Sunday in garden. Sprouting broccoli is going off like a frog in a sock

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Easter in Melbourne (cont.)

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The one thing I had my heart set to do, during my visit down south, was to spend a bit of time warming a seat in a proper cigar bar so we ended up at the big casino that lurks on the bank of the Yarra river. Walked down beside the river, turned right walking through a glass door, and we were swamped in a crowded shopping precinct. This must have been the ‘family friendly’ face of the casino, and it was jammed with bodies. We found the bar and were instantly transported to a quiet place where soft conversations mingled with the blue cigar smoke wafting around the low ceiling. I noticed that a decent breeze was keeping my smoke alight so there must have been an efficient aircon whisking the smoke away. She had an elderberry and champagne cocktail, He had ten year old Taliska Scotch. Attached is a video of bits snapped while I was down there.
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Hostel : Glasgow : Night moves

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I’ve dug up a bit out of an old travel journal.   One night while tucked up in our beds, all eight guys were woken by loud female shouting, out in the stairwell. A truly sublime pair of unfettered bosoms, filled to the quivering liquid brim with booze, burst through the door. She was atmospherically rim lit by light spilling in through the open doorway as she bounced into the room, and planted rank alcoholic kisses on the guy occupying the bed nearest the door. A girlfriend appeared and dragged our invader back to her room. A heavy, round silence closed around us and when it seemed that no more action would unfold, one of the guys on a bottom bunk got up and closed the dorm door. On another occasion, I was woken by someone moving close to my bed. Something must have been up, cause the guy that sleeps below me usually doesn’t interrupt my slumber. A head was moving around in the dark, and I recognised its silhouette as the young guy who occupies the lower bunk across the ro...
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Grape update: Jan

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The grapes have started to ripen.... Which means my competition with the birds is on. The local black birds don't seem to be concerned with how sweet the fruit is. They will happily eat the green unripe grapes. I've noticed them swallow fruit whole so I don't think they care about taste. Word seems to be being passed about. The number of visitors seems to be increasing as the month slips by. I have been protecting individual grape bunches with plastic mesh bags. Ran out of bags so tried to protect the rest with a net.       These birds are diabolically sly and managed to muscled through gaps. I've purchased some more bags and now what is left of the crop has some sort of protection. Found that the birds have now started to pull the bags off, so I'm securing them with clothes pegs.    
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From Christchurch I had to ‘high tail’ it...

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...up to Wellington where I was going to spend Christmas. I boarded the TranzCoastal train at seven the next morning. Was impressed to see that a free shuttle bus service was doing the rounds of the tourist accommodations, and picked me up from the hostel. Found my seat and was chatting with a couple of locals, and we all agreed that (despite the odd shuttle bus) N.Z. isn't a cheap country to travel in (well possibly it is if you travelling with British pounds or Euros.) I had some friends who decided not to hire a camper van (really popular way for people to travel around this country) this year, cause once the numbers were added up, a visit turned out to be too expensive. The locals I was chatting to wanted to hire a camper and drive around the islands, but they found it was cheaper to ‘jump the ditch’ and visit OZ instead.
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Greek cemetery

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I once traveled through the Greek islands with a gay girl. The Islands are beautiful and romantic, and at one point as we were threading our way thought the white washed houses adorned with red roses, she remarked ‘I wish I was here with someone I could be romantic with.’ I nodded and replied ‘I know what you mean.’ I wonder why they paint the tree trunks white?
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