They may have been dancing in their underwear with brollies, or partying in the torrents in Cairns but we'd had enough of it. Waking this morning unable to see the SCG again was enough for us. Will had taken to his bed in protest; even FaceBook was cast asunder. And then slowly, peeking out very shyly from behind the gloom, there he was. Mr Blue Sky. Ya beauty.
Pot Shrigley breakfast for our final day at the apartment. Anything left available in the fridge gifted us Tuscan fish stew, sourdough, scrambled eggs, frittata with spinach and guacamole. Oh and two bottles of Toohey's New Ale. With tea, of course.
Will and G looking good after their sharp barbershop cuts. Well. Will looked cool, G was a slightly ageing hipster (that's ageing, not sagging -Ed). Coiffure provided by the most hairy Frenchman in the profession.
A stroll down Hyde Park in the dry somewhat preferable to the Siberian blast of yesterday. And the huskies were glad of a rest, too. They have gone off to buy Uggs. The Botanic Gardens fragrant and floral in the glorious warmth. Diane takes us up to the wine and food festival at the base of the Rocks; an epicurean delight of world foods with glorious smells and tastes.
And then we said goodbye to Will with lumps in our throats and a tear in the eye. Enjoy, mate. You are so clearly having a wonderful experience. We will be back soon, very soon.
