Houseboating

I turned down the chance to sleep on a houseboat in the Myall Lakes last night. My brother-in-law was captaining it for his significant birthday (don’t despair, bro, 50-year-old Men Are Really Hot).

But, after five nights away, I was homesick.

Sprog 2 was fuming. She was desperate to curl up in one of those narrow bunks with her cousins.

My decision was also swayed by the fact Significant Birthday Boy snores like industrial machinery. I wanted some peace, quiet and my own bathroom.

We’d already spent an idyllic seven hours on the boat and, after a bbq dinner on the roof, I was ready to hit the road.

At a petrol station outside Raymond Terrace I got a text message from Husband: “Oz day party out the back.”

Ah, the irony.

But I pushed on, limping through the front door at 10pm. The farking neighbours, to their unexpected credit, were keeping it down. Just a murmur of voices through the darkness.

Ah, the blessed relief.

So I crashed in bed, expecting to corpse it after my busy day.

Nuh, totally wired from the drive. Couldn’t sleep to save myself.

Ah, the irony again.

And then it was 7am and time to let the chooks out. And now I’m going to the gym to work off a tiny fraction of the cheese and bikkies I scoffed yesterday.

I wonder how our houseboating relatives are faring? Here’s a photo gallery from the day. Click on the first pic to launch it. I got all arty farty with some of them.

As for houseboating – apart from being massively expensive, it was divine. That seven hours aboard felt like FOREVER, in the nicest, most languid way. The Sprogs were in absolute heaven. And the scenery was spectacular.

How was your Australia Day?