Up early, damn, still can’t find the missing key card for the hotel room. Come on, boys, come on, the bags are in the car, we need to be going. Driving, breakfast in Goulburn, driving, feeling drained. Pull over an
I had plans: Questacon, Parliament House, the National Gallery if we had time. After breakfast in Tuggeranong, we made it to Questacon at about 10am. And that was the day. We left when it closed, at 5pm. We did not
Not the best day, although I suspect that I feel it most. Into the city, and there have been changes in the 20 years since I was last here. The most obvious is the sprawling enclosed mall that now essentially
I’m going to be brief today – it’s already tomorrow as I write. The day started with another breakfast meeting. We must be in Sydney. This time it’s Jill, my favourite cousin, with her daughter Rhianna and friend, Nadine. Rhianna,
A day of rest, mostly. I tried to encourage thoughts of Things We Can Only Do In Sydney but it was like pushing blancmange. And fair enough – we have done much, and we needed a break from our holiday.
With his son he’d run and play And giggle, breathe and sing And even sleep as long as they Were in a bed sized king. Oh, what a difference a metre makes. A good night’s sleep and a good thing,
First job of the day: pack to leave hotel. First crisis of the day: cockroach in Raf’s bag. First entomological question of the day: did we bring it with us or do we have the hotel to thank? Close inspection
A busy day and late to bed should presage a good night’s sleep. Alas for the unfamiliar sounds of a hotel air conditioning system in need of maintenance and the familiar sensations of repeated knees and elbows to the soft
Under 7 football (a win), a federal election (result pending), arancini and a flight to Sydney for me and the boys. A fullish day. It certainly started well. The conditions were classic football, Australian version. There had been rain to
The Arch Window number 27, in which we enter into correspondence.