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Into the Hot

Mon 2nd, Jan, 2017

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Hello.

Me oh my.  We are back from the country.  We were meant to still be there, but the trip was cut short, that tends to happen when you are having a lovely but hot time in a Boutique Cottage with walls a third of a metre thick, a very low sloping roof, one modern looking but not quite far reaching enough air conditioning unit, a bathroom too small for one let alone three, two forty somethings and a teenager (plus other teenage visitors) and an Australian country Christmas temperature of 42C.

Let me tell you 42C is hot.  Whether you are from Texas, Taiwan, Darwin or Devon, 42C is for most humans on the warmer side of comfortable.  Even if you are, like me, acclimatised to the Down Under life and can still wear jeans on a cooler Summer’s Day, 42C tips warm weather from long (white) floaty off the shoulder dresses to weather where one cannot go out, to weather where opening the door is like being blasted by 6,504 hair dryers (Parlux), to weather like the weather in cooler climates where one looks outside at the state of it all, shakes one’s head and would rather stay in.

So there we were, arrived at our Australian Country town sneaky little Christmas break (middle of nowhere, one high street, four pubs, three Asian nail bars, 5 take aways, 1 cystal selling shop, 1 extremely large lolly shop, 3 even larger dollar stores and a 150 year old post office with a new life as a restaurant – most with hand-written signs on the front noting their closure until the 9th of Jan), and wondering what on earth we were going to do.  We’d planned long long country walks (possibly in the new Irish boots), taking the boat (inflatable not yacht) down to the river, ambling around the town looking at old buildings, lounging around with picnics, cosying up with reading, and my lovely husband had been scheming his new effort to learn to cook – eating around the world with a different country each night (this is nothing short of amazing when one’s husband can really only cook baked beans on toast, however, hopes were high and Manchego cheese had been bought)…a few hours in though and the temperature put paid to all of that as the mercury (digital thingy on car) climbed higher and higher and higher.

After finding the gorgeous little cottage, unloading the car (new puzzle, 22 books, 3 cases of beer, emergency sleeping bag, timberrr, one lovely newly fluffed doggie, Manchego cheese, 3 fishing rods, one rollalong eski, one extremely well packed cabin sized bag, two vintage quilts, 6 turkish towels) we went for a walk, all was good, until we noticed the stillness, and the signs, everywhere the signs, not just the hand-written signs that everyone had gone away but the eerry signs that we were the only ones in town.

So what does a good old English adopted Australian do in a quiet country town when everyone seems to have left for their christmas holiday?  Easy.  Head to the pub.

And that’s pretty much all we did, go to the pub, drinking craft beer from an Australian brewery, went to the river and got our feet scorched on the sand (you may, if you are sitting there on the other side of the world looking out at cold, grey skies, be wishing you too could half run, half hop in your middle age body whilst simultaneously giving your husband dirty looks and trying to stop yelps of pain coming out, down a beach with ferociously hot sand on the soles of your feet…however, I am here to most categorically report to you that you do not want to try that).

And so the plans for lovely, long and lazy riverside picnics, morning coffees sitting out on the lawn, afternoons lazing on the vintage quilt under the orange tree, walking for hours and coming home to ice cold beer, well all that was literally zapped by the good old Australian sun.

We did, though, watch a lot of football, read a vast amount of books, lounge around and eat pizza (Italian, hah hah hah) and spend a lot of time staring out of gorgeous old vintage windows at empty buses going past wondering when it would start to cool down.

So, yeah, you know what, it’s nice to be home with a cool breeze coming off the sea, a deep white tub just waiting for new Christmas Lush Lovelies (hello gold sparkly bubbles) and a husband continuing the cooking journey with a  stop in Spain (insert wide eyed emoticon).

See you more into the New Year.

S

x

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7 Responses to “Into the Hot”

  1. alison says:

    Sarah

    What a good giggle you gave me. Oh, the pain of planning a good holiday and then being shattered by venues being closed. (Just got cranky with a Bunnings that has a huge sign stating it is open till 9pm tonight. Hmmm, but not tonight, being a public holiday. Didn’t have that in the signage. Not fair! I WANT those plant pots now! Oh well, go tomorrow.)

    As for the 42C. Even as a born & bred Aussie I get v e r y cranky at 40C and above. So so cranky.

    Cheers

  2. DeAna says:

    Wish we could swap temps for a day or two. Or ten. Or until spring comes. :)

    Or forever…

  3. Vicki says:

    Oh no. I just did the conversion to Fahrenheit for 42 C, and now I totally understand. 107 F?! I assume that you are having an unusually hot summer already.

  4. Shirl' says:

    Happy New Year Sarah! So glad to see you posting again!

  5. Danielle says:

    Ah well, it certainly sounded like a nice idea for a holiday! I was excited about your new puzzle. Should have taken that to the pub. Happy New Year!

  6. Neen says:

    No-one can tolerate 42 degrees ! Extreme measures of going home early are very very acceptable ;) Over 40 requires airconditioned rooms for everyone ! You guys did well to last for any time. Beautiful photos. i’m looking forward to reading about your next reno, Neen :)

  7. Anna says:

    Lovely post Sarah. Thank you for sharing!