Hitting the bitumen

Taking our sackful of dollars from 2 weeks hard graft in the vineyard, we loaded the esky(cool-box) and swags(tent) in the ute(hire car) and hit the bitumen (drove) out into the back o' Bourke (middle of nowhere) for 2 weeks.

It was a tough 2 weeks and we battled against a multitude of adversities:

Plagues of locusts - many of which met a mushy, grisly end on the grille of our Hyundai Getz.

The discomfort of sand between our toes as we strolled along mind-numbingly beautiful beaches, splashing gaily through the crystal clear surf.

Acceptance of the fact that(after one lesson at Margo Rivo) this would be the closest I'd come to 'getting up on a wave'.

Being forced to endure tastings in winerys with quite obviously dubious heritage.

Top spots were Pemberton - where we climbed a big tree (some of us more confidently than others), Kalgoorlie - a wild-west style gold mining town - where beers were served in the saloon by skimpies and we tried to find our fortune through gold panning- and Rottnest Island off the coast of Perth. Apparently Paul McCartney visited in the 70's or 80's and stated "it's the rotten-est island I've ever been on" - well he may be a lyrical genius but in this case he was talking codswallop. We hired a tandem for the day and embarked on a none too steady tour of the island. Beautiful white sandy beaches, enticing crystal clear waters perfect for snorkelling, friendly quokkas (marsupial kangaroo cousins) and us pair of malcos wobbling and weaving our way across the thankfully car-free roads. Even being stung by a jellyfish and spotting a shark -when we were just about to immerse our white-seal-like bodies in the ocean - couldn't destroy the magic.

Cribbage Update: Jools 22 Kev 18. nuff said.