For some reason, the older you get, the more stuff you do. I've been doing stuff, Sharon's been doing stuff, the kids have been destroyi...doing stuff. You get the picture. I blogged earlier that this year was already the year of the date clash, and that was by month two.
It's basic maths. I must find ONE WEEK out of 52 where
1) I'm not desperately unable to leave work,
2) Sharon isn't at work, or a quilting weekend,
3) There isn't a pony camp, or
4) dancing lessons, or
5) the extended family (which extends across the entire Victorian midwest and some parts of Germany) doesn't have a 21st/ wedding/ birthday/ footy tipping competition which requires our presence
6) A child does not bring home from school a project due yesterday (actually brought home from school a week ago), or the flu, or gnits, or rabies.
7) The horse/cat/guinea pig(s) is/are sick
So, when you calculate that over 52 weeks of the year and factor in religious holidays such as Christmas, Easter, and the Grand Prix, the probability of being able to take a holiday successfully is actually around 1 in 10 to the power of 9, or 1 in 1,456,079,001.
Well, okay. I made that up. Poetic licence. Real mathematicians bugger off now.
So, you see, it's not always my evil billykart racing which is to blame. But we found one week, a little window of fortune which enabled us to get up to the Hawkeses' legendary Pretty Beach house. We'd heard all about this place but were beginning to doubt it actually existed.
So, armed with the Uebergang's DVD player for the trip up we headed off, not really at any stage believing it was really happening. Oh yeah we did...um...stop at Wakefield Park/ Goulburn for some billykart racing. Well, c'mon. I was doing all the driving. I needed to be rewarded with some....more driving.
By that time, the kids had learned at least half of the screenplay from the brilliant Flushed Away starring Hugh Jackman, Kate Winslet and Ian McKellen and I was rather enjoying listening to it, sans pictures.
As if feeding unexpectedly tame Kookaburras on the balcony was not enough, Pretty Beach is all it cracked up to be and more. I won't ruin the pictures with excessive verbage.
Besides, there is little to satirise about (finally) getting to relax with the fam, and do stacks of what I love doing the most: NOTHING. Just the ticket. For once I turned off the phone. Huzzah!
Sadly, Sammy discovered he didn't have sea legs. And this in a boat which had the power of an electric pencil sharpener
Thanks to this hungry Kookaburra, my hand modelling days are now over. MY HANDS..!! MY BEAUTIFUL HANDS...!!
We were also able to catch up with the Sydney Hawkeses at Parammatta on the way back. Particularly "smashing" was seeing chip-off-the-block Peter and wife Bams, both back from Chennai after doing some amazing stuff. Well, I can't be young anymore but I can let someone else do it for me.
There's something exceptionally manly about a Hawkes. Sammy catches up with The Godfather, carrying on a fine tradition
Even the Hawkeses' Parammatta oasis is worthy of a holiday. Hot-tub, brilliant company, beer, botanical gardens. Sigh. Bye for now.