Paranoia? No - it's The Real Thing

Paranoia, according to Johann’s Concise Oxford Dictionary, can be defined as “mental derangement, especially when marked by delusions of persecution”. On our trip round Australia Sandra and I have flirted with paranoia when reflecting on the abnormal weather patterns that have persecuted us on our circumnavigation. No matter where we went the rain gods would seek us out and reward us with yet another downpour – it was little wonder that paranoid thoughts were never far away. However I am happy to reveal that neither of us is suffering from “mental derangement” as events over the last few days have proved beyond a shadow of doubt that it is not paranoia – they really are out to get us!

Yesterday’s blog revealed how, through sheer frustration at being rained on yet again, I sent in a letter to the Sydney Morning Herald and had a good whinge about the appalling weather we have suffered in Australia. Although on a personal level the publishing of my letter has had a cathartic effect, it has also unleashed a storm of protest as Australians have been quick to respond to my whinging and have written to the Sydney Morning Herald requesting that we leave the country forthwith. The general sentiment was perhaps best expressed by someone called Pip (no doubt short for Pipsqueak) Denton from Guildford whose letter in today’s paper I reproduce below.

Under the heading of “Home, James” Pipsqueak said

“On behalf of Australia, I would like to thank James Douglas and his wife for so effectively breaking the drought (Letters, December 28). Now – with all due respect – could they please leave, as some of the rain has gone a little over the top.”

And there you have it – when people start writing to a major national newspaper asking you to leave the country you know you are not suffering from “delusions of persecution” but are experiencing the real thing.

On a more positive note, as this is probably going to be the last blog of 2010, Sandra and I would like to wish everyone, wherever you are, a Happy and Healthy New Year. We will be celebrating New Year in Sydney where Sandra and Johann are looking forward to the arrival of younger sister Gill - consequently I am looking forward to the re-enactment of the opening scene from The Scottish Play!

The photo below was taken at Mort Bay on 29 December looking out towards Sydney Harbour Bridge - you will note that the rain has stopped and we were just about to embark on a pub crawl!

HAPPY NEW YEAR

Epistle to the SMH

When we were “on the road” the cameras were clicking constantly and the digital photographs were proliferating, often by hundreds a day. We are going to have a monumental task on our hands when we return home as we currently have about 15,000 photographs to sort through and edit. However, now we have stopped travelling and have settled into the more mundane life of Sydney urbanites, the number of photos being taken each day has dwindled to a handful and would be even less if it were not for Anatalia. This is having a direct influence on the blog.

My starting point for every blog has been a review of the previous couple of days photographs and selecting a few around which a story can be told. With a dearth of photos the blog is in danger of grinding to a halt – not before time I hear you mutter! However, when stuck for an topic, one sometimes has to fallback on that old British standby and talk about the weather. As readers of this blog will be aware the weather on our circumnavigation of Australia has been patchy to say the least with considerably more rain than expected. Every week or so there have been false dawns as summer approached, the skies cleared, the sun shone and the mercury climbed the thermometer.

Christmas Day was a good example of this. With temperatures well into the 30’s, blue skies and constant sunshine it looked like summer was here – and here to stay. However, by Boxing Day, a change was in evidence and by yesterday, 27 December, rain was once again upon us and the television news was full of disasters - stories of floods and cut off communities competed with the news of Australia being skittled out by England for a mere 98 runs. As I sat on Johann’s deck looking towards where the skyscrapers would have been if they weren’t shrouded in rain clouds something snapped and I reached for pen and paper – I was going to complain to someone. I wrote to The Sydney Morning Herald to have a whinge about the weather.

The pen was metaphoric – I actually sent an e-mail and no one was more surprised than me when, later yesterday afternoon, I received an reply saying that my letter was to be published in Tuesday’s edition of the paper. Naturally I was up at dawn awaiting the paperboy, and there I was in print. If you can’t make my words of wisdom in the photograph the text follows

“In January my wife and I left Scotland, travelled to Sydney, bought a 4WD drive and tent then set out on a year long circumnavigation of Australia. At Uluru and The Olgas we were told we were extremely lucky to see these Australian icons as grey lumps of rock with water cascading down their flanks as most people only saw them smouldering red under a clear blue sky. Throughout the year our luck held as icon after icon refused to present as stereotype. Carnarvon Gorge, Airlie Beach, Kings Canyon, the Devils Marbles, the Douglas Daly, Ningaloo Reef, Lake Eyre, the Flinders, Canberra are just some of the places on which the sun refused to shine and the rain poured down.

Now we are back in Sydney visiting the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House and guess what, our luck has continued to hold – it’s bucketing! My wife, ever the pragmatist, has just repeated what has become a well-worn mantra throughout our rain-sodden year “Well, at least it’s warm rain!”

Ah well, back to Edinburgh next month to several feet of snow and sub-zero temperatures. “


Bloody whinging Pom!

Christmas, Santa's Little Helper and the Sydney to Hobart Race

Christmas Eve saw us at a barbeque hosted by friends of Johann and Stretch. The setting was a rather fine house with gardens sweeping down to the Parramatta River shortly before it flows into Sydney Harbour. With the sun setting over the river as small craft plied their way up and down stream it was a different Christmas Eve than the ones we normally spend in Eskbank. The house was ideally situated to observe river traffic and our hostess regaled us with tales of high tragedy on the river as ferries wiped out pleasure craft usually being driven by drunken revellers. The highlight of their year came when, in the wee small hours, they were woken by a police helicopter hovering outside their bedroom window on the lookout for a car full of ram-raiders who had abandoned their vehicle nearby and started swimming. We don’t get that in Eskbank!

Then back home in time to finalise stocking filling for the morning.

Christmas Day did not go as planned. The champagne breakfast by the harbour had to be given a miss – we were rather late getting organised and by the time we got the picnic packed the sun was too high in the sky and the temperature was uncomfortably hot. Instead we had a buffet on the deck.

Young Anatalia was the star of the show. At three months of age she turned up looking rather gorgeous in a Santa's Little Helper outfit and managed to get through the whole day without crying. This was particularly surprising as at one point Steven took her into the spa for a swim where even the water pistols failed to faze her (although you wouldn’t think so from the photograph). Mind you, this was not her first experience of total immersion in water as we took her to the swimming pool earlier in the week where she seemed to enjoy getting wet. Unfortunately the staff prevented me from taking photographs in case I had paedophile tendencies – I jest not!

After a Christmas Dinner, cooked primarily by me, of smoked salmon, prawns, roast beef with roast potatoes etc – we set up a video link with Jon, Lisa, Harvey and Oliver back in Scotland. Whilst Christmas Day was almost over in Australia, in Scotland it was just beginning and they were having all the family round for Christmas Dinner where Jon was cooking - smoked salmon, prawns, roast beef with roast potatoes etc – an almost identical menu – the main difference being here it was served at 30C whereas there it was –6C.

Today, Boxing Day, was a big sporting occasion in Australia with the start of the Ashes Test match in Melbourne (where Australia were skittled out for 98 in the first innings) and the start of the Sydney to Hobart Race. We went to South Head to join the crowds watch the start of the race as the fleet of over 80 yachts left Sydney Harbour and set sail for Tasmania. The sight of these multi-million dollar boats sailing past and jockeying for position accompanied by a flotilla of small boats and at least 8 helicopters was quite breathtaking and the photos really do not do justice to the drama of the occasion. The first to round the headland and enter the open sea was “Wild Oats XI”, the race favourite which has already won the race four or five times although last year had to settle for second place.

I note as I post this blog that this is the 100th posting since I set the blog up well over a year ago. I must admit that I am as surprised as anyone that I have managed to keep it going so long.

Goodbye to Old Faithful, Drinking with The Larrikins and a walk over the Anzac Bridge

Earlier this week I received an email from an old friend back in snowbound Scotland which confirmed something Sandra and I have long suspected – whilst people were meant to read the blog for the pleasure of accompanying us on a virtual trip around Australia, the real pleasure is not from the triumphs but the disasters! Whilst the number of readers remains fairly static when things are going well there is a definite surge in readership when disaster strikes. Tales of being bogged down in remote crocodile country or ears being ripped off (and sewn back on again) have proved to be very popular, whilst with “The Embarrassing Incident in Esperance” readership shot through the roof. Mind you, only Sandra’s sister Gill has openly admitted that looking for disasters and embarrassing incidents are the ONLY reason she reads the blog. “Bad news sells newspapers” and I’m afraid, as the adventure nears its end and we are back in Sydney, blog readership is likely to fall as we are faced once again with the hum drum of city life far removed from the adventures of the bush.

A major milestone was passed this week as the Nissan Patrol, which has been an excellent vehicle and a cornerstone of the adventure, went on the market to be sold, whilst the tent, completely refurbished by the manufacturer, and other camping equipment is likely to be advertised on E-bay shortly. The first photo is Sandra and I saying goodbye to Old Faithful. For anyone considering following in our footsteps (or tyre tracks) the following statistics may be of some interest

Total distance covered - 40,205 kilometres (24,927 miles)
Total diesel used - 5493 litres (1208 gallons)

Litres per 100 kilometres - 13.66
Miles per gallon - 20.66

Highest cost per litre - $2.05 at Mt Barnet and Warburton (£1.34)
Lowest cost per litre - $1.23 at Buladelah (£0.80)
Average cost per litre - $145.6 (£0.95 )

Total cost of diesel for trip - $7,796 (£5,086)

Last week we were out with the Larrikin Hash. Hash House Harriers are groups of like-minded people who enjoy running, socialising and drinking – and not necessarily in that order. It took me back many years to the Hare and Hounds Club, where the hare would lay a trail to be followed by the hounds. In essence things haven’t changed very much and The Larrikins meet every Tuesday night to follow a trail which eventually leads to a big bucket of beer. I must admit Sandra and I didn’t run the course but walked an abbreviated version and managed to rendezvous with the main body of runners at the beer. There followed a number of speeches, peppered with outrageous language, during which willing members were generally abused and hauled up to the front and made to down schooners of beer in a oner. With the average age of the Larrikins being about sixty it struck me that I have seldom met such a bunch of semi-geriatric piss artists in all my life – I felt quite at home! We then made our way to an Indian restaurant for a curry and German beer.

Johann and Stretch’s house is within walking distance of the city centre and the other night Sandra and I took a walk over the Anzac Bridge to view the city at night. The bridge itself is an amazing structure and commemorates the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps originally formed during the First World War. Views of the city at night and particularly the skyline of towers, skyscrapers and the Harbour Bridge are pretty spectacular. The highlight was on the way back we had an amazing view of the full moon rising over the Harbour Bridge – the photograph really does not do it justice.

This will be the last blog before Christmas. We will be having a family Christmas breakfast at the harbour waterfront followed by a (fairly) traditional Christmas Dinner at Johann’s. Later in the evening we hope to have a video link up with Jon, Lisa, Harvey and Oliver back in Eskbank to wish them a Merry Christmas and to check out the damaged ceiling in the bathroom!

Anatalia's Christening

Sunday 12 December was the big day – Anatalia’s Christening, with Our Lady of Lourdes Church the venue for the event. The family forgathered at Steven and Ana’s apartment from whence we all trooped off to the church with 3-month-old Anatalia dressed to the nines in the christening robe Sandra had bought the week before. My comment that she looked like a frilly meringue did not go down too well!

Our party consisted of myself and Sandra, Sandra’s sister Johann (who is one of the godmothers), Stretch, Fraser (Johann’s son) Steven, Ana, Lex (Steven’s step son) and of course Anatalia. We rendezvoused with the rest of the christening party at the church.

The christening ceremony was a wee bit of a production line with four babies being done on the same day. The four star turns, ranging from 3 to about 18 months, behaved themselves pretty well with Anatalia being the youngest, smallest, best behaved and, of course, by far the most attractive of the bunch – honestly! After the ceremony we made our way to a club for drinks and a meal.

One burning question, which will no doubt be answered as we all get used to having a baby around, is what to call her. For the first couple of months of her young life she was simply known as “Baby”. “Anatalia” is a bit of a mouthful in everyday usage and “Ana” is likely to be confused with her mother. The diminutive which seems to be gaining in popularity is “Talia”. Time will tell.

After the christening and lunch Ana took the children home, Steven went to do the weekly shopping whilst Sandra and I went to a pre-Christmas afternoon drinks party where I am sure we outstayed our welcome managing once again to be the last to leave and staggering home about midnight. You really do have to build up stamina to survive life in Australia.

At the party yet another of life's small coincidences raised its head. I was introduced to Chris, a geneticist, and looking for a bit of common ground upon which to build a conversation I dredged back about 20 years and remembered Bruce a neighbour of ours who lived at the top of Waverley Road. An animal geneticist to trade, he was a New Zealander on sabbatical at Edinburgh University but based in North Carolina - this was going to be a long-shot! Incredibly they knew each other - which has led to a flurry of e-mails and re-establishing contact with him and his wife Beth. This of course may not be a good thing as I seem to remember Sandra and Beth had a habit of conspiring against their husbands and leading each other astray!

Focus for the next few weeks is to start thinking about selling the car and all the camping equipment – a bit sad as this has been our home for nearly a year, but it’s got to be done. Then of course there’s Christmas which seems a bit unreal here in the Sydney sun. I’m all for a “traditional” Christmas dinner which generally invokes the response “Well if you want to slave over a hot stove all day when it 35 degrees outside – your welcome to it”

News from the Frozen North - Views from the Sunny South

Luckily we are currently in Sydney enjoying reasonable weather as much of New South has been declared a disaster area with the current level of flooding being the worst in fifty years. Co-incidentally the news from Scotland is much the same with the highest levels of snowfall for over half a century with troops apparently deployed on the streets of Edinburgh to assist with snow clearance. On a personal level the severity of the weather came how to us in a strange, round about way. Whilst casually browsing the Internet I came across an interesting set of photographs of something that I recognised – our bathroom ceiling. Or perhaps I should say LACK of bathroom ceiling – where once there was a ceiling there is now a large hole.

Our son Jon and his family are house-sitting while we are in Australia - not wishing to worry us whilst on holiday he didn’t tell us that the bathroom roof had caved in! However this did not preclude him from posting photos of the disaster on his facebook page from whence we got the bad news. A quick video-call confirmed the worst – or so we thought!

Today, when on our way to the beach for a picnic, we received an email with phase two of the disaster. The house roof was covered in snow cum ice and a massive weight was poised over the flat roof of the kitchen at the back of the house. The kitchen roof has a large glass skylight and, anticipating the worst, Jon had protected this with planks of wood - however to no avail. The weight of snow, plus the caste iron gutter which the falling snow dislodged, obliterated the skylight and punched a hole through to the kitchen below. Here’s hoping our insurance cover is adequate.

We tried not to let news of disasters from at spoil the sunshine, hot weather, great beach and amazing views of boats cruising round Sydney Harbour - the problems of home seemed a million miles away.

Sandra is doing the second of her Sydney Markets today (Sat) so I went along with her at 7.30 am to help set up stall and buy breakfast. I then returned to Johann’s house promising to return later – however I am currently trapped in the house as two enormous vehicles have appeared and have started drilling a hole in the pavement and, as the vehicle is jacked up the workmen are totally unwilling, and probably unable, to move. My car is stuck – I hope they are finished in time for me to get back to pick up Sandra and her stall.

Tomorrow is the big day – Anatalia’s christening. No doubt the next blog will have some appropriate photos.

"Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas Boys and Girls"

In both concept and actuality Christmas seems to have greater reality in the snow covered wastes of the northern hemisphere rather than in the summer temperatures of the Sydney Inner Suburbs. If the Christmas concept is a bit surreal, the concept of Santa Claus is doubly so. The unreality of the situation hit me as I struggled to keep a cushion strapped to my front whilst adjusting my long and very tatty white beard – all part of my borrowed Father Christmas outfit.

It was Christmas Street Party time and I, without any consultation whatsoever, had been volunteered to be Santa for the Collins St / Murdoch St Christmas Party. The red suit had been delivered to Johann’s house along with a big sack of Christmas presents and I was instructed to sidle away from the party at the appropriate time, get into costume then make a dramatic entrance – easier said than done. Kids are a suspicious lot and several had already sussed that the suave, sophisticated stranger was likely to be playing the part of Santa and, despite my denials, refused to accept otherwise. When the time came for my surreptitious sidle to get into costume several of the more streetwise kids followed and, within minutes, as I struggled to get into my red outfit, the chants started outside the house “Santa! Santa! SANTA!!” Stretch, all six foot seven of him, was sent out to disperse the crowd.

With Sandra’s help I became Santa and for once I was grateful than the temperatures were in the mid-twenties rather than the mid-thirties as the woolly red suit and a big white beard would have given me a dose of heat rash if it had been hotter.

Now for the dramatic entrance.

Loading the sack of presents onto the roof rack of the Nissan Patrol, I clambered onto the rear shelf and, with Stretch driving and honking the horn, I hung on for grim death with one hand and waved with the other as we rolled the 20 metres along Collins Street to Murdoch Street where the wide-eyed hooligans were waiting. With parental assistance the kids were eventually seated in a semi-circle facing Santa with his bag of goodies.

Now as every child knows Santa’s preferred form of transport is a reindeer-drawn sleigh with Rudolph at the front – not a Nissan Patrol with Stretch at the front. So I thought I would start proceedings with an interesting story explaining that, on arrival in Sydney straight from the North Pole, I had landed my sleigh on the top of Sydney Harbour Bridge where Rudolph went walkabout with a kangaroo resulting in Santa having to hitch a lift from Stretch. However, as previously stated, some of these were street-wise kids who weren’t buying this for one moment and, after my first few words, they voiced their indifference to the fate of Rudolph with the chant of “We want presents! We want presents!” I gave up and dutifully handed out the presents.

At the end of proceedings I sloped off back towards the house to get changed only to find half a dozen of the suspicious little blighters were shadowing me – they were still trying to prove that it was me and not the real Santa. Wise to their trickery, instead of turning left down the hill, I turned right away from the house. Halfway up the hill I turned to find I was still being stalked so gave them a couple of full on “Ho! Ho! Ho’s” and “Merry Christmases” Three of them charged me and said “Can we give you a hug, Santa?” Thinking this was probably a ploy to get near me to give my false beard a tug, I said OK but made sure the beard was well out of the way as they gave the cushion strapped to my waist a squeeze.
I then trudged further up the hill thinking I’d lost them only to find another cohort offering hugs – well what can you do? A further round of hugs and I was free. By this time I was very near the pub and, even though I had no money on me, I reckoned that my full Santa costume and a story of stalking kids would go a long way towards blagging me a couple of beers. I stopped at the door and turned around and there, peering round a corner from across the road, was one very small girl wearing a long pink dress and a silver tiara. Not wishing to shatter childhood illusions and perhaps having second thoughts about a beer blagging Santa, I gave the pub a miss and walked round the block and back to Johann’s house with only two further incidents.

Walking past a house with the front door open I overheard an interesting exchange when a small voice shrieked “Mummy! Santa’s just walked past our house” to be met with “Don’t be silly, he doesn’t come until Christmas Eve”

Further down the street a car stopped, the window lowered, a tattooed arm appeared and a voice drawled
“How’s it goin’ Santa?”
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” – I replied
“Got anythin’ for me Santa”
“It depends if you’ve been a good boy?” I quipped wittily – then scarpered!

Back in civvies, still denying that I was Santa and expressing amazment that Santa and I were wearing exactly the same shoes, I rejoined the festivities and got stuck into the beer, wine and barbie.

When darkness fell, the panel convened for the judging of the most tastelessly decorated house in the street. Most houses were be-decked with flashing lights, giant blow-up Santas, reindeer and other Christmas paraphernalia including, believe it or not, a moving parachuting Father Christmas. Whilst the theme was Christmas Tack and Tastelessness, I secretly believed that most householders actually thought their displays were quite tasteful and only Johann and Stretch’s house, upon which Sandra, Johann and I had lavished minutes of decorating effort, exhibited real tastelessness [see photo] – we didn’t win.

One final tale. When decorating the house Johann came across a box full of small blue and silver Christmas decorations made to look like glittery parcels. At 4.30am on the morning of the street party I secretly decorated the street with one hundred and three sparkly Christmas baubles. As day broke the local kids came onto the street and mayhem broke out with calls of “And here’s ANOTHER one!” Santa had indeed come early.

Back in Sydney, Balmain Market and, of course, Anatalia

The last blog ended with me cowering in the car in Canberra avoiding the rain and desperately scouring internet weather sites looking for an escape route to drier climes. My initial thoughts were to repeat the manoeuvre of several weeks earlier i.e. escape the wet south by backtracking north west and try to get in behind the weather front. But, as subsequent events revealed, our decision to flee straight back to Sydney was very, very sensible.

Initially we didn’t take the most direct route back to Sydney “Let’s take the scenic route” she said. Of course by this stage of the trip you would have thought that I would be alert to feminine subterfuge. The Kings Highway just happened to pass through the craft village of Bungendore which Sandra had circled on her map as a place to visit. The highlight (?) of Bungendore was the Wood Works Gallery full of, admittedly, high quality wood products ranging from bookmarks at a reasonable $10 through to tables at an eye watering $13,000 and on to a clock at £28,000 (I bet they don’t sell one of those every day!) This was obviously the place to supplement the “cheap and cheerful” tourist souvenirs with a bit of “quality” – and I am sure Harvey and Oliver back in Scotland will enjoy what their grandmother bought. How we get the damn thing back to Scotland of course is another matter!

Thankfully most of the shops closed by 4pm and we were able to get onto the Federal Highway, then the Hume Highway, and make our way quickly to Sydney. Our first port of call was to visit Steven and Ana to catch a quick glimpse of Anatalia, now three months old and who we last saw as a two week old in September. Within seconds Sandra was as besotted as Steven. Anatalia is a very attractive wee girl who seems remarkably contented and spends her life either sleeping or gurgling happily with crying kept to the minimum – long may it last!

Over the last few days the newspapers and TV have been full of horror stories about flooding particularly in parts of New South Wales where a number of Natural Disaster Zones have been declared. Some rivers are swollen by up to 10 metres, vast areas are under water with billions of dollars worth of crops ruined and hundreds of people evacuated from their homes. Near Broken Hill shooting of the 4th Mad Max movie has been abandoned. The Mad Max films have been set in a post apocalyptic desert landscape with not a drop of water or a blade of grass to be seen. The area is currently either awash with floodwater or swathed in green and it looks as if the filmmakers will have to come back in 2012 to complete their work. In one area weather records began 131 years ago in 1879 and in all that time there has never been such a wet November. With this as a backdrop, our decision not to try escaping the wet weather in Canberra with a move to South West New South Wales was, unintentionally, inspired.

Sandra had her first Sydney craft market in Balmain yesterday. Over the last few weeks she has been doing a stock take of all her work produced as we travelled around Australia, finishing things off and packaging them ready for sale – not the easiest of jobs when on the road. The final touches were put in place whilst at Johann’s house in Sydney with my job being to conjure up a market stall from our camping equipment. The big day arrived yesterday and, surprise surprise, it rained. Being an outdoor market this was a major problem as, even with my makeshift tarpaulin cover, things got wet and, more importantly, hardly anyone customers turned up. However Sandra was not alone as all the other stallholders grumbled about the weather and lack of custom, so much so the market organisers cut the entrance fee by 50%. With a paltry $140 take it was the worst return of any of the markets so far on the trip. Let’s hope the returns, and the weather, will be better over the next two Saturdays.

[The photos show Sandra preparing, setting up the stall and the “sales” team of Sandra and Ana]

The net return from Saturday’s market was further reduced as Sandra, ever full of generosity, went round other stall buying up competitors wares including a very sophisticated christening dress for Anatalia. The christening takes place on Sunday 12 December at Our Lady of Lourdes Church in Sydney with Johann as one of the Godmothers. My debate is what to wear the choice being either (a) my kilt - which is now too big for me due to unexplained weight loss (b) my camping gear, which even after washing leaves a bit to be desired or (c) bite the bullet and buy some new clothes. The biggest issue is footwear as everything has fallen to pieces leaving me only with a pair of smelly trainers or equally tatty Crocs – neither really suitable for a christening and neither going terribly well with my Douglas tartan kilt.

However my sartorial credibility will come under intense scrutiny tonight (Sunday 5th) as I have been told, naturally without consultation, that I have been appointed Santa Claus at the street party – and of course I have forgotten to pack my Santa outfit. Possibly photos in the next blog. Ho! Ho! Ho!

Boy Scouts and Kangaroos at Burrinjuck to Canberra in the Rain

Burrinjuck State Park is beautiful and our campsite at Carrolls Creek, overlooking the lake near Burrinjuck Dam, was perfect. With only one other lot of campers there, who left the next morning, we were again in splendid isolation - except for the kangaroos and parrots. I still can’t figure out how the Joey, at least half the size of the mother, can fit into the pouch. However our isolation was not to last for long. This park and the lake are used by the boating fraternity and during the next day our idyllic spot gradually started to fill up with tents and boats. Water skiing and general power-boating activities, along with the usual fishing, were the order of the day and a build-up of high octane motors made the place increasingly less attractive.

As evening fell however things took a turn for the worse as twenty-two boy scouts plus scout leaders and assorted parents rolled onto the scene. With a roar of engines, unloading of boats, the hammering of tent pegs as their camp was established plus the bellowing of orders from all quarters it sounded like a re-enactment of the D-Day Landings. Our peace was shattered and we thought it might be time to move on. The final clincher came the next morning when Sandra was told by one of the scout leaders that this was merely an advance party and a further group of thirty cub scouts along with Akelas and parents was expected later in the day – time to exit!

We were within easy striking distance of Canberra so, after a brief stop in Yass, we headed into the city to look for a camp ground. The first one at the Exhibition Centre was just a windswept field made even less attractive, in the olfactory sense, by the horse show which was taking place at the Centre – so we ended up at the Canberra Motor Park. Things started badly when I took a dislike to the very officious and rather stroppy young lady at reception. However it was not just me as later on I had to kick Sandra as she was about to unleash one of her verbal torpedoes on the subject of customer relations – relations were bad enough already without adding more fuel.

The Motor Park was a soul-less array of carbon copy cabins crammed together in serried ranks with a small, unattractive area for tent camping – we know now why we prefer bush or National Park camping. As we were about to pitch the tent Sandra noticed a small drainage ditch and suggested we move the tent away from it by a couple of feet. As we have not had any rain for almost two weeks and the weather was beautiful I thought this was probably unnecessary but, to humour her, did as she suggested. Sandra must have a sixth sense about these things as, at three in the morning, the rain started – and it didn’t stop.

At 8.30 am we packed up in a downpour and left.

Readers of this blog will know that rain has followed us round Australia and that any complaints from us have branded us as “whinging poms”. The stock answer from the natives to our whinging has been “The farmers need the rain” therefore it gives me some pleasure to note on the front page of The Canberra Times” that the whinging is now on the other foot with the headline “Too much rain threatens harvests”. Even the farmers are getting fed up of the rain.

We are in Canberra for Sandra to visit a craft fair in the Old Bus Depot and I have left her to it and I am writing this in the car as I shelter from the rain. Our impressions of Canberra are, perhaps not surprisingly, less than positive. The centre piece of the city is a lake which I am looking out over and I’m sure if I could see through the rain and could catch a glimpse of the other side it might actually appear attractive. I have been on the internet for a weather forecast to see where we could go to avoid the rain – but there is nowhere. I think we could end up back in Sydney a few days earlier than expected – at least it might be dry in a house.

From sunny Cape Conran to The Snowy Mountains and a Muscle-bound Kangaroo

Cape Conran, in the far south-east of Australia, and at last some decent weather. We camped in a shady spot set back about 150m from an excellent beach providing a combination of sweeping sands and rocky inlets with walks in both directions – we didn’t move for 3 days. After Sandra doing a final stock take for the markets in Sydney we did the typical beach thing – beach walking, rock-clambering and setting up chairs under the umbrella, reading books and getting sunburnt – this was the life! Apparently during the summer school holidays this area gets quite crowded, however being a little out of season we had the place almost to ourselves with very few other campers and hardly any day trippers.

Night time saw the return of The Possums. Absent for most of our trip round Australia we had become a bit slack about locking food and scraps away before going to bed. In the wee small hours I heard a noise and upon investigation found a large possum sitting on one of our tables calmly gnawing away on a banana – and, bold as brass, refusing to move when asked. By the time I dug out the camera mum, and baby, had climbed up a nearby tree to pose for photographs. Food has been put away at night ever since.

We also caught a glimpse of another creature which had so far eluded us on our travel – the echidna. However wombats in the wild are still proving elusive except of course for the roadkills.

With food running low, along with a shortage of beer and wine, we were eventually forced to get on our way. Passing through the village of Marlo we stopped at the pleasant little country town of Orbost to get fuel and provisions – and of course for Sandra to visit the town’s two craft shops. Heading north back towards New South Wales the distances between places are much less than in the vast emptiness of Western Australia and after a mere 150k of narrow, winding roads we found ourselves at the Delegate River which marks the boundary between Victoria and New South Wales. Despite the road going over the river across a fairly dodgy looking bridge with wooden supports we decided to do it the old fashioned way and forded the river – we felt we were sneaking into NSW by the back door.

Next port of call – the Snowy Mountains. Let’s hope they don’t live up to their name!

Passing through Bombala and Cooma we found ourselves fairly late in the day at Jindabyne, a lakeside resort town, and the gateway to the south part of the national park. At the beginning of our trip heading north from Sydney we bought an annual pass for the NSW National Parks which we thought would save us money in the long term. Much of the Snowy Mountain Range, including Australia’s highest mountain Mt Kosciuszko, are found within one of Australia’s premier national parks – the Kosciuszko National Park. Arriving at the park pay station we confidently flourished our rather worn looking pass only to be informed we had the wrong kind of pass. Our New South Wales Multi Parks Pass covered all national parks – except this one. We had to pay $16 to get in.

A warning to potential travellers visiting parks around Australia – it is very confusing. There are National (which aren’t really “national”) Parks, State Parks, Commonwealth Parks, State Forests Parks and all manner of Reserves and other oddities. Some allow you free entry but you have to pay to camp; some offer you free camping but you have to pay to enter; for some you have to pay to enter AND pay to camp. Some appear to offer free entry AND free camping – although I suspect we just missed the pay point. Most States offer a variety of passes, the small print on which clearly states the various rules and regulations and exceptions to the rules and regulations. None of the passes are multi-state passes so when you cross a state border you have to start all over again. A multi-state Parks and Camping Pass would be very convenient. End of Rant!

Anyway we paid our $16 after a slight rant with the parks officer who in retort to Sandra saying when you visit Scotland at least the NP are free, responded I know I’ve visited but the weather is better here which led on to my Australian weather rant and set up camp at a beautiful spot called Island Bend.

Our campsite came with its own mob of kangaroos. With wine glass in hand I was strolling around admiring the views when I felt I was being watched. Turning around I was confronted by the biggest kangaroo I had ever seen - if he had reared up on his hind legs I would have had to look up to stare him in the face. Surrounded by his harum I suppose he was only being protective as he glared at me with a malevolent eye. Stopping only long enough to get their photo taken they ambled off into the bush.

The Snowy Mountains (still with snow on them) are fabulous and were the site of one of the most ambitious engineering projects of all time – to divert the flow of water from the mountains inland to provide both power and irrigation. Starting in 1949 and taking 25 years to complete over 100,000 workers from 30 countries diverted 5 rivers and constructed 16 major dams, 7 power stations, a pumping station and 145k of inter-connected tunnels. In addition there are several large ski resorts including the well named Perisher Valley.

Setting off over the mountains we came across a hut. Readers of this blog will know that Sandra and I have become quite partial to living in huts – it saves having to put the tent up! However, with the mountain winds blowing and local insects looking for blood, we decided to give it a miss and look for somewhere at a lower altitude to spend the night – and so here we are at Yarrangobilly.

Still within the Kosciuszko National Park but in the northern section, we came across a grassy site beside a fast flowing stream and some nice, big shady trees.. We set up camp last night in what appeared to be idyllic surroundings and the problems didn’t start until later. Of course it could have been my cooking to blame as gradually the vague, insect-like hum built up to an intense buzzing crescendo. As I stirred the cheese sauce (Sandra had had a fraught day negotiating mountain hairpin bends from the passenger seat - cauliflower and cheese calms her down) I thought we had disturbed a nest of feral bees but no- they were giant flies. Horseflies, march flies, clegs or just enormous bluebottles – I don’t know what they were. We ended up having to eat dinner zipped up in the insect proof Oztent whilst flies swarmed outside and blanketed the remains of the cheese sauce still in the pot – we didn’t bother with second helpings!