I’m off to a wedding this weekend at a place called Stones of the Yarra Valley. It looks pretty bloody swish. I might see if I can upload some pics to the blog from the iPhone my Excellent Missus owns / adores.
I’m glad it’s not called Trees of the Yarra Valley, because it would probably burn down, that’s how hot it is. The media, authorities and politicians have all been egging each other on with increasingly hysterical predictions of the apocalypse that awaits south-eastern Australia this weekend.
One thing I love about Australians: even though we’re all going to die of heat stroke, we’re all a little bit proud that this weekend we’ll apparently be in the hottest place in the world (at least that’s according to those doyens of measured, considered reporting at The Daily Telegraph.) If there’s a record involved, we get to do our two favourite things: whinge AND boast. Even as we complain, there’s a slightly conflicted note of pride in our voices…
“Shit it’s hot!”
“Yeah – did you know that this weekend we are in the hottest place in the world? It’s hotter than the deserts in Africa, hotter than anywhere!”
Anyway, gotta roll. New posts next week.