The Anti-Holiday…

My parents are on the other side of the country on their annual winter expedition. They rang me last week as they were entering a park to see some big trees. I’m not sure of the finer points because I was busy being delighted dragged into a conversation about which was the correct turn, how not to drive into a winery’s driveway, how big the trees were, how lousy the weather was and how there was no way my mother was going up that tree like that small child and how could his parents let him anyway.

It was like being on holidays with them, despite the fact that they were 2000 kms away. Sensational. Just what every grown child needs.

Meanwhile, more holiday excitement. Almost. One of my dearest friends has upped and moved 1400 kms away to the middle of South Australia. Thank goodness for the Internet – she doesn’t seem that far away. But, what the hey, it’s a good excuse for a holiday, right? I’ve just been doing some research on where we’d go and how we’d get there and Mr “I don’t do camping or anywhere that might not be lush and green” (ie. the husband) is coming around to the idea. Tee hee. I’m looking forward to it – I’ve got itchy feet at the moment, and this will be cheaper than moving house.

Catch ya…
K