The last couple of days have been spent in Sydney, and boy does it know how to rain here. We decided yesterday to head out to Bondi as Rebecca has been hunting down some shoes for a wedding she's going to back in the UK, and Bondi Junction was the only place they had them in her size. Sounds more like a place in Imperial India than Oz to me, but hey ho.... So I got dragged to a Westfield (never knew it was an Aussie thing) and Wayne and Becca went into full on shopping mode; I actually thought Becca had qualified for citizenship the amount of time she spent in one shop...
Shopping done and we strolled on down to the world famous Bondi beach. Just as we get there it starts to pelt down again. Even if the weather was more akin to Margate on a wet Monday in March, I don't get what all the fuss is about. I know the surf is great there but for god's sake, the place is more like Scarborough than an international jet-set destination for the beautiful people. If they do go there on days like this, I doubt if they stay beautiful for too long. We pitched up at a cafe which would equally have been at home on the rain-soaked and wind-swept coast of Yorkshire; the heaters were on outside and the food was the wrong side of iffy. Rebecca is sweating over a short creative test for a job she's going for here, and I'm sweating under the glow of the heaters and have to bale out early.
We bus it back into town on the world's slowest bus, and head home on the train, ready to head out again for a beer and a Thai dinner in Stanmore. The food is superb and revives our spirits. We head home, thankfully fairly dryly, and spend the rest of the evening watching tv and trying to fathom why Jez is spending so long playing Bad Piggies...
Today is more of the same.....we head out to the City in wet weather, this time in search of treasure to take home with us for friends, and I guess family as well. We are soon done as the Aussie souvenir experience is actually pretty good. We whack it all in two shops and I also sate my desire for fast food with a Hungry Jacks - excellent. Seems to be what we know back home as Burger King - only a hundred times better. It's still pouring, so we head home to go out to Brighton with Rebecca to what is best described as a dessert restaurant, complete with pancakes, ice cream chocolate and unfortunately a nasty bout of sisterly acrimony..... We cut the trip short before murder is done and head back to supermarket and bottle shop for final provisions.
So, here we are, having a quiet evening (aside from Waynes eternal/infernal fidgeting on the sofa)and this time in two days time we will be on that plane home. She'll be fidgeting on there too, no doubt. You get to a point on most holidays where home becomes appealing and fidgeting partners aside, I'm most certainly there now. Bet that appeal vanishes faster than a beer at a barbie, the minute I get back to Swanscombe......and fidgeting is the least of my worries.....
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