First Visitations Of The New Year

Yesterday it was the New Doc and his family.

Natalie's been rumbling on for a year or so about a 'new doctor' coming out from the USA. He's been "due to arrive" for so long I'd pretty much forgotten he existed. Apparently there were a truckload of paperwork issues. That's always the case, bringing an overseas doc into Tas, though.

The thing I didn't know was that the New Doc was actually jumping ship. I thought he was just another locum, passing through -- but he and his have sold up, packed up, waved goodbye to the Stars and Stripes and declared their intent to dwell under the Southern Cross.

Anyway, Nat phoned me at about two in the afternoon to ask if I could handle another four guests for dinner. I thought about it for a couple of seconds, and asked her to pick up another half-kilo of pork mince, and maybe some nice cheeses and dips and stuff.

So they all turned up -- the doc, his wife, their 19-year-old son who's off to UTas this year, and their 13 or 14-year old daughter. And I made a decent won-ton soup with plenty of pork dumplings, and a great big batch of fresh yeast doughnuts (the doughnut cutter worked a treat, Murasaki!) that I filled with a raspberry-mango jam and topped with whipped cream.

It was a really nice night. Once the sun went down, I took the kids out with a torch, and we spotted wallabies. It's funny walking around with people for whom wallabies are still a novelty. We saw a half-dozen or so, and that was impressive enough that I had to do a second tour for their mother's sake. Not that it's much effort... I think we walked all of twenty metres outside the house.

My kids were delighted with the visitors. I swear, the little bastards are turning into performance artists. They brought out their cellos and double basses and the Mau-Mau did her turn on the piano, and there was trampolinage, and then Jake and the Doc's daughter went down to the raspberry patch and came back with a bowlful of raspberries and blackberries, and the Mau-Mau danced frantically to music only she could hear, and by the end of the evening, I reckon maybe they felt a little more at home.

Heh. I know they're a little more comfortable with Australian food now. When I mentioned 'whipped cream' on the doughnuts, the Doc looked a little puzzled, and explained that it wasn't something they saw much of in the US of A. Mostly they just use this stuff from a can. You can spray it on, see? "Cool Whip", or something.

I shrugged, and said - yeah, okay. I haven't got any. I'll just whip some cream.

So when the time came, I tapped the Doc's daughter on the shoulder and invited her to the kitchen to learn how to make whipped cream. (Her mum said she liked to learn how to cook, you see.)

The lass gave me a doubtful look, and said she didn't like whipped cream much.

I nodded, and asked if she meant whipped cream, or the stuff that comes in a spraycan.

She said, well, I don't really like 'cool whip'.

That's okay, I said. Neither do I.

And then I put the cream in a bowl, and added some brown sugar and a little vanilla, and handed her the beaters. A few minutes later I made sure she didn't turn it to butter, and we were done.

She ate at least three of those doughnuts, each with a couple tablespoons of whipped cream, and announced that they were utterly delish. I guess 'Cool Whip' has its drawbacks, eh?

Today was another matter, however. Today was Beeso Day. The estimable Mr Beeso and his lovely lady rocked up here just on six in the evening. Beeso was promptly set upon by the children, who dragged him out to the trampoline, then wrestled him up and down the property. Meantime, we set out a bunch of nibbles including an amazing prosciutto-wrapped cheese they'd picked up on Bruny Island.

After that, I loaded them up with: steamed prawn dumplings with lemon verbena and vietnamese mint; smoke-grilled vegetable salad with sea-salt and balsamic vinegar; char-grilled salmon fillets, and finally the inevitable leatherwood honey/ mascarpone ice cream. Somewhere in the middle there was a palatable Bay of Fires bubbly, a few beers, a bit of cider, and a whole lot of conversation.

Good people. Really lovely to put faces to names, and make contact in a way not mediated by electrons. Tomorrow morning I'll fill 'em up with bacon from the local butchery, free-range eggs, whole milk and some espresso coffee. Then we'll go for a walk and see if the platypus is willing to show off for us...

Happy New Year

It's a fine, cool, sunny start to the new year and the new decade, and there are four extra kids about the place... hopefully not setting too much of a precedent.

We had our usual Flinthart movie night/watergun fight/barbecue evening to ring in the new year. Neighbours from uphill and down arrived. Much drinking and eating was done. Children ran about in all directions, spraying water.

When things finally calmed down enough, I discovered that a very large contingent of the visitors had never actually seen 'Big Trouble In Little China', which I think is the best thing John Carpenter ever managed to put on film. Chortling with delight, I cooked far more popcorn than is humanly feasible, and we settled back.

The film was new to most of the kids -- not mine, though! -- and the frequent action sequences were more than enough to keep them happy. The adults, who'd had just enough to drink to appreciate the sly parody underneath the action film, were equally entertained. Actually, I'd forgotten just how likable that movie is. If by some chance you've never seen it, you really do owe it to yourself to put it on, kick back, and have a blast.

It hadn't quite gone midnight when the film ended, so we called an intermission and went back down to the house. I made a bunch more popcorn, and the adults killed off a bottle of Kreglinger to toast the new year. Then we all trooped back up for 'Shaun Of The Dead', striking a balance between 'scary' and 'funny' that kept everybody happy. (I really wanted to put on 'Lair Of The White Worm', but there was a degree of dissent from adults who felt that Roman nun-rapage and giant dildo probings were probably not kid-appropriate... I suppose that's true.)

Thus, at about two in the morning, we folded our tents and called it a night. The Mau-Mau's best friend shared a bed with her (the girls stayed downstairs and watched cartoons. They were both tired as blazes from their previous night and day at the beach, so they didn't last long.) The three Mad Viking lads from down the hill occupied spaces on the mattresses up in the cinema zone, supplied with ample pillows, doonas, and so forth.

And I made my way to bed.

Happy new year, folks.

That Was Christmas, Then

The Chocolate Fairy came visiting for our Christmas. And she brought a friend. (Okay... the T-Shirts are courtesy of the Flinthart Family. But the visitors DID agree to wear them...)

The Chocolate Fairy receiving make-up from the Mau-Mau. In the end, the Chocolate Fairy wound up looking rather a lot like Raggedy Anne...

Natalie kindly consented to be made up by the Mau-Mau. Why so serious?

Younger Son now has sunglasses. And a very politically correct Chinese skullcap. From the same kind, caring gran that sent the make-up for the Mau-Mau, yes.

The Mau-mau got make-up from her gran for Christmas. I expect to hear from Child Protection any time now...

And now I'm very tired.

Gifts were exchanged. I got a key-ring. And an amusing apron, for cooking. Yes. And a copy of 'Evil Genius', to install and play upon my computer.

This is not a measure of my family's lack of thought. This is a measure of my contentment. I have pretty much everything I need, and there's not a whole lot I'm prone to wanting, either. I guess at some point a really cool nightscope for the .22 would be nice. But that's expensive. And I'm not even certain it's legal!

Other than that? I guess I'd like more time. But that isn't much of an option, is it?

The kids are happy. The Mau-Mau got painting and gardening gear, and a mad grandmum sent her make-up. Do I have a photo? Let me check... oh yes. Okay -- see the bottom picture above, eh? I'd try to do a better job of photo layout and integration, but this is 'blogger'. It's pure shit for photo integration. Screw you, Google.

Younger Son got all kinds of stuff. A microscope kit was his favourite, I think. He's been looking at stuff ever since. Heh. He wanted blood, and Natalie agreed he could have some later... but halfway through lunch, the Chocolate Fairy (one of our visitors) had a minor nose-bleed, and Younger Son was on her like a starved vampire. It was pretty funny, because the rest of us had forgotten a) WHY he wanted some blood, and b) even the fact that he'd wanted it in the first place. So we sort of stood there, blankly, for a long, embarrassing moment when he jumped up and asked the rather perturbed Chocolate Fairy if he could have some of her blood.

Once we worked it all out, though, that was fine. And Younger Son got to see blood cells. Yay!

Elder Son has scored a game of Balderdash, among other things. And Natalie got coffee, and a very small 1000-piece puzzle... and I found her a "Starfleet Medical" skivvy in the original powder blue. Unfortunately, they seem to have discontinued that amazing 1960s velour material... hers is merely a sensible, comfortable cotton. She's been enjoying wearing it down to the hospital, though.

Beeso rang somewhere around midday. Turns out he's had a minor issue with rental vehicles, and has altered holiday plans to head Hobartwards at first. He's aiming to be back this way around the 3rd, which will be cool... he'll miss the raspberries, but the blackberries should be in full production, and there may be some local cherries by then. They've been delayed by the cool, wet spring weather.

I do hope Beeso wasn't too alarmed by my notes to him about the road approaching Chez Flinthart. We'd been casually exchanging emails to keep in touch, and I had a bit of a brain collapse. Y'see, the road to my place from Launceston is steep, narrow, and winding in places. And at night, it is the domain of sundry kinds of suicidal animal life -- possums and wallabies who wait in the undergrowth by the roadside, then literally hurl themselves into the path of your vehicle. And of course, if the weather is inclement - well, let's just say that this is the ONLY place I've ever had to try to drive through heavy rain and dense fog simultaneously. I actually didn't think that was possible until it happened to me. And by now, it's happened several times.

The issue was that Beeso was due to arrive fairly late, and would have been making the drive after a long flight, in a rented vehicle, without any real foreknowledge or experience of the damned place. And it didn't occur to me to say anything about it because...well, I live here. I'm used to it. I don't think about it.

But at nearly the last moment, I realised that blithely encouraging the poor chap to charge off into the darkness was... possibly... not the smartest thing I've ever done. So I sent him some more emails. But I think they were a bit scary. He probably thinks I'm mad by now. And I'm sure that the phone calls yesterday and the day before didn't help. Natalie didn't know who he was on the phone... and then when he DID get hold of me, I'd already started in on the liquid part of the Christmas luncheon.

I think I was coherent, though. Anyway, here's hoping that Beeso &co have now landed safely, and are enjoying the southern end of the state. I'll lay in a few bits and pieces, and when they do reach this corner of the place, we'll try to treat them properly...

Anyway. Christmas luncheon went well. Baked ham, potato salad, and a rather nice raspberry clafoutis with whipped cream. Steve the Bike Guy (the Chocolate Fairy's friend, up there in the first photo) was particularly enthusiastic about the clafoutis, and I'm now under instruction to telephone him any time I happen to be making one. I'm prepared to do that, but I think he'll probably be disappointed. I'm not allowed to make desserts very often.

Still. It really was damned good.

We ate. We drank. We played board games and drank. At some point, Amazing Neighbour Anna turned up and borrowed the Mau-Mau for a few hours. We continued to drink, eat and play games. Eventually the Mau-Mau was returned to us.

Then the visitors trundled off home, and children were folded away, and Christmas was declared over. Except for lingering drunkenness, of course. Bleah.

Not Quite Christmas Yet...

Natalie is still on call, you see. So it isn't Christmas. Not until tomorrow, when she comes off duty.

It's not so bad. We pay attention to Younger Son's birthday, but we're not really that concerned with the date of Christmas. After all, even if we were seriously Christian, it would seem a bit... pointless getting into an uproar over a date which almost certainly does not mark the actual birth of Jesus of Nazareth.

You can find details of this argument elsewhere if you want. I'm not interested in rehashing it, because it's not my religion anyhow. But the gist: there are records of the census which Mr and Mrs Christ were supposed to attend, and it wasn't in midwinter. The Romans weren't dumb. They held censuses at times when people could actually get to the places they were supposed to be. Also, various accounts of the birth agree as to shepherds out in the fields with their flocks - which is, again, not a midwinter thing at all. And of course, when Constantine accepted Christianity as the state religion of Rome, he worked hard not to make the change too demanding on the Roman army in particular... largely worshippers of Mithras, a sun-hero type god who happened to be born in midwinter. (Of a virgin, IIRC.)

You get the point. For us, Christmas is a family-and-friends thing, and if Natalie's not available on the 25th of December -- why, then, Christmas waits.

But the kids did get stockings. (Well - pillowcases.) And in Younger Son's stocking was a cookbook on desserts and puddings. It's part of a series. Two others are wrapped and under the tree for him - a beginner's cookbook, and a pasta cookbook. The main premise of the present is that I am promising to cook with him, and help him learn, but of course, it's also about trying out dishes he thinks he might like.

Enter the 'Raspberry Mille Feuilles'. Seeing as how we're currently swimming in raspberries, Younger Son took a shine to the picture in his new book, and we agreed to have a go at it. You can see how it went from the photos below. This one shows the proud dessert cook (well... he helped, anyhow!) plus the product, and the photo from the recipe.

It's a groovy little book, with a ring-bound spine, and a back cover that folds out to become a robust and steady stand so the recipe can sit up and be easily read. It wasn't a bad recipe, either. Not a beginner's work, though -- it left out a few shortcuts and hints that really should have been there. If I'd been trying to do this without much experience, I'd have been really pissed off by the shortcrust bit... no water involved at all, nor eggs. And no warning as to just how hard it is to handle that kind of pastry!

Nevertheless, we pretty much nailed it, as you can see from this photo.

Nice when your final result resembles their carefully arranged photo to that degree, innit? 'Course, I didn't have a fluted cutter, so our shortbread circles are plain, not fancy. And I spooned the cream onto the pastry, rather than piping it, so we didn't get those nifty little swirly patterns.

I also cheated: sweetened the cream just a touch, and added a dash of vanilla. The recipe called for plain whipped cream... hell with that. Oh, and I added some extra raspberries and an extra dollop of the cream. The final result was plated as below... nifty little mint-leaf decorations and all.

In other news? We went to the beach today, did the kids and I. Sunny and gorgeous and magically clear, with a top temperature around 25C to make up for our prolongedly cold and wet spring. Beeso and I swapped a few phone photos. He's due to arrive here at Chez Flinthart late tomorrow night, and from what I saw via his phone, he's kind of desperate for a change of weather.

He may just get lucky. According to the weather bureau, we're due to keep this kind of perfect Tasmanian summer weather for a week or so, at least. (More, I would guess. In fact, it'll probably get kind of hot once the wind blows through from Western Australia.) I think he's even going to be in time for the end of the raspberry glut, as well. (Yeah, I picked another three or four litres today.)

I only hope it doesn't get too hot around New Year's Eve. We're doing the yearly barbecue and movie night thing again...

Younger Son's Day

I believe most of you are aware that the Younger Son has the misfortune to have a birthday on Christmas Eve. He turned eight today. I think he had a pretty good day.

We had some guests in for the dinner. The picture shows the Younger Son blowing out eight candles on his Chocolate Mousse Cake -- a treat I devised early this year for Natalie's birthday. (Basically, it's a rich chocolate mousse with dark chocolate cake crumbs worked through it. The texture is alluring as hell, and it tastes fantastic.)

You can't see it through Jake's head, but there's another cake at the end of the table. Owen (neighbour's son; he's the dark-haired chap opposite end to Younger Son) brought a young lass with him from Queensland, and unfortunately, she's not so good with wheat or dairy products. But I figured: it's pretty miserable going to a birthday party and watching everyone ELSE get cake. Plus I had some gluten-free self-raising flour in the pantry owing to a rash of gluten-intolerant visitors. And of course, someone just gave us three dozen duck eggs, which are absolutely The Bomb when it comes to making pastries... so yeah, I made a dairy- and wheat-free chocolate cake in two layers, with a blueberry/bourbon spread in the middle, and a shell of dark chocolate drizzled over it all.

Yes, I tried a piece. And frankly, if I hadn't known it was gluten/dairy free, I wouldn't have guessed. Chalk one up for the Groovy Oven...

The rest of the meal worked pretty well too. Twice-cooked new potatoes, green salad -- and char-grilled salmon marinated in sweet soy, sesame oil, tamarind pulp, and black pepper. Yes, it was some of the leftover salmon from the Epic Barnes Fish day. There's only one big fish left in my freezer now. Hooray!

I should probably mention that Younger Son has some cool grandparents. The shirt he's wearing depicts Yoda, holding out a wizened hand, index finger extended. The caption declares, "My finger you pull!". That comes from Natalie's step-mum, and it's already a favourite.

However, the thing on his shoulder is the prize of the day. That's a genuine, actual-factual Far North Queensland saltwater crocodile skull. (And I'm going to have to make a nice display shelf above Younger Son's bed pretty damned soon.) That one comes courtesy of my stepmum and my dad. I'm assured it's all legally sourced and everything. It's in great condition -- and yeah, Younger Son thinks it's just about the best thing that has ever happened. And why not?

Of course, the ACTUAL best thing going on at the moment is the raspberry patch. It's finally kicked into full production. That's... ummm... the fourth two- or three- litre bowl I've extracted over the last few days. I didn't get time to pick again today, so I expect tomorrow I'll fill another bowl that size. The sun has come out at last, so the raspberries have finally become sweet and tasty. And the berry-patch is now so big and daunting that I've started chucking big flat stones into it to become stepping-stones for future use.

Yeah, I know. I should probably run posts and strings and stuff. But you know what? Fuck it. I've got a big, chaotic patch of raspberry plants that are almost as tall as I am, and I'm damned if I'm going to try to get all anal-retentive about it. I'm going to set up stone pathways through the patch, and in winter, I'll go in and clear out all the old, dead growth. Then I'll throw a bunch of blood-and-bone and well-rotted manure all over the place, and next summer I'll have EVEN MORE goddam raspberries.

By the way: I just discovered that if you throw a handful of ripe raspberries into a couple shots of gin, wait ten minutes, then add tonic water, you get the BEST goddam Gin and Tonic of all time. The colour and the tangy fruit flavour of the berries perfuses the gin completely, turning it a lovely shade of reddish pink, and complimenting the sharp herbal flavour of the gin and the bitterness of the tonic. It's pure black magic, and as soon as I'm done posting this, I'm off to have another.

Oh. That would be right now. Cool!

Have a good Christmas or whatever, eh? G'night.

Farewell The Barnes Mob

That went well, I think.

Yesterday we had a turn of weather such as only Tasmania can put on. It's high summer. Literally a single day before the Solstice. And so, after a morning playing 'Arkham Horror', we decided to take a trip to the local fish farm to throw in a line.

I'll digress here. 'Arkham Horror' is a boardgame based on the stories of H P Lovecraft, and it's meant to be about Creeping Horror. The original version was a minor classic, and when you added drinking rules (take a big slug every time your character loses a Sanity Point -- the more insane you go, the drunker you get, and thus the verisimilitude becomes almost unbearable by the time you wind up facing Cthulhu) it was a hilarious shambles that everyone enjoyed.

The remake is... complicated. Very, very farkin' complicated, yeah. And of course, since Barnesm and I were playing the game alongside three young and impressionable lads, the more entertaining Advanced Insanity Rules weren't appropriate. So we played, yes, and it was fun, yes, but it trickled to a kind of indeterminate end. I think we need to know the rules better.

Mind you, there was a lot of fun to be had with it. I think I just about broke Mr Barnes' young 'Weapon Against Society' with my impression of a Cthulhu cultist as Hare Krishna. You know: singing "Ia Cthulhu! Ia Cthulhu! Ia ia! Ia Cthulhu! Cthulhu fhtaghn! Cthulhu fhtaghn! Fhtaghn fhtaghn! Cthulhu fhtaghn!" while bobbing back and forth and pretending I was playing a tambourine... Frankly, I kind of like that version of the cultists. Made me feel much better about casting 'Withering' on them, and then kicking them in the nadgers.

The fishing was -- ummm -- can you really call it 'fishing'? It's a goddam commercial trout/salmon farm, for the love of Azathoth. We hopped in the car, took off over the range, and drove straight into the most remarkable rain squall. The temperature plummeted. Looking at yesterday's figures online suggests we were dealing with something like 5C -- which would be about 45F for you Imperialist buffoons. So there we were, Barnesm and I, standing in this horrid, shitty rain that was maybe a degree or two above being sleet. And he was waving the casting net around as the boys reeled in the fish, while I mostly got the job of untangling lines, demonstrating casting techniques, and unhooking fish.

One thing for fishing at a commercial farm: you get fish. We took home something like ten kg of mixed trout and salmon. The Weapon Against Society was particularly delighted because he'd learned the basics of casting with an eggbeater-type rod inside of twenty minutes, AND he'd landed his first-ever fish. (It was a Golden Trout, and I guess it probably weighed a kilo and a half or so. That would be about three Imperialist Buffoon pounds.)

Having some small insight into the psychology of young boys, when we got home I made absolutely sure that the Golden Trout (or one of the two, anyhow... who the fuck can tell apart fish of the same species and roughly the same size?) got thrown into the 'cook tonight' batch, instead of the (rather larger) 'freeze for later' batch. And so it was that we had fresh salmon and trout, baked with garlic, lemon zest, pepper and vietnamese mint, served with a salad flavoured with sushi dressing, black pepper and sesame oil, washed down with a rather nice Kiwi sav blanc, and rounded off by a serving of home-made Leatherwood Honey and Mascarpone Ice Cream in a gingernut crust.

Mr Barnes is a man of impressive appetite. But I'm grateful. I hate keeping leftover fish in the fridge, and what with his heroic efforts, there simply was no leftover. Mind you, everyone else did yeoman service as well. And the Weapon proudly identified his Golden Trout, and insisted on eating his portion therefrom, and did Pronounce It Good, whereupon all were much pleased.

Good meal. Good friends. Good times. The kids were tired as hell, and didn't stay up too late. Nat went to bed too, because country doctors don't get to relax just 'cos some Jewish chap may have been born about 2011 years ago... But Barnes and his good lady stayed up, and there was drinking and there was fine conversation and argument and discourse.

And I had a damned good time. It's great to catch up with old friends. Even better when they're such as Barnesm and the fine and thoughtful woman he calls his 'Reason For Living'. It's wonderful to find that the years and the distance mean nothing, and you can simply pick up where you left off. Not nostalgia: not endless rehashing of the stories of youth, but simply the extension of old, powerful, and hard-won friendships. Mr B is as dementedly witty as ever, and the Other Half -- I can't call her Mrs B! -- is as observant, thoughtful, trenchant, and strong as she was when I met her more than twenty years ago now. I'm proud to call them both friends, and I'm delighted to say they've got a great kid -- and even more delighted to see that my kids and their boy show every sign of extending the friendship to the next generation.

We saw the morning off with a rousing game of 'Kung Fu Samurai on Giant Robot Island'. I'd really rather not try to explain it, except to say: it's a card game about making seriously B-grade chop-socky flicks. The turning point was when my Mutant Cyborgs, allied with the Spirits of the Ancestors, attacked and destroyed Younger Son's almost invulnerable Inscrutable Monk with Kick-Ass Katana. With a bit of help from the Weapon, the Mutant Cyborgs prevailed -- and the game was eventually won by a movie about... a mansion. Nothing else. (All my characters were long dead. But the location of the film survived -- and that was enough to prevail.

In other words: "The Return of Monkey Cop Robot Finger Fury" was all about a mansion. And nothing else. We figured that obviously, the first movie had been a great success but the lead actors died (probably in the same explosion that killed Godzilla, when Barnes' lone Sumo Wrestler used a bomb to kill him) so the film producers quickly ran out a sequel...

Anyway. The family is now calling me to go and watch Fringe with them, and I shall do so. I've made a dinner of steamed dumplings and vegetables, and it's time to go and hang with Natalie and the kids. Farewell to Barnes and co... and come back when you can, eh?

Visitations

Friday was the day Mr Barnes and his bunch decided to put in a visit. No problems there. Really. Except the usual "I've got to be in three places at once" nonsense, of course. But that was fixed by the Barnesm clan taking their time to arrive, which meant Elder Son could attend his best friend's birthday party and I could run the thousand errands, etc. Good thing.

I ran up a nasi goreng meal, but to make up for that (not that I think nasi goreng isn't splendid - and it was - but it's a way of getting rid of stuff in your fridge, after all) I also baked a cheesecake and put a blueberry-bourbon topping on it. That was good.

Mr Barnesm's 'Weapon Against Society' rapidly discovered the joys of country living... particularly the arsekicking ginormous playset, which is seeing some serious usage. Oh, and the trampoline, yep. Meanwhile, Mr B and I tucked into some truly amazing single malt whisky from the Lark distillery. At 58% they call it "cask strength". I just call it stunning. Seriously: one of the best single malts I have ever tasted. I'll be hitting that stuff again, for sure.

Today I trotted down in the morning to run the pump, and took Clan Barnesm with me on the off-chance the platypus would co-operate. It did. Young Weapon trundled out onto the little swimming dock and stood there, staring, just five metres away from a very placid wild platypus grooving about on the water surface. The critter dived, then surfaced again, and swam around obligingly. Very nice, thank you.

We zipped into Launceston for the day - delivering Grace the Med Student to the airport, and getting in a bit of Christmas shopping. Also some culture, apparently. We took in "Boys Own McBeth", which wasn't exactly what I expected, but was reasonably entertaining despite that. The boys liked it, anyhow. And on the way home, travelling over a dirt road between plantations of trees, we came across the single biggest echidna I've yet seen in Tas. He sauntered across the road and up the embankment while we watched, and I pointed out to the young Weapon that he had now seen two of the world's three remaining monotreme species in a single day. (The third is the Long-Nosed Echidna, restricted to New Guinea.)

That's the kind of thing that means something to the young Weapon, which is all to the good.

I'm now preparing twice-cooked potatoes and a charcoal lamb roast and a green salad. Hopefully will finish the evening with a good meal, and a rousing game of Arkham Horror. Maybe. If the kids ever come inside from that freaknormous playset.