Mountains of washing

 Working my way through the mountain of washing/ironing every holiday entails, and at the same time, reminiscing - the pic today is of Port Macquarie beaches. It is the largest town in the area and it was stonking hot that day, which made walking around quite a challenge.

There are two long breakwater/harbour walls and it seems as if everyone has made their mark on them. Back in 2012 we inscribed a small Black family shield, but either it has been painted over or  more likely we simply couldn't remember where we had put it! Either way, we never found it!

 

I suspect we'd be accused of vandalising the town if we did this in Whitby, but Australians are much more relaxed about such things. Sometimes the lack of formality can seem a bit too loose, but it is basically a country for young people and they love the no ties, no business suits, very few high heels and in fact, very few dresses - everyone wears shorts and what I call flip-flops but they call thongs. My eyebrows lifted the day Paul told me he always wears thongs, but we soon understood each other's linguistic problems. 

OTOH, I saw many, many dress shops in Mosman and they all sold very elegant dresses that I would have been happy to own if I had the figure I had when I was 20!

My current story has reached 51k, and now I have to decide how to finish. Another 20-25k should do it. I hoped to tie it off while I was away, but there were so many diversions it didn't happen. Building jigsaws with the kids, for one. That evoked a forgotten skill. As always, I'm torn about revealing the plotline of my story. Part of me says I should tell people and part of me wants to hug it to myself and keep it secret - not a good move if I want to sell any copies.