Well, what can we say. Rain, rain, go away please come back another day (or stay in Melbourne where it belongs)
Ross hasn’t put a pair of shoes on in 6 weeks, and even then can be bothered looking for his thongs only half the time. His already unattractive feet look like lizard feet. Wet weather is testing his personal no shoe protest.
Ross is doing the blog today and it’s only 4pm. With the continued drizzle, it’s unlikely anything spectacular will happen in what’s left of the day.
Poo Poo Head made a new mate down the road a little and was deep in conversation with the other little guy
Even the dangerous business of eating breakfast required a safety helmet ….. actual Poo Poo Head didnt want to delay returning to the other kids one second longer than required, and the removal and refitting of a helmet was going to eat into valuable playing time.
We woke up this morning to grey cloud …. Barb caught up on some sleep with Ross and Poo Poo Head out and about on their bikes. A very light misty drizzle was followed by the setting in of the continuing drizzle which hasn’t stopped as of 4pm
The caravan park was jam packed with campers for the weekend, with lots and lots of tents in congested groups. This is how Ross remembers caravan parks from his childhood, kids everywhere and camps almost randomly on top of each other.
As soon as the drizzle started this morning the slow holiday mode of those in tents was replaced by a more deliberate urgency. All those people heading back to the city after the weekend, started running about like rats under a glass dish, trying to get the camping gear stowed away before everything got wet.
We went into Kiama town for lunch and when we got back the caravan park was all but empty. In the empty caravan park street there was us up one rainy end, and the toilet block up the other rainy end. After the mass exodus, it now seems a little stupid to be camped so far from the toilet with nothing in between except rain.
Barb ripped off the small pieces of tape from Poo Poo Heads chin this morning. Happily and amazingly after only a week, the cavernous hole in Poo Poo Head’s chin is almost invisible already.
When we arrived yesterday we passed a camp with an old Thunderbird and similarly aged caravan, both in terrific condition.
On days like this when confined to the camper, what is normally looked upon as a convenience, Foxtel takes on a whole new blessing.
Generally Ross never has any issues setting up the satellite dish and aligning to whatever he aligns it with, it to suck the “space TV” from the far reaches of the cosmos. He just looks into the sky intently with the expression of a mad scientist, mucks around with a compasses, angular doover and a squeely meter thingy and next minute we have Foxtel.
He has had satellite TV for a few years, but only now do we have Foxtel. Ross manages to get the satellite set up with Foxtel 100% of the time, and usually within about 5 minutes, but for some reason the free to air channels via Foxtel 2,7,9,10 and their companion channels are very hit/miss … sometimes we get, mostly we don’t.
Whilst we get all Foxtel channels 100% of the time, we miss out on the free to air Foxtel feeds most of the time.
Usually it doesn’t matter and no-one cares much except Barbs must-see free to air TV shows are Packed to the Rafters and Parenthood, both on channel seven and both at the end of their seasons.
Without the Foxtel fed channel seven, Barb has to endure normal terrestrial signal on GEM or Prime or whatever regional channel broadcasts it, which for the season finales was shocking
The quality of terrestrial signal to our location was terrible, and with Parenthood the picture was almost unwatchable and the sound disappearing into static 50% of the time.
Both of Barb’s favourite TV shows had their final season episodes last week, both with the typical cliff hanger finishes. Barb was on the edge of the seat (actually she was standing on the seat because that seemed to have a minuscule improvement on the antenna signal). Barb was trying desperately to interpret what the hell was happening.
The following day Ross made some small adjustments to one of the components on the satellite system and miraculously, like a gift from God, all 15 free to air channels came booming in, including channel seven.
What to do now was Ross’s dilemma. Pretend he didn’t fix it or confess and cop the consequences. Being so honest, he sheepishly told Barb, then covered his head for the ensuing merciless beating.
Now we have channel seven, everywhere we go and Ross makes a point of putting it on every opportunity he gets.
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