Last Saturday, we commenced our south-bound road journey. The trip back home is always less exciting than the one there because the destination marks the end of the holiday.
In order to keep Davey awake, we listened to Radio National, with the hours marked by the familiar ABC fanfare. There was a reasonably interesting assortment of articles. One of the more eclectic involved Brians Blessed and Cox talking about space exploration and poetry. (For those of you who don’t exclusively watch BBC programming, Brian Blessed is the loudest man in the world, usually associated with portraying kings in Shakespearean plays and Brian Cox is touted as “the new David Attenborough” but he’s got a much less posh Lancastrian accent and a slightly rock-star-going-to-seed appearance.)
We stopped in a few different places this time, some which I didn’t even know by name. (I do often know surprisingly obscure regional town names because they are also the names of signalling interlockings, so this was noteworthy.) We ordered some well-made homemade pies from the roadhouse in Carmilla, which seemed quite a remote sort of place; the sort of place that might not notice if travellers went missing… I had a flicker of a thought that perhaps homemade pies might be a mistake, but the owner’s name wasn’t Mrs Lovett so I think we were probably safe.
Our original plan was to make it to Childers in the first day but by the time we arrived in Rockhampton, the temptation to break the journey to sleep was too great and we stopped for the night at our regular, the Rocky Resort Motor Inn. In an unusual move, I tried something other than the steak for dinner and it paid off. I now also recommend the seafood pasta at RRMI.
As we drove out of Rockhampton early on Sunday morning, we saw a waterhole swarming with native birds, so I had to stop and photograph them. It took a little while for me to get a decent shot because the humidity was so high that as soon as I got out of the car, my camera lens fogged up, but I did get there eventually.
On the trip, I had been listening to an interview with a expert on unusual words and found one which might have suited the situation above: Gongoozle (verb) to stare idly at a watercouse. I was excited about getting the opportunity to use a new word but after finding the quite graphic contemporary definition of the word on urban dictionary, I think I might use it sparingly to avoid confusion.
Based on the recommendation of my Aunt and after getting in a spoonful of sugar kind of mood after watching Mary Poppins on Saturday night, I made the request that we stop in Maryborough to see the statue of the famous fictional creation of P.L. Travers (a Maryborough native, who, I just found out, shares a birthday with my dad). She was a little shorter than I though she would be but I suppose I’m not really sure what the metric equivalent of “practically perfect in every way” actually is, so perhaps it was spot on.
As we got closer and closer to home, the smoke grew thicker. I must admit I was surprised that it was smokey from the fires on Straddy so far north, but it did make the landscape look slightly more mysterious than usual.
Somewhere reasonably close to Brisbane, I fell asleep listening to interviews about a war which I hadn’t even known had happened and woke up just in time to advise Davey to take the wrong exit from the freeway. World’s. Best. Navigator.
I had had an incredibly relaxing holiday; it’s a week later and I’m still in a good mood. But I was very glad to get home to my own bed and start off 2014!