The World's Favourite Scareline
Sorry for the radio silence this soon into the adventure. Truth be told: right now it's quiet. I'd describe myself as dormant and frequently horizontal. I'm just taking it easy. I'm a Cadbury's Caramel.
I am now back in Australia. And for a while I wondered whether I would make it. Chiefly due to my flight over here which was the worst in living memory. For the first four hours I was shunted, buffeted, dropped and rammed from every angle. No, not an impromptu liaison with Scott, the festive Qantas air steward, but rather due to cutting the corner of Tropical Cyclone Nicholas.
I was on the pot when it really kicked in. I had been holding it in for about 20 minutes as the continuous seatbelt sign had been confining people to their seat. And when, in a brief respite, the light had gone off I had bolted for the toilet door, and then bolted the toilet door. However, halfway through seeing that man about that dog, it kicked in.
I thought sitting down might solve the problem, but when 2 minutes later I had been dislodged from the pot and was scrabbling around on the floor, trying to cast a flailing arm into the sink for leverage, I knew we were in for some rough stuff.
But, as weather systems such as this take their energy from the sea, once over land it went from carrier bag in a wind tunnel to ski-ing down silk. We even flew straight over Ayres Rock. Got a great view but, alas, not a great photo.
Pink House Revisited
Arrived back the Pink House at about 9.00 and knocked on the window as I didn't know the security code. First thing I saw was dear Richie, whose "O"-shaped expression of surprise looked like a slightly baffled chimp thinking about a new kind of question mark. Clearly, he forgot I was coming.
Anyway, within a second the door had opened and there was a queue of hugs. First from Richie, then from Etienne and Brian, and I found Chris and Miranda in the back courtyard.
It's like I've never been away, but the atmos is different - a post-Xmas lull. Nearly everyone has got jobs in an attempt to counter their festive spend, meaning people are in bed by 11.30. And new draconian rules on noise enforced by a new and regular council visits mean the Pink House is...well....a bit quiet at the moment.
Nevertheless, good to be back.