Lack of wifi has hindred progress, but now I have a connection so here is the latest . . .
Merimbula to Bermagui
Having survived the beach we returned to our accommodation at the Sails Luxury Apartments. We have attempted to blend in with the locals to such an extent that S has acquired the new moniker of ‘Parakeet Dundee’ . . .
On the car journey to Bermagui, during one of those travelling games that you play – ‘Bullshit’, the daughter called it, but I think there is a more family friendly name for the radio 4 version – I tried to convince ‘familia Evans’ of the existence of the Bandersnatch bird, indigenous to Australia and distinctive by having a blue beak. To their credit they spotted it as complete bollocks, but sadly not due to their extensive knowledge of comic verse. Anyhow, the point is I wish I had said that it had a blue head.
In order to blend in, I have acquired an Ozzy hat. Originally, as I was toying with the purchase of S’s chapeau she went and bought it from under my nose. Not to be outdone, but also not wanting to look like similarly attired twins, I was on the lookout for another. We stopped in Merimbula for a coffee and, as I strolled the boardwalk, I spied a ‘Drover’s Outfitters’ . . . marched straight in and was flogged a $200 hat on the spot by the nice lady who correctly identified my Welsh accent. The way I justify such a frivolous purchase is thus: it will prevent my sensitive skin from being scorched by the brazier of the Australian sun; what better souvenir could one purchase after travelling half way around the world; and now that monetary value has ceased too have meaning it is merely a drop in the proverbial ocean of the Barclaycard. But, more importantly, I think it looks pretty snappy when performing the essential manly tasks that one must while on an Antipodean adventure . . .
Now I have to keep it away from the son, who straightaway said ‘I want one of those . . .’ So far on this holiday I have come in for (I think) unjustified sartorial criticism from the familia Evans, so this was the start of the fight back – from the knees up at least . . .
While writing this blog this morning, S suddenly emerges from her ablutions in panicky mode with the announcement that “quick, come and look, theres an enormous spider in our bedroom”. Bloody hell, thinking it must be the notoriously huge ‘Hunstman’ spider, I rush in with my vorpal sword (towel) in hand . . . to be confronted by .
. . . a daddy long-legs – God help us if she sees a real one.