Stop fourteen to eighteen

Tasmania, aye?

Now before this blog becomes a haven for state-based sterotypes, let me first assume we have all been to Tasmania and judged it on its merits and positive atributes. If not, you may wish to visit here as I highly recommend it. Just do it in SUMMER.

Although travelling in the off peak season has many perks (less crowds; cheaper fares; better deals), some of the logic behind 'peak' seasons is that the weather is tolerable and not inclined to kill you. This is not the case of Tasmania.

How do you say COLD with enough emphasis!?

So, I arrived in Hobart and it was nice. Pretty, leafy and with a beautiful harbour. A little like Sydney, but with nothing to do. A tour to Port Arthur was an unexpected surprise, being the only passenger meant a day trip with a very funny tour guide, beer and a few near death accidents over large natural rock structures (Although nothing to do with the beer and/or tour guide and more to do with the gale force winds).

Launceston was similar. I had a nice time and people were nice and the scenery was nice, but are noticing the trend. It was all just so NICE. Give me a dirty town over a sanitised one anyday.

So, as the money began to trickle down to "seriously consider a position in the adult industry" amounts, I headed off to the sleeply town of Deloraine to do a bit of WWOOF-ing.

Although some you may find this hard to believe, I am a rather patient person. It takes a lot to stir me up and even more to react. Passive agression ahoy! The greatest test of this patience was the gentlemen and his wife I stayed with.

A twenty-joint-a-day-Aries with Aspergers Syndrome! *cries in frustration*

If waking up at 12pm is too late for you, then the 3pm starts and working into the night when the temperature is -2 should give you a fair indication of my days.

Only the THREE parties we went to in the week I was there was the saving grace. One party contained about thirty 40+ hippies who passed around countless assorted drink and drugs and proceeded to give me life lectures about everything from the perils of dating South American men to the benfits of control panties. I do have a sneaking suspicion that the apple crumble was spiked as the room started spinning at about 10:30pm and I did have trouble concentrating on the many late seventies rainbow tye-dyed band t-shirts around me. Plus, if ten people have dreadlocks and introduce themselves to you - I guarantee you will not remember who they are or in what order. They just become a huge dreadlocked mass. You must dye them a bright colour and have a name that is similar to this colour or bugger off because I can't remember who on earth you were. Yes, this is me and parties. I'M GETTING BETTER. Promise.

Plus as a bonus... I was bitten by a leech that then became infected. Thankfully, my leg has now healed and will not be amputated. What is it with my right leg? Will it stop trying to die? Can anyone recommend a suicidal right leg helpline or something?

Post hippie parties - I rambled on to Devenport. That is where the big boat leaves. That's all that happens there. Boat goes in. Boat goes out. Boat goes in. Boat goes out. You get the point. I couldn't go against the flow so I am boarding that boat tomorrow night. Then off to Adelaide.

I am really really hoping they have bad Tom Jones inpersonators and cheesy cocktails with sexual names and someone dressed as a sailor and/or member of the Village People. That would make me happy.

I shall let you know. Love, kisses and all sweet things. See you from the city of churches.

Kate

---

---