>Well, all that lazing around doing nothing, very suddenly after my last post, turned into me busy do something. Bless my mummy for calling me that afternoon when I was particularly bored and glum sounding as she found it in her heart to buy me a one-way ticket to Queensland where her and daddy were holidaying.
All that sun, the beach and the eating out every night distracted me somewhat from my beloved computer.
One week and the sun did wonders for my pastey white Melbournian complexion (ok, I did spend the first three days bright red, but after that first sunburn of the summer, I was in tan mode)…. lots of ‘is that a fake tan?’ when I got back to Melbourne where everyone who looked lie me WAS sporting a fake tan. HA! In your face, stupid Chapel street bimbos!!
The only catch on the free-ticket -to-the-sunshine-coast deal was that it was one-way and I would have to endure the 20 hour drive home with my folks. My parents are of the opinion that staying overnight in a Motel just makes the trip longer and prefer to do this mammoth journey in one go with a few 15 minute toilet breaks.
Now would be the time to mention that I get chronic travel sickness. This drive up and back to the north was an annual feature in my child hood, and as a result of having to spend 20 odd sticky, whingey and cramped hours in the back seat of the car with my 3 brothers has developed some kind of reflex vomit response to the smell of leather car interiors. I know what you are thinking, how bad could the car trip be in the kinda cars that have leather interior? Well, let me tell you.
Back in the day when seat beats were not compulsory (and even in the days that they were, but the two youngest could squish into one together) my family of 4 children and 2 adults would pile into a 5 seater car at 3am on Boxing Day and begin a drive that would take us across ‘the wastelands’ a-la Mad Max stylee.
There were no people tied to the front of the car (human bulllbar), or strangely gay Mardi-Gra leather clothing, but there were large expanses of tree-less, car-less, dead straight roads where there was no radio reception (not even awful talk back AM rubbish), a serious lack of airflow to ME (no windows down, only the air-con which struggled in the 36 degree heat), there was punching, pinching, hair-pulling, slapping and very uncomfortable sleeping. There was sun in the eyes and me feeling really really sick. Often me vomitting into a towel (why didn’t my mother ever bring anything more suitable along…. is it hard to remember to pack a plastic bag??) and making your bladder stronger by holding on for excessive periods of time. On reflection, it sounds like child abuse to me. But then you get to Queensland and it is all ice-cream and beach and water-slides and theme parks and oversized pineapples…… see, I have forgotten about the hideous drive already!
On a side note, we did have some great tapes in the car for a while – Michael Jackson, Culture Club, Dire Straits, Stevie Wonder- however, at Expo 88 our car was broken into and that was the ONLY THING they stole (left the expensive sunnies behind). Another damning piece of evidence suggesting Expo 88 was a big mistake.
I gave up on the family holiday routine when I was about 16. And in the meantime, air-fairs have become so cheap that unless you have a serious need for a car, it is way easier to fly, so I would say it had been a good 9 years since the dreaded car trip.
I should point out that my parents now have a cool 7 series BMW and probably the most comfortable thing to travel in, especially if you are me, laying across the back seat with my eye-mask on for 15 of the 20 hours.
This year’s trip was a new experience- I got to drive. During my 4 hour stint, I noticed a lot of cars flashing their headlights at me, and as much as I was grateful for the warning of police ahead, I had to think that all these BLOODY IDIOTS speeding deserved to get caught. I made up my own new road etiquette. When I saw a police car, I did not flash my lights, but if there were no police cars for a while I would randomly flash people in an attempt to get them to slow down (gosh, I am such a rebel).
Now, if that paragraph does not illustrate to you the depth of boredom involved in the journey, I cannot possibly convey it to you (because you are stupid, and were probably in the remedial math classes at school).
This blog is too long. I will close by mentioning that while driving through Brisvegas I came across (so far) the weirdest st/road name in my experience:
Pig Tree Pocket Road
The only thought I had about this was that if you lived on this road, you would get really annoyed when filling out tax, centerlink or any other kind of official form as there would never be enough boxes for your address (you know the ones where each letter gets a it’s own box?)
Ahh, forget it.
Me and my brother’s kids rocking out on the beach