I am back from hols and happy to be home. I do love Melbs, even though it’s chilly and grey. This week I have to hit the ground running; teaching three gigs, getting a thing cut out of my back on Friday and then a mighty Tour de France dinner with my sister and her husband on Saturday. We do this every year, cooking and eating Franch* food, naturellement.

While away I read Questions of Travel (review to come, even though you rightfully probably don’t believe me); began Olive Kitteridge (OMFG it is as WONDERFUL as people say), watched the Tour every night a full two hours earlier than here and was introduced to commentators Carlton Kirby and Irish mumbler and ex-rider Sean Kelly.

We swam and ate and walked not very far. One day we went to a volcano and had lunch (the same volcano I climbed in the dark before sunrise 27 years ago with two boy backpackers I didn’t know and never saw since). Strange moment to be perched on the rim in the extremely touristy restaurant for a buffet rip-off-lunch (rip-off to the tune of a whole $10 a head) with my family. Then we went to the Monkey Forest in the rain and because it was wet and I was wearing thongs (natch) but no Bingtang singlet I can assure you, AND because I wasn’t wearing my glasses because the bastard monkeys can grab and steal and break, I FELL OVER ON MY ARSE AND NOW I HAVE A HUGELY PURPLE BRUISE THERE.


So we’ve had a great holiday but back to reality now of course and how quickly it all wears off.

* Not a typo. This is an homage to Fronck, the delightful wedding planner played by Martin Short in Father of the Bride.

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