Sunday and off to Tasmania

We had a lazy Sunday, enjoying a cheery conversation with Maggie over her home made muesli and pots of jam on a big table in the crowded dining room. Not crowded with people but with large things and pictures leaning against the wall and in sight of a great looking but somewhat bohemian kitchen. Maggie was such a nice lady and I would commend anybody to find that Brooklyn Arts Hotel and book in quick. We then turned on GPS and allowed him to guide us back to Acland Street where there is a great street market which runs along the sea front. We pottered about looking at things, looking at the cake shops which indicate a strong Austrian tradition turned Australian in wonderful looking cakes. We found just the place for lunch where we could sit on the sea front side before and after eating and just look at the sea. George and Liz swam, and we watched the beach as it filled up with the golden ones who lay down again to catch those rays baring more bits of body than should rightfully be out on a Sunday. After all this lazing, GPS really messed up getting us to the airport and had to be put back in his black zipped bag. We had naturally left LOTS of time to get to the flight, some habits are hard to change, and G and S were able to get an earlier flight to Sydney. We had plenty of time with the Duke of Marlborough and Liz was able to read 44 Scotland Street, (Alexander McCall Smith) which had her laughing out loud. We took off for a short flight and landed in the dark at Hobart. These little domestic airports are just like a bus station, you walk off straight into arms of those who have come to meet you and your luggage arrives minutes later. Barbie and Philip were there to meet us, we packed ourselves into their car and drove about 40 minutes to their house. As it was dark, there was nothing to tell us about where we were but after a cup of tea we snuggled into bed and into the Tasmanian dream state