try this when you have had a tipple

Not that you would need storage space for this kind of minimalist weekend trip, but there were a few cupboards. Enough to store some food, and the board games, and a deck of cards that were provided to give you options for keeping entertained once night set in. The stairs were constructed in such a way that the bottom few doubled up as storage space, with a tiny bookshelf under one of them. Inside we had everything we would need for the next few days, and outside on the deck there was the all important BBQ.

When off grid literally means just that

Being off grid, and powered by solar panels, the house does not have any electrical power sockets. This meant that this was the most redundant I had ever seen Victoria’s hairdryer and straighteners. It also meant we were in the (un)enviable, you decide, position of not being able to charge our phones. How often are any of us in this position in this day and age, tethered as we are to our mobile devices. Believe me, it is very liberating. Just knowing that not only have you not got a full mobile signal, but you can’t charge your phone up any way.

Camp living, off grid in Wyee at Tiny House Robinson — When you finally get some firelighters!

Now, let me say something here. As much as I love being out in the wilderness, having a tiny adventure, and the Instagram photos of tables, heavily laden with a feast of food, look very appealing, nobody ever tells you about the large flying creatures, and the mosquitoes that appear to have been on steroids. I love the idea of channelling my inner Thoreau, imagining I am sat on the edge of my own pond, quietly reading my book, with a glass of wine. But damn, if only those flies had read the script. Later in the evening, it wasn’t the flies that scared the bejeesus out of us. It was the huntsman spider, the size of a small cat, (that could be a slight exaggeration, based on the amount of wine we had drunk) than ran across the outside of the window, right by our heads. At this point, I started frantically looking around the house to see if he could sneak in anywhere, and eat me in the night.

Survival kit at Tiny House Robinson, off grid in Wyee — But no firelighters

Maybe if I lit the campfire, that would discourage both the flies and mosquitoes. Ah, the campfire. I wasted a whole New Yorker, and the best part of a box of matches trying to get the fire going without firelighters. There was a “survival kit” provided but I wish the sachet of porridge had been swapped for some much more practical firelighters. It had gotten dark, literally, by the time I admitted defeat on the first night. We had no kindling. We had no fire. I was proving to be no Bear Grylls. I had to have a second whisky nightcap to drown my disappointment.

A new dawn and final impressions

The morning dawned bright, with an hour lost to the clocks going forward. This was inconsequential to us as we were not on any kind of timetable this weekend. Clambering, which is the only way I can describe it, precariously down the stairs, I brewed up coffee with my beloved Aeropress, and made a Yorkshire tea, nice and strong for Victoria. Experience has taught me to always pack some fresh coffee, and my Aeropress when going on trips. There was a cafetiere in the house, but the only coffee provided was that instant kind that comes in glass jars. I didn’t even think people still drank this.

Morning coffee in Wyee, off grid in Tiny House Robinson — Morning coffee

Back on the deck, the snap and sizzle of a frying pan told me that breakfast was on the way. Bacon, egg, and black pudding breakfast. This has become a travel classic, always cooked up on our trips away. Sat back in my Adirondack chair, hypnotised by the trees, blankets of green laid on top of the lines and lines of wooden sentries, I was rested, and very relaxed. Pockets of sunshine crept through the canopy as I marvelled at how easy it could be to slow our lives down when we are mindful of it. This weekend was about having a tiny adventure. Our intention was to unplug, unwind, read, and relax this weekend. Sipping my coffee, looking out into the forest, I had concluded that we had made a great success of it.

Thoughts, on my final work day

March 18, 2020 by Fran Leave a Comment

The last couple of days I have been musing a little about the world, current events, and where we fit into this confusing picture. And it is confusing, isn’t it? Please don’t tell me that I am the only one who wakes up and checks what new levels of craziness the world has descended into whilst we slept.

Dan Ariely, in The Upside of Irrationality, talks about how we adapt to new situations. Whether this be a life changing lottery win. Or on the other end of the spectrum, a life changing injury. Whichever end of the spectrum we move to, we will adapt to the new situation. And a lot better than we think. Like the apocryphal frog sat in water, waiting for it to boil, are we becoming immune to the new normal?

A piece of advice I have been sharing is for you to start journaling how you feel as we move through these uncertain times. Not only is the act of journaling therapeutic, and cathartic, but a year from now you will find it hard to believe the words you wrote as we lived it. This is an extraordinary time to be alive. There is no doubt of that.

Where does this leave us in regards to our pending departure? As I said earlier this week, it is evolving and changing every day. Just yesterday Qantas reduced their international flights by 90%. We are yet to see whether this includes our scheduled flight to Singapore, however, I suspect it will. And for the time being, Malaysia has closed it’s borders to foreign travellers. So even if we got to Singapore, we wouldn’t be able to leave for Malaysia as we intended.

A picture of the world, signifying a round the world trip — Plan B is activated…for now

Watching the Prime Minister’s press conference just this morning brought fresh news. Scott Morrison announced that international travel is banned. No ifs, nor buts. This means that for the first time in a few weeks we have some certainty. If not the certainty we would want.

So, just like the best agilists, we will pivot, and activate plan b. This involves us road tripping around this beautiful country of ours. We will continue to “inspect and adapt” over the coming days, but we will be doing a little more research on both the red centre, and up past Uluru, On to Darwin. And, also across the Nullarbor, to the west coast. We are checking out camper vans as we speak.

Picture of two people choosing a campervan to do an Australian road trip. — That one!

Tomorrow may well be different. It depends on what news we wake up to. But what we do know, is that we will be saying to goodbye to our current home in a few short days.

In the meantime, stay safe, look after each other, and keep journaling.

Xmas in Palm Cove, FNQ – 2015

Musings from Mosman

Party like it is 1994

High Tea at the Devonshire Arms in Yorkshire