I was there, but now i'm back here.
Back in the city.
Work means ironing.
Proper shirts again.
No more bushwalking clothes.
And definitely no more going out to dinner wearing your bushwalking clothes with a scarf oh-so-insouciantly tossed around your neck to feel 'dressed up'.
Like any one notices.
Or if they did they don't care.
It's that sort of place.
& oh yes I do wish I was back there.
That's the problem with holidays.
Especially really really fabulous holidays like this one.
The getting back.
Is the hard bit.
Incidentally, since this is meant to be a *ahem* 'special interest' blog, I did get loads of knitting done while away, on this.
I mean loads.
Repeat after repeat with no distractions apart from the occasional need to put another couple of logs on the fire (yes it is late spring ) or maybe check on the progress of the stewed pears. (How else does one travel with a few kilos of Beurre Bosc you got from a roadside for a couple of bucks?).
And I made some inroads into documenting my backlog of finished objects.
I must admit I may have been just ever so slightly inebriated with the "Holiday Spirit" (wine with lunch, now that's when you really know you're really on holidays) when I took these. Hence the slight, err crappiness.
It's going to take me a while to finish uploading all my pics to flickr (I took 719, and that doesn't even include the ones that were brutally culled when I realised how many gigs 15 seconds of movie ate up . . . no computer to upload to! Talk about roughing it! ) but for those rugged and foolhardy individuals that can take as many "holiday slide nights" as I can dish out: