Sheesh! You write something, go away on holidays and come back to find all hell has broken loose. Gab sent Andrew Bolt a tip off about a recent post, and next thing you know, I'm flooded with comments. Whilst I'm out in the middle of nowhere with nothing more than a phone with an intermittent signal.
Many years ago, I was trained in the operation of "The prick". No, that wasn't sex education - it was a radio that was often no better than two tin cans connected with broken string. You could never get a signal out of the bloody things when you needed one, so some poor sap would be tasked with climbing the nearest suitable tree in the hope of restoring comms. That all came back to me last week, when I'd have to climb a certain hill in order to find out what was happening back in the blogsphere. I could read comments, post the odd comment elsewhere, but I wasn't going to sit down on a log and try to write a few posts. That would just have to wait.
And then I returned to the Big Smoke to find that in defiance of Tim Flannery, the grass had refused to die (as it normally does in summer) and was as green and lush and tall as a Borneo jungle. The tomatoes had also decided to ripen, and one thing you don't do with ripe tomatoes is leave them for another day. I've been mowing, harvesting, roasting, washing, cleaning, feeding the kids and helping get them ready for their return to school. Oh, and I had to go to work as well.
But things have settled down a bit, so posting may return to normal soon.
The harbour this morning - over on the far right, there is even a bloke in a kayak.
The evening rush hour - 15 of us fighting to get through when the lights went green.
Monday was a stinker of a day - it was 35 degrees when I rode home, and about 75% humidity. When I got home, I ran a cold bath and lay in it for a good half an hour to cool down. If we'd had enough ice cubes in the freezer, I would have thrown them in for good measure.
And now I need to go research my next post.