... We drove to Melbourne, via Ballarat.
During this particular drive (
which we've done together so many times) I've always found the opportunity to comment, "
country Victoria is so much prettier than country NSW, the towns are just nicer" (
it really is. The spa region, for instance, shits all over the Blue Mountains region). I managed to bring this point to Mr Brown's attention twice this time.
Even the dirt is pretty,
and it gives the local sheep a charming pinkish hue.
We drove-by/stalked 2 of the 4 places I used to live in.
(
Gentrified to the nth degree but still recognisable.)
We couldn't find the first one (
a flat in Mt Clear) and the last place was too ugly (
a flat in Lydiard St, near the cemetary).
Lunch time sprang upon us and we tried to find the Golden City Deli (
which used to make the most amazing sandwiches, huge bastards, enough for 2), it was gone so we popped into the
Golden City Hotel bistro thing, a mistake really. We were surrounded by calisthenics girls (
and their mothers) all talking in that "
look at me, notice me" way that teenage girls so often do.
It must be eisteddfod season or something.
I really don't understand why the girls are always made up to look like hard-faced, bitter, middle-aged women. Youth is beauty, why hide it under all that terrible make up?
We discovered, afterwards, that
L'espresso WAS STILL THERE! It was there nearly 20 years ago when I lived there, it was sooo terribly sophisticated way back then, a little bit of Melbourne in Ballarat. And the toasties were mighty fine too.
We hit the road for Melbourne, Mr Brown's Blackberry (
we call it Jeeves) got terribly confused and couldn't find our hotel. Lucky we managed, using the lost art of map reading (
Mr Brown was a cartographer once upon a time).
We dumped the car and hit the
National Gallery of Victoria. The Australian collection in the
"new" building. I hate the new building, it's all about the building which is distracting. Also, personally, I think it's ugly.
I much preferred the old building but apparently
they buggered it up, so a visit there would only have depressed me more.
Mr Brown got a little grumpy, it being several hours since we had eaten anything, so we had a dainty snack and a glass of wine
here - go on clicky, it's a little virtual tour of the cellar bar at
Grossi Florentino.
Dinner at
Trunk was great. and now I know what "
funky" means when used to describe a restaurant, it means loud. Still, the food was beautifully cooked and presented and the waiter, cute as a button and charming with it. One dish I remember was zuccini flowers on a smokey eggplant puree (
we call it baba at home). I'm breaking out the smoker and whacking a couple of eggplants in it come the weekend, I've simply got to get that smoke flavour intensified in my baba. And then, this ...
That was some bed, and all these long thin pillows, perfect for the dancingmorganmouse method of comfortable sleeping - build a little nest of pillows and jam yourself in.
The cat will travel to Australia in the boat container, to keep it company and to prevent excess luggage charges.
Still, it's got a couple of lovely places to eat, Basalt, where we ate on the Friday, and Tonic, where we plan to eat one day. It has one hat! I didn't know and did zero research before our jaunt. Never mind, next time.
It's rather like the curly hair, straight hair thing or grass being green everywhere except where you are at any given time I guess.
O, and Mr Brown was very impressed with the coffee.
So, after a morning truffle hunting, and a wonderful antipasto/plowmans' lunch, we were let loose on the Orange Region wineries.
Zeeta the truffle hound, trained by Adrian (who also trains guide dogs I heard) was the star, snuffling out about 1/2 a dozen of the mighty things. 
The smell is amazing, and the wonder of it is, once they are ripe you can smell them above the ground, if you're willing to kneel down in the dirt and damp and stick your bum in the air that is.
Suffice to say, enough beautiful, big, scented truffles were found for our dinner that night, all made with the fresh truffles we'd pulled out of the ground that very morning.
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.
Saw frangipani growing in the city. 
And admired a building or two.
That is all.
Looked at what is fast becoming the only "working" bit of the harbour.
Some nice trees.
Lovely open spaces. 
A nice cottage by the sea.
Some sandstone.
Some birdies. 
Some history. 
O, and this.
This is "our" bridge, not as famous as the otherone, but we like it.
and a little later, on the water.
Currowongs who dropped in this morning (before I had the telephoto lens worked out).
and took this picture of moi & the hire car. 
And we wandered through the lovely fern gully, our hands may have touched at some point. 
That is all.
We've been visiting since it first opened (and when it was free, it's a bit cheeky charging a fee to visit what's basically a posh shop - still, I'll bet the upkeep is a killer). 
We've even got a lovely framed picture of the skinny staircase that leads up to the galleries, on the wall at home, from a past visit.
I was tempted by several pieces but didn't end up bringing anything home, probably only because the storm glass wasn't for sale. Buggeration.
And Spring, springing up all over as it was, is one of the best times to visit. Just beautiful. 
One day, when we will the lottery, 
I'm going to have a garden like this (assisted by a beautiful gardener) *sighs*.
After a splendid "light" lunch in town we set off for our treat atthe extensively renovated Bathhouse and Spa.
we didn't recognise it, but the old bits are still there and remain beautiful.
I'm afraid the camera chose this exact point to pack it in, so this is what this picture should look like. 
The giant, solid stone, pure-mineral-water bath was blissful. "Fuckmethat'shot" mineral water jets out of the frankly ridiculously huge tap and then you push a button and jiggly bubbly water jets all about. I felt a little like a Blancmange, hell, bits of me looked like one!
After bit of a walk around the surrounds (more blackberry pics, sorry)
where we reminisced about past picnics (and my seductive salmon picnic pie) we ambled back tothe hotel to de-spa-ify our hair, pop on some posh clothing and head out for more fine dining.
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