I couldn’t get under way. I just couldn’t. I mean, who wants to tackle the domestics after such a long absence? I’m probably the least domesticated person I know… and I also know it’s all waiting for me when I get home.
I did my duty – as all good citizens of this great country should – and voted, despite being a very long way from home. Now, like everyone else, I must sit back patiently and watch the political circus perform in the way it undoubtedly will. Will this promise be a “core” promise, or will it be a “non-core” promise? Will the carbon tax be done away with? If so, will it make any difference to your power bill or mine? Oh, to be of child-bearing age, to have my children cared for professionally at taxpayer’s expense while I continue to work at my high-paying profession. Now wouldn’t that be good?
This deep cynicism comes about because I’m only 550 kms from home, of course. I know all manner of expected and unexpected bills await my return, all designed to take the joy out of the adventure.
Amazingly sunny. This field of canola is just south of Wellington.
Nothing could erase the memories of these magnificent fields of canola/rape. They shone brighter than the sun.
Tenterfield tomorrow. There’s just no way to further postpone the inevitable.