I spent the New Years weekend in south-west Victoria. Mum, dad and I mobilised the extended family (11 people all up) for a three-day stay in Colac, a large rural town of 11 000 people. From Colac, we wanted to explore the Otway National Park.

Our plans went awry in a way that can almost only happen in Victoria.

We arrived on 31 December. We escaped a 43°C scorcher of a day in Melbourne. It reached 38°C in Colac. Trust me, that’s hot enough. It was too hot to go bounding over world class natural heritage. Instead, we drove to some nearby lakes, which seemed to have decided to celebrate the Australian heat by turning into salt pans. Damn, that twinkling was deceptive, though.

Then we went back to our cabins and watched DVDs. We rationalised that we could have a full day of National Parkness tomorrow.

We drove out early the next morning to our first scheduled adventure, the Otway Fly Tree Top Walk.

As we drove into the rainforest valley, my heart tightened as the fog turned into drizzle, which became a fully fledged downpour. We waited forlornly for a while but admitted defeat. There was no point climbing up the trees in rain and fog.

How strange it was, to go from a sleepless night of moisture-sucking dry heat, to being forced to huddle close to heaters, while rain boxed us into 35 square metres of caravan cabin.

Luckily, we had brought five DVDs and I had packed two books.

Our final day yesterday was 24°C. It was juuuuuust right.

	The Australian landscape during summer — Red Rock Lookout. I didn’t have a wide enough lens to do justice to the dryness.
	A cat might go crazy for this kind of salt lick.
	What a holidaying disaster! We drown our sorrows at the first winery we could find.
	Shade…shade…
	Get your FERN FERN FERN here!
	Water! Hopetoun Falls.
	Waterfly.
	We finally got to the Fly Tree Walk (that’s my grandma).
	No standing at the beach — Apollo Bay.
	I see someone might get a ticket…
	Run, little boy, run.
	Mum says, “Smile!”

I’ve just come home from a week in Brisbane — my first business trip!

It was a really good week. I went with a colleague, Nuno. Nuno looked after me: he trained me while we tramped around military bases; he navigated our car through the obstacle course that was the hotel carpark; he made me go to the doctor when my toe had a severe reaction to the bandage. Nuno and I became good friends after the week.

Brisbane is a lovely city, cleaner than Melbourne, a bit quieter. It is a city of bridges. I like the way the Brisbane River snakes through the city. The one-way streets are sometimes frustrating, though.

I spent most of the week working so I didn’t get to be a tourist. We did, however, get a daily allowance for food, so Nuno and I ate our way around the city. Hot breakfasts were the highlight.

(I also saw a salsa class being conducted in a community hall. It’s funny how beginner salsa classes look the same everywhere you go.)

	On the flight to Brisbane. As you can tell, I sat on the right side of the plane.
	Nuno is silly.
	Joan in the car.
	Joan takes drugs in an Indian restaurant.
	The view from my hotel room on the 20th floor. I was in room 2005.
	Flying home. I was on the left side this time.