As we sit waiting here in Sydney, great swathes of bush in Victoria’s Grampians and Alps have been consumed by fire. I could simply look on the bright side and say how lucky we are to have seen these wonderful areas before they are so spoiled and be glad we are in a safe haven, but alas I feel greatly saddened that people have lost their lives and homes in these infernos. The war in Syria seems to have taken a back seat to other news and yet I believe it goes on unrelenting; people have simply become bored by the whole affair. The Australian Prime Minister, Julia Gillard, has announced the date for the Federal election and so the political argie bargie continues here and continues to entertain. The Dutch Queen is abdicating and the Pope has taken the hint to follow suit. Alas not the Prime Minister in Canberra.
The
first day of the new week may have heralded an end to our mechanical woes, or
so Chris hoped. He was averse to us heading too far away and so we hung about
in the hope for that miraculous phone call.
The
morning was partly whiled away with a walk up to Miranda and back, and then
after lunch, Chris took it upon himself to ring the garage. Maurie was out but
would call. Two Sudokos later and still no call, but the afternoon halfway
gone, we decided to take a walk north to the Southgate Shopping Centre at
Sylvania and call in to the garage in person on the way back.
Maurie
had not returned our call because he had little to report. Certainly the
outwork is being undertaken somewhere in the city but progress regarding who will
pay for what, is still undetermined; the warranty company are dragging their
toes. We left the garage understanding that we would not be moving out of
Sydney until Wednesday at the very earliest. Chris, lacking my optimism,
suggests next week.
On our return
to camp, we spent time chatting with the couple camped opposite us who are
packing up ready to leave tomorrow. They have been here at the Sydney Tourist
Park for three weeks and on the road for six years. They were also full of
travel tips about the West however they travel with a dog and prefer not to
free camp. All advice is gladly received and I jotted pencil notes on my map
for future reference.
The park
is home, either temporary or permanent to hundreds; in essence a good
representation of society with a notable
absence of the rich. There are long legged bronzed blond tourists camped in
small campervans, a derelict bent old man beaten by life who does not meet your
eye on greeting, a vibrant diminutive solo-mum with two little boys who remind
me of our Charlie and Matthew who cheerfully battles her lot against the odds, several
workers for Downers in temporary accommodation a dozen folk like us of similar age and similar pursuit, and so
on. Fragrant hedges and beautiful melaleucas create screens of privacy, acres
of concrete save the Maori groundsman mowing and the pre-fab buildings function adequately as amenities blocks. I could almost become saddened at the thought
of leaving. Or not.
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