On Honeymoons …

… The first Brown-Mouse honeymoon took place, traditionally, no more than a day or so after the actually wedding. We opened a few gifts, arranged for the cats to be fed and drove ourselves down to Mr Brown’s parent’s holiday unit in sunny Merimbula. We were poor as the proverbial church mice and that was about all we could afford at the time. We pretended it was Tuscany (and yes we did know Tuscany is not particularly “coastal”, we have vivid imaginations), ate in Italian restaurants, drank red wine and crossed out Merimbula to replace with Tuscany on the postcards.
The second Brown-Mouse honeymoon was in Tasmania, a year or so after the actual wedding. I’d spotted super-cheap airfares to the apple isle and just plonked down my “running away money” there and then. We spent a week eating our way around the island. It was amazing; it snowed, on the last day we ended up sharing dessert with an American couple because none of us could face ANOTHER rich dessert, not after a week of them. The B&B house cat chose to sleep in our room and breakfast was a sort of egg & bacon souffle that I still make for special guests today.
The third Brown-Mouse honeymoon was a few more years after that again. This time I actually made it to Italy, with my Mum. Mr Brown pulled out at the last minute, pressures of work bla, bla, bla. There was NO WAY I was going to miss out on this trip, so I went anyway. From the real Tuscany I sent Mr Brown a post card - “having a wonderful honeymoon, wish you were here”. I may also have mentioned the positive effects of all the walking “buns of steel” may well have been mentioned. I met a lovely nun, Sister Rose-Marie, who asked me to help her find a “nice black cardigan” and also asked me if my nose piercing meant I was “the member of some sort of club or something? I had to confess, no, ‘twas only vanity.