Captain Hook

Recently we took a holiday at the sea side.  The weather was foul - it poured most of the time we were there, despite being the end of summer.  On one of those pouring days, we nevertheless went down to the beach to see if we could manage a swim.

There was only one other car in the car park, and while my husband and I were busy getting things out of the boot, the couple from the other car were, so it seems, doing likewise.

Slowly, I became aware of Sabina.  She was holding, no wait, more like gently gripping my elbow, while intensely eying off the other car.  There was this edgy feeling coming from my daughter that something wasn't quite right.  I glanced across at the other car.  Indeed, the man was missing half his right arm.  From the elbow to the wrist he had a nice enough looking prosthesis, which ended with ... a hook.

I pretended not to notice anything, and kept myself busy with grabbing towels, boogie boards and other what nots for the beach.  Sabina stepped in closer and closer, ever so gently molding into me, until there was barely enough room for our clothes.  When the man finally moved away, and went for a walk with his partner, Sabina dared to ask.

"Mama, was that ... was that ...", she stumbled.

"Who?  Captain Hook?", I said casually.

Here eyes widened with a stunned, fearful look as she nodded.

"Of course that was Captain Hook!" I responded boldly.

"But Mama, where is his ship?!", the little girl found her voice again.

"Well, no one, not even the pirates, can sail in foul whether like this.  So they've probably dropped anchor somewhere just out of sight, and the pirates have come ashore", I explained as though this was common knowledge.

"But Mama, why didn't he take me and hold me for ransom?", asked Sabina.

"Pirates aren't silly you know.  I was here, and Papa was here, and the life savers are here, and even the Police are here.  He can't exactly grab you and get away with it, can he?  You're very lucky, you know.  You're probably the only child that has seen Captain Hook and got away with it."

On and on it went.  For the next two days.  Captain Hook this and Captain Hook that.  We got a lot of mileage out of Captain Hook.  And I believe that Sabina, now back at school, is still getting plenty of mileage out of Captain Hook.

Full moon rising

It's school holidays. Sabina and I are here, full time at the farm. We have just weathered five days of storm. Howling winds, rain, and hail. It has been so bad, that even horse mad me refused to ride in some of this weather. So bad, that the guinea pigs got brought into the laundry at night.

Finally today, the wind has abated. The clouds even managed to part, and we basked in brief sunshine in the afternoon.

Now at dusk, as the sun sets, I wander outside to feed the horses. As I push the wheelbarrow from the house to the big shed, I am overwhelmed by the calmness. Over the last few days I have been so used to the force of the wind, that now I am surprised by the ease of movement, the effortlessness of pushing the wheelbarrow, the simplicity of walking.

There are so many new sounds too. The gentle crunch of my feet on the gravel driveway. The rustle of my clothes. And the noises of various evening creatures, rejoicing in life. Down by the dam the frogs are ribbit-ing along cheerfully.

As I walk merrily, a sight catches my eye. The clouds in the east are glowing a pale, lonely, cold glow. I stop and put down the handles of my wheelbarrow, and stare. The clouds move along very slowly changing their shape. The source of the light is also moving very, very slowly. Finally, the pale face surfaces from behind the cotton wool clouds. The sight of the full moon. Rising.

Long Tunnel Extended Gold Mine

Walhalla used to have a gold mine.  A few of them, actually.  We go on a tour of the Long Tunnel Extended Gold mine, which was the biggest, and most profitable.  Incidentally, it's the only mine that offers tours.  Entrances to all the other mines are closed off with heavily padlocked doors.

Just walking down the tunnel itself (actually, up the tunnel) is an amazing experience - seeing the light at the end of the tunnel (behind us) get smaller and smaller.  Eventually the tunnel forks, and we gaze up the left fork, the smaller fork - it just begs to be investigated.  We continue up the right fork into a huge double chamber - the size of a small house.

Here, our guide, Sheriff, explains to us how water continually seeps into the mine, and had to be pumped out. They had serious boilers in this chamber to provide the energy to pump this water out, and they had chimneys going directly from this chamber up 130m to the surface to get rid of all the smoke. Well they had all sorts of problems with debris dropping down said chimney, due to the heat of the smoke. So they lined it with bricks. Can you imagine? Working inside a chimney, 130m tall, merely 4 feet wide, lining it with bricks?

Sheriff shows us a map of all the tunnels, and where the gold was found. My jaw drops, because I realise that we are in the very top, very first tunnel. We're at the tunnel's end, where a shaft drops down 923m! That's almost a kilometre! Straight down, towards the centre of the earth. And this was dug out in the late 1800's, with relatively primitive tools! But the even more amazing thing is that there are tens of tunnels extending horizontally left and right off this shaft! Think about it. Kilometres and kilometres of tunnels, deep down under the earth. No light at the end of those tunnels. And that's where the gold was dug out from. All 13.7 tonnes of it.

I move away from the group, and find the shaft in a corner of the chamber. It's been sealed off, and made into a bit of a display. Behind the glass, on the right I can see a miner on a ladder. Blue uniform, a miner's lamp. Next to him, there is a trolley full of ore. The trolley is sitting in a cage - this is the real shaft, the big 1km hole in the ground. The trolley has wheels. I gaze down at the ground - I am standing on a pair of rails. Like train tracks. I gaze back down the tunnel - the train tracks run all the way to the end of that tunnel.

My mind comes alive. I can see trolleys being hauled up, being released from the cage and pushed down the tunnel, towards the light. They rattle as they roll. Men toil hard, feeding wood into the boilers, and getting trolleys out of the cage, their faces beading with sweat. I entertain visions from one of the Indiana Jones movies. A sneaky smile creeps onto my face.

Sabina, curious, comes over. She sees the miner behind the glass. "Mama, is he alive?", her eyes widen with childlish disbelief. I am so, so tempted to say "yes", but I resist. She is so innocent in her concern for the poor miner behind the glass.

"So, 20m below us is the water table", Sheriff's voice bellows over our thoughts. "And 300m below us are the stables." Sabina pricks up her ears. "Just before they closed the mine, they sent all the school kids in here, disassembled as much as they could and brought it up to the surface. Then they shot the ponies, got everyone out, and turned everything off. The entire mine flooded, and now we can only get 20m down the shaft." If you thought Sabina's eyes were big when she saw the miner, you should see them now. "But why did they shoot the pony?", she asks.

"We spoke to one of the women who, as a schoolgirl was sent into the mine to help disassemble equipment", Sheriff continues. "She said that there were trolleys loaded with ore. There is no evidence that those trolleys ever made it up to the surface. So we know there is gold down there." Everyone gets a little twinkle in their eye. Gold talks in mysterious ways. Sabina, tugs at my sleeve. "But Mama, why did they shoot they pony?".

Finally we turn back down the passage. There is light at the end of the tunnel. Sabina leads us out of the mine. The tour is over, but the question "why did they shoot the pony?" haunts us for the remainder of the day.

Walhalla Railway

We are spending the weekend in Walhalla, an old gold mining town. Sabina has already told all her school friends on Friday that she is off to "Walhalla-halla" for the weekend. Very cute.

Our first attraction is the Walhalla Railway.

When we arrive at the station, the train is already waiting.  Sabina gets all excited, jumping up and down, while I purchase tickets.  The train has two carriages pulled by a diesel engine.  The carriages have windows, which have all been dropped down, so the air in the train, is as fresh as outside the train.

The station master goes ahead with the full protocol of whistle, "All aboard!", wave the green flag, and we're off.  Sabina is jumping up and down with joy, sticking her neck out of the window, and grinning from ear to ear.

The train moves off slowly, and the red carriages creak and groan.  I poke my head out of the window too, and admire the creek below us.  We're in a deep gorge, with the road cutting a straight line somewhere up above us.  "There's brumbies up there", comments Sabina.

The valley is green and lush with ferns.  The train track is cut into the side of the hill.  As I look ahead, I can only see the rocky mountainside, that seems to suddenly disappear.  It looks like the train might just continue straight, and run off the edge.  But, it doesn't.  At the last moment, I see the green engine turn left, hugging the side of the mountain.

Another time, it looks like we might well scrape a rocky ledge.  It passes within hand's reach.  It's better than a Disneyland ride. 

We pass a tiny station called "Happy Valley", and eventually we cross the Thomson river, and end up at Thomson.  Here we have a chance to jump off and explore for a few minutes.  Visions of Menzies Creek station and their devine devonshire teas come whafting to me from the past.  The whistle of the train, now turned for home, brings me back to the present.  We board, and re-live the journey back to Walhalla.  Sabina's enthusiasm is unabating.

Nethercote Falls

Having already hit the wall once this morning (on the bike), I must have been so exhausted that foolishly I agreed to go for a walk to Nethercote Falls.

The walk wasn't far, nor was it hard.  We didn't have to bush bash.

But 10 metres from the picnic table my leg muscles gave out.  That was it, couldn't make another step.  Felt like the whole show was just going to buckle.  I could still "shuffle", which I did to the picnic table.  Then I ate

and rested,

and enjoyed the view.

Wind in my hair

This morning we rode our bikes, 9 kilometres, to breakfast.  It was wonderful to feel the wind in my hair.  (I now have some hair, and there is enough airflow through my helmet that I can actually feel the wind in my hair).  And the breakfast was fabulous too.  We went to the same cafe as last year, and I ordered exactly the same breakfast.  Delicious.

Then we rode the 9 kilometres back.  More wind in my hair.  Some tiredness in the muscles too.  And then my husband spied a shortcut.  What is it about my husband that prevents him from sticking to the well trodden, safe, easy path?  Every single time we go somewhere, anywhere, he manages to get us bush bashing.  It's just not a trip out, if we don't end up somewhere off the track at some point.

In this particular case, a sandy vehicular track veered off the main road and we followed it.  My thin tyres were sinking into the sand.  Then, we saw a steep climb up ahead.  My husband sighed, and turned his bike around.  He is human after all.  (Although, I bet if he was with his mates they would have ridden up it.)  We continued along the well trodden, a.k.a. easy, path.

About 50m from our accommodation there is a steep pinch in the road.  It goes on for about 30m, but it gets you into bottom gear, and out of your saddle.  I hit that pinch, and I hit the wall.  That was it - my limit.  Of course I still rode up it.  Mrs 70% went out the window.  If I wasn't breathing and concentrating so hard I would have heard my naturopath going "tsk tsk" in the background, arms folded across her chest, fingers tapping.  But ... my muscles were crying.  Not just hurting.  Crying.

Holiday riding

We get to horse ride pretty much every weekend.  And we ride for however long we want.  And whereever we want.  We have access to unlimited trails in a state forest.  So when we go on holidays, you would think that we would do everything other than riding horses.  You would think that.

But, no!  We are on holidays and we have to go on a local trail ride.  And it's not some high country adventure ride.  It's the usual, one horse after another, plod-a-long.  Actually, for Sabina, it's perfect.  She gets the challenge of riding a bigger, stronger horse than Tornado.  I in turn, get to observe how she tackles that challenge, and what are her biggest issues.  In this case, the horse finally figures out that it's stronger than Sabina, and when we go through a field of lucerne it stops to graze.

For my husband and I it's nice enough time out, although we could have got the same out of riding our bikes or kayaks.

Back on the bike

I decided to finally brave the bike and ride down to the local shops.  To the chemist to be exact.  I got dressed in all my lycra, and off I went.

It was, oddly enough, just like riding a bike.  What was probably more interesting, was my visit to the chemist.

I parked my bike right out the front of the chemist shop.  I had forgotten to bring a lock, so I kept a very close eye on the bike, while waiting for my prescription.

One man appeared to be very curious about my steed.  He gazed at it from every angle for about 5 minutes.  I half expected him to go for a test ride.

Then, another man also waiting for his prescription, struck up a conversation with me.  "You should read Lance Armstrong's book", he sidled up to me.  Now, I am not sure whether it was just the lycra that caught his attention, or whether he figured out I was still recovering from chemo.  (I still had my helmet on, so you couldn't immediately tell I had mega short hair.)

"I have", I responded.  "Very inspirational."

The conversation didn't end there, and I was quite glad when my prescription was handed to me, and I could get out of there.

On the way home I was still enjoying my riding.  What bothered me is that I had no idea how much I could push it.  Would riding up that steep hill be too much?  Is this a "good" distance to ride, or is it the tip of the iceberg?  How far do I have to ride to feel happily tired?  (As opposed to stuffed.)  I used to know all these things about my body.  Now I'm lost.  It's all become a new frontier.

Creatures of the night

We're off on our annual family holiday to Merimbula.  We have chosen to drive up tonight, rather than during the day.  It's a bit of a trade-off.  Sure, at night you have to keep vividly awake at a time when you would normally be asleep, but during the day?  During the day you have to cope with endless caravan of grey nomads, boat enthusiasts and holiday makers, who all seem to be on a sightseeing tour rather than focussing on getting to their destination.

So we drive when no one else dares.  Well, that's not entirely true.  The boat ensemble seems to be out in full force.  The bigger the better.  We marvel at their size as we pass them one by one.  And in the end we all rock up at the same petrol station in Bairnsdale anyway.  Although I must admit that with our rooftop load of two kayaks and two bikes we are somewhat cautious.

In Bairnsdale we change driver, and hit the forests.  The road winds, the fog descends.  We wind with the road, left then right.  Sometimes we slam on the brakes as the fog is too thick to make out which way the road will turn.  Then we turn and keep going.  No crowds, just the road and us.  No limits.

A smigin after 3am we arrive at our destination, greeted by three roos on each front lawn.  We unpack the essentials and hit the pillow.

Holiday Diary: Reading

Reading is definitely a great part of any holiday. There just seems to be so much time to read.

I really enjoy reading books during holidays, but because I am forever busy packing gear, I always forget to grab a book.

Somehow, I have been blessed to find a very interesting book at each of my recent holiday destinations. When we got away to Bright I managed to find John McEnroe's autobiography, which had me reading for hours into the night, and buzzing all morning.

Here in Merimbula, "The other Bolyen girl" by Phillipa Gregory catches my eye, and I honestly cannot get away from it. I hide away with it at every opportunity, almost to the point of being rude. But the historical detail, and more so, the politics in the book have caught me in their iron grip. I learn far more from it than from any book on marriage, relationships, or business acumen.

Holiday Diary: Gear

We arrive in Merimbula with two kayaks (and associated paddling gear), two bikes, and a boot full of boogy boards, nets and other sundry beach items.

The logistics of packing all this gear takes up days of thinking before the trip even commences. Then comes the packing itself. At least one hour just for the gear alone. Then the mental note ... our car now requires a clearance of at least 2.5m. Then the unpacking. Where to put the gear at the destination. Etc, etc, etc.

So is the gear really necessary? Doesn't "getting away from it all" mean you just take your beach towel with you?

I hate to say it, but in our case, the gear is necessary. We holidayed in Noosa a couple of years ago, and found it excruciatingly painful to watch paddling and bike riding opportunities pass us by, because we didn't have our gear.

Can't we borrow it? Gosh no! I guess I can't really tell the difference between one boogy board and the next, but kayaks and bikes are tailored to our needs.

So do we use the gear? Yes, yessety yes!

Going on holidays

We're off on holidays today. For a week. To Merimbula.

We do the obligatory stop at Bairnsdale and ride the flying fox. Then on through smoke filled bush and into New South Wales. Once you see a sign that says "Eden" you pretty much know you're in heaven.

When we arrive, Opa is standing on the balcony of the "Blue House" well aware that we managed to stock up on supplies at the pub.

From Bright

Australia Day!

Sabina is amazed to see all the people with Australian flag tatoos (temporary ones), Australian capes and hats. Of course she wants one too!

We pack up, depart our accommodation, and drive straight up the hill to Fiona's. She's got three girls Sabina's age - great play time for everyone. We sit on the deck, watching the trees on the nearby hills. We're pretty much in the middle of Bright, but because we're a bit up the hill, you wouldn't know the town exists.

Later we drive to Milawa for lunch, where we pick up some cheeses from the renowned Milawa cheese factory. We're barely back on the main road, when Sabina says "I already want to be there!". We laugh.

Some of the length of the journey is eased by me singing. Everything from Polish folk songs I used to sing in a choir, to Polish Christmas carols, to anything else that comes to mind. Sabina sings along with me, which leaves me proud as pie.

The Recovery

Today is recovery day, and the boys compare notes and reminisce about the ride. They show off photos and tan lines.

We take a short drive down to Wandilligong, and go into the hedge maze. The maze has us totally puzzled as we wander around the same region of it for about 1/2 an hour. Finally I put my foot down, we apply the right hand rule, and with amazing ease complete the maze. Lunch follows.

Today is also Peter's birthday. In the afternoon we setup for afternoon tea outside. (Yet another hot day.) Two chocolate cakes, and two schnapps decorate the table. Friends roll in from all directions. The adults dig into the delicacies, the kids jump in the pool.

In the evening we pop out to a restaurant for dinner. Afterwards we wander over to the Bright Brewery. It's owned and run by our friends, Scott and Fiona, and we get involved in drying the dishes (in our Sunday best). But it's good to chat and catch up. As always, Fiona has some out left field ideas.

The Audax

The alarm rings. My alarm. It's 5am. You see, it is the job of "da wife" to wake up "da husband" so he is on time for the start of his ride. Sheesh. I am sure this wasn't in my wedding vows. Or was it?

Pete is gone before I know it. I am sure that ouside the world hums with multi-thousand dollar bikes, but I sleep on.

Sabina and I enjoy a lovely girls day out. First shopping for a present for Papa's birthday, then the obligatory cappucino, followed by shopping for afternoon tea delicacies, water guns and a surf mat. It is 30+ deg C again today. And we go back to our accommodation for a dip in the pool. The water guns and surf mat are a hit.

I get the odd update from Pete. "At Falls". "At Bright". Then I get one from the ride organisers - "Peter has just reached Mt Buffalo". We get out of the pool, and into town, where we stand cheering just before the finish line. (Was cheering part of my vows?)

Finally Peter finishes his ride, and we race after him. Sabina ignores all barriers and jumps into the race finish with Papa, proudly holding onto his bike.

In Bright

The little town of 2,500 people is buzzing. Over 30,000 visitors have descended on the town for the long weekend. A large proportion of them will be participating in the Audax Alpine Classic. The Audax (as it's commonly known) is a gruelling bike ride (push bike) any way you take it.

The short distance is Bright-Tawonga Gap-Mt Beauty-Tawonga Gap-Bright. 64km. You may be tempted to ask why isn't it just called "Bright-Mt Beauty-Bright"? When you have cycled up Tawonga Gap, you'll know why.

The other short distance is Bright-Mt Buffalo-Bright. 70km. From Mt Buffalo you will be able look back on Tawonga Gap and laugh.

Then there is Bright-Tawonga Gap-Falls Creek-Tawonga Gap-Bright. 130km. The only time you'll be laughing here is when you finish in Bright and realise, that the rider behind you is doing the 200km.

Then Bright-Tawonga Gap-Mt Beauty-Tawonga Gap-Bright-Mt Buffalo-Bright. 140km. See laughing instructions for the 70km ride.

Then there is the real McCoy, the original Audax, Bright-Falls Creek-Bright-Mt Buffalo-Bright. 200km. Over moutains. Laugh only when you finish.

And finally, the new special for this year, the ACE250. Bright-Mt Hotham-Omeo-Falls Creek-Bright. 250km. Over mountains. It's no laughing matter. It even has qualifying rides in order to enter.

So what are we doing here? Well, of course, Peter the bike riding endurance junkie, is doing the realy McCoy Audax 200km over mountains. His friends have more sanity, and they are only doing the 140km. Nice. Sabina ... well she's just ridden the 1km into town for an ice cream, and quite frankly I've been dragging her bike for the last 200m while she's been skipping along beside me.

We sit down at a cafe with our ice creams, and enjoy the hot day. 30+ deg C. The place is crawling with lycra lizards, dogs, children and bikini beauties. Bikes, bikes and more bikes are everywhere. And they are expensive machines too. Most of them standing in bike racks, or leaning against light posts. Unlocked. The waitress comments that they are running out of food.

Well, we're not! The cycling boys (men, perhaps) are so hung up on getting their carbs before the big day, that we've got more pasta, and more meat sauce of various kinds, than you can poke a stick at!

After dinner the boys double check their bikes, and pack their bags. Questions like "one spare tube or two?", "magnesium drink or protein drink?", "gel or pre-mixed drink?" are dominating the conversation. Everyone hits the sack early. I find a good book on the shelf. It swallows me whole. I finally manage to free myself from it just after midnight.

To Bright

We're taking a break from our farm this weekend, and heading up to Bright. We're supposed to leave at 7pm, but these plans always seem to slip. Especially when children are involved.

Then we get a call from Pete's mate. He is already up in Bright, and he's forgotten his cycling shoes. Can we please pick them up from his house? Thank goodness we're late.

Sabina wonders how can he put the shoes on the front porch if he is not home?

We pick up the shoes and drive off, into the night, up the Hume Highway.

Sabina is very excited about the trip, and attempts to stay awake the whole way. "I already want to be there", she moans. We look at each other and smile. "It's a long way", she comments. All day I had tried to prepare her for the long drive. I failed. Eventually she falls asleep.

We drive into Bright, and head to our accommodation. Our friends are still up, enjoying a drink or two.

Shuttle Bunnies

Today is the boys' day. They are off to paddle the Mitta Mitta Gorge, as befits tradition.

Peter is feeling rather poorly, but since he is unlikely to take a swim, I stay silent.

At the put in we meet the rafting company, training their customers, before getting on the wet stuff. Napoleon faced, they sit in the raft and practice paddling. We watch them put in and wave them goodbye.

Then the boys put in. Pete looks very pale as he plays around in the rapid. Just as Anthony is about to slide off the bank, I grab his shoulder. "I'll be at the Black Duck till midday. You know ... just in case he's not coping." I nod towards Pete, and let go of Anthony. Anthony glides into the water, then turns around in the eddy. "I'll keep an eye on him", he smiles.

We drive to the Black Duck. From the road, the Black Duck is a mere corner, with a turnout big enough for a bus. But down below, it's a huge pool of water, the size of a football field. Black and mysterious. If you've done the upper Mitta, and you're looking for a challenge, you keep paddling to the Black Duck. Then, if you're still in need of an adventure, you paddle the Mitta Mitta gorge.

As I turn out at the Black Duck, Anthony runs up to the car. "We're all good", he says panting. "Go straight to Hinnomunjie bridge." He turns on his heel and runs down. Two strides and he is out of sight. We go onto Hinnomunjie bridge as instructed. Sabina takes her shoes and socks off and plays on the bank of the river, collecting stones, building stone walls.

"Sabina, can you see them yet?", I ask. She stands calf deep in the river, looks downstream, and says "No Mama". I laugh heartily, and point upstream, towards the bridge. "They'll be coming from there."

Paddling the Cobungra

Morning is a sunny affair. We meet our friends outside, congregate over coffee, and make plans for the day.

The Blue Duck is positioned on the banks of the Cobungra river - a serious white water river that ought to be paddled with respect. But where it passes the Blue Duck, the rapids are small, easy, inviting. Pete and I wander up the bank. We pass three rapids and arrive at a little sand bar. "I think you could paddle this stretch with Sabina", I suggest. Pete's eyes light up. We jog back down the river and investigate the take out. The route is set.

With four adults in attendance, the little girl sits in the orange boat, eating a snack before the trip. Finally, Pete jumps in the boat with her, and they slide gently into the water. The first rapid sends a gush of freezing water into the boat. Sabina gasps. "Papa, it's cold, I want to get out!" Mid river, she proceeds to stand up in the kayak. Pete holds her back. Napoleon faced, she grips the edge of the cockpit with white knuckles.

The second rapid brings a smile. The third rapid another. Gently they eddy out at the take out. Sabina runs joyfully along the sand, dipping her toe in the freezing mountain water, and sending it splashing along the bank.

To Omeo

This weekend we're off to Omeo. Paddling. It's becoming a bit of an annual event. Remember last year's trip? The drive? Racing along the Tambo? Sabina's patient "It's a long way"? Seeing Spirit and Rain? Memories of Winter Classiscs gone by and the Mr Men team?

This year we're driving up together as a family. Mr and Mrs Orange (our boats) on the roof. At Bairnsdale we stop and ride the flying fox. It's still a long way, and darkness descends as we glimpse the Tambo. The wind howls. We drive. "But when will we get there?", quizzes Sabina. The road winds, the Blue Duck lights up. We arrive.

I busy myself preparing dinner, Pete brings things in from the car. Sabina explores. By the time dinner is ready, she has decided she will sleep in the top bunk. After dinner, we still seem to be busy settling in. Sabina tugs at my sleeve. "Mama, there is no bath", she says. "I don't want to shower. Can I just go to bed?" Deep down, I gasp. A child that just wants to go to bed? This is pretty cool. I dig out her pyjamas, and just point out that she must brush her teeth. Minutes later she tucks herself in.

S and R waltz in, baby in one arm, bottle of red in the other. We chill out, sip the wine and joke.

The generator goes off at about 10pm, our guests leave, we hear D and A arrive and settle in next door. A million starts twinkle outside, and a freezing chill sweeps the valley.