Oh dear. It’s Thursday morning which means there are only three days left of our elongated holiday, or holidays to be more precise.
Nicola had suggested we pay a visit to a National Trust property at the next train stop along the line from here. Ripponlea.
A nice example of early Australian life. This house was built with money from the Sargood family drapery and clothing firm. It was at its peak during the gold rush and although we’ve seen a lot of things relating to the gold rush, this is the first tangible thing we’ve seen to come out of that period.
The last tour of the house for the day had just started so we dipped out. Instead, we saw around the gardens including the sorry looking lake which was suffering so much from lack of rainfall, and then on down into the basement kitchen area of the house. A fascinating insight into Melbournian life in days gone by.
Elsternwick, the locality that Rippon Lea sits in is another very warm and welcoming sort of place. All human life is here, without the litter. I was bemused to see rather more of the long bearded types than would be normal, but hey, that is life my boy.
The villagey feel to the place belies the fact that it sits on the main rail link into Melbourne about ten clicks away.
I must admit to preferring here to St. Kilda.
Then, it was only a fleeting visit, in the sunshine and on holiday.
We just went home after our visit. There was bad weather forecast, and they never get it wrong.
About an hour after arriving home, there was one monumental thunderstorm.
The rain came in torrents, the lightning flashed like maniacal strobes. I’ve heard this all before, only this time it was worse.
We were to have a bbq tonight, but decided to call it off because the rain had breached the ceiling in the dining area, and the whole place was soaking.
Frantic phone calls to Trevor at work along with calls to the realtor who let the house out. And yet more to the erstwhile dinner guests, cancelling.
We got the place dried out. In fact an hour after the deluge, everywhere was bone dry and back to normal sunny Melbourne, until next time.
Cheryl and Elliot. The Christian names of the friends are fab.
These two are certainly no exception. Cheryl, another lovely person is in HR back in Cambridge. She came over for a few months to be with her boyfriend Elliot, who’s in IT.
Cheryl is a little older than Elliot so she affectionately calls him boy or The Boy.
They braved the elements to come over for the bbq and it turned out to be a good wee night. Elliot in his naivety brought me a bottle of Guinness. It was like the Porter of olden days with a hint of cats pish in it. Still, the boy wasn’t to know.
Cheryl pronounced Sheril, is fitness fanatical, in my opinion.
She has signed up for a boot camp where they almost torture the hapless victims while making them run about in thirty odd degrees.
Actually, I don’t know who’s worse. Trainer or trainee.
Having said that though, they were both joys to meet.
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