With bellies full of damper and spirits fortified by proper Italian coffee (I may be willing to sleep on the ground but I can not start my day without proper coffee, and so the moka pot gets to go on holidays as well) we pealed out of Hay and headed west to Mildura, a town on the Mighty Murray River, known for it’s grape production, and more importantly, it’s wine production.
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Roadtrip 2011 Part 2: Green Desert, Lots of Lakes and the Most Boring Tour in the World
Roadtrip 2011 Part 1: In Which We Camp
We’d packed up the ute with all the camping accoutrements we thought we would need, in a fashion some would call haphazard and we would call as organised as Crazy Car Man and Crazy Garden Lady can be. With grins of anticipation and only an hour behind schedule we hit the road. Roadtrip 2011 had begun!
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Graves, Snakes and a Mild Case of Hysterics
A hundred years ago the British sent people suffering from tuberculosis out to a sanitarium just up the road from Crazy Farm. I’m guessing they thought the clean, fresh coastal air would help heal them (and make the perilous journey worthwhile), and while I’m sure some of the patients survived, during the 30 odd year existence of the hospital, over 2000 people died, and were buried in the cemetery attached to the site.
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2010 Round Up
2010 was an absolute corker of a year. This garden malarkey sunk it’s teeth in with a vengeance and quite suddenly I was looking at the world with new eyes. I fell off a motorbike and got married in a Lahu hilltribe ceremony, I fell off a step and discovered Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, I got a new job and found a new career. And I grew loads of plants, battled snails and weeds, contended with Mother Nature’s temper tantrums, experimented madly, got things badly wrong and occasionally got them right.
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The Bridge To Nowhere
It was hot on Sunday. I mean really hot, not just a little bit warm, but so hot my ears were sweating. And I’ll pause while you truly get to grips with that image….
….. you’re getting the hot? Good!
And naturally, being so hot, instead of doing normal things like going to the beach, or swinging in a hammock under a tree drinking a gin and tonic (where the only thing sweating is the cool cool glass), Crazy Car Man decided a walk across a scorching field was the activity du jour.
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When The Wind Blows
I woke up this morning in the most horrible temper. I’d been kept awake most of the night by the howling of the wind, which put me firmly on the wrong side when I swung myself out of bed.
I hate the wind. A frisky breeze can be a most pleasant thing, but when it goes from fluttering the tendrils of my hair to blinding me with said hair and bombarding my blind self with the howling of a thousand ghouls, it’s no longer a pleasant experience and is more akin to fingernails being dragged down a chalkboard.
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