A fishing shed is a dream to behold for those drawn to angling as their preferred past time. In FNQ, such a dream is no longer a dream. A sister, a brother, an almost-brother-in-law and a dog are living the dream, fishing the waters of the Tully and Hull Rivers and the Pacific Ocean around Dunk Island whenever the urge hits. They are in search of the biggest catch. The catch to talk about for almost ever. The catch to get the heart racing and the line singing. "THAT" catch.
A day at the races is a rare event in our social calendar. Rare, like once-every-5-or-6-years rare. So when MLP came home suggesting joining a table at the Haweksbury Cup with mates from his work, we donned our best and mixed with the throng.
Anzac Day. Alarms break our sleep at 4am. Lights flick on. Homes come to yawning life. Cars loaded with young and old drive out, lights on, towards the closest cenotaph and ceremony. Then the quiet wait begins. The wait for that tinge of light just before the dawn. That tinge of light that led the ANZACs to the wrong bay on that foreign shore in 1915. Then martial commands break the quiet, feet move in unison and, as the dawn breaks, the solemn act of respect and remembrance begins.
Easter is one of those times of the year for friendship and sharing. This year, MLP and I went home for Easter. Our real home. The Gold Coast. Stayed with friends. Shared food and wine and all things Easter. Home … ahhhh.
Middle Head is a looong way from our current abode in Sydney's far west. It's in the harbour, almost directly opposite The Heads, North Head and South Head. The ones that form the harbour's mouth. The ones that Cook sailed passed and that Governor Phillip rowed a long boat through to found this nation and this magnificent city. Well, his lackies rowed; I'm sure he did not one single iota of rowing.
I've been lusting after a French market basket for oh so long. You know the ones you see ladened with baguettes and fresh produce propped in the bicycle basket just so. Well, now I have my own. But, not just any old French market basket. A pom pom adorned French market basket, no less. Ooh là là.
My little collection of garden pots has been looking very tragic for quite some time. Their Nanna flowers have lived long past their use by date. It was one of those annoying jobs that just kept staring at me saying, "Me next? Me next … please." But the sewing machine called and this little job went further down the queue, until this week.
Who doesn't love a little inter-web wandering? There's so much amazingness out there in cyber space just waiting to be discovered, just waiting to make us drool, dream and be dazzled. So, what have I found for you to begin 2016?