The Great Battle of the March-fly Attack

We arrived, shall we say, about quarter to four,

At a campsite to affix our tent to the floor,

But how little we knew of the creatures in wait,

And of the battle ahead and our torturous fate.

It was sunny and cool when we chose to arrive,

In that wooded retreat where we stood to survive,

Yet all was to happen from our passing by,

And in thinking, “of course we can swat a one or two fly”.

Oh, how naïve we were of what was to come,

And life found us that eve, the glummest of glum,

So here we must tell of the tragedy that a fell,

Of the battle of the March-fly and that evening of hell.

We arrived, as I said, in the late afternoon,

Where the mid-summer air likened the northern high June,

And arrived at that site in moods merry and gay,

Unaware of the events to occur that same day.

…There came a buzzing from the trees and the ground,

And they began their attack, with their very first round.

In swarms they attacked, their squadrons in view,

Their many thousand against our pitiful few.

One, ‘slap’, two, ‘slap’, three, ‘slap’, four,

In as many swipes we had hoisted the banner of war,

On and on, came the hordes of our foes,

And our moods did lower to lowest of lows.

We fought, on and on, and the hours passed by,

Killing in cold blood each and every buzzing fly,

‘Til the hour was late and the ground bore the remains,

Of the thousand March-flies and their everlasting pains.

But still they came forth and battled without rest,

‘Til our bodies showed the marks of this unending pest.

And like all great leaders, we admitted defeat,

And ran with all might in tactical retreat.

So, in Sammy again, we owe a great debt,

In saving our lives and removing great threat,

And in safe retreat we gave an almighty cry,

Vowing never to meet again, that dreaded March-fly.  

Our view atop the canopy

Indulgence is a wonderful thing

There is little as good as indulgence after a period of rationing. I am talking of mine and Sophie’s experience of eight days with rice, muesli and little else, rather than of any great war-time narrative but the statement nevertheless holds eternal truth.

With nothing but rice filling, or rather bloating our bellies, muesli for breakfast and a nightly luxury of one tinned good, we were rather ravenous and in want of culinary delights by the time we reached Fremantle, W.A. So, we listened to our groaning stomachs, fulfilled our desires with unprecedented over-indulgence and have spent the past week sampling some of the world’s most wondrous flavours.

Our first pleasure was in the form of Gelati’s an organic fruit and veg store, five minute walk from the centre of Fremantle. We walked along the banquet on offer and let our noses dance in glee at the different and enchanting odours, picking items to show the other and gazed in wide-eyed ecstasy at the matching extraordinarily appealing price. We bought all that our budget would afford and spent the afternoon and much of the following few days, with the most wonderful occupation of eating all that we had purchased.

Our second, third, fourth and fifth pleasure lay in the region of Margaret River. Driving south, we entered the cool, forested climate of the Southern Forests and decided, rather than keep on travelling like intended, to remain in the area and enjoy at a leisurely pace the 110 wineries and numerous chocolatiers, olive oil, nougat and cereals producers. They were several days spent in total luxuriance. With mornings spent at wineries, luncheons in the picturesque forests and afternoons tasting the fruits of the local producers’ labours, Sophie and I were to be found, for this week, in a state of perpetual and blissful harmony. Perhaps, pictures this time can paint all the colours and wonders that we were fortunate enough to have come across, tasted and consumed in phenomenal delight.

Western Australia, several beaches and a generous dollop of adventure...

How ya goin? – And before you ask, I must say we’re doing very well thank you!

After a rather too early a flight to Perth, Soph and I were greeted by the most wondrous host-to-be, Iwona and spent the day with her and her kid’s wonderful company. We spent the day earning the respect and friendship of a 3-year old, Lukas and failing, despite the most fervent attempts, with a 1-year old, Lily. They were, however, 24 hours most harmoniously spent, perhaps with the exception of one or two tantrums and I have endless thanks to bestow to Iwona, proving yet again the incomparable hospitality of Australians…well, Polish come British come Australian hostesses.

The following day we awoke with our feet itching for adventure, slightly more enlightened with the super-powers held by mothers of two and headed to the local car rental, to receive our now close companion, transportation and accommodation in one, our brand new Toyota hatchback, subsequently christened Sammy for his/her androgynous, spirited and excitable characteristics.

With a morning spent finding supplies, we headed north and to our first stop, Guildford in Swan River Valley. Guildford is heralded as a preserved colonial town and I can tell you now, it is exactly that. After a visit to the local information centre, which proudly earned the title of second best in Australia, we felt prepared for the next few days and readily informed to see what a colonial town had to offer. Sophs and I stepped out the door, started upon the ‘River Ramble’ colonial trail and started our treasure hunt of a history lesson, feeling very much that we were the only two to have followed such a route since the annual school Easter project. Turning immediately left, we came across Guildford Gaol and were firstly informed of the reason for most colonial settlements – the forcible relocation of the unruly and those in want of drunken brawls. In the words of Swan’s Resident Magistrate, 1840 “It may be within his Excellency’s knowledge that there are in Guildford three licensed public houses besides others with license to sell by the gallon, and as a natural consequence, notwithstanding all efforts to prevent it, brawls and irregularities will take place”. It would seem that ‘irregularities’ commonly took place and the gaol was somewhat of a mouth-curler and head-nodder in all its intrigue. From the gaol, we followed the blue-pointed arrows and reached the Crown Inn, est. 1841, being the second oldest hotel in Australia – perhaps highlighting more of the juvenility of the country than the longevity of the accommodation. Given that the information plaque highlighted “it is unlikely that any of the original mud-built structure remains” and that we were looking at a ‘swanky bistro’, I’m unsure whether we can still say in all honesty that we were looking at the second oldest hotel in Australia. I think more appropriately, we found ourselves on a Wednesday afternoon, looking at a new and attractive hotel bearing the same name as a mud-brick hotel, which happened to be built on the same patch of land, one hundred and seventy year earlier. Either way, we gave in to their demands to acknowledge the important historical significance of the town and jumped back in Sammy, to head further north and find somewhere to have a spot of afternoon tea.

With a busy morning spent perusing Perth’s shops for food, stove fuel and camping crockery, we were beginning to feel the pangs of hunger and the first signs of fatigue. A coffee was much in order, so we picked a coastal spot for afternoon refreshment and made our way to Quinns Rocks, unaware if we had chosen wisely or not. We parked up and revelled in our choice, plunging our bare feet deep into the warm white sands, watching the summer sea-breeze bring wave after wave to crash down at our feet and we savoured  the most gratifying instant coffee I’ve ever had the fortune of taking from a hostel ‘free food’ shelf. We sipped slowly and feeling renewed, jumped and danced wildly in the breaking surf as the sun painted the beach a glowing redness.

We left with an hour or two of daylight still in the day and picked Two Rocks as a reasonable distance to travel to and find somewhere to sleep. We camped on a 3km stretch of beach, somewhat surreptitiously and set up our cosy Vango Banshee 200 for a night on the sand, with the waves crashing a few metres away from us and the sounds of crickets in the grasses behind. After an evening testing out all our gear, lying under the stars and talking ‘til we fell asleep, we awoke early to watch the sun rise and to watch the sands turn from white to red with the start of day. Awakened by the energy of the ocean, we had our breakfast of Muesli, dried fruit and water – which was to be our staple for the next week – and took a session of yoga on the soft sands under the sandstone Two Rocks formation. With a night that will forever be held with fondness in our hearts and a morning that would refresh and enliven even the darkest of spirits, we left our first night’s camp with a degree of hesitation and headed inland to see what the town of Gingin had to offer.

Touring the entirety of the town, we can confirm with full conclusion that Gingin has nothing to offer – except a local newspaper worth its quaintness in gold, so onwards we travelled.

Our next stop was to Guilderton. We arrived at the picturesque costal town around midday and headed to the beach to indulge in the memorable beauty of the ‘Turquoise Coast’. After lunch we went for a swim in the placid and crystal clear depths, dividing our time between estuarine and ocean waters. Entering from the Moore River Estuary, we crossed over a sandbar into the ocean and into a stillness never before seen to me. With nothing but ocean until the Cape of Good Hope, the vastness that lay before us and calmness of it, bestowed us with a wonderfully powerful and calming energy and we bobbed in the sea as free as our bodies would allow us.

From Guilderton, Sophs and I left to return a few kilometres south to Yanchem National Park, stopping on-route to refuel. On leaving Guilderton, we happened upon a quaint do-it-all convenience and petrol store, which caused much excitement to our relaxed and slow-paced lifestyle. Amazed at the veritable bevy of goods they had on offer, I entertained myself by looking through their many produce as Sophie chatted as one would with their local, to the proprietors. Our already powerfully positive spirits were further brightened to a visual radiance, grinning in contentedness, as we drove back south to Yanchem, its flora and forna and for a less-than-perfect night’s sleep. We arrived early afternoon and in need of refreshment, so set up some afternoon tea – well coffee and bananas – to elevate our bodies to the levels of harmonious delight, which our souls had already found themselves.

Several un-counted hours later, we decided on a walk and went in search of koalas, already having spent tea accompanied by kangaroos and a various assortment of aviary wildlife. Now although Australians will warn you – and quite rightly so I’m told – not to pick a koala out the tree and give it a good squeeze, I think all who happen upon them hugging a tree and basking in the shade, will want nothing more than to do so. Despite our knowledge of their talon-like claws and not-so-passive-demeanour on being approached, Sophs and I, both awed at their cuteness, agreed upon their huggability and hopped on along the trail joyfully spotting the wildlife roaming free around us.

With the sun low in the sky, we moved the car to a quieter side of the park and started to prepare dinner in the fading light. Joined by soft music, we conjured a fine-dining exquisite of rice and curried soup and took some personal time to write and read as the hot-plates slowly cooked through our meal.

On entering the park we were governed with strict instruction not to camp – a matter of much debate – so instead decided upon a night’s sleep in Sammy, our Toyota hatchback. On relocating for dinner, Sophs had an eureka moment and flattened the back seats to measure their value. They flattened to a bed-like form and with ample matting from towels, rugs and sleeping bags, we seemed to have converted our city-hatch into a wilderness campervan – and we couldn’t be prouder of our penknife of a car, our old faithful and spritely Sammy. With Sammy ‘turned down’ for the night, we crawled in, lay with our knees forcibly bent – a position which increases in annoyance with the many hours of night – yet spent a surprisingly peaceful night’s sleep, all things considered.

With another breakfast of our usual, we started the day lazily, talking and watching the surrounding wildlife, in a manner which we intended for the rest of the day. After having eaten and made tea, we started upon a trail to find several limestone caves hidden away in the bush. The day was notably warmer than the past two and by 11.00 a.m. on our morning’s perambulation, the temperature had reached a slightly sweaty 37 degrees Celsius and we felt its effect with full force. An hour and four litres of water consumed later, we came to a fallen tree blocking the way in front of us. The situation felt less than comfortable, with the hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention, and both of us felt ill at ease. I turned to Sophie and told her to be wary, this looking like snake country, when at the same moment, I heard a shout from behind  and upon turning to see her, saw Sophie’s face a pale white. With her finger pointed to a few feet beyond me, she asked “did you see it?”, “see what?” I replied, “the snake…there, the snake!.” I turned my gaze to where her finger pointed and saw lying two steps in front of me, in the line of our walking, a golden-brown snake coiled in wait, utterly impassable. After quick debate we both agreed to retrace our steps and retraced two kilometres back to a different cave system and far away from imminent threat. Now this all may seem a little hyperbolic to you, but our grave fears were not without reason, as our later research proved. We had come across a ‘Bardick Snake’ and although I haven’t a picture to show you – I wasn’t inclined to get up close for a picture-perfect moment – their venom has been known to kill children and a bite would most definitely lead to a seriously unpleasant day spent hastening to a hospital, of which none were near, battling the terminal effects of an encounter with Australia’s most deadly and most likely ending the day one limb less than the start.

Given the heat, our closer than wanted encounter and slight sunburn from the beach the day before, we opted for a national park as our next destination and headed toward ‘The Pinncales’ a few hundred kilometres north. Happy to be in the cool comfort of our air conditioned car, we rejoined the highway once again, put on a murder mystery and headed onwards.

Deciding to return south to The Pinnacles the following morning, we chose to continue to our night’s stop at Cervantes, pulling in shortly before arriving into Hansen Bay for a superb vista of the town and turquoise beaches.

With a signpost to Lake Thetis and the Stromatolites, our curiosity took the better of us and we went in search or whatever they might be. We arrived at the lake shortly and commenced on a boardwalk circumnavigation, careful not to damage the surround stromatolites. Yet in all their wonder, we were resolutely unable to identify what a stromatolites was, all was until a helpful sign. I can tell you now, that although they aren’t much to look at, their wonder, like many things, shines with a little understanding.

Stromatolites are a cyno-bacterial formation, looking much like an air bubble of rock. They form in watery conditions significantly more saline than seawater and are some of Earth’s oldest and earliest lifeforms. These were some of the first organisms to blossom on Earth’s surface and to look at them, almost was to stare back in time, to what Earth would look like some 4.5 billion years earlier. I suppose with many such a things, a large portion of imagination is required but given our lazy few days on beaches and in parks, a little history and natural science went a long way with us umming and awing at their understated beauty.

Having spent the best night’s sleep so far of the trip, we awoke bright and early to have our breakfast overlooking the ocean a few metres from our tent. Refreshed and refuelled, we took to the beach for another early morning yoga session and swim. With a perfectly refreshing morning and our first shower of the trip so far, we jumped in the car feeling great, smelling great and full of beans for the day ahead. So, onwards we rolled, for another day of adventure, firstly to The Pinnacles.

The Pinnacles lying some 30km south of Cervantes are a network of exposed limestone, poking 1-2 metres out the sands, looking as out of place as, well a whole series of out-of-the-place sort of things. The information centre is one of the best I’ve come across and was filled with information as to their formation, their protection and the current research on all things of the area. Their origin, despite much research, still lies contested and is something to do with a fossilised forest, marine life for limestone and differential erosion, all dating back from the Quaternary period, some 500,000 years ago. But all that seems wholly uninteresting with the added display of the local aboriginal tribe and their belief as to The Pinnacles’ origins. According to the Yued people, they knew The Pinnacles as Werintij Devil Place due to its sinking sands. The story goes that the youngest men of the tribe were told by their elders not to visit such a place in fear that they would not return. Yet some ignored the advice and thinking their fortune beyond consequence, ventured into the sinking sands. The Pinnacles are subsequently said to be their fingertips trying to desperately grasp hold of something as they were dragged to their sandy graves. To me, in all its awe and darkness, that seems to be wholly more of interest and it left me ready and in a state of excitation to venture into the sinking sands and see the remains of our ancient ancestors and they were simply staggering.

With an idyllic afternoon stop at Green Head, we spent the rest of the day walking the sandstone cliffs, reading on the beach and dining on our bread and fresh tomatoes with the grandest of views before us. Taking advantage of the beauty and tranquillity of the spot, we rested there for several hours in a state of personal self-reflection and to soak up the energy of the lapping waves.

Finding a tourist park in Jurien Bay, we made our way to the beachside town, bought a six-pack of beer and crisps, and indulged in their cool sweetness. We spent by far our worst night’s sleep of the trip on a patch of grass that would make hard-set concrete seem pleasant and woke up a little sore, a little tired and in need of another restful day… but of course, that was to be expected and was our plans regardless.

We packed up the car slowly, feeling the cricks in our necks, the slight damage to our hips and shoulders and de-pitched all without much talking. An hour and some breakfast later, we felt significantly more awake and comparing our odd spots of pain, we returned to our faithful steed and started our journey south, to Fremantle via one or two ‘wheatbelt’ towns. We passed Moora, of which I have nothing to report and stopped for lunch in New Norcia, a fully-functioning monastic settlement. The place, set in the middle of the bush, would be a perfect set for a murder mystery and I dare say, despite the absence of television, it may well have been so. It is perhaps, the most disconcerting of places I’ve ever encountered and the paradox of the architectural grandeur and desolate surroundings, gives the town a unique measure of out-of-the-ordinary. Once a ‘thriving’ monastery, although I’m not sure just how lively a settlement of monks can be, it is now with only 16 residents and rooms enough for a few hundred, rather deserted and with our Sunday arrival, the noises of the winds and flies that incessantly buzzed around our faces – perhaps the first they’d seen in a very long time – were all that we could hear or experience of life. Somewhat creeped, we turned to each other, agreed on promptly leaving and headed for a few hours drive to Fremantle, accompanied by Sherlock to take aid our travels far away from New Norcia and that god-forsaken place.

So there I will stop. I feel I’ve given you all a fair chunk to bite into and I dare say you are all fully stuffed with the generous helping I’ve served today. But that is, and has been our northerly adventures of Western Australia. We are now enjoying the stimuli of Fremantle and a town with more than flies for companionship and we’ll be sure to tell you all about our trip south from here sometime soon.

‘Til then, I’ll leave you with one last interesting fact…

Did you know…? That the Honey Possom of W.A., measuring just 7cm, is the smallest new-born of any mammal and yet also has the largest sperm of any mammal. I was told, to my significant confusion, that the male’s testes comprise quite a hefty portion of its body weight…hm, go figure. Well now you know and as mine has been, I’m sure your life has been changed forever for knowing so.

x Peace and love all x

Look who I found...

Good morning all,

For a bright and early flight, I have once again returned to Melbourne Airport – the sixth time this trip – and write to you while in the air to Perth and starting a new adventure on the West Coast of Australia.

After a week spent burrowed in the local library and sweating beyond measure with daily Bikram Yoga classes, I took the shuttle to Melbourne Airport and came across a rather familiar face…

For those of you who don’t recognise that girl squeezing me, it is Miss Sophie Wotton and she’ll be joining us for the next month of adventures. From what started as a drunken “come join me in Oz” a few weeks before leaving, albeit with a slight delay to earn the necessary funds, I received a call from Sophs just after New Years to let me know she would in fact be joining me  - and I have been immensely excited ever since. She arrived Sunday evening and it has been lovely to hear all the news of home and hear so much of all that I’ve missed – and you all have been sorely missed.

So, last Sunday evening, after having spent the day finalising visa forms and job applications, I took a shuttle to Melbourne Airport and waited in expectancy for her arrival. Melbourne Airport and I think I’m quite an authority to remark on it, given my many visits, has one or two major faults. One of those is its arrival area. For those of you who haven’t yet visited Australia, let me tell you that you’re yet to experience the rigours of passport control and immigration checks ‘til you do. With landing cards and passport control, you’re then sent through for an interview and asked to unpack your bag explaining each item and to convince the staff on duty that you’re not out to infect, terrorize or abuse the population of Australia, which dwell a few hundred yards beyond a further series of x-ray scanners. The process  I understand has its purpose but with the many layers of immigration and interview stands, the once neat queue of visitors quickly becomes a wide spread of people and things. Once completed and approved, you’re then asked to leave through the nearest door, of which there are many and this is precisely where my major fault with Australia Immigration Authority lies.

Welcoming friends and family at the airport is a wonderful experience. Even without a T-mobile fanfare greeting, one can’t help but be excited by it all and as you look at the many expectant parents, grandparents, siblings, partners and friends, you can see they are all dancing and singing inside, waiting with wide smiles and giddy grins. I was very much one of those in wait and with the added addition of my first coffee in a month, arrived at the arrivals lounge with grin to rival any of my counterparts and my fingers trembling in anticipation. So, given that nearly all of those waiting were in a similar state of excitement, searching among the incoming crowds for one we could wave to madly and coocoo their name in a loudness otherwise unacceptable in other surroundings, I was deeply unimpressed to find that in addition to searching among the incoming hordes for Sophie, I also had to switch my focus between the four doors spread along the 100-metre stretch of immigration. In what played out as a one hour and ten minute tennis match of turning my head back and forth, at a rate of one turn to every two to three seconds, my level of excitement and anticipation grew to a point near eruption….And then, walking through the fourth exit, clad fully in backpacker attire, I spotted Sophie, coocoo’d her name loudly and squeezed her with a smile as wide as I could stretch. Welcome Sophie!

After a night of catching up , we woke early the next morning to start planning out adventure together. We quickly decided that the West Coast was our first port of call and within 3 hours of our first day together in Australia, we had booked flights for the following morning, this morning in fact and returning to how this post started, we are indeed now on the plane on our way to the beautiful coast of Western Australia. Our plans are to hire a car and with a 2-man tent and stove, will spend the next two weeks journeying along the coast, stopping from town to town, beach to beach, wherever our instincts and desires take us.

I’ll be sure to keep in touch and will provide you with as much photographic aid as possible.

So ‘til then, keep on keeping on all… we most definitely will.

On the road again...

Good evening my faithful readers,


I thought after a bit of soul-searching and poetry, I'd give you all a fair share of travel writing. So as I dust down my writing desk and don my reading glasses, I'll attempt to transport you all to Melbourne, Phillip Island and the Great Ocean Road, in all their wonderment.


 First of all, let me introduce you to Sally, our local guide and co-pilot, who – to my huge gratification - supplied the car with which this road trip took place and the tent, the sat-nav, the music and magazines for that matter, not forgetting a ‘gansta’ attitude which would rival ‘lil Jon to ‘Get down low’, hmmm, yeah... And by popular demand, this update will be full of photographic indulgence! So with what seems most apt, we’ll start with an introduction to the car and Sally – just imagine, if you will, the door shaking with heavy bass, a heavily auto-tuned voice and an angry husky-voiced man sharing with us his views on women, tight jeans and drinking shots – and you’ll understand this picture in all its thousand words.

After what were arguably the most blissfully happy two weeks I've experienced, I hopped over the ditch on a late Monday flight to Melbourne and took a good night's rest in preparation for the trip ahead. After a long breakfast, discussing the intricacies of the Chipwrecked storyline - that's the third Chipmunk blockbuster film released in as many years for those of you who haven't yet had the wondrous opportunity to chat to a rather enthusiastic little girl about it -  and taking full heed of all the advice and photographic description of where to travel in W.A. (Western Australia) when Sophie shortly arrives, we packed up the car, said our goodbyes and headed down toward the beaches and quaint towns of Phillip Island.

Phillip Island, first inhabited by the Aboriginal Bunurong tribe was joined (perhaps not in idyllic harmony) by George Bass on the 5th January 1798, the first European visitor. Shortly after his arrival, the numbers of migrants rapidly increased in the form of sealers. In a move to fully appropriate all the island's resources, the McHaffie brothers took out a lease of the entire land in 1842 to graze sheep and cultivate farmland. However, despite the success of Chicory, most harvests failed and the severe droughts and harsh conditions led most inhabitants to migrate back further north and seek richer winnings. By 1870, Phillip Island began its new life as a tourist centre and hotspot. With the first hotel opened and a paddle steamer linking the island to the mainland, the tourist industry blossomed and with the addition of motor racing in 1928, now the home of Motor GP, the island has become a regular destination for tourists and Victorians alike.

With all that history in mind, Sally and I quickly decided - along with the vast majority of tourists that day - to hit the beach, well a fair few beaches, starting with Cape Woolamai. Armed each with a boogie board and towel, we chose our spot carefully amongst the many red-backed 'regulars' and charged the nearby surf with the aim of riding the waves and feeling the exhilaration of harnessing the power of the ocean... Suffice to say, there was no such harnessing, just two moronic individuals repeatedly crushed by the incoming surf, spending most of their time chasing their boards and blowing water out of their noses. After a half hour of feigning an "isn't it great" attitude, we returned to our towels, our tails between our legs and happily enjoyed the tranquillity of solid land beneath our feet and water-free noses. A short beach-walk later, we decided that this site wasn't perhaps as idyllic as we had hoped for and returned to the car to head instead for Smiths Beach - with a surprising intermission meeting Scooby and the Gang.

Smiths Beach was entirely perfect. A sandy beach backed by low sandstone cliffs, a faint swell and crystal blue waters, marked it as the place we most definitely should have come to a few hours before. Now, slightly disillusioned by beach attractions and the lateness of the day, we enjoyed the placid waters for an hour or so and both agreed upon a trip to Cowes and its fish 'n' chips. We ate heartedly, to say the least and with full stomachs, returned to the car to find our campsite for the evening and assemble the borrowed tent, which we hoped would be suitable and reasonably simple to erect.

In what again was a pleasurable surprise, we found that we had been given a giant of a four-man tent and I happily assembled it in giddy delight, walking the four corners without the need to bend my spine or duck my head. With the tent much to my liking and my sleeping bag laid out in expectancy of a good night's sleep, I gave a quiet nod of approval at my good fortune and zipped the tent shut for a night of commercial conservationism...

The sun slowly setting, a golden-red glow colouring the passing plains, we made our way to the intriguingly named Penguin Parade. In what we estimated was perhaps the most ingenious money making scheme ever conceived under the name of conservation, we arrived at the Disney-Land of wildlife protection and paid our $20 slightly unsure to how much 'good' it was to be used. We entered hesitantly, whereupon we were immediately offered a green-screen photo with us and the penguins (for a small price of course, sir) and then walked through the forecourt of gift shops - of which there were three - cafes and food stalls. Avoiding the many cuddly penguins adorned in Christmas and explorer outfits, from palm-sized, to the dimensions of a six year-old, we headed to the board-walks outside, declined an offer of popcorn for the show and headed toward the beachfront for the parade. Given that I've told you all the information we held at that moment in time, we also found ourselves in a similar situation to what you find yourself now, bewildered and unsure just what the parade would involve. I personally was hoping for a spotlit show of penguins dressed in bow-ties, top hats and canes, performing a complicated acrobatic routine to a dramatic show tune and with tiered seating, spotlights and speakers set toward the beach, my heart began to race in anticipation. A park ranger came out on the beachfront, took up a microphone and began to introduce the performance.... It was, however, not to be how I imagined. We were told, as the sun sets and night falls upon the beach, a penguin colony whom live in the hills behind us would slowly emerge from their watery work-place and waddle their way in tight packs to their abodes. The spotlights were to light the beaches 'in a manner to which will not disturb the penguins, hmm...' and the speakers, solely for the use of this introduction. "Oh bugger!" I thought to myself.

After strict instruction to keep noise to a minimum, to avoid using cameras (hence the lack of photos here) and stay seated, we waited alongside the other few hundred people for nightfall and the emergence of the Penguin Parade. An hour later, with the first stars beginning to shine and the sea a wash of blackness, the first few penguins arrived home after a hard day's fishing. Despite the absence of costume dress, I was sufficiently content to sit and quietly watch wave after wave bring the water-birds in and to amuse myself at their comical land-covering techniques. I can tell you now, with assured clarity, that penguins would definitely not be capable of a choreographed  dance exposition... In some areas, just a few - and trying to remain positive here - not all wishes can come true. After a hour of penguin immigration, we returned to Penguin World and the gift shops via the walkways alongside their nesting places. We watched hundreds return to their nests in further amusing fashion and wandered the gift shops in a mood to buy all the crap they had on offer. Like I said before, this site was most definitely the creation of some marketing genius. We left, with a certain amount of self-control, empty handed and under strict instruction to check under our cars for sleeping penguins... I couldn't resist the temptation. And please do pay attention to the sign and sketch, whoever drew it has now become one of my personal heroes.

After a night's dreaming of dancing sea-creatures, we awoke for an early start and a long day's driving along the Great Ocean Road. The Great Ocean Road, is just that. It's a 243 kilometre stretch of road along the south-eastern coast of Australia and in all its visual splendour, earns the title of Great and well, Oceanic, in its location. By noon we had arrived in Torquay and after a day spent driving along a portion of its length, we dined at a beach-view restaurant and headed to the impromptu fairground constructed a few hundred metres away. Being the polite Libra that I am, I told Sally she could choose any of the rides and amusements she so wished and upon her decision, I would join her. She choose, in all matters however, unwisely and opted for the ride which spins around violently, while jerking up and down. Given we'd just eaten and the ride looked as reliable as its controller, I was inordinately displeased by her ridiculous choice. But, as I had said, it was hers to make. So, we bought the tickets, passed them over to one of the most un-enthused men I've yet to meet and strapped ourselves in. The next five minutes were possibly some of worst five minutes I've ever experienced. To give you a brief insight into my thoughts, I was battling between two concepts. The first was to keep all that I had just swallowed, remained swallowed and the second was to clear my mind of the many newspaper headlines titling my vision. After managing to keep my food inside...just, and avoiding the "UK backpacker decapitated on condemned fairground ride" headlines from bannering local news, I happily exited the ride and scorned Sally for her reckless decision.

Having lost the feeling of nausea and with the delight of remaining alive and well, I returned to my positive state, bought some beers and headed to our campsite outside of Apollo Bay. The campsite was idyllic, remote and free (always a plus) and after setting up camp, we left for an hour or so's walk to watch the sun set and see the desert-like expanse of beach. The setting was picture perfect and with the waves crashing onto the shore and the sun a brilliant red, the beach was radiating positive energy and I'd challenge any of you to not feel entirely content and without worry.

After a long day, a near death experience and an evening of sea air, I was immensely happy to be back in our palatial tent and with the slight disturbance of a nearby tent using their hairdryer, fell into a deep and peaceful sleep. With a 7 o'clock start the following morning and a fair few hours driving, I returned to Melbourne for a week of city life and bid a fond farewell to my co-pilot...

And now, I am in Melbourne dividing my time between job applications, bikram yoga and bouldering... shortly to be joined by very good company. Until then, I wish you all the very best & will do my best to show you around the rest of Australia as we depart early next week.

Keep on keeping on,

Lots of love.