OUR FEATHERED PARK FRIENDS AND A RING-IN (NOVEMBER - DECEMBER 2014)

In our initial weeks here at the Rose Gardens we were somewhat short on human company as you have seen in my previous, but this was more than made up for by our feathered friends. What a delight they have been.

Magpies, kookaburras, willy wagtails, murray magpies, parrots and cockatoos...not to mention the ubiquitous silver gulls. Some have come and gone, others have remained as genuine camp followers.

The kookas were the first to make their presence felt, and when we first set up they were actually nesting in a hollow in a tree on our site.  This did not last. Once the Xmas rush began, they moved to less populated sections of the park and disappeared altogether until a few days ago. But for our first month or so we would hear the male call to its mate as it left the hollow and made its way to his favourite roosting branch some metres away.  Once joined, the two would declare their territorial interests with a rousing, chortling challenge to all and sundry.

These were fine specimens indeed. They only had one major problem in their lives. The nearby nesting (we presume) willy wagtails were having nothing of them or their size and voice.  We had never seen anything like it.  No sooner had Mr and Mrs Kooka settled than they were under attack.

After many failed attempts when I would scurry forth from the annex on hearing the sounds of conflict (willys can make a huge noise for such a small bird) I finally managed to capture a few shots of 'The Battle of the Rose Gardens' for posterity. Here you can see the lead willy on the swoop whilst its mate is lining up on the runway.

They were ferocious. None of this aerial prancing about just out of reach for them. We actually saw them land on the kookaburras' heads on more than one occasion and beaver away with their short beaks until the larger birds finally dislodged them with an impatient shake.  And the outcome....on each occasion the kookaburra(s) would sit tight with a stoic resignation I could not believe until finally they would fly off and rid themselves of the pesky willys, for the time at least. The willys won every bout with the kookaburras,

as they also did with the magpies (which wander the park in almost plague proportions...including right into any open annex!), gulls and any other feathered intruder into what they considered to be their territory. These tiny masters of the aerial guerrilla attack would hover, flit, swoop and harry with an incomparable agility. It is no wonder that no airborne bug is safe when they are in a feeding mood.

The two species which seemed to be of complete disinterest to the willys were the parrots which were daily visitors to our patch of the park whilst the grasses were seeding in late November. 








The brightly coloured western rosellas 

would munch away unhindered, seemingly oblivious to my sneaking presence.













The more moderately daubed, but equally splendid, red-capped parrots were a far more difficult proposition....they would take flight at the slightest hint of my approach.

After many attempts, I finally managed to capture one of these magnificent parrots at a distance which obviously severely challenged the lens of my little digital.

Both these species would land in the park each morning just after sunrise and feed for an hour or so on the grass seeds until the pre-Xmas lawn mowing put paid to their food source.....and that, to my great disappointment, was the last we saw of them.  

But just before this sad event I did manage to frame both together, when the difference in their plumage becomes much more obvious than at first sight of an individual. These splashes of morning colour were a real highlight of our first few weeks at Rose Gardens.

But all was not peaceful in paradise!  To Liz's horror, and my constant responses to her wails of "get some rolled up newspaper....there's another one on the bedroom window", large huntsman spiders were another constant camp companion. I did my best to reduce the park population, but my efforts were not a patch on those of a local winged crusader.

We have no idea what this fearsome wasp-like bug is, but after observing its efforts in eradicating many of the park spiders, we have christened it 'amicus lizzyii'. It looks a deal less threatening on the ground than it does in flight, when its bright orange wings, legs and feelers seem to project in all directions with an overture of latent menace.  This was certainly the case for the huntsmen!

And just before we leave this ornithological ramble (with additions) I must close with a mention of a recent arrival in the sky over the park. We had first spotted a few of these striking locals whilst in Denmark, but until a fortnight ago, none here in Albany.  Their eerie, haunting cries are the first indication of their presence. And there they were, small flocks of magnificent white-tailed black cockatoos wheeling overhead on their wide wings, looking for all the world like miniature dragons (well, in my imagination at least!) as they swooped and soared in apparent complete flying disorder.  

Because we cannot see the size of their bills, we cannot be sure if they are Carnaby's or Baudin's black cockatoos (apart from this they are virtually indistinguishable to the lay observer), but we suspect they are Baudin's which are highly localised in the Albany area.

It has been totally impossible to photograph these striking birds on the wing, so again I acknowledge the value of the Internet to provide some pictorial additions to this missive.

This 'flock shot' (also from my friends in the electronic ether) is remarkably similar to what we have been seeing....a wonderful natural addition to the other joys of our recent afternoons.

The comings and goings of the birds of The Rose Gardens have certainly been a delight to watch and have been a real highlight of this stay here which is now but a day or so from drawing to a close. A few more pre-departure snippets shortly as time allows.

LIZ'S FAREWELL AND A FEW OTHER ALBANY JOLLIES (JANUARY 2015)

Popping many corks and kissing strangers on New Years' Eve at midnight has never really been our scene, so it was no biggie for us that Liz was working a late shift on the evening of 31 December and was back on her ward again early on New Year's Day. But I am delighted to report that our one major dread, that the park would be one raging party until the early hours (all the rules relating to the need to be quite by 2200 hours go by the wayside on NYE in caravan parks) did not become a reality. Fortunately we were surrounded by a relatively dour lot and the necessary short sleep between shifts was assured.

The beginning of 2015 marked the nearing of the end of Liz's stint at the hospital. By this stage we were both on a countdown.....our normal life was but less than a fortnight away. The WA systems of nursing and the broadly acknowledged inadequacies of the WA health system, shortcomings which are particularly evident at the Albany Hospital, were beginning to take their toll on The Matron, and I had had enough of pottering around the van on my own. Ah, but would she go out with a bang?

"Well, Liz are you having a farewell show or not?"  This question hovered for a few weeks, but eventually, almost by default it seems, a gathering at the waterfront restaurant and bar 'Due South' was agreed.  From that point plans for the show gained some real momentum....from the initial four starters things developed into a full blown Surgical Ward bash.  

This was one occasion on which no amount of coin tossing for the driver's job would see an amicable resolution of that domestic dilemma. We were to grace the interior of an Albany cab for the first time, a very wise decision as it turned out.

Despite the fact that we arrived at the appointed hour on the designated Sunday afternoon, the troops were already in place and in good form. We had not trouble working out where they were in the rather large dining area of the restaurant....the very same in which Liz had been able to pretend she was not gazing adoringly at William McInnes some weeks previously. I don't quite know what it is about a group of nurses on a day out.  There was a striking similarity of behaviour here as I had come to expect when Liz's girls in Adelaide congregated outside the work environment. No wonder nurse and coppers have always gotten on so well!

The vanguard group had managed to snare a corner table which meant that we had water views in all directions. And, as should be the case at all good shows such as this, there was much general milling about and chatter.





Liz and I had previously contemplated a night out at The Venice restaurant in York Street after drinks here.....a good idea at the time but for one small factor....we cottoned onto a very acceptable local rose (almost as good as our favourite Rockcliffe brew) and it soon become clear that the guest of honour was in for a big night. I decided that a bite was a good idea, even if it turned out to be the sloppiest seafood pizza I have ever encountered. It was like trying to eat a hot pie with sauce and not wear any of it.

And of course, as the evening progressed, it came to pass that the obligatory 'it's been sooooo good working with you' photos were posed and snapped (I wonder, does one actually 'snap' with a digital camera?)

No, good folk, don't be alarmed.....Liz and I were not embroiled in one of those 'stay as far away from me as possible' scraps.....our relative positions just happened this way. As you can see, at least I had two other men for company.  The chap behind Liz is the husband of one of the ward team leaders (more of them later) whilst the guy next to me is a hospital doctor who just happens to be going out with one of the ward nurses.







I have had to be somewhat selective in this pictorial presentation. Things did go on to become wonderfully willing,








and by the time Colin, the ward manager, arrived, Liz was in full flight (as were most of us).  Colin did impress me with his ability to maintain a stoic and  impassive demeanour in the face of some pretty honest and decidedly unsolicited opinions about all things 'Albany Hospital Surgical Ward'.




It turned out to be one of those great fun nights and I was really pleased to see and hear Liz receiving the accolades and thanks I felt she had truly earned in her seven weeks at the hospital.

And, as invariably happens at these shows, at the end of the evening invitations were flung about with gay abandon. We did accept one. The offer of a BBQ and spa at the home of Jennifer and Charles in Bayonet Head (about a ten minute drive from our camp, which for Albany is virtually next door....this town spreads out for nearly 30 kms from one end to the other) was one we accepted with real pleasure.


After introductory drinks, and a wander around their extensive and very well maintained garden (poking around in the soil and watching things grow is one of the shortcomings of life on the road for me...a potted flat leaf parsley plant just doesn't quite make it as a real substitute), it was off to the spa for a good pre-dinner soak in the late afternoon sunlight









before Charles busied himself at the good old Weber Q













and Jen repaired indoors to see to the salad selection.






A good warm soak, a fine meal washed down with various products of grain and grape and some great yarns....this was another delightful evening. Liz's previous working arrangements had had the effect of severely curtailing our social activity. I was relishing being 'out and about' again, enjoying some good and entertaining company.

But I have to report I left Bayonet Head a changed man. Charles, an ex-navy man, suggested that I should join him in a tot (or two). "Rum has never really been my tipple, Charles."  "Try this one, Pete. I'll bet you change your mind." 





Thanks Charles. Another vice to be added to my collection. A trip to Dan Murphy's a couple of days later and a bottle of fine British Navy Pussers Rum now adorns our modest bar. Mind you, at $60 a bottle, this is sipping liqueur only!

We did reciprocate a week or so later.  Being able to entertain in reasonable comfort irrespective of the weather is one great advantage of having set up the full annex.  I decided to move away from the ubiquitous BBQ and  prepare one of our specialities, an Italian bake using tomato, bacon, gnocchi and bocconcini and a few other bits and pieces. With a entree of freshly caught crumbed garfish, we sat down to a fine feast.






Charles had also been busy in the galley. We finished the meal with a delightfully tart and tasty lemon meringue pie.....and, yes, you guessed it, a tot or two of Pussers Rum!





Yet another fine night. I was starting to really get into the swing of Albany social life. But time is rolling on. Once Liz adorns the fridge door with an impossibly long list of all that has to be done before we move on, I know things are getting serious and it is time focus. 

But it is not all work. This list includes the need to visit the new Anzac Centre on Mount Adelaide and the Brig Amity.  No trip to Albany is complete without dong so. The adventure continues.

SOME 'MIXED BAG' ALBANY (DECEMBER 2014 - JANUARY 2015)

Well, folks, as I am want to say, "we are back on the air!"  After three weeks in the blogging wilderness, I thought it time to re-gird my literary loins. 

Our stay in Albany is drawing to a close and the plan to spend the majority of the summer here to avoid the heat and noise of Perth has been highly successful, particularly so as I write.....Perth is about to head into two days of high 30 degree heat....Albany's forecast....a mild low 20's. Mind you, as I have previously mentioned, the downside has been very few fine and sunny days and plenty of wind, but those few hot days did reinforce why we were here as opposed to sweltering in the State capital.

It has been interesting to say the least to actually drop anchor for this extended period, and to settle into a routine which has been akin to a 'normal' suburban lifestyle, particularly so during the seven weeks during which Liz was working at the local hospital. Oddly, it has all had a different feel to it compared to our only other long stay, our four month stint in Carnarvon. I suspect this is quite possibly due to the fact that Liz and I have not been working together here, and I think it is fair to say that, despite my efforts, the fact that Liz worked right across it meant that this Festive Season did bring with it a real sense of dislocation.

But I have to say there are some decided advantages in being settled for some time. We are so well set up and locked down that the vagaries of the weather are something to be ignored. We know where to shop for just about everything, and can get there and back each time by the shortest route without reference to the local street maps. This in itself is a real achievement in the entirely non-direct layout of Albany. I realised I had 'become a local' when I found myself potentially ignoring speed limits and become impatient when stuck behind dawdling, sightseeing 'tourists' whilst commuting the unavoidable 10 kms into the central Albany CBD.

But enough of this introspection for the moment. Let's get down to some really serious stuff.... fishing! 

One real plan I had for our time here was to provide The Matron with her favourite finny feeds.....garfish, or 'gardies' as they are locally known. Could I repeat the success of our previous visit?

First things first. As all who have dangled a line will know, good fishing results are contingent on a number of variables, some of which, such as the weather and tides, are not within our control. The right bait is a different matter altogether, and for gar the one and only bait is fly maggots, or as we from the gentile realm of SA more politely refer to them, 'Gents'.

With these wriggling morsels firmly attached to tiny hooks, and a fair dollop of beguiling burly in the float, gar for miles around cannot resist the call to lunch. But there is a snag.....no bait shop in WA stocks these essentials. It is just as well that in my many summers on Kangaroo Island in years gone by I had perfected the art (skill, madness??) of breeding my own.  And, no, once neatly housed in clean bran and pollard they don't smell, but the same cannot be said for sections of the process by which they reach that situation and I'll not inflict the gory details on you other than to note that a rather smelly, large fish head is a good start. 

Suffice to say, I managed several successful breedings, and proved beyond doubt that they are the bees knees for good hauls of gar (I fished a number of times alongside a local who is no slouch with a rod but uses different bait).




Even when the catches were somewhat limited there can be few finer spots from which to try than the rock wall at Emu Point. Here Ted and I were casting out into the waters of Oyster Harbour, just beyond the boat channel entrance, on a day which I would have loved to bottled for later.




I had met Ted on my last visit to Albany. He is a most entertaining fishing companion. Ted has been around, including spending some of his childhood on an apple orchard at Norton Summit in the Adelaide Hills when my grandfather was the local Methodist minister there. Ted has shorn sheep, owned and skippered a tuna boat and built two houses. We have had some great yarns whilst plundering the pristine waters of Oyster Harbour.




The rocks on the point do present something of a hazard for those of us with challenged knees, particularly when performing the gymnastics required to bait up,









but once the hooks are loaded with 'gardie lunch', all that remains is to stand back, take in the view and keep an eagle eye on the float. How could anyone possibly not enjoy doing this.....Lizzie????? A beautiful summer day, light breezes, blue waters, an entertaining fishing mate and a challenge....heaven!







And, when the fishing gods smile, the gar just seemed to queue up for capture. Some were of modest size,














but every so often the rod would bend with the weight of a fine plump specimen. Now that's what we came here to do!









Of the several days I fished this spot, this was the most successful. After a couple of hours I suddenly thought that I had better check on the numbers in the bucket.  Just as well....one more and I had reached my bag limit for the day.  Two minutes later and it was time to scale and head the catch and wander off home. 





I had 'bagged out'. Thirty fresh gar. This had been a day indeed. It's not often I have that peculiar pleasure of 'leaving them on the bite', as we say.







But again there is no such thing as a free lunch (or dinner). They all had to be filleted ready to be packed in the freezer. In the gathering gloom of twilight I was very grateful to be the owner of a 'Batlight', a portable LED torch which our very good friend John Vogt had insisted we needed in our kit. Fine call, JV. Good light is critical to the task of producing flesh saving butterfly fillets from some of the smaller fish (in addition to skill, patience, and a very sharp knife, that is!)

And where the garfish are concerned it is 'mission accomplished'. Our freezer now boasts fifteen frozen double meals of this fine flavoured fish. In her role as 'inside girl', where she is responsible for storage, Liz has called "enough!"  

Much as I enjoyed the challenge of this form of fishing, the success achieved and the wonderful locale in which it is pursued here at Emu Point, my Albany piscatorial adventures have been extended during this stay, courtesy of a great bloke who set up opposite us in the park some weeks ago.


Jeremy, the Perth based owner of a kitchen manufacturing business, wandered across to our beer garden one evening where Liz and I were taking our ease on one of the rare warm late afternoons to ask if I was interested in fishing. "Does a one-legged duck swim in circles?".  After a short but animated discussion it was settled....we would fish 'The Sandpatch' on the morrow.....0600 hours departure. 


There are times (few and far between) when the lack of daylight saving here in WA is a boon, and this was one of them. The sun was well up as we made our way across Albany to the base of the local wind farm which is located high on the ridge overlooking the Southern Ocean.

"This is good, Jeremy, but where are we fishing?"  "Down there." "Right....it looks great, but 

at the risk of being a bit obvious, how do we get down there? It looks a bloody long way down."




You guessed it, dear readers....it was. But at least we didn't have to fly.....there is a stairway. This is the top section.....a 'warm up' run of almost 200 steps to the first viewing platform, which in my case became the first rest  stop!







After a minute or two contemplating the insanity of what I was about to attempt and debating the potential outcome of going to all this effort without returning with fish, (or the even more vexed conundrum of having to drag a a good haul back up to the top if we were successful), the usual rallying cry of 'onwards and upwards' was turned on its head.....down we went.  Some 700 steps later we were on the rocky ledges of The Sandpatch.

I spent the next few minutes trying to convince myself that the location was worth the effort. There is no doubt that, as far as ocean beach fishing spots go, this is prime. Close inshore gutters, reasonably small surf and a number of sandy gaps between the scattered rocks of the shore break all shouted salmon, tailor and bull herring country. 

But did the fish know that?  They surely did.  Apart from some fine plump herring, I had the thrill of landing my first ever salmon, a more than modest size as far as this species goes, but for me that was a matter of complete irrelevance, and, given that I caught it on a herring rig, probably just as well. 

To my delight, my highly competent and well equipped fishing companion was quick to capture the moment for posterity. I fear that this event may be a turning point....I have never been terribly interested in this type of fishing before, but I have to say I am now hooked (groan softly please).

On the condition that I discarded one of my rods (indeed it is that behind me in this photo) the Treasurer even acceded to my newly discovered (and urgent) need for a much better lightweight surf rod. "How much is that likely to cost?"  "There are times when ignorance is a blessing, my dear", was probably not the smartest of  answers, but permission was granted and the following day I was off like a shot to the local BCF, returning as the proud owner of a very flash 12ft Wilson and a reel of 20 lb braid. Shhhhhhh...$250! I did resist the temptation of a new reel, but that may change later.

Thank goodness Liz has discovered that freshly caught salmon, dusted lightly in flour and quickly grilled in light olive oil, does make a fine evening meal. But, of course, I am now under pressure to repeat this performance, either again at The Sandpatch (if I can summon the energy to face the stairs again....five rest stops on the way back up) or elsewhere on our travels east from here.





Despite the effort involved, it had been a super morning, followed of course by the inevitable knifework to convert these offerings from the sea to something ready for the pan.











A fine plate indeed.  We did feast well that night.




   


This was not the end of my Albany fishing adventures with the redoubtable Jeremy. A couple of days later (after I had gotten my breath back and could again walk without wincing) we made the trip east to Two Peoples Bay and the nearby Little Beach, vaunted (wrongly in my view) as Australia's best beach....I'll let you be the judge.

We actually began the day at the 'back beach' after scrambling our way across the granite boulders pictured at the far end of this shot.  I have to say my efforts at one point were less than elegant when my right knee gave way as I attempted to cross one large fissure. Legs, rods, and buckets went in all directions, and, on reflection, I was very lucky not to have broken my wrist. But we made it and despite the pristine location and our efforts to get there, the fish were just not on the bite.



Undeterred, we retraced our steps back to Little Beach (by a longer but much more user friendly route) and set up again. As ever, with the first cast the heart beat rose, but soon resumed its normal pace....not a touch.  As you can see, my mate is a picture of the complete surf angler, but we had no luck. But the day was not a complete loss....I had learnt that I would never again attempt to access the back beach!


Jeremy, his charming wife Emily and their three lovely daughters joined us for farewell drinks in our annex all too soon.  I had come to really enjoy both his company and the physical prod of a man thirty years my junior, and in the process had learnt much. We were both sorry to see them go.

"Thanks, Jeremy...I suspect you have unleashed a demon." Despite the challenges, I am finding that the lure of The Sandpatch is irresistible. I need another salmon. The forecast is looking good for Wednesday. Ah, the hope and dreams which keep us anglers at it!  But for now, I'll provide those odd folk amongst you who don't love to catch our scaly cousins of the sea with the relief of ending this tale of Albany fishing....more of our some of our social life and other Albany snippets in my next.

OUR ALBANY CHRISTMAS (DECEMBER 2014)

As you know, Albany was our destination of choice this summer. Our plan to avoid the extremes of Perth's heat here on the south coast has been an unqualified success. For many weeks the weather gods have been frowning down on Albany from cool and cloudy skies, often leaking irritating 'mizzle' (miserable drizzle....a word we learnt at Lake Tinaroo last year) to complete the discomfort.  

But, as if there has been some natural imperative to embrace the 'joie de vivre' of the festive season, the sun has finally broken through on more than one day in ten and the weather has finally actually met our expectations.

And Xmas was drawing nigh. "Lizzie, where did I store those Xmas decorations from last year...they are not where I thought I had left them?"  Fancy expecting help from the Xmas decorations Grinch! But I persevered and, after turning out some very dark places in little used cupboards, I had everything ready.  

Our modest travelling tree was be-baubled (that gave the spell-check a jolt),

our equally modest 'hall' was decked with a holly substitute of tinsel and a garland, the Xmas table cloth and mats made their annual appearance from the depths of the linen cupboard,












cards were hung inside 














and the festive lights were strung without.





Now all that remained was to ensure that Max did not feel left out. Oddly enough being a 'Tinsel Cat' was not high on his agenda. He survived just long enough to be part of our annual Xmas 'selfie' where, as his face shows, he posed with a disappointing lack of enthusiasm

before his sense of pride and independence took over and he was off to the rear annex door




where he made a furtive but unsuccessful bid for freedom. At this point we took pity on our mightily miffed moggie and rendered him 'tinsel-less' but I have to say we were not forgiven the indignity for some time. I think 'haughty' covers it. "Get over it, Max.....there are times you just have to be a team player."


As in the past, this Xmas presented us with our annual unresolved menu dilemma....Liz cannot abide turkey. Now I know that revelation will have most of you reeling with shock, but there it is...just something I have to live with, or not!  

For me the concept of watching the unfolding battle which is the Boxing Day Test Match sans a cold turkey drumstick and a cold roast spud is unthinkable. The solution is simple....we have two Xmas meals, one traditional and the other which caters for Her Oddness, a succulent seafood celebration.

Liz was the subject of some unkind hospital rostering over the festive season, including day shift on Xmas Day and again on Boxing Day. Our evening Xmas Day meal was obviously going to have to be a quite subdued affair, so we made up for this by having an opening bash on December 21st, using our wedding anniversary as the excuse. Liz was off on the 22nd, so this would be the night on which to let our hair down. 







To my great relief, I had managed to source a very small turkey, so it was off to the galley for Chef Pierre where the sacrificial fowl was stuffed and trussed













and consigned to the oven. "Of course I know what temperature to use, Liz. I've cooked turkey before". The real fact of the matter was that, with this van oven the setting on the temperature gauge and the resultant heat in the oven itself can be two different things completely. We have, by now, learnt to compensate, but my expressions of self-confidence at this point in proceedings were a little feigned. 









I had no need to worry. A few hours later our table centrepiece emerged a succulent golden brown. The roasted veggies were a complete success, 











and I made a triumphant progress to the festive table where the laden platter took pride of place.

With Liz using BBQ chicken as a turkey substitute, we popped the cork on a fine bottle of local bubbles saved for just such an occasion, and settled into a delightful evening. The champers was followed by an equally good local sav blanc (and I have to report honestly that some of the whites of the Denmark area do rate seriously well), and, just to top off the night in style, we sipped nightcaps of Tennessee Honey from my recently acquired 'cut crystal' (still glass) liqueur glasses. All in all, a very fine evening indeed.

Our Xmas night meal was, by comparison, a modest affair as far as our fluid consumption went, but I did make an effort 'at table'. To my surprise and delight I had managed to find a local seafood outlet which offered not only wonderful local scallops, but fresh South Australian crayfish. And of a good size, too. One kilogramme crustaceans graced the display cases. After having to settle last year for the 600 gramme midgets which are the largest western lobsters commercially available (unless you live in Singapore or Shanghai where the serious specimens end up), I was over the moon. Large and fresh...just the way a good cray should be.

I do have to admit that it was a little strange driving Liz to work first thing on Xmas morning. In complete contrast to Perth last year, the day had dawned cool, overcast and breezy, climatic conditions which I found rather matched my mood at that point as I drove back to a sleeping caravan park. I love Xmas Day, always have, and this was the first in my memory on which I had found myself alone for the better part of it. It was an odd sensation.

But there was work to be done. The crays were cleaned and the banana prawns shelled and prepared. The pea and potato salad was cooked and mixed, the scallops and prawns were crumbed and the green salad filled a bowl. The seafood sauce was mixed and tasted. Our self imposed limit of one bottle of champagne was on ice. 






The table was moved and reset. And the weather lifted.....we were set.












Liz was more than ready for an early start to proceedings. I plated the crays and set to over our outside stove. 















In no time flat a plate of golden crumbed seafood morsels was also gracing the festive board.  














It was time to relax and tuck in. The Matron took no persuading.  Nor did I......













.....Merry Xmas everyone!











We did enjoy another fine evening of restrained celebration, all under the watchful supervision of the ship's cat, who decided that he would keep an eye on things from the 'big chair'. After all, a cat's entitled to a treat on a night like this and I can assure you when we are in the annex there is definitely 'no show without punch!'






The reality of Liz's current working life returned on the morrow when the alarm sounded at 0530 hours. Hi, ho, hi, ho, it's off to work she goes!  But it's Boxing Day....the Test Match of the year, the start of the Sydney-Hobart, cold cray and turkey on which to graze.....and, for the first time for many years, I was rejoicing in a clear head. I dropped Liz off at work, went for an early (conscience) swim and settled back with the TV and assorted snacks.

And then it started. The first arrivals of what became a week and a half of utter park madness. We had been warned but we were not prepared! 

At least 100 new arrivals jammed onto every available site over Boxing Day and December 27. With myriads of excited kids, every one of whom owned a  bike or a scooter with which they treated the park roads like a race track, and most of their equally excited parents letting their holiday hair down with understandable verve, the erstwhile peace of The Rose Gardens was shattered.








Our row transformed from this

to this (taken from the opposite end) overnight. 











The previous vacant spaces of the front sites














became a veritable bedouins' camp in a day.





And so it was throughout the park. Crowds, noise, constant traffic, both on foot and in vehicles, up and down past our patch.....we knew it was coming, but the degree to which our privacy, space and general peace and quite was overturned was a little beyond what we had anticipated, notwithstanding our considerable park experience.

Ah, well, nothing to do but grin and bear it. Hopefully things will settle down early in the new year. Hopefully......???

New Year's Eve came and went with a pleasantly surprising lack of mayhem. This was most welcomed in the Marshie camp. Again, thanks to the insensitive and highly biased management of her ward, Liz worked until 2130 hours on that evening and was back on again at 0700 hours New Year's Day. We both remain very grateful that whilst youngsters can be particularly noisy during the day, they do crash early. A blissful calm descended on our camp well before midnight.

And my prayers were answered on 3 January. A good 70-80 % of the young families packed up their bikes, boards, scooters, canoes, pole tennis and the mass of other holiday accoutrements with which their sites had been littered, and left. Others soon took their places, but these were predominately older couples with no raucous progeny in tow. Elbow room and sanity had returned to The Rose Gardens.  And with Liz only having nine more shifts to work (they offered her more but, oddly enough, she knocked them back) and the weather steadily warming, I was really now looking forward to the remainder of our stay in Albany. [signed...'Grumpy Old Man'!]

Let me end this Xmas-New Year special with an announcement of some import in relation to this time of the year.

THE MOBILE MARSHIES ARE COMING HOME FOR CHRISTMAS 2015. With Liz's Mum not getting any younger, and me rather badly missing the traditional company of my sons on Xmas Day, we decided that we would make our way home for the festive season this coming year. We have yet to finalise the dates or the length of our stay. We are hopeful to be able to grace the Adelaide Oval for the Test cricket, but have yet to see the match schedule for next season.

In any event, we really look forward to catching up with all those wonderful people who are our Adelaide family and friends and shall certainly be allowing more than enough time to do just that.