Rollingstone

Rollingstone: What a lovely park. So spacious and relaxed.

We scored the prime position right by the beach, much to everyone’s chagrin. Aha! The joys of having a tiny house that fits into the smallest spots. The Griswolds wish their caravans weren’t quite so large now.

The Grey Nomads here are a different class from our previous encounters. They are more upmarket. Hollywood style. Lounging around by the pool, topping up their already deep tan, followed by a few laps of breaststroke, trying hard not to wet their perfectly coiffed hairdos. Strolling around the park in their tiny briefs, showcasing their bronzed chests. Bikini-clad in a deck chair, wine casket on standby, alternating soaking their feet in a foot spa and shaving the hard skin off their heels.

It’s all very relaxed. And there’s no late-night giggling over a wine casket or two with cheese and biscuits. They are all indoors by 7.00 p.m…. because of the bloody midges!

Ernest is a midge and mosquito delicacy, a juicy steak to these hungry critters[1]. Daphne usually goes untouched, like a soggy Brussels sprout. She doesn’t mind being disliked. It’s a blessing.

Except here. Here they eat anything!

***

It was a long and boring drive for Ern from Rollingstone to Hideaway Bay. Miles and miles of straight roads and dry fields. So, when Daph directed him down a bumpy dirt track, as she does, you’d think he’d be grateful for the change in scenery...

Daph: “Left here.”

Ern: “Here?!”

Daph: “Yup.”

Ern: “It can’t be down here?!”

Daph: “Have I ever let you down before?”

Ern: Silence. Probably thinking of the multiple times Daph has done this before.

Ern: “How far?”

Daph: “Twenty-five minutes.”

Ern: “Nup. No way. It’ll take us an hour and a half.”

Daph: “It’s only a dirt track... with a bit of corrugation...”

Kombi: DOOF!

Daph: “... and a few potholes.”

Now, a four-wheel-drive would have no trouble tackling this road. But Google maps has complete disregard for those of us that are driving 1976 Kombi vans with our lives packed into drawers and cupboards in the back. It was a bone rattler.

And, as usual, Daph chuckled in glee at Ern’s discomfort as they bumped along the dirt track, though she was keeping an eye out for the possibility of an angry farmer chasing them off his land with a shotgun.

Daph: “Maybe this is why it’s called Hideaway Bay... it’s so hidden away, you’re lucky to make it there alive.”

[1] If you wanted visual enhancement of Ern’s unfortunate escapades with the local creepy crawlies, you could watch “When Midges Attack” here: https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=399994780660352