Willie

Williamstown: a cute, little oldie along the lines of a model for aged care brochures (basically the suburban equivalent of De Campo in her mid-80s). Its past is very well-preserved and probably hasn’t changed much in a hundred and fifty years. If I was loaded and a bit lame I might consider buying in and being an active local holding weekly TV Parties for McLeod’s Daughters.

D and I stayed at a giant, mock-period B&B three k’s out of town on Sat night. What can I say I was seduced by Doug and Lottie’s somewhat deceptive website.

Our room was on the top floor of a very confusedly designed home. Thankfully D&L gave us an upgrade because the room we had originally requested — pointed out to us as we were walking up the stairs —was no larger than a powder room. Our room was actually very nice. We had a spa, the spa had sea views, we watched a sunset, ate cheese, and there were pelicans hanging out on the rocks in the morning.

It was a lot like staying at my parent’s house, had I never met them or had any partial feelings toward them. Doug, our Dad for the night, drove us to dinner down on the dock of the bay where we partook in steak and every sea species imaginable, including one weird scaly orange creature, didn’t know what that was, while drinking NZ white. I ordered a takeaway Irish Coffee to be enjoyed decadently in bed while finishing The Adventures of Augie March which was just unbelievable. I hope that one day I write a sentence as equally as brilliant as one of Saul Bellow’s paragraphs.

We woke up refreshed, walked into town and perused the market, before catching the 12.30pm ferry and moseying back to Melbourne.