Beautiful Clare Valley
I love visiting dad and Wuthering Heights, the fabulous 80-acre property that's been in the family for 30 years. We built the mud brick Bronte Manor and now there are three cottages nestled amongst 25,000 trees.
Last night I returned to Clare to do an author talk at the Town Hall. It was a really lovely night, supported by many lovely Clare people and followed by a delicious supper put on Friends of the Library. Thank you to all of them!
My journey from Gisborne to Clare, however, felt like one of those epic road trips. I was booked on staff travel on the 10.10am, but was bumped because an earlier cancelled flight meant every last seat on this flight was booked. We couldn't help but look daggers at the stragglers onto the plane, which scotched our chances of getting on. (Yes, I know, they were paying passengers.)
We then had two hours to wait for the next plane but were told there were no seats available, however if there were no-shows (i.e. people on flex-fares who didn't show up) we'd have a chance.
Fortunately, there were and the three of us got on. A lovely gentleman called Trevor (and fellow standby passenger who was chewing his fingernails like me) was trying to get to a funeral in Adelaide. He was hiring a car so he drove me from the airport to the railway station and then I caught the train to Mawson Interchange and a bus to Gawler where dad picked me up to drive the last hour to Clare. I made it just in time to have a glass of white wine with my sister before getting into my glad rags for the talk.
A nice evening, as I said!
And now it's morning, the birds are singing and it's time to help dad reorganise the layout of his memoirs before I make my epic way home.