Melbourne

I’ve tried writing about Chef and my Melbourne trip. No really I have. But words just do not seem to come to me to convey just how – restorative -it was.

How the instant the kids were gone we were ‘back’.

How I remembered (having not even realised I’d forgotten) just how funny my husband is and how he makes me laugh and laugh with the most perfectly timed quips about the most inane aspects of daily life.


How absolutely lovely it was to eat what we wanted when we wanted. And drink and not worry about who was driving or how we’d survive the next day.


How OK it is to be a tourist. That unlike this parenting gig where the merest whiff of you not knowing what the fuck you’re doing has those kids going all Lord of the Flies on your arse, being a tourist is remarkably liberating.

About TRAMS!

About WIDE STREETS and LITTLE ALLEYWAYS!

About a PLANNED city!

About little ALLEYS!

 

TRAMS!

Being in a city obsessed with the brand of footy we follow. FOOTY!

The weather was glorious. The people so lovely.

So I’ve just decided to post some OK and some rather crappy iPhone photos for your enjoyment.

Just know it was fucking awesome.


Onward!