the Fleurieu Peninsular via Hahndorf, Meadows and Victor Harbour. At the latter, Sue refilled the larder while I went for an hour of Peter time.
Things have
become increasingly more difficult in the past week as one mediation has
dropped out ad another increased. Strange as it may seem, the drug I am taking
to place a heavier lid on depression and anxiety is causing, as its major side
effect … anxiety. Back are the unpleasantries of experiencing all the symptoms
of having a heart attack plus several other goodies. Just have to wait until my
body adjusts. As a result, Sue insisted I have some time to myself to sit with
a cuppa or two and read.
Having been
Siri-assisted, I found a posh joint and at the back, in a dark corner, a comfy
lounge and an old-fashioned reading light under which to finish Orwell’s
“1984”. Some roasted feta infused with rosemary would accompany this little
hour of down time.
It lasted
five minutes. That’s all it took for a woman to sit down, preen and then start
chatting me up and tell me her life story … well at least the last eighteen
months, during which her husband left her for a “young thing with no knowledge
of politics”, where she had done some real soul searching “and I don’t just
mean soul searching, I mean the really private, really intense sort where you
question your beliefs, your relationship, your sexuality … if you know what I
mean” … and where she had decided she was “back in the market for some
dangerous liaisons.”
I gulped my
tea, took the feta down whole, made my excuses and tried very hard not to knock
young children over as I ran for the door. Orwell would wait. I found a pack
bench across the road that faced the Southern Ocean and did some writing
instead. (Running Away To Sea) I should have been flattered, I guess but it was not what I needed on this
particular day.
Sue, bless
her little cotton socks, was understanding and didn’t laugh at me … well, not
to my face at least.
Loaded, it
didn’t take long to travel the final fifty kilometres to Deep Creek
Conservation Park, right at the tip of the Fleurieu and overlooking the so
named Backstairs Passage – an alternate and narrower way into the Gulf of St
Vincent and Adelaide, passing Kangaroo Island at its north eastern point.
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