A lot of ‘travellers’ I met said Adelaide wasn’t worth visiting – I might be biased but I beg to differ…
My highlights included:
1. The beaches
2. Botanical gardens
3. Did I mention the beaches?
Oh and the Barossa Valley, 71 wine makers in the same region…not like wine tasting in London at all! We did three in one day and tasted about 60 wines! Epic!!!
My Aunty is not good at small talk…silences. Long unending silences. Silences. I’m not good with silences.
Get her on the right subject though, and she’s off.
She’ll talk incessantly about cancer. Admittedly it was stories which involved those who were close to her and I was moved of course. The first time I heard the numerous amount of stories, and I’m not exaggerating when I say they were numerous…I was moved. It’s always horrible to hear about people suffering and cancer is a word that puts the fear of God into any sensible person. We’ve all got them. Stories of survival and stories of not surviving. Surely there isn’t a person alive that hasn’t been affected by the big C.
But I have to say after the third repeat of ‘the cancer round’ I started to get a but fed up of it. I mean, what is it with people in their old age and stories about their friends who are dead or dying? My parents are terrible for it. I came home once after spending Christmas with them banging on about death incessantly and was so anxious I had to go and see a therapist.
We all know we’re gonna die but only the old are watching over their shoulders for it. The big guy with the sheaf about to tap them on the shoulder.
I was too polite to say anything.
Meeting the relos
I was staying at my aunties in Adelaide. I’d never met her, so walked straight past her at the airport. Fortunately I recognised the dog waiting outside who leapt up to greet me. Whilst the man attached to the other end of the lead took one look at me and said ‘I’ll get your Aunty’.
‘You’ve made a friend there’ said a lady next to me as the dog rolled around at my feet…it felt like a bad omen.
‘I thought it was you but you walked straight past me!’ Said my Aunty as she marched up to me. Ok. Off to a bad start.
We drove to their house situated I was to discover the next day on an island. An island. In a city. Population: 70
Average: Age 70
At least I had the dog.
The next few days past in a blur. I drove round and round the island with my Aunty pointing out every building, street sign, road works, development, block, tennis club, building, street sign…tennis club, you get he idea. ‘Jobs for the boys’ was her favourite expression as we screeched past some workmen at 25km an hour.
The beach was beautiful. Don’t stray off the path, there are snakes in the grass, wear a hat, stay out of the sun. We have no ozone layer. Were warnings.
‘Have you brought your bathers?’ Was the most numerous question popular with the The Island massive. Erm, yeah I replied. Resisting the urge to be sarcastic. Why the F*** would I come to one of the hottest countries in the world. In SUMMER and not bring my ‘bathers’ – what does that even mean? It’s a word from the 1930’s. (Perhaps the only original word that the Aussie’s have held on too). My patience was wearing low…I needed to get off The Island.