Post 347: A majestic day.
Who would have thought we would walk three miles in ten hours (door to door), have a brunch and dinner out, and watch the TV till midnight?
Where shall I start…
The TV till midnight is a good start — and now a guilty pleasure. MAFS AU is the programme, and I implore you not to watch it. It’s not great TV, but it’s addictive (for me) because I find myself verbally correcting, or even shouting at, the telly.
Married at First Sight has to be the most avidly watched and enjoyed programme my Darling watches.
For my sins, I have been in the room while this newest series, in Australia, is on.
Now, given the options of getting out of the room or turning a blind eye to it, I have become overwhelmed by the sheer stupidity or macho behaviour from some of the guys — and one macho woman.
It’s a car crash I can’t turn away from, and I’d like to give them all advice from the banks of experience in my head.
I’m continually being told to “leave it” or “be quiet, I’ve missed that now” from my Darling, who is annoyed about my constant chirping during the show.
Obviously, I’ve not watched this show before, but I’ve known all about it since it’s on catch-up TV all the time. Until now, I’ve missed it due to my ability to get up and go to bed… normally, but not this season.
Suffice to say that I’m enthralled by the one guy who’s become my arch-enemy due to his horrid personality and attitude to women — inside the manosphere (a newish male trait that disrespects independent women and wants female partners to be “slaves” for their own use basically).
Aaaaagghhhh! Why do I watch it? I should call it a day and go back to leaving the room and getting my nose in a book instead.
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The bus was not on time, but before time — how interesting. I wonder if this is really late rather than ten minutes early. Either way, it was a bonus for us.
The double-decker was busy when we got on with our rover/runaround tickets, but it was packed by the time we got off. It was standing room only, and more were wanting to jump on.
We were glad to get off and by the time we struggled past all the standing passengers and out onto the pavements, paths lead us to our first destination — the Tiger-Moth coffee roasters.
I get my decaf grinds here, and the smell in the warm factory unit, with its wide open door, was wonderful. All you could smell and see was the roasting process in action, and an eager saleswoman heading my way to take my order.
We immediately left the unit with my grinds tucked away on our backpack, leaving its lovely smells and headed for the middle of town, over the river, to partake of a plate or two of the most scrummy brunch.
Mine was called a Byron Bay Brunch and was chosen both for the ingredients as well as the name of our youngest’s and his fiancée’s doggie.
Where is Byron Bay anyway?
(I’ve looked it up — it’s a bay adjacent to the most easterly part of Australia. Who knew?)
Because we had all the time in the world, my poached eggs and grilled unrecognisable stuff were slowly consumed, while photos taken this morning were posted here and there around the world and county.
As is always the case, we start off with good intentions — pens and notepads or mobile phones — but quickly dissolve into a table for two letting their food get cold while organising our socials.
Oh, the damn phones and our near-religious and continues use of them. Bah humbug.
My hot chocolate, which I don’t usually care for, was cooling down, but still the dreadful foam refused to pop off.
I don’t do foam — it’s not me. It’s a tasteless topping that, in my view, is completely unnecessary.
So when my Darling asked if I wanted another drink, I quickly said, “Not a hot chocolate, thanks,” before the online order could be placed. Instead, I opted for a lychee and blueberry bubble tea.
I’ve no idea why I asked for something that was probably full of chemicals and ice, but I did. It arrived with a big paper straw to allow the blueberry “boba” to be sucked up and popped in my mouth — an interesting new sensation.
I didn’t like the ice-cold drink, but I’d perhaps prefer a hot bubble tea — if that’s at all possible.
Water is still favourite today — but for how long one wonders?
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We collected the stick I was using and our coats and scarves, and headed out into a warmish town.
The hiking stick, set at 1.25m, was helping me get along and exercising my left arm. I tried and failed to use two sticks because my frozen right shoulder makes it impossible. I just end up in pain. So the one on the left will have to do.
However, using one stick means I can hold my Darling’s warm hand, which is really nice, and it stabilises me while my attention is not totally focused on the pathway potholes.
So we pointed ourselves in the right direction and trudged to our next destination — “our secret garden”.
We were not alone — this garden is not the secret we pretend it is — but it’s lovely to hear the kids’ chatter and laughter over the little songbirds’ chorus.
Because we visit regularly, it’s a wonder what the gardeners have done to catch the eye this time. The first thing I noticed was the trickling of water — a two-metre-wide brick-sided channel running about two feet deep, meant that the sluice had finally been opened. Probably due to the hosepipe ban being lifted now.
About time too.
We walked through the busy open-plan part of the gardens, over the water streaming along, and into the walled area — the bit we like.
As luck would have it, we were the only people in the rectangular formal garden, where once there was a fountain smack bang in the middle of formal borders covered in orange tulips. It looked like a homage to everything Dutch, but we didn’t mind — it was beautiful.
We chatted and chatted as people came and went, leaving the garden to us and the robins, gold-finches, coal titmouse’s, blackbirds, pigeons, crows, and the odd gull.
While my Darling caught up with digital communication, I closed my eyes and dozed between chats about a new bed — or beds.
Yes, beds.
There is a thought that hasn’t escaped our planning: a pair of single profiling beds pushed together to form a sort of double — or, when the time comes, split so nurses can get in between to care for the patient, me.
But still, I haven’t heard from the district nurse yet about the existing single I’m sleeping in… badly. It will be interesting if there’s a new mattress soon.
Time will tell.
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When we had our fill of the glorious gardens, we walked back to town, and I had a thought of buying my Darling another silver bracelet to go with her other two she had for Christmas.
But as we arrived at the jewellers, the church bells struck four, and doors were being locked.
Dash it.
There were other jewellers surely, so we asked for directions and walked off in search of them.
The only problem was the immense hill leading up to the castle in front of us.
“We could take the bus,” my Darling said, in hope that I would agree — but I didn’t.
My argument was that the jewellers were on the flat bit of road before the hill, but as it happened, we got to the top of the hill after looking through three more jewelers shops — none could help.
So there was no extra Easter present for my dearest Darling.
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On the whole, the day was going well, and getting up the hill was a feat of belligerence we were both astounded by.
I had not yet had any more morphine either — the last was at 10am before getting on the bus.
I was feeling very strong, very healthy — on top of the world, which we obviously were, up by the castle.
But I relented, and because we had a rover/runaround ticket, we jumped on a bus that took us two stops down to the centre of town and our last port of call — the Chaula’s Indian restaurant for dinner.
As we lined up to get off the bus, my Darling — behind me as usual, scooping up everything I leave behind — had her shoulder grabbed by a girl shouting, “I can’t believe it!”
We all got off, and who should it be behind us but our youngest niece, the rugby player, rushing to meet her mum further down the road at the big supermarket over the river.
She’s still only sixteen — sweet sixteen — and saving for car lessons later this year. How the time flies.
What a lovely surprise. But we could only have the quickest of chats.
And no sooner had we seen her, she was gone.
Bless her.
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We were a bit early for the 5pm opening, so we popped into the little superstore nearby and picked up a few more eggs for the neighbours’ kids.
By the time we paid and bagged up, the restaurant doors were open, leading us to a spicy end of the day.
We didn’t quite clean our large dinner plates — we struggled a bit — but still, we couldn’t resist a look at the dessert menu.
An ice-cold mint dessert arrived for both of us — an over indulgent end to the day.
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Our timing was great. We arrived back at the stop only nine minutes until the bus home — which it did.
Two tired but happy travellers walked the short distance home, flopped in front of the TV with a cuppa, and four very sleepy eyes.
Zzzzzz
Good night.
