29th December 2016

Where to for Christmas then?  We had really wanted to volunteer this year, however it seems you have to get in quick otherwise they don’t need you – this is actually heartening – so many people want to give their time on Christmas Day to others, lovely to see.

So we checked the map and decided on Streaky Bay with a stop off overnight at a random place known as Point Lowly, but not before loading up with five days worth of food – there was that ridiculous Christmas Day public holiday looming – only in Australia would Government workers declare if Christmas Day falls on a weekend that a weekday following needed to be a day off!  It’s a rort!

We had stumbled upon a remote $8.00 campsite which turned out to be so beautiful and one of our favourites so far.  There was hardly anyone there and the water was so clear the Husband went for a swim, climbed the water tower and watched a graceful Mantaray play below him – before embracing his inner child and jumping into the crystal water and swimming to shore.  Miss 12 and I in the meantime were admiring the view until the wind decided to pick up the awning and flip it onto the roof – mayhem ensued with Miss 12 climbing onto the roof – we were gratefully assisted by John our neighbour who came to save the damsels in distress!  This trip has made it abundantly clear that travellers are some of the most wonderful, interesting and helpful I have ever met – always up for a chat and willing to lend a hand.

You can’t have Christmas without a tree so we had to improvise.  Miss 10 and I had picked up some discounted (of course) red baubles at the IGA so we set about making a driftwood tree for them.  Once again, campers best friend – gaff – saved the day so we could secure the branches then the whole thing to the awning pole.  I even found a pine cone for the star – genius!  Who says you need to spend trillions lining the pockets of Myer shareholders to make an awesome tree!  It even did what all good Aussies do after Christmas Lunch – it fell over for a sleep!

Off to the camp kitchen and the microwave that saved Christmas.  Four TV dinners courtesy of Mr McCain – those in the camp kitchen were mighty impressed – what an inspired idea!  Really it was pure laziness – one can sip their Christmas Moet whilst watching the microwave and chat away to everyone on this jolly holiday without fear of shrivelling the turkey or burning the gravy.   Topped off with a Cadbury bon bon it was the easiest Christmas lunch EVER!  And no dishes – this of course was my gift to the Husband.

We had claimed our spot under the shade of a tree right on the beach front early.  A morning swim was declared a must so off we waded.  Of course there were crabs – fucking huge ones – all of a sudden I am transported back to the face eating pademelon and the man eating possum.  They were all around me, pincers threatening me, I couldn’t get away, but I made an excellent display of screaming and carrying on to the delight of the numerous children swimming around me.  Merry Christmas kids – I attract man eating animals!  Seems this country has everything big known to man – pineapples, bananas, crabs, farmers and now the big galah and Rooey the 11 metre kangaroo (pic below).

Boxing Day – yes well I would like to punch that one out.  A squall during beach cricket before wine and cheese time the day before (kudos to Miss 10 who created the cheese platter – been watching mum that one!) was rather rejoiced however of course we forgot to close up the tents – too busy trying to get each other out – there is no sympathy in this family – it’s all out war in beach cricket – it’s how you learn to live in the real world!  Punctuated by some solid wrestle mania on the grass that looked more like a giant, wobbling jelly baby squashing an innocent child, it was a traditional Aussie Christmas Day.

The squall hadn’t been too bad, however overnight slaughtered us.  We had hung all our towels out to dry overnight … big mistake.  The morning brought wind, drizzle, every single towel we owned soaked, wet pillows, sheets and clothes.  A great way to greet the Christmas hangover.  So while the Husband snored away, I gathered up my dollar coins and wet manchester and headed to the laundry.  Of course everyone was in the same dinghy and tactics had to be deployed.  Making a coffee and grabbing my John Grisham, I settled in to stalk the dryers.

Tensions frayed from being cold and wet we realised anywhere we were going to get to that day would be met with more rain.  Enter the Princess moment.  Turning on the tight arse radar, I jumped on line and found a $99.00 family room at a Ceduna motel – the last of the pressie saved our sanity.  On route we drove to see the gorgeous sea lions after which my family all fell asleep – I vowed to reach the motel and watch telly for the rest of the evening.

We dragged everything out of the truck, dried it, repacked it, drank a bottle of wine and recharged the batteries.

We decided to try to out run the rain – Uluru was flooded, Ormiston Gorge and Glen Helen cut off – we had only just been there!  The Nullarbor is a 13 hour crossing.  A family pow wow determined we would smash it out in two runs in an attempt to get away from the rain.

Now, anyone who says the Nullarbor is desolate has not driven between Coober Pedy and William Creek – a photo reminder (actually my favourite of the trip taken from the roof of the truck by the Husband).

The Nullarbor is teeming with saltbush, little animals and green.  Of course all the trees have been stunted since birth, but desolate is not how I would describe it.  The kids had been excited to see the Great Australian Bight and I had read about the incredible Bunda Cliffs – 200 kilometres of unbroken, 90 metre high cliffs.  Well let me give you the hot tip – you can’t get near them.  There are three dedicated look out points and that’s it for 1300 kilometres.  You don’t drive along the coast – it is riddled with a bee hive of honeycomb caves – so you see – NOTHING.  This is the only shot I got of the incredible cliffs.

We did go over the Dog Fence – the longest fence in the world and there are some signs telling you to look out for camels, wombats and kangaroos – and don’t get me started on the blowhole I was excited to see – blowhole my arse – I’m originally from Victoria don’t forget and spent my upper teen years wagging school and spending my weekends on the coast of the Great Ocean Road breaking into caravan park annexes and hanging out the front of the toilet pleading dumb that I had left the key in my tent.

We did get to see the original Nullarbor roadhouse – for those as old as me they even had an old petrol bowser that sold super – and the first bicycle that had ever made the Nullarbor crossing.  Old being the operative word here – we even got to play Pacman on an old school console – however the coffee was still sludge.  But Rooey was there with the trusty vegemite adding to the array of Australia’s obsession with building giant icons.

Hitting Border Village on the state line I had my first meltdown.  Being the perfectionist I am, I was worried my family, after a 600 kilometre fucking boring drive, were not thinking this was fun anymore.  So I lost it, tears and sniffing – I suck as an organiser.  All the hours of research I had done had not told me there was NOTHING to see for HUNDREDS of kilometres.  South Australian Tourism has a lot to answer for!  Of course my family knocked sense into me after more sniffing and the Husband dragged us all into the Roadhouse for a couple of games of pool (Miss 10 and Miss 12 were little legends BTW and will make great pool sharks) and a can of vodka for wifey.

Knowing we had another 700 kilometres the next day was a bit daunting, but we were able to make light of it this time (enter the blowhole incident).  It was so windy my little arms were limp from holding onto the truck across the 90 mile straight – 146 kilometres of dead straight road – longest in the country.  Miss 12 continued her routine of “If this is another point of interest that sucks … “ whilst Miss 10 moved on to her fifth ball of finger knitting wool.  She’s getting creative now and making flowers out of it.

The fart game has now been taken to a new level.  For those who have seen one of my all time favourite stand up routines “Delirious – Eddie Murphy” you will know the rules of the fart game and that it is a rite of passage into adult hood.  However, the SJP’s have upped the stakes and exceeded expectations having been trapped in a car together for hours with nothing to look at other than stunted trees.  Silent but violent is the most deadly – and everyone has to suffer.  This is what we have been reduced to.

Relief set in when we arrived at Fraser Range Station for the night.  However we had to put our full bogan on as it was 16 degrees.  Flannie, trackies, socks and thongs – so attractive.  We watched the sunset, demolished a steaming tuna casserole followed by a hot tea and snuggled in for the night.

Well that is fine and dandy for everyone except me.  Of course my child birthing bladder decided it needed to pee not once, but twice during the coldest night we have experienced so far.  Coupled with the fact it was blowing a category one cyclone outside, blasting my bare bum and creating an uncontrollable sprinkler system, I cursed men and their ability to pee standing up without the aid of needing to use baby wipes at the end.

A hot shower this morning, coffee and a walk around the station to talk to the animals and balance was restored to the force.  RIP Carrie Fisher – the ballsiest chick in the galaxy – my science fiction hero – Princess Leia.