Escape to Bondi

Monday night and we are all tired. DD spent yesterday rehearsing for the school’s upcoming production of the Sound of Music – she’s a nun, I would post a photo but I doubt she will let me – and is badly missing her normal crash-out Sunday. DS spent the weekend accumulating love bites and training for his first post-injury rugby game tomorrow and is already in bed in his rabbit onesey. I am about to follow his example and catch a sneaky episode of Bondi Rescue from the comfort of my bed   ( will Maxi make it to fully fledged lifeguard, will Kerbox find love, will an unsuspecting tourist drown in the dreaded Backpackers Rip? ,)  when the clothes dryer attached to the kitchen ceiling by pulleys falls down on my head as I am loading it with wet washing.  Closer inspection while standing on tip toes on the kitchen table reveals a minor engineering job is required and I know just the man – my very nice neighbour A who lives over the road with his partner C.  They are in their 60’s, free from the demands of work and childcare and spend their days travelling the world by plane, boat and camper van, which they park in my driveway when not on the road in France or Spain or some other driveable location. In return for housing this bright red freedom wagon A does odd jobs for me – last week it was the drains. Safe in the knowledge that I can survive one night without drying facilities and in need of my own brand of travel free escapism, I head upstairs to catch up with Bondi’s finest.  Maxi gets the job, Kerbox fails to find true love, nobody drowns and as the credits roll up over a spectacular Antipodean sunset I feel altogether more relaxed until DS yells from his room ‘ I forgot to say, I need my rugby kit washed and dry for tomorrow, I wore it training today..Did you hear me? …Mama? ‘


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