Home at last ...

... Brisbane was vile, but that was to be expected. How folk can happily live in the tropic is beyond me. The heat, the humidity, it's just not my kind of place at all. All that revolting humidity does, however, make for a head of jaunty curls.
So we arrive, lateish, on the 24th. The room was nice, reminded me of the New York hotel room (same chain) but for the lovely big bath, which was, of course, put to use. From behind a window in a nice, air-conditioned room, Brisbane looks quite nice really. Well, by the river it does anyway.

And so, the 25th, not my traditional day for this sort of thing but one moves with the times. Loot was scored, a pair of wee, pimento-red, Staub casseroles for moi, and some bling. Bling & a tool to assist with pizza cutting for Mr Brown.

The young nephew received eleventy million gifts, including a pink guitar, with which Mr Brown entertained those gathered. That life-jacket, in the background, that was our gift to the wee boykin (Mr Brown is determined he will sail). It terrified him to tears, gift-fail!

And then to the most important bit of the day, eating. My brother, OJ, bbq-ed a duck and cut various vegetables into tiny wee sticks for to have as Peking Duck. Mr Brown, in his new T-shirt all the way from the excited states, picked the meat from Daffy's carcase. The meat to bone ratio on a duck is all the wrong way. Still, that and the elephant ham I'd arranged earlier (Lee, je n'ai pas jeté le jambon), and my sister's fancy salads (including potato made with potatoes baked in DUCK FAT) there was more than an elegant sufficiency. Early in the day it was discovered the essential pancakes had been left at home, o dear. So, rather than lounge in air-conditioned comfort sipping fizzy wine, as promised, I instead stood over a hot stove, and made these. Not traditional but they wrapped duck 'n stuff just fine.

Mr Brown's new swimming pants did not catch fire and they turned out fit for purpose. The sister, who broke her ankle just days before, cleverly got a swimmers' cast, so she too could splash about to relieve the hot.

This wee Miss smiles near constantly, lulling me out of my anti-bebe mindset to thinking maybe a baby wouldn't be so bad. But her curdled-milk vomiting jolted me back to my senses.
Still, she's a cute little vomit-er.

The other niece, the vomit-er's big sister, is of an age where photographs aren't to be publicly published. Still, I will show you this, she's wearing a shimmery rainbow frock her grandmama made for her heart's delight. And it was.

Back to Brisbane where we admired some trees.Saw frangipani growing in the city. And admired a building or two.

That is all.