Valentines Weekend
I had the most amazing weekend.
Anthony suggested we went away for the weekend as a Valentine's treat, so Thursday night before he got home from work, I packed up all our camping gear and warm clothes. But when he got in, he took one look at the pile and said 'oh no, we're not going camping. And indeed we weren't. The dear boy had only gone and booked us this amazing private cottage in the middle of the countryside, surrounded by nothing but fields and trees and wildlife. As we arrived, there were kangaroos bounding through the field below the house, dozens of cockatoos squabbling in the trees, and swallows making nests in the eaves.
The house itself was just incredible - marble kitchen, flagstone floor, open wood fire, jacuzzi, a double shower and two sinks in the bathroom (I'm not really sure why - but this is clearly the height of poshness). There was a telescope in the bedroom and an enormous bowl of fruit in the kitchen, which we entirely decimated when we discovered the juicer machine in a cupboard. There was champagne that got drunk in the jacuzzi, and for breakfast, which they provided so plentifully that we made two meals out of it. We used everything that on offer, including having fires both nights and falling asleep curled up in front of it.
When we could summon up the spirit to leave our wonderful little nest, we went out to explore the area. We had a horse ride through eucalytus woods, and spent an afternoon in a spa. The area is famous for its mineral waters, so we partook of mineral baths, spas, saunas, and a strange massage machine that shook your by your ankles until you felt like you were melting into a Dali-esque drug-induced pschadelic puddle of humanity. Well, I did anyway - Anthony just felt like he was being shaken by his ankles quite a lot.
We had a private tour round a gold mine that had been essentially entirely unsuccessful, reaping just 3oz of gold in 10 years and not coming close to covering its own costs. Given that we were their only visitors on a summer Saturday afternoon, you could argue they're still not being hellishly productive. But perhaps more so than the Dingo farm we visited - Australia's only. At least, it was - given the offical Bankruptcy notice slapped on the gate, I suspect Australia is now a Dingo-farm free zone. Which is sad, I guess. We did get to see lots of dingos though, as they were happily wandering around the compound by the hundred, and were only seperated from us by a few lines of electric wire. They weren't too keen to come near the fence, but one of them had a good old sniff of my fingers when I reached through to him.
And on the way home, we stopped off at Hanging Rock - of 'Picnic at Hanging Rock' fame. I'd thought it was maybe just one of those places that is only remarkable for having a book/film made about it, but not at all. It is an Aboriginal sacred site, and you can really see why. Very very strange rock formations, and an eerie kind of atmosphere to the place. You can easily imagine the girls going missing there, especially when Anthony decided to take us back off the rocks by his own route, which included sliding down rockfaces without footholds and just hoping we wouldn't break any limbs on the way down. Which was fun, but only once we'd made it to the bottom safely.
So I have been feeling very loved-up and mushy ever since and am trying not to let the real world intervene in that - but the fact remains that I had a job interview on Monday for what might actually be my perfect job, and I waiting in agony to find out the news...
Anthony suggested we went away for the weekend as a Valentine's treat, so Thursday night before he got home from work, I packed up all our camping gear and warm clothes. But when he got in, he took one look at the pile and said 'oh no, we're not going camping. And indeed we weren't. The dear boy had only gone and booked us this amazing private cottage in the middle of the countryside, surrounded by nothing but fields and trees and wildlife. As we arrived, there were kangaroos bounding through the field below the house, dozens of cockatoos squabbling in the trees, and swallows making nests in the eaves.
The house itself was just incredible - marble kitchen, flagstone floor, open wood fire, jacuzzi, a double shower and two sinks in the bathroom (I'm not really sure why - but this is clearly the height of poshness). There was a telescope in the bedroom and an enormous bowl of fruit in the kitchen, which we entirely decimated when we discovered the juicer machine in a cupboard. There was champagne that got drunk in the jacuzzi, and for breakfast, which they provided so plentifully that we made two meals out of it. We used everything that on offer, including having fires both nights and falling asleep curled up in front of it.
When we could summon up the spirit to leave our wonderful little nest, we went out to explore the area. We had a horse ride through eucalytus woods, and spent an afternoon in a spa. The area is famous for its mineral waters, so we partook of mineral baths, spas, saunas, and a strange massage machine that shook your by your ankles until you felt like you were melting into a Dali-esque drug-induced pschadelic puddle of humanity. Well, I did anyway - Anthony just felt like he was being shaken by his ankles quite a lot.
We had a private tour round a gold mine that had been essentially entirely unsuccessful, reaping just 3oz of gold in 10 years and not coming close to covering its own costs. Given that we were their only visitors on a summer Saturday afternoon, you could argue they're still not being hellishly productive. But perhaps more so than the Dingo farm we visited - Australia's only. At least, it was - given the offical Bankruptcy notice slapped on the gate, I suspect Australia is now a Dingo-farm free zone. Which is sad, I guess. We did get to see lots of dingos though, as they were happily wandering around the compound by the hundred, and were only seperated from us by a few lines of electric wire. They weren't too keen to come near the fence, but one of them had a good old sniff of my fingers when I reached through to him.
And on the way home, we stopped off at Hanging Rock - of 'Picnic at Hanging Rock' fame. I'd thought it was maybe just one of those places that is only remarkable for having a book/film made about it, but not at all. It is an Aboriginal sacred site, and you can really see why. Very very strange rock formations, and an eerie kind of atmosphere to the place. You can easily imagine the girls going missing there, especially when Anthony decided to take us back off the rocks by his own route, which included sliding down rockfaces without footholds and just hoping we wouldn't break any limbs on the way down. Which was fun, but only once we'd made it to the bottom safely.
So I have been feeling very loved-up and mushy ever since and am trying not to let the real world intervene in that - but the fact remains that I had a job interview on Monday for what might actually be my perfect job, and I waiting in agony to find out the news...