We left Lowood early yesterday morning, really early, having woken to the sound of roosters and pigeons, before the magpies had organised themselves for their own choral practice. Temperatures overnight had not dropped below 20 degrees; it was good to be up and to throw the windows wide open. To the east the morning mist over the river was visible, that which the caretaker, who rises super early every morning, had spoken of. He, like many people with dogs, is bound forever to attend to their daybreak needs, far worse than dealing with babies and small children who do at least grow up and learn to do stuff for themselves. Thus speaks a non-dog owner; we can always justify our choices in life.
We called
briefly at Fernvale to pick up a newspaper and then came on to Ipswich, down
the Brisbane Valley Highway and then eastwards along the Warrego, a distance of
about thirty five kilometres; hardly qualifying as a road trip. Pulling into
the showgrounds, we found the spot we were hoping for already occupied, so
settled into another between folk who were surely here before. The sad fact is
that most of those “resident” in these showgrounds are aging invalids who have
no problem acquiring a medical certificate giving good reason for staying put
near their specialist or surgeon. Chris and I are the exceptions rather than
the rule.
Maya, the
caretaker in residence, soon arrived to reacquaint herself and take our money.
Before long we were set up and Chris was settled in front of the television,
the Poms all out for 255 and the Aussies ready to do them like a dog’s dinner
yet again.
We braved the
week long Boxing Day sales down in the city after lunch, returning our
delinquent Navman to the store whence it came. There we were served by an
apology of a salesman, a tall broad shouldered young man, well dressed but for
the earring, with a fine head of wavy auburn hair, who wandered about as if he
was on something mind numbing and was altogether uninterested in the work he
was supposed to be doing. Needless to say we were very unimpressed by the
service; he did his employers out of a further sale. We were in the market for
a more expensive and sophisticated navigational device but insisted upon a
refund and went elsewhere, joining the throngs well served at JB Hi-fi. We
brought our new Tomtom home, shinier and brighter than the old one which died,
but familiar nonetheless.
The
oppressive humidity threatened rain all afternoon but came to nothing.
This morning
after getting waylaid by our neighbours on our return from the amenities, we
breakfasted late and then headed off across the river to the new Limelight
Cinema at the Riverlink Shopping complex. There we sat for nearly three hours,
slowly freezing in the air-conditioning, otherwise enjoying the second episode
of The Hobbit, this the
Desolation of Smaug. Apart from another dose of wonderful New Zealand
scenery, this would have to be the most action packed (dare I say, violent) of
all Peter Jacksons ventures into Middle Earth. I sat on my hands to prevent the
suspense removing my fingernails and was glad we were not like some others in
the theatre who had brought their too young children along to share the
excitement. True, there is no swearing or sex, but there are other reasons to
choose an alternative movie. The current showing of Frozen is no doubt more appropriate to the under-10s.
Back home
over a belated lunch, Chris caught up on the cricket excitement and I spent a
peaceful afternoon in the gentle breeze passing through under the awning,
computer and novel at hand. Tomorrow the temperature is forecasted to reach 40
degrees. I may have to resign myself to sharing an air-conditioned caravan and
furthering my cricket appreciation. Quite frankly, I cannot abide all the group
hugs there are after a player is either bowled or run out. Surely sport wasn’t
always like this?
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