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!
