Bear and Jackie's Travel Diary

Mr T calls Bangkok home, easy global access, an unholy quantity and variety of eateries and Thailand’s Uber equivalent, Grab, is a few bucks to get pretty much anywhere. 29 floors up in the middle of town is his rather smart Bangkok pad. Spare bedroom, don’t mind if we do.

Our early morning exit from Dee Why meant we didn’t change the new suitcase code thingy, so did that at check-in. Probably not super smart after a heap of beverages the night before! Arrive Bangkok looking for warm weather attire and the suitcase says no entry. Got through the first 300 options before grabbing a Grab to the American Tourister shop a few minutes away. Absolutely no idea how the chap opened the bag in less than a minute, even less of an idea how 624 was the solution! Headed down to the food court for a feed and a celebratory ale. Food courts in Bangkok malls are bonkers. None of the standard Maccas, Curry King, Kebab stuff. A heap of full on restaurants, bars and street foodie choices. Happily sat down and ordered some sort of spicy pasta number. Spicy? Holy sh!t! Around 1912, a bloke called Wilbur Scoville came up with a scale that indicates the impact that various chillies are likely to have on the tea towel holder in the morning. No such scale appears in any restaurant. In Thailand, none of the customary chilli emoji warnings, nor an indicator of how many dunny rolls to pop into the freezer. This could be an issue, my education continues.

Once the sphincter had returned to a normal temperature in the morning, it was time for a mooch about and check out a couple of pickleball venues. Pickleball that is rather than the somewhat stranger version of ping pong that Bangkok is better known for. Sterling sport and wellness was first up a few blocks away. Crikey! An ocean of air conditioned courts with a complex booking system and fees to match. “We can get you a slot next week”, Er, no. Benchakitti Park is about an hour’s hike away so off we trot. This place is municipal, rock up whenever you fancy a game, hop into the queue and join a couple of randoms on court for an hour, free! Lock this in.

Time for a feed and a slurp. A place called Cabbages and Condoms could be a tad dicey here but isn’t travel all about experiences? Let’s have a Squizzy. Prophylactics to my knowledge are not edible, even in Bangkok. Happy to find a rubber Johnny free menu, just mildly disturbed by all of the restaurant lights and fittings featuring several thousand of them in all possible colours. Latex and cabbage free lunch consumed and off we trot. Again, my edumacation continues.

Mr T treated us to a few of Bangkok’s finer establishments including a place with a pool above Ikea. Bit different to our local eateries in semi rural Queensland!

We left Mr T to attend to his emails early the next morning and headed out with Virin for a bit of a Market and Bangkok tour. Ended up with a swag bag full of duck, piggy bits and an inedible looking selection of sugar based items. Perfect Brekky!

Once the mountain of protein had stopped stretching the waistband, it was off to Pickleball just after midday. Loaded the camelback with 3 litres of iced water and grabbed a Grab. Just a few minutes after arrival, we are on court in 40 degrees with a couple of ladies. Our only compatible language was the game, pretty awesome. Next up, a couple of lads who gave us a serious workout for another hour. Had to escape to the bubbler for a refill at one stage. They wanted to go another hour, two and a half hours probably enough for us!

Had a trip out with Mr T and Verin to see the Royal Palace and a giant gold Buddha. Wow, another example of an entitled royal family living off hard earned cash!

Next up is the train to Kanchanaburi. Never heard of it, join the queue! The station to get there is in the middle of nowhere and guaranteed to be a nightmare journey in Bangkok traffic. Opted for the morning train and a pre dawn Grab to avoid the BS. Arrived a few hours early but turns out there is a food market at Thonburi. All manner of delicious stuff including frogs that looked somewhat toady, piggy bits including ears and hamptons, numerous swimmy things that should probably remain in the river. Opted for some pringles and bottled water!

Two and a half hours not nearly long enough through awesome countryside. Third class train seats give the glutes a workout, open windows add hot air and insects. Over too soon.

Arrival appears in an instant and you have about 12 seconds to whisk your oversized wheelie bag off the train before it heads off again. Normal service with the taxi mob resumes outside with a veritable hoard of highly honest looking humans wafting signs and destinations without prices. Maps says 12 mins walk, wheels on the baggies so off we go.

Naati Paradise is everything that booking dot com offered, 4th floor views over the river Kwai, pool, top notch Thai Brekky, bang in the middle of town. This is gunna be a tough few days.

Years ago, I saw a movie about The Bridge Over The River Kwai. The actual bridge is here, about 30 mins walk away. 100% not blown up and 100% a railway to nowhere. Total dead end rail track now, 100% tourist trap. Sucked in! Enjoyed a lager or two in the bar under the bridge and headed home. Home that is via another Scoville testing venue and a couple of coolers.

Home ran out of coolers and suitable nibbles, so I popped out for replenishments. Happily bumped into a private transfer lass on the way and was pretty happy with the quote for our troublesome journey to Hua Hin. Jackie less happy with said random lass texting and offering pick up services. Popped down in the morning and sorted the transfer and a driver to nip to the falls a couple of hours away. All good!

The Erawan Waterfall collection is pretty cool. Seven levels up stream with ever impressive watery stuff. Barge past the screaming, infant infested lower levels and head up the muddy incline. No dramas normally for us, a few more dramas with J4X sporting a pair of Noosa suitable thongs. Level seven is a couple of k’s up and the journey down with posh looking thongs even more fun than the way up. Completed the challenge and plonked ourselves into our transfer vehicle en route to the next Scoville challenge.

Scoville challenge declined, we have a 3 hour, car journey to Hua Hin in the morning. No need to add chilies to this. Our driver arrived a polite 5 minutes early in a comfy, spacious vehicle, wheelie bags stuffed into the oversized boot and off we go. Unreal to witness that a supposedly poor country has way better roads than Australia.

Hua Hin arrives after another way too short journey, our new pad has an unbelievable rooftop pool and easy access to nibbling venues before our 10pm train the next night. No shame in smashing out a feed or two. Other than a couple of well considered eateries, this place is sleazy AF. Way too many young girls in empty bars and massage joints open at 10pm doesn’t sit well with me. Ooh, that knot in my shoulder!

We are no strangers to long distance train or bus journeys. The general rule is pay the tiny amount of extra cash and go first class. Generally fu(k all first about first class, but heaps more comfy than saving a few bucks. The bunk beds on the overnight train with rock hard mattresses were a reminder of my army days. No alcoholic beverages sold or allowed on board so we didn’t sneak a six pack or two into our bags Hid the empties, set a 5.15 alarm and curled up on the bottom bunk like a couple of cats! Surat Thani is still a couple more hours away from our jungle destination, happy to see a grinning driver holding a Paradise Resort board. The journey gets progressively bushier and greener, before we know it we arrive at the same time as the hotel staff setting up brekky. No brekky included for our first day and no hope of checking in until the afternoon. Mozzie spray applied and off we go then.

Found a pleasant enough looking place for a non Western morning feed, watching mischievous looking monkeys wandering along the power lines. Took a couple of hours giving the small town a once over before wandering back for check in. What a cracking place this is, a tree house in the middle of the jungle. Heaps of warning signs about not leaving anything on the balcony and locking all doors and windows to prevent our new primate friends from helping themselves to our stuff! Doors secured, mozzie nets closed, off for a long visit to the land of Nod.

Couldn’t resist a tubing session down the river. Unlike Laos, this one involves having a guide with you, no pit stop bars and no mud volleyball. Our guide copped a foot nibble part way down, needless to say, feet and private parts were treated to a dry journey from there. Monkeys doing monkey stuff on the banks, large, leave me alone sized snakes in the trees above. About an hour later, we arrive at the disembarkment area, happily with feet and private parts unmolested. Jackie highly entertained watching the bear trying to extract himself from the tube, not dissimilar to Neil The Seal in Tassie! Off for an overnight stay in floaty huts on a lake the next morning but couldn’t resist a few happy hour GnT’s. A few GnT’s whilst giving the foose table a workout that is! Just one more? Oh, go on then. Minibus arrives at 9.30 for the hour or so transfer to the lake. The lake is actually a big fu(k off reservoir 90 metres deep in places. The boat ride out to our accommodation is an hour long, not good with a small hangover. When we booked this little jaunt we asked the cheery tour lass if the accommodation in the picture was what we were getting. “Something similar”, was the answer. The boat slows down and comes to a stop at ‘something similar’. Oh dear! The floating huts have 4 walls, a roof and a door of some kind, that is where similar ends. They look like chicken coops, just big enough for a double mattress with a long, unstable trek to the dunny if you need to piss in the night. Fortunately, we coughed up the extra $$ for our own bathroom but the good news ended there. Bed was a nasty plastic something covered with a seedy looking sheet and some sort of fleece blanket. The pillow could never be used in friendly combat. The fan looked like it had seen better days and the gaps in the floor and walls were big enough to climb through, this could be a long night if the mozzies come hunting. The lake with its towering limestone cliffs, cave tour and jungle trek were next level epic, dinner was more than good enough, then the unavoidable reality of bedtime approaches. 30% DEET is strong enough to melt plastic, kinda hoping that a liberal spray discourages the airborne terrorists from draining our claret. Lights off, fan on. Choice of wrapping up in the fleece and boiling or risk attack. Wasn’t too bad until the generator switches off at midnight, killing all air movement and plunging the place into inky darkness. Then, that all too familiar high pitched whine kicks off. Ears, toes and any uncovered, unsprayed patches were relentlessly molested. It was honestly a relief when the alarm went off to catch our early morning safari boat. Pretty sure nobody had a wink of sleep. Most people’s phones are now dead or dying with not a single power point to be found. Left ours switched off overnight. Absolutely pissing with rain, the morning safari was terminated and we returned to the mosquito infested rabbit hutches for brekky. If a 1 inch thick slab of sickly sweet pancake dough is your thing, crack on. I was more tempted to have a bit of a discus throwing competition and feed the fish. Final lunch at the view point also rained off so ploughed through a plate of chewy noodles masquerading as pad thai. Back on the bus for the hour home, we were happily first off, said cheerio to our fellow victims and headed for a hot shower. Out for dinner and few slurps before returning to our mozzie proof heaven. Early start in the morning for the trip to Koh Samui.

My chef journey started many decades ago. Impressing the fairer sex with fine food and finesse in the kitchen seemed like an obvious choice. Pru Lieth’s school in London’s wanky Chelsea demonstrated how simple skills can transform basic ingredients into something that fancy words or a fat wallet cannot compete with. My MasterChef journey began many years later when I witnessed someone serving raw fish and liquid cake win this with a book deal and a couple of hundred G’s. Holy crap, I can pretend to wave a bit of fish over a pan and mix up some eggy mess with flour, let’s go! Sadly, my vision and fish prowess didn’t resonate with the judges and I got punted at the auditions. Fast forward a couple of decades and the entitled trio have now gone the same way as season 1’s winner should have. The father of one of my favourite trance artists with a Michelin star or two is a judge and refuses to use his fingers for eating. God forbid how he manages to give the starfish a clean with a spoon! No home cooks involved anymore and definitely not a fan of some unknown imbecile setting a five hour dessert challenge, how the fu(k is following a 120 step recipe some sort of indicator of skill. Could have been worse, could have been the poor chap that got shafted with grapes as a main ingredient by his mum and dad! Heads up, grapes are for wine or pegging at unsuspecting diners in wanky establishments. Gunna be a fun Xmas dinner in that house.

Netflix and the pickleball circuit have taken a bit of a beating recently, so time to get the passports out. Thailand seems like a giggle so off we go. The Mrs gave my upper body, back and arms a pre holiday shearing, so I returned the ‘favour’ by giving the her unruly hair a straightening. Probably too much to ask anyone to venture below my belt line so I treated the meat and two veg to a personal trim session. Care, is the only word here, nothing funny about a bleeding ball bag or a snagged helmet. Nothing funny either about serious nether region itches on the pickleball court. That gentle itch became far more distracting as the yellow ball raced past my backhand courtesy of a grinning Jackie.

Popped round to see Megs in Coolum the next day to borrow the keys of her swanky DY gaff. Sadly for freeloading visitors like us, the gaff has been flogged so this will be our last visit.

House painting is now complete and the child abuse wall has morphed into a photo wall. Somewhat over a year late, Sam and Nic’s wedding photos are there on display. Shiny and glamorous, it looks epic. Couple of pics with Sam and Nic in there too.

Smashed out our Tuesday Pickle session whilst JT popped off for a nail pamper, then whizzed home for a feisty takeaway vindaloo and few refreshing ciders in front of a roaring wood fire.

Predictable delay at MCY in the makeshift bar, before the short hop to SYD. Holy sh!t, we must be 100 feet up from landing before the imbeciles are jumping up to grab bags! Thank fu(k I never taught any of you to skydive, a smack to the side of the head or a small ball bag tweak generally got the message across somewhat faster than pointing at the alti. This is about as pointless as wearing a mask on your own in a car. Maybe whack a condom onto the hampton before jumping alone into bed, just in case! Dear God!

Knobs insulted then avoided, we get to wait for our bags just outside the Redspot car rental desk. I can’t help wondering if I am still blacklisted with this mob after renting a car some years ago and going AWOL. Rozzers were on the hunt whilst said rental vehicle sat under the hotel in Noosa. Oops!

Hopped onto the train for the waft into town. I wonder if the dickheads in charge here ever consider why these things became almost empty when they applied a hefty levy for hopping on board at the airport. Took our choice of 100 or so seats and settled in for the 6 stop ride. “Doors closing please stand clear” This sounds like a red rag to a bull as last night’s vindaloo announces its unruly and unwelcome presence. “Speak up Brown, you’re through!” Another valid reason to avoid the train

Jackie was lucky enough to be the recipient of a Cartier watch for her 18th birthday, before the brand became full wanker. The watch however has the maintenance price tag of a Bugatti. Simple clasp tighten, sorry Ma’am, you need to contact Cartier for that. Oh, that is in Sydney CBD and you need to make an appointment to drop the watch off. Fu(k me, I have never seen so many obsequious little pricks mincing around with little red trays. Actual value of most of the rubbish in here, probably a few hundred bucks. Actual cost, 20x that to cover overheads and the salaries of a small army of Larry Emdur lookalikes standing around doing nothing. To the utter disgust of the door minder, we arrived half an hour early and were promptly parked in the waiting area. Parked that is with a small glass of French bubbles to increase the invoices of the knobs queued outside. Top up Sir? OK then. My, my that lift looks tempting! A death stare from the Mrs suggests that the lifts and associated duck stomping behaviour are off limits in this establishment.

For 20 something years, the Northern Beaches of Sydney were our home and our playground. Many neighbours have been offended over those years on the receiving end of boisterous trance music, bonfires, violent foose table hilarity, high powered lasers, bubble machines, drones and an endless stream of bodies sploshing into the pool in the middle of the night. Feeling slightly strange being back here. Nothing strange however about smashing out a few beers and pizzas in DY RSL with some of our dear chums who popped in to join us. Many thanks to those that did. Certainly, nothing particularly funny about a 5.30am alarm before a scamper to the airport. Wafted through to the lounge for a bacon sandwich and spot of shuteye. Thai Airways were epic and accommodating, shame that the immigration process seemed to take almost as long as the flight. Cleared customs and headed to the cab rank. BKK Cab rank is a collection of highly honest looking humans waiting in numbered bays. Any attempt to select a semi clean looking car and driver are thwarted by a machine that spits out a bay number, cross the fingers and head on over. Oh dear! A bloke missing a large percentage of his front teeth with an unwashed mass of something vaguely resembling hair is asleep in the boot of an equally filthy car. Things go further South from here. The gear stick is some sort of 2 foot long plastic dildo and our smelly chariot driver spends most of the journey flicking through videos and ringing potential dates. Maybe a wash would be a starter for 10. Better still, eyes on the road please. I really don’t fancy getting up close and personal with 48 inches of plastic schlong. The meter hidden by a carefully placed towel, didn’t help. Will be grabbing a Grab car next time.

Somehow, the grim reaper missed us and we arrive in Bangkok CBD for a week with Jackie’s Dad, awesome!

Our exploration of the Apple Isle seems to be racing to the end. Thank fu(k that we didn’t listen to the naysayers and doom mongers about visiting this incredible island in the middle of winter. Sure, it was a tad chilly, but the advert said, “Become a Winter person”. Hire a tricked up motorhome and take your pick of which unoccupied piece of paradise to park in. Spent one last night at Friendly Beaches before waking up to another perfect day. A perfect morning for a dip in the sea! Again, the Tassie ad had some imbecile sprinting into the blue stuff for a refreshing dip. For reasons unknown, I decided to mimic that imbecile, stripped down to a pair of shorts and pressed go on the sprinting button. My modern attempts at speed are generally reserved for last orders at the bar or an emergency dash to the dunny the morning after a feisty vindaloo. The results of this particular dash into the Tasmanian Sea held no surprises. Wondering whether I would ever see my hampton again, I took a second splosh to re-check the temperature before retreating to our heated motorhome and a hot shower to defrost the meat and two veg.

Underpant contents restored, we decided on the carpark at the back of another pub in Dodges Ferry for our last night. Only about half an hour or so from Hobart to drop the horse off seemed like a solid idea. Solid that is until we got there. The pub looked like a nasty version of a shitty RSL and the car park was a muddy mess, no thank you! Straight back on the road away from Dodgy Ferry and back to the Dunalley Hotel another 20 minutes down the road. Log fires, a generous feed, and an ale or two ensue. Muchas gracias.

Next day, met the horse owner at the Senataph before she dropped us off at our new digs in the harbour. Everybody loves hearing the words, “We have upgraded you”. Top floor suite? Don’t mind if we do. Time for a mooch about. The winter rain decided to say hi, so we didn’t manage to get past Australia’s oldest pub a few blocks away. The ancient Hope and Anchor fed and watered us whilst we waited for the rain to pass and booked a late evening spot in a Greek restaurant. That little bluster that we swerved with a slurp or two turned into something a tad more feisty. We happily smashed out octopus and general bubble-n-squeak based nibbles whilst a rogue high tide destroyed our beach campsite from just a few days ago. Holy crap, that ba$tard would have put the rented horse under about two feet of very uninsured water! Happy AF to be on the 3rd floor 2Nite.

Back in the watertight security of our 3rd floor suite, the general flavour and breath based waft of garlic gets washed down with a final grape based beverage before landing on the ridiculous ultra king sized bed. Here we are again! The sleeping zone is uncomfortably close to the waste disposal zone. No dramas having to climb over the Mrs for a dump but the noise factor is still front and centre. Drop a few layers of paper on the water to reduce the splosh sound, stick a finger in there to split the log or clamp the bugger until the morning? Choices! Daylight appears and the most sensible option is downstairs for a dump. The lift appears so why not? B button pressed for access the bar dunny and off I go. Maybe now is a safe opportunity to stomp on a duck or two in the lift? No! Door opens on the 1st floor! Trying to absolve myself of guilt as a family spend the next few minutes choking on Greek food based gas is as futile before another unbelievably noisy duck treading episode invades the peace and quiet of a one level journey. Oops!

Booked ourselves into a trot around the harbour, this thing is multiple sized Sydney Harbours. Pretty awesome if you ignore the ignorant fu(kwits sharing their snacks with the floor for others to clean up. Happy that some other chap mentioned their filth before I presented these pricks with a dustpan and brush!

There is museum in Hobart called Mona that requires a boat ride and a whole day to experience. Frankly happy to find it closed. Never a fan of things like monkey shit on canvas. Turns out however that the beaver gallery there is quite famous. Just a heads up if any blokes have ever found traces of plaster of Paris downstairs on the Mrs, her clam may now be displayed in this establishment for artistic and educational reasons for other imbeciles to review.

I am now a Grandfather, so maybe a gift from this part of the world could work in the UK. Apparently, the UK is a tad warmer than the usual wet, chilly rubbish so maybe Ugg boots for Eirinn are a sh!tty choice. Uggie store in Hobart too good to walk past, grabbed a pair for me too. Mailing the buggers over was almost as expensive as the Uggies, hopefully they get to Blighty before her feet grow!

Meantime, we are back to the comfort of Shitstar for the two and a half hour waft back to Brisvegas, who invented these seats?

Back home, we have a few rooms left to smash out. Quite normally, we attack the easy stuff before the annoying stuff. Annoying in this house involves ending with the green and pink stripes painted on a quite normal, white-ish wall. Why, why would anyone take the care of taping straight lines on a wall to add hallucinogenic colours in a kid’s room. I wonder if the parents ever questioned the progress from pulling wings off flies to treating Fido next-door to chilli infested treats. Never mind the insistence on breastfeeding at age 16 when most normal teens are smashing out Columbias latest fun powder downstairs. These poor kids are probably finishing their Chemistry degrees at Uni now We are making sure that the latest Jeffrey Dahmer and his sister have not used the underside of the house for body parts. Painting now finished and the place looks fricking awesome.

Back in reality, we pop into our local theatre for the final of a short play, one scene thing. Epic and fabulous on stage, 100% worth getting involved with next year. What I won’t be involved with again is a clown who introduced herself as a life member of 45 years and the recipient of 5 years of best actress when Audrey Hepburn was strutting her stuff in Hollywood. “On the board just there”. Apparently, she took a break from the stage because people were getting bored of her. I worked that sh!t out after 5 seconds.

Our fabulous friend, Megs somehow invited herself to Xmas in July with her new beau, Sean. Simple rules, they bring mulled wine stuff and slow cooker, baked camembert thingy and a few slurps. We create roast porky and crackle bits, wind up the party lights, turn the tunes to max and give the neighbours the good news with the digeridoo. No idea how these guys hit the road at 8am in the morning, our 12 bells pickleball sesh was a sh!tshow.

Next morning also brings the latest bird war dramas. Our feathered friends have generally worked out a hierarchy; the loud and generally pecky species end up on top. A few catapult shots continue to discourage the unwanted varieties. This moment of peace was disturbed by the fattest of fat cats invading our balcony from elsewhere in the cul-de-sac, turns out that cats don’t like catapults either!

Here we go again! #vanlife. This time the Emerald Isle is our destination. Probably about as close to Antarctica as you can get without a boat. Heading there in the middle of winter, probably up there with some of our more random choices. Everyone that we have talked to thinks that we are barking mad. Too late now, Qantas points used, motorhome paid for. Suitcases loaded up with fluffy dressing gowns, thick socks, ski jackets, merino ball bag warmers, gloves, Ugg boots and a change or two of undies. Chef’s knives packed but the uniform stays at home. Popped a bow tie in just in case a random need arises. 2.30am start and we loaded up the car for the 90 minute blast to Brissy Airport. Cheeky, 2 and a half hours flight and the cheery Captain announces, “Welcome to Hobart, the weather is sunny and currently, 8 degrees”. It begins! Now begins the usual fiasco of bellends leaping out of their seats as soon as the aircraft stops. Desperately grabbing that oversized piece of hand luggage that was amazingly, exactly where they put it, then stand in the aisle for 10 minutes, going nowhere until the doors open! The same Bellends then get as close to the baggage carousel as possible in the hope that their blue bag with pink ribbon pops out first. Someone’s bag has to be last, today it’s me! Our horse is meeting us in the pickup area so off we trot.

Memories of our last van collection are creeping in now. Recollections of a squeaking van sends shivers down the spine that have fu(k all to do with the near freezing temperature. Fear not, round the corner comes Roamer, a sleek 7.3 metre, Mercedes powered vision of beauty. Anyone who has been in one of these will understand that a Motorhome designed for 6 is 100% perfect for 2. That bulbous nose bit at the front is just as stupid as it looks. Fearsomely dangerous to get into after a few ales, impossible to get out of for a piss without waking up every living creature within 100 metres, but perfect for oversized suitcases full of Aldi ski jackets. The table at the back gets set up as a permanent double bed and the other table sits conveniently next to the kitchen. Solar power, gas fuelled hot water, diesel heater, a few other bells n whistles and we are off.

First stop, 5 mins round the bay to see a modern internet sensation, Neil the Seal. The word influencer generally invokes images of imbeciles spouting bollox into a tiny, fluffy microphone, hoping against reality that their shitty, illiterate posts will pay for a free meal or a ticket somewhere. Reality is that there are probably 100 million wannabes chasing the same dream and 1 seal with more attention than most of them combined. Neil when we found him was having a bit of a nap after a general rampage and street furniture destruction session on the way back from the pub. Quickly avoided the TV cameras awaiting the next one ton seal vs posh neighbourhood episode and got on our way.

Next stop, a supermarket with room to park the horse. Sorrel is about 15 mins from the airport, big outdoor parking area with a Coles. Managed to find a couple of metre long, fur covered hot water bottles, whacked those into the trolley as well as enough edible goodies for a few days, plenty of liquid entertainment juice, a handful of duck and venison sausages for brekky and our adventure begins. The faithful Park4Night app guides us to free parking in a field behind a pub about half an hour away in Dunalley. Horse parked, a few pints and pub grub was the only option after our pre sparrow’s fart start. Fish chowder and a wicked goat curry in front of a roaring fire were fricken awesome. Heater on and early to bed. Oversized water bottles and diesel heater did exactly what they said on the tin, utter comfort and toasty happiness all round, all night.

After 23 years here, some things still catch me out. Jax suggested popping to Port Arthur. Like most of us, I was aware of the 1996 massacre, just not aware that the place was a convict era penitentiary rather than something akin to every other town with the word Port in its name. Spent an awesome day here being educated rather more politely than the thousands of poor souls that got busted for nicking bread a couple of hundred years ago. Imagine my horror the next day when we get to Coles Bay to find the only fu(king supermarket is the convenience store in a grubby Big4 caravan park. My education continues.

How does an uninvited guest always turn up into a securely locked motorhome? Smash out a Michelin level feed and a beverage or two, followed by a few rounds of ‘watch the knob reversing a trailer’, maybe a card game or two, then off to bed. Inevitably, sometime before dawn, Mr Whippy wakes somebody up! That unwelcome pressure downstairs and the eternal choice, is this a baby fart that I can get away with in bed or an unscheduled visit to the laundromat. Climbing over another human en-route to the dunny is risky, stretch too far and the aforementioned dilemma is far more dramatic. Complete the assault course with sphincter closed then just 2 paces to safety. More choices now, aim and fire in the dark or take the safe, seated option. Option 1 normally ends with having to use the shower head and disinfectant before breakfast. Option 2 becomes a battle of control: Balance the number one valve against the other, somewhat noisier and nasty one. Option/number 2’s are banned in confined spaces so clenching and a precautionary wipe precede the return assault course. Regardless of the result, one of the more important issues in the morning is finding somewhere to drop off Mr Whippy and his antisocial chums. A few k’s down the road, there is a sign for tourist information 500m away, perfect. Naturally, the anticipation of release relaxes things slightly, until tourist info turns out to be a notice board with a tin roof. Clench back on and a 10am winery visit suddenly looks OK. Further down the road, a seafood gaff smashing out all manner of tomorrow’s problems seems more sensible. Sanitary looking porcelain facilities look like paradise. Mr Whippy generally has the last laugh now as you ponder endless wiping vs direct action with the dunny brush.

Chocolate starfish now shiny clean, we nip into Freycinet National Park, cough up $53 for an annual park pass and an outrageous $16 for a powered site overlooking the beach before a fairly wicked hike up the granite to unreal views over the Tasman Sea. Light fading now so a gentle jog down the mountain, navigate the horse back to stable number 13 and tuck into a serious bowl of cacio e pepe washed down with some feisty Tassie Syrah. Heater and furry water bottles sorted, life is awesome.

Do we stay or do we go now? This place is perfect but maybe there is next level perfect? Had another waft around the National Park for a not too early hour or two before the hungry monsters woke up. Lobster Shack in Bicheno sounds like a lunch stop and the hint of a place called Friendly Beaches to park the horse overnight sounds epic. Popped into the local marine farm again for oysters, sushi and scallops before checking out Friendly Beaches at the end of 1.8kms of gravel track better suited to a tank than a Motorhome. $16 last night, zero here. No mobile signal, Wallabies, Echidnas and Wombats roaming around is just perfect. Also turns out to be part of the National Park that we coughed up for in no-Coles Bay. Back down the bone shaker, en-route to Lobsterville 20 mins away. Half a lobster for 115 bucks, crikey, it’s like being back in Sydney Fishmarket! Popped an order of squid rings and chippies on top and headed upstairs to an unexpectedly children free area. Nipped back to the horse for a cheeky Pinot Gris and smuggled that bugger in to wash the fishy stuff down. The bottle also doubled up as a handy smashing device for the more stubborn lobster bits.

Back to Friendly Beaches and backed Roamer’s oversized arse into a slot looking over the beach. The beach is crystal white sand and the bluest of blue water. A couple of nosy wallabies pop over to say hi. This really is friendly beaches. Probably gunna whizz back to the seafood gaff in the morning for a fat bastard’s portion of moules and a cr@p, then stay here again tonight before a gentle waft back to Hobart. Bloody oath

In the early 15th Century, a bloke called Michelangelo got persuaded by a few kiddy fiddling sorts to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. It took him about four years. Fu(k that! It took me a couple of weeks to tackle the ceilings in Cooroy and that was plenty without any pre/post mass shenanigans in the vestry! With Jackie meanwhile, we have also attacked the inside doors. A hefty scrub with the orbital sander, some undercoat, a couple of layers of Dulux love and the rather nasty, faeces green has been upgraded to dunny paper white. To compliment the doors, the walls of this place looked a bit like the inside of a 1980’s pub. That grubby, inconsistent yellow from years of punters smashing out packets of smokes over a few pints. Ours was either sh!t paint or applied by a few blokes serving an exclusion order from the local watering hole. Regardless, it’s starting to look awesome and clean. I on the other hand look like a hairy, human paint brush. Had a chap come round and spray the garage door and the front fence has been given the good news with left over decking oil.

Away from painting, pickleball is still a hoot. Jax had a bit of mindblock, electing for a leap/aerial smash combo before engaging in any realistic warmup stuff. Pulled a muscle in her lower back, game over! A visit to the local village healer returned some mobility before an especially vicious Pilates session undid the good work! That will be a few more days off the pickleball court, a few more visits to the herbs and needles woman and a postponed horse riding session. Personally, not sure which is the lesser of these two evils, horse riding or being poked with long needles. Not planning on engaging with either!

Our seemingly unstoppable journey towards becoming Queenslanders continues. Popped into the local SES for a shoofty and an induction session one evening. Can’t realistically see either of us frolicking around on roofs, dragging tarpaulins in the pi$$ing rain, but there are plenty of terra firma based activities that we can take part in. Chainsaws anyone? Turns out that our NSW driver licenses are about as welcome here as farting in a lift, just not as funny. A quick trip to the nearest Transport and Main Roads mob, a couple of towns away results in a somewhat unnerving surrender of said licenses and the issue of bits of paper masquerading as replacements. I kinda needed that for Tassie! Fortunately, the digital version works a day or so later.

The bird wars continue on the veranda. There are several fronts to this conflict. Firstly discouraging the Sulphur Crested Airborne destruction units, then the noisy, bird table tipping currawongs. Turns out that neither of these species appreciate having small stones pelted at them. Less than zero chance of any accuracy over 20 metres away but they took the hint. Like many conflicts, the enemy works out your weaknesses. The unwelcome avian species now sitting in the trees just outside stone pelting range, squawking loudly and waiting for skirmish opportunities. Catapults are legal up here! Turns out the birds don’t like these either. Birds 1:Bear 2. I doubt however that this is the final score.

Our newly renovated deck has hosted its first guests for dinners and lunches. Had an uninvited kookaburra land on the table, looking eagerly at the roast pork on our plates. Next thing we know is the cheeky, fat fu(ker launches down the table, removes an impressive chunk of pig from a plate and heads for the trees. Could have been worse, could have been my plate! Looking forward to plenty more of these and plenty more excuses to fire up the wood burner. Xmas in July locked in. Collecting and burning pine cones is becoming a bit of an obsession. Even found a big wooden bed on the side of the road looking for a new home. Not sure if it’s previous owners considered this to be a few rounds with Mr Chainsaw and Mr Wood Burner, regardless, onto the roof of the car it went and home it came.

Motorhome games in the Tasmanian Winter up next!

So, it’s Queensland. Recent events on the origin field have fu(k all interest for me, despite the entire population of our local town complaining about the result of a footy game. 1 nil down in the series on the back of a knock on, I would still back the passion of the blokes up here to take the cookies!

We have taken some moments to reflect on our new home and have a bit of a mooch around.

We bumped into a bloody big parrot called Bella, (Not Bellend!), at Eumundi Markets. Turns out that Bella lives in a bird sanctuary in a place called Maleny. Bella and her newfound best friends are mostly birds that have been snatched from their natural habitats and popped into cages for imbeciles’ enjoyment. When said imbeciles get bored of their colourful pets and their insatiable appetites, the birds cannot be returned to nature, so end up in the knacker’s yard or places like Bird World. We popped down to Bellend’s house to see her and her chums in their new home. Turns out to be the mother of all aviaries, with room to spread those massive wings. Those foolish enough to pay the 47 buck entry fee get treated as a walking perch. Jewellery, buttons and ear lobes are fair game for all manner of colourful, screeching, flying beasts. Bellend renewed our friendship by nibbling JT’s finger and consuming a fair percentage of my favourite fedora! The place is also home to a heap of farmy type beasts including the world’s most angry and aggressive turkey. Stomped our way through the llama poo and headed to the local ale establishment for refreshments and a shower.

Back home in the bustling town that we call home, a new gaff called The Nook plays host to comedians, poetry sessions and small bands. 40 ticket holders get a VIP seat in a BYO venue with a handy bottle shop next door. There is also an Indian underneath for necessary soakage and pre entertainment nibbles. Our evening played host to a couple of chicks called the Hussy Hicks. Serious talent, so close up makes a pretty awesome evening. Wash it all down with a couple of visits to the bottle-O and a vibrant vindaloo belly, the 20 minute walk back through town takes a tad longer on the way home. Dark, takes on a new meaning up here with few street lights and bugger all other than a head torch to avoid Queensland’s nocturnal beasts. Many stumbles and giggles later, our destination, the ugly duckling that we call home, is somehow reached.

Our ugly duckling was a scruffy, unruly, 15 year old teenager. Unwashed and generally grubby when we moved in. She now looks genuinely grown up and seriously pretty. The filthy roofs have been chlorine washed back to their natural beauty. The whole exterior has enjoyed a fresh coat of paint and the woodwork has slurped up several expensive tubs of oil. Pre-school seems like a weird name for a paint colour. In reality, it is a weird colour! A soft, light blue number that looks fu(king awesome against the surfmist white colorbond on the roof and eves. Dark brown merbau deck oil hides 10 years of neglect, damage from tenants and Queensland’s feisty weather. Our ugly duckling has grown into a beautiful young lady. Inside, the shitty, plastic blinds, suspect curtains and dodgy rails have found their way to the bin. Replaced with things that look less like a nasty brothel! All of our downlights have now been upgraded to party lights. These are awesome, neutral whites or off yellows for normal behaviour. Violent waves of music activated trance colours for the weekend. Making heaps of friends with our new neighbours!

On the subject of upsetting our neighbours, a ghost from our 2023 road trip dropped in to say hi. Say hi that is, and consume a beverage or two. Dee is a living legend and a barrage of noise and fun. Popped into the Pomona Hotel for a couple of warm up sherberts before bailing out as the language exceeded lunchtime audience. Headed home via the bottle-O. Nothing unexpected was going to happen here. Beverages consumed, karaoke set up enjoyed at full throttle and the didgeridoo given a few neighbour friendly blasts on a school night! Bloody oath!

In the meantime, two solid weeks of rain have turned the formerly named Sunshine Coast into a network of lakes and rivers, the quiet creek behind the house looks more like Nazaré and even our friendly parrots look sad. 

Under the house and safely in the dry, our firewood collection has happily doubled in size and sits on its shiny new, termite proof structure. The choppable bits have been attended to courtesy of my shiny chopper and there is a swanky looking, battery powered chain saw sitting in the garage ready to attend to the larger specimens. The wood burner is now in regular use. Mr chain saw could be joining me for a bush visit soon!

On the subject of the bush, there are some unreal walks around here, kicked off with a gentle 6k number around the forests of Black Mountain. After 23 years in this awesome country, it is still exciting to be amongst kangaroos in the wild.

Took a cheeky overnight to Brisvegas to see a show called Wankernomics in an old power station in New Farm. An awesome venue that we took a waft into to check out the bars mid arvo. Popped a bottle of wine into a water bottle and headed in for the evening’s entertainment. Most of us have never heard of Wankernomics because it doesn’t really exist. Pivot this and pivot that. Consult this, consult that and send the invoice. Fu(k all input and 0% outcome. Truth is, if you are in the corporate world, you have heard words and phrases like, 360 degree all-hands ideation session, stakeholder buy-in, focus groups, strategic deliverables and outcomes focussed outcomes. Stack that up with heaps of meetings and meaningless gatherings and collect the pay cheque. Enough said, so happy that I pulled the pin on this world so many years ago. 

Much fun had so checked out of our pad the next morning and spent an outrageous 50 cents to hop on the ferry to the other end of Brisbane and hop off at Southbank for a cheeky Italian feed. Then back to New Farm to collect the car and a rude 3 hour drive back to paradise. Just over two months up here and we are used to no traffic at all. No traffic lights and minimal percentage of dickheads on the road. Well over an hour to clear Brisvegas, will take the train next time!

Pickleball continues to consume a fair chunk of our spare time, 3 outings a week is pretty much standard. Super happy and not so humble champions yet again and J4X has now been handed her own session to host and mould into her own. Pretty special that this is one of only two sessions a week in our little home town. Exciting times ahead.

Just over a month now and we are starting feel like this is home. Is it ever going to be OK to be a Queenslander? I don’t own a sleeveless shirt or a dodgy hat. I generally wear shoes and some sort of upper carcass coverage to the supermarket or the pub, and generally arrive at said venues via car, scooter or foot, rather than a horse! Fu(k me, I could be in trouble here!

This part of our land however, is the Australia that you dream of. Wake up to parrots, magpies, heaps of unknown, noisy species and kookaburras. Smashing out brekky and coffee on the deck whilst the local parrots smash out the seeds overlooking the creek and bush is a truly shitty experience. 

2-minute drive or 10-minute walk into town reminds me of the DY that we fell in love with 24 years ago. No traffic lights, no traffic, no tolls, no high rise and the clowns that run the nation are 1000km further away! 

Work on our pad is going to be an ever-extending list of utterly essential and ‘nice to have’. The lawns are now largely under control and I have stopped looking for ways to smuggle a small herd of goats into the back yard. Time to focus on a few other things…

There is a wood burner in the lounge to annoy climate change moaners and keep Mr Frost and his chilly chums outside in winter. Mid-April here with 28-30 degree days questions the need for extra heat, but $20 bags of hardwood from the local servo won’t feed this greedy little bugger for long. Popped out for a lunch with the fabulous Chris and AM who offered us use of their ute for a blast up and down Rainbow Beach. Images of unsuspecting bellends stranded in the sand whilst King Neptune wafts around, trident in hand are not really on our ‘to do’ list. Use of said ute to collect a heap of firewood seemed like a much more sensible option. Whacked on some scruffy work gear and steel capped boots, grabbed the extra chunky gloves and headed off to collect $150 worth of winter warmers that J4X found on Marketplace. Rocked up at some bloke’s rural hideaway and chucked everything that we could find into the ute tray. Everything that is except a few nasty looking black scorpions, inch long ants and a selection of generally feisty looking critters. Hauled our load back to Cooroy and stacked it up under the house. Turns out that is a really bad idea in the tropics. Ravenous termites see firewood as an open pantry and a welcome mat to start scoffing the house frame. I had never heard of an ant cap! 6 of the buggers are now inbound courtesy of Bunnings, will grab the concrete blocks next week too, problem solved! The tricky task of reducing truly adult sized logs into useable portions is going to require several hundred swings of our newly acquired log splitting axe. A Ute load of wooden pallets is being dealt with courtesy of the circular saw and I reckon we are set for anything that the Queensland winter can throw at us. 

Winter also threw us another curveball when the airmiles eating entity that calls itself Qantas informed us that we had about a week to use a bunch of points or hand them over the likes of the now departed, arrogant Irish dwarf. WA looked like a warm option, but accommodation is next level pricey in the winter. Tasmania is probably the chilliest Aussie option in July but Hobart and 8 nights in a motorhome are just about affordable if the Orange Oompa Loompa sorts out his beef with Iran. Red wine, hearty grub and wood fires here we come!

Back in renovation reality, time to tick a few more tasks off the list…

We have booked a chappie in to give the roof a dose of chlorine based, pressure wash love then give the out of reach bits a bit of a blast before we repaint. 

Super bright downlights in the kitchen are awesome but not much fun for cozy evenings in the lounge when you are trying to watch telly after dark. Dimmers and reliable LED downlights are expensive and unpredictable, so app-controlled smart lights look like fun. Fun is a bit of an understatement when standard white or yellowish lights become infinite colour options synched to trance music at the touch of a button. Sadly, linked fire alarms in every room restrict the use of smoke machines. Gunna put a couple of these puppies on the balcony and announce our arrival to the neighbours! Bedroom lights got a slightly more adult makeover.

It is a sad day when the cold porcelain of a dunny is more comfortable than the cheap and nasty seat that adorns it. Quick trip to Bunnings sorts that problem and the dunny returns to its status as a useful reading room.

Boxes are now fully unpacked and pictures generally filling wall space. Time to start socialising!

Our lovely pickleball mate, Megan invited us over for a sleepover and an 80’s music and dance night at Coolum Bowl-o. Lock that fu(ker in! Living opposite a Dan Murphy’s and walking distance to the bowl-o is going to test the sturdiest of livers, Megs didn’t disappoint with a fearsome array of nibbles and slurps. We were at boarding school together in the 80’s and no strangers to getting on the piss under the gym before the school disco. This should be a hoot without having to hide from teachers! Turns out that 80’s music Oz is 100% different from 80’s stuff  in Dorset. Having never heard most of the tunes, competing with Lethario & Co on the dancefloor was interesting and exciting. You know it has been a long evening when the bowling greens look more comfy than the walk home.

Forever the explorer and seeker of fun, J4X finds a field of sunflowers to have a romp around in. Play the game of avoid the snakes and bees then head off with a heap for $1 a stem. Don’t mind if we do.

Having treated the pesky cockatoos to a few blasts from the hose, our new avian friends join us throughout the day, generally redecorating our deck and making a nuisance of themselves.

A gentle 10 minute scooter ride to Eumundi Markets is a handy excuse for eating German sausage and sampling local produce. Like gin! Found a purple version that turns pink with tonic. Cracked one of those cheeky chappies open on the balcony. Won’t be sharing this with the kookaburras.

I could be in the market for an Akubra soon.

The calendar says three weeks now and we are still getting over the reality of our decisions. Holy crap, it is paradise up here. No traffic, no traffic lights, no tolls. Parrots and whip birds greet us in the morning and we can wander into town for a lazy coffee or an ale, bloody oath!

We have a slightly weird order of priorities in our new home. So many boxes and flat packed furniture! Bed reassembled with a couple of bedside tables. Sofa unwrapped and popped back together. Telly plumbed into our new fibre broadband. A quick wander into town stocked up a few essentials like milk and a 5kg lump of local rump steak, don’t mind if we do! Pulled the sourdough starter out of the esky and gave her a feed. 

Fabulous Jackie gets started on the unpacking whilst I un-flatpack tables and chairs. Every bedroom here has a built in wardrobe to swallow up the shorts and T-shirts that we need up here, just with hanging space only! Bunnings became the next stop to grab a few modular shelfie thingies to avoid any awkward T-shirt/sock/underpant confusion situations. Also purchased a couple of lights for our pickleball sized deck and some shiny new lines for washing line that looked like a demented spaghetti tree. A swift wander down the lawn mower isle added a new goat alternative for our national park sized lawn then off to the electrickery zone for a set of four downlights for the kitchen.

Washing line installed and tumble drier handsomely attached to the wall, the troublesome business of a week on the road can now be dealt with. Functioning downlights in the kitchen only revealed further items in Pandora’s infamous box. The dishwasher looked like a dish-dirtier and the cooktop like something from a uni student’s hall of residence. The Appliance Online troops solved the dishwasher issue the next day, Cerapol and Mr Scraper returned the cooktop to sanitary satisfaction levels.

Time to tackle the lawns! Slight regret here by not buying a larger grass clipping machine or a small tractor. Larger regret by attacking said task with a small hangover and 30 degree heat. The last time these lawns had seen a trim was possibly when T-Rex and his chums were feasting on vegetarians. Much of the paddock was knee deep grass and the poor little mower didn’t enjoy the experience any more than I did. Green bin stuffed full and off to pickleball in the evening for a Round Robin sesh. Chuffed AF to win at our first time of asking but wonder if that was a good idea in our new home. Too late now!

The deck lighting also revealed a new horror, so water blasting next on the agenda. Generally, decking boards have little gaps between them to allow the passage of water and small creatures. This gaff was built around 2009 and probably hasn’t seen a pressure washer. Several millimetres of black nastiness needed to be shifted before the wood re-appeared. Need to find a weather window before re-oiling this bugger.

Jackie’s little go-kart was fighting for space in the garage so that was next on the agenda. Whacked up some hooks for the garden toys, and shelf for the esky and general space consuming stuff. My spell with Coles Online also added a few handy crates for keeping stuff off the floor and the task is complete.

Hanging anything on plasterboard walls is a fun experience on a good day. Plasterboard walls in a fibro house is double the fun and so begins the game of find a joist! Mr Knuckle and Mr Drill do the homework before Mr Screwdriver and his metallic chums get involved. Mirrors up now, just a packing crate and cupboard full of paintings to find homes for.

Doorbell installed to inform us of the hoard of visitors that will never be here. Foose table up and ready to ensure that the aforementioned visitors never come. On the subject of visitors, we decided to encourage our avian chums with a small bird feeder thingy. Small being the order of the day to discourage marauding, deck eating and fly screen destroying Cockatoos. Having never seen or heard one of the Sulphur Crested pests, I was more than horrified to see the bird feeder almost horizonal whilst one of them watched his destruction from the safety of a tree. Safe however for him was in range of the jet setting on the hose. Turns out that cockatoos don’t like hosepipes, took the fu(ker three attempts before he got the message, haven’t seen him since. We now enjoy our brekky in the company of king parrots and rosellas.

Sourdough starter culture used for general brekky business, we are somehow on first name terms with the local bottle-O and the most wanted list of our new pickleball community. Found a purveyor of local mud crabs in the market. Life is good.

Destination Queensland

OK, so 6 months or so of fixing up our fabulous house in Cromer has come to an end. Every wall, door and ceiling painted. Sparky bits re-sparked. Dodgy dunny piping areas relined. Iffy deck planks replaced. Spa cleaned and disconnected. 

The utterly awesome troops at The Property Colab came good on the first open viewing. 15 groups around on a Saturday, deposit paid on Tuesday, holy crap, this is real now. We are no strangers to misbehaviour, change or adventure, but this is now getting serious. Saying cheerio to a life and the friendships that we have built over 24 years is fu(king scary. We said a cheerful but teary farewell to our pickleball mates and headed home for the last night. 

Removal troops wafted up at about 8am and were slightly unimpressed that their truck couldn’t squeeze its fat arse up the drive. Happy that we weren’t the people lugging 40 or 50 cubics down the drive! 5 hours later these guys get on the road with a suggestion that they will stop in Newcastle, then deliver at middayish the next day. Poor Lizzie gets a call from the removal boys at about 6am, “we’re here!”. Absolute trooper, makes the 30 minute drive to Cooroy to let the boys in.

Bear and J4X in the meantime slope off to Meg’s posh penthouse pad in DY for the night. Saturday morning is here and we need to get our arses up to Terry Hills for Sam and Brooke’s wedding. An incredible privilege marrying a childhood friend and namesake of our Sam. Crazy and fabulous. 

Chillout/recover day Sunday then a final clear-out from Willandra on Monday morning. Tiny few bits to remove and walk the pool chap through our somewhat unique setup. House cleaners doing their thing, chaps checking lights and fire alarms, general fossicking people doing some fossicking. Dropped the keys off with the Property Colab troops and tried not to cry, this is and was our choice. Off we go.

Wheels on the tarmac now. Sadly, our first stop on the Central Coast was cancelled due to Keith and Caroline being stranded in Thailand! Pushed through to Lake Cathie and Ray & Lee’s gaff about 4 hours away.

Spent a couple of nights and general misbehaviour with the Pursers then an early start for the 800km hop to the Sunny Coast. Not 100% happy being in separate cars again, but took the appropriate stops and hugs. Crawled in for an early evening arrival with the MoonBears in Peregian Springs.

Bloody Hell! We are here! About 1000km North of Sydney that we have called home for so many years and this is our new home.

Our place looks tired and unloved but we knew this. Most of the lights are broken or generally sh!t. The layout however is epic. Every room comes off a central living area and the balcony overlooks the bush and river. Life doesn’t get much better than the birds being noisier than the traffic!

The work begins….

So, 2 days whizzing around on the the white stuff, a stack of ridiculous feeds, a beverage or two and a turn on the world’s biggest swing and the weather forecast Gods appear to be getting the sh!ts. Booked ourselves a wine tasting day, posh looking little bus with 8 or so tasters and a 9.20am pickup, lovely jubbly!

Fortunately, the d!ckheads in the weather office here have no more clue than the clowns on our side of the ditch! Skies are blue and our bus pulls up at 9.20 sharp. First stop Gibbston Valley winery where an entrepreneurial Irishman decided on hiring a few explosives experts to extend his property under the next door mountain. Not strictly legal, but bloody oath, next level awesome. Brand new, sound proof party zone and perfect conditions for maturing the fermented grape stuff. Happy AF that the insultingly awful Sauvignon Blank hails from the Southern parts of these lands and won’t be appearing on our tasting menus today. On the subject of grape varietals, I have personally always considered Pinot Noir not to be a real wine, more a slightly watered down version of something tasty. Let’s get cracking on my edumucation!

There is a touch of guilt and something sublimely pleasing about raising the first vino of the day just after 10 bells, Pinot Gris, don’t mind if I do.

Predictably, the noise level in the bus is on the up as we exit the second winery, a few of the more strident tasters are coming round to the idea of some swinging or a cheeky skydive!

Round 3 on our tour involves a BBQ lunch as well as a few more slurps. My Pinot Noir journey is well underway and I have to confess to being a convert. No standard BBQ here, some clever Kiwis have repurposed wine barrels into a sort of smoker/blast furnace, hybrid thing that does proper justice to chunks of protein. 5 courses of this with matching grape juice and the bus volume heads up another notch.

Cheese platter with more wine and noise last up, then a quick stop in historic Arrowtown for a shoofty around. A swift lap of this 100m long town gave us just enough time for a cheeky pit stop in the pub and a pint of ginger bear, (Not a spelling mistake).

Inevitably the day ended up in a bar back in Queenstown with the bus driver in tow, gunna be a slow start tomorrow.

Brekky and coffee consumed, time for a wander up the gondola just behind our pad. Views over this fabulous place are next level. Just for giggles, some genius has carved a Luge track into the side of the hill. Let’s be careful we say to each other, one more day on the slopes tomorrow! 2 minutes later, these little buggers are on 2 wheels around the bends, maximum grin factor activated. There is also a handy chairlift back to the top of the track and a few more injury attempts.

Safely back down in town, we give the ice bar a wide berth and take a gentle stroll around the botanic gardens. Walking around such a beautiful place clearly not enough for some. Some bellend has combined a forest, frisbees and a few buckets with chains into frisbee golf! I thought nothing could surprise me. The education continues!

In a nation of sheep botherers, Queenstown is almost totally populated by foreign nationals proudly sporting name badges with country of origin flags. Maybe this is some sort of safety system for the sheep. There is however a large statue of a welly wearing, Velcro gloved individual lording it over his wooly friend down by the marina! Quick waft around the pond on a cruise, then off to the Bunker for a few courses of luxury and an early start up the slopes for our last day.

Things are getting serious when the bus driver pulls over to fit snow chains a quarter of the way up the hill. Up to the top and 12cm of fresh powder has dusted the playground. Legburn o’clock appears to be here again and off we trot. Day three on the slopes after 25 and 30 years, we are carving graceful, curvy patterns down the mountain, no fun at all. 4 hours of grin infested giggles later, it is time to press the buggered button, return the rental gear and kill some time in the bar before our 4 bells bus back down. What a seriously awesome place this is. Home for a shower and a change, then out for a Mexican ahead of a stupidly early flight home. A few spicy micheladas and general starfish bothering nibbles, could be a rough flight for those near 20 A&B.

Can’t believe it took us 23 years to get here, we will be back in a heartbeat. Thank you Queenstown, thank you to our new sponsors, Pinot Noir, The Botswana Butchery and protein purveyors in general. See you soon xxx