The only good thing I can think of when I think of the Melbourne winter is escaping it, and that’s exactly what we have been doing this last week. The tropical north, I fear, is not for you if you don’t like palm trees, blue skies, warm water, perving on English backpackers and doing absolutely nothing but reading and having gin at 4pm. Every day. Decadent.
But then you get to the last day and try to grip the holiday time like sand in your fist. And it doesn’t work. The sand falls out through your fingers no matter how hard you grip it.
Yes, I have been running, actually. Each run has been less fast and less far than the last. Don’t want to be too hard on self. On holiday after all.