Windowsill Bay

I cannot remember the last time I went away for a long weekend. Actually, other than going back to Adelaide to visit family, which doesn't count, I really cannot think of a time, ever, where I have gone somewhere when we have a three or four day break. I did go to Newcastle three years ago for the Queen's Birthday long weekend, but driving 1200 kilometres to see a friend in hospital, dropping in on Flora and my aging Aunt in Canberra on the way,  does not count as going away either.

That's a bit of a crap fact. Mind you, we never went away for long weekends when I was a kid. Mum was a nurse and was often working - and there was no money to go away.

This five day long weekend I'm spending at Windowsill Bay - or home as I like to call it. Nothing interesting at all - story of my life.


This all self-pity came out last night as I lay in bed trying to get back to sleep.

After a night at the Comedy Festival last night, breaking ranks on the 12wbt for a night, the toxins from the pear cider I'd drank kicked in around 4 am, I was lying in bed, pondering, wide awake and feeling a little strange - as you do.

I wont bore you with the navel gazing details of my insomniac mind - some of the stuff I was thinking about was making me a little morose. Nobody to go away with. A long weekend on my own. Boring, boring, really very boring. Pandora, you really are a really sad individual. Only thing you're good for is minding people's cats.

I'm aware that some of this is the toxins from the pear cider talking. Cider and I have a very tenuous relationship. I love the stuff, but the after effects are EVIL. Two pints of scrumpy used to have me on my back with my legs in the air singing, "Toucha, toucha, toucha, touch me, I wanna feel dirty...." I only had one bottle of this pear cider a few friends have been raving about. Lovely stuff, but after four months of literally no alcohol, I felt like a cess pit two hours before dawn. This eating clean regime has taken it's toll. Not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

Public holidays are a double edged sword for me. Though I'm relishing the time off work, I would love, just for once, to go somewhere and do something (with somebody, preferably of the male, cuddly kind).

Okay, this Easter I've had stuff on, mainly centred around exercise. I've boxed, pumped, walked, had coffee, seen a show at the Comedy Festival and drank pear cider. I'm visiting friends, doing the 1000 Steps and finishing some admin stuff the for the consultancy tomorrow and Tuesday.  I don't have the funds to go away at the moment. Besides, I have two day trips to Sydney in the next three weeks - I can't complain about not seeing the inside of an airport for an age.

But for once, just once, I would like to have a long weekend where I go somewhere and do something different. Something nice. Something special. Something that has great memories attached - not wheeling your mate around a Novocastrian Hospital in a wheelchair or talking to a friend's cat (Did that today. While Glen Waverley and Merijn are away, I'm feeding their cat and making use of their wonderful bath tub - the cat likes the company, I like the use of a tub - and splashing the cat is fun).

Well the next long weekend is six weeks away - the Queen's Birthday weekend.

It's still strange - the British do not get a day off for the Queen's Birthday. We Australians, who have the Queen on our coinage and that is about the extent of her role in our daily life - we get a public holiday for her birthday in June (even though her birthday is in April - go figure)

Maybe that's something to plan and get sorted. Maybe a spa trip to Daylesford. A wine tasting trip up to Rutherglen. Take the car across to Tassie where Barney's Dad can teach me to sail....

There's lots of things that could be done. It just needs to be organised.

Just wish the cuddly male could be organised as well.