Instead of touching down at Tullamarine Airport in Melbourne to welcoming hugs and grins from my Dad, I’m still in Brisbane, compliments of a cancelled flight. Stuck home dealing with a moth infestation in my pantry, about to tackle a nit treatment with my six-year-old son and wondering where my sweet, chilled-out break went.
We’ll be up at 3:30am tomorrow to catch our flight, with connecting shuttle bus to Ballarat to arrive at 11am at the train station. Then we have to work out how to get from there to my Dad’s place (an easy walk when you’re not carrying heavy bags – or a nasty run when stopping in for chocolate and getting caught in the no-express isle at the nearby Aldi)
That sweet, chilled-out break? It will have sent an agent for us, I know. They’ll be there, peeping around the corner of the ancient train station, beckoning us.