I love you, but...

Wednesday 17th November 2010 - Hinterland, QLD

Today, for the first time in 7 months, I was sick of living in a campervan. This is probably my fault because I've been buying things I don't have room for and haven't neatened up in a little while. Thought I'd share why I love/hate living in my troupie ("Pumbaa") just at the moment:

I love my home because I can take it almost anywhere.
I hate my home because sometimes I wake up and can't remember where I live today.
I love my home because I can make lunch in my kitchen at the same time every day, no matter where I am.
I hate my home because I keep hitting my head inside it and it really hurts.
I love my home because it’s easy to clean: just sweep the floor and wipe the benches.
I hate my home because it’s always dirty.
I love my home because I always have access to my wardrobe, and can change my clothes for an impromptu activity at any time.
I hate my home because I can’t see into my wardrobe and my clothes are always crumpled.
I love my home because birds walk on it, and don't notice that I'm watching them close-up from the inside.
I hate my home because I have to make and unmake my bed everyday – no choice about it.
I love my home because it’s got a panorama window view.
I hate my home because the only form of privacy is to close all the curtains on my panorama view.
I love my home because I can have my choice of neighbours and backyard, everyday.
I hate my home because when people see it they cut in front of me, no matter how fast it’s moving.
I love my home because I don’t have to worry about rushing the groceries home to the fridge; my fridge and my home are waiting in the shopping centre car park.
I hate my home because people are always curious about why we’re together and stare at me for rude lengths of time.
But mostly I love my home because we’re not a typical couple and it makes people question their assumptions about young women, 4WD’s and solo travel.

No Flags = No Swim

Friday 12th November 2010 - Tweed Heads, NSW

Every Lifesaver vehicle on the (QLD and NSW) Border Coast bears the slogan "No Flags = No Swim". But I have no idea what they mean by it - I've been trying to swim between the flags for the past 5 days and haven't managed to once.

I grew up going to the gentle, shallow beaches of Port Phillip Bay - specifically Rosebud, Sorrento and Rye - where you are unlikely to get more than waist deep at less than 10m out. So this morning, as I found myself watching the formidable waves from the shore yet again I thought to myself, 'Perhaps just knee deep is best for today'. But over here, the water decides how deep you're going, where you will "swim" and even toss you out onto the sand when it's decided that you are done.

As I entered the water it went from ankle deep to nearly knee high instantly. But even that water depth was an illusion because most of it had been sucked up into the wave that was now hurtling towards me and about to leave me completely soaked and waist deep. Every wave that didn't knock me over was just a lead up to the next potential knock-down, and even during a rare calm moment between the waves it was not enough time to actually swim.

Perhaps I just need more time to learn this new way of "swimming". The local kids seem to love it. One 10 or 11 year old was happily ducking under and into the waves and whooping with delight the whole time. Said beach-baby was also ogling me happily every time I turned around to give the waves (and him) my back - no doubt he'd already noticed that I'd nearly lost my pants a couple of times in the waves. Well young man, here's your first insight into the way women think: I'm less concerned about whether some pre-adolescent boy has seen my rear-end and more interested in whether all this bum-bashing from the waves is good for muscle toning (à la vibration machines), and if it IS... when can I get out of here and go for another ice-cream?

Not until the water's decided to turf me out of course.