And relax...

With only two full days of our month long Hong Kong and Oz odyssey left to enjoy, we decided to take things easy, relax, laze, chill and make the most of the truly wonderful weather before returning the leaden skies and frigid drizzle of Blighty.

The grandest plan we had for the day was to head back up to Palm Beach and hire a boat (we'd seen a large sign alongside a jetty saying 'Boats For Hire' and had a sneeking suspicion that this might be the place to go), but when we got up there the salty sea-dog boat-hiring-fella regretted to inform us that he was boooked out for the day, so that was the end of that.

Instead, we bought some sarnies from a little waterside caff, then set up our deckchairs facing Pittwater to munch on them pensively whilst watching the seaplanes come and go. I mentioned the seaplanes in my post yesterday and, for those who've never seen one before, they're a wonderfully novel spectacle, very much redolent of 1930's 'noirish' thrillers. Once the planes land they plough their way over the water to tie up at the jetty; when the doors open you almost expect men in trilbies and sharp suits accompanied by women wearing even sharper suits and brandishing cigarette holders to step out.

They seem to come in and out every half hour or so, and watching them take off is great. Firstly, they plod out into the centre of Pittwater to get a decent run up. Then they slam the throttles on full, seemingly oblivious to the small sailing-dinghies and waterskiers in their path, and charge over the water towards the headland, finally taking to the air and ascending fast to avoid the lighthouse (but only just, by me reckoning). I like seaplanes; it's official. Everytime one came into land I delighted Mrs V (or, at least, I like to think I did) by shouting "The plane, boss, the plane!", although even I have to admit to tiring of it after a few hours.

Mrs V took Tizer off to do a little beachcombing and I settled back with a beer and my book - which has been barely touched this holiday due to our pretty frantic schedule. And for an hour, nothing disturbed me but a couple of seaplanes and a handful of rather persistent ants that insisted on biting at my feet, a hardship which I felt - under the circumstances, I could more-or-less live with.

The rest of the afternoon was spent being generally idle, so it only makes sense that by the time we got back to the house we were, of course, absolutely knackered (ain't it always the way?). We'd been on the go, pretty frenetically, for the best part of four weeks now, and I think this was the night where it all caught up with us. So, what else could we do but put Tizer to bed (she was out for the count too), order a curry from the place in Avalon, crack open a few beers and veg out on the sofa in front of a DVD.

Curry - average, but nice and spicy; beer - ice cold and Australian; DVD - 'Finding Nemo', which you can't really beat if you need to turn your brain off for a while. Actually, we've seen it a few times before, but we were struck on this occasion by the dentist's neice - the one for whom Nemo is intended as a gift - and her "Wake up little fishy!! Why won't you wake up?!" line. It reminded us of a certain, little someone in our life, but we couldn't quite recall who... If you haven't seen the film, do so soon. You'll like it.