Daily Log

When going away, I have this thing that I like to clean my sheets before I go. There is something about clean sheets that goes back to a childhood comfort for me. And because it is that bitter sweet feeling to return from a holiday, I like it to be to clean sheets.
The day started out dark and quiet. A flash burst of light disturbed the piece as a camera snapped beneath my sheets. I then fumbled around half naked to finish packing. Breakfast in, bags packed, and beds made, it was time for the ritual-ceremonious-scream-named-vacation 'Winter break!' But first to drop of some DVD's at the rental shop, with one of course missing a disk.
Flights are usually the same, today being no different, except for a shirtless escapade in the lavatory. It reminded me of being three, or maybe more reminded me of a story Mum had told me of being three. Apparently, for a few years after toilet training I could not goto any bathroom without shirking all of my clothes. The embarrassment came because generally I wouldn't put my cloths back on afterwards. Today I did. But I did manage to forget to lock the door. Excited-eager-youth wearing no shirt meets delightful-old-lady from Currumbin with a straining bladder. Luckily I was spared this.
Stepping off the plane can only be likened to the freezer at McDonalds. I remember going into them on the birthday tour as a five year old. Unfortunately, in Hobart I was not followed by and eager young woman dressed as a clown holding an ice-cream cake. But at least I was in Hobart. Quarantine has certainly slipped since I was here last. Instead of a beagle and protective doors, there was a lone-gnarled-old-man who quietly growled "got any fruit?"
Best mate was waiting slumped on a chair. He had booked his flight two hours early to save eight dollars. He was regretting the choice. Finding our car, we drove into Hobart. Starting at Salamanca for lunch; where I proceeded to alter the menu to prevent gustatory malfunction and ordered my first soy coffee. I needed something hot...
Hobart out for a few days, we left civilisation and phone coverage within 10 minutes. It was quite sad how naked it made us at first. Fortunately for me, I got one last picture to play with before server was lost. Best mate stayed yoked to his phone for two hours until the final remoteness of Coles bay became apparent. On arriving, I asked the staff whether there was any phone access in the rooms to make an important call. I was pointed towards a pair of pay telephones and told to enjoy the ecological experience.
After checking in, we tried to stock up our room by heading to the town centre. From the sign, we expected a small street with a post office, a few restaurants and a few stores. Instead there was a solitary post box on a stand outside of the burned out remains of the only store in an isolated cul-de-sac. Realising immediately that we were not stocking up today, I suggested heading back. Best mate held out hope and insisted the town centre might still be in a street we had missed. To his relief we found a bottle shop and petrol-station-store five minutes back down the road.
Back at the room, we tried a Telstra card and Macgivered together a server to the outside world. Thanks to an additional inspiration, I also now have phone access to an interview from the ecological serenity of my woodland room.
We ate dinner at the hotel and conspired business thoughts for our coming launch. In a maddening turn of events, the only part of me that finally surrendered to the coldness at the dinner table was my ankles (no laughing), and in turn my feet. So we retired to the fireplace and then home to bed.