Col and I are off on our holidays next week… twice a year we head up to the Murray river, old caravan on the back of our newish falcon wagon. The year has had its stresses, its good points, and everything in between, we look forward to our break. Every time I suggest a new place, but the Murray still calls. We do very little, read books, eat, go to the clubs, Col paints some new ideas, sometimes even the Murray, just fifty metres from our door. And I know I am on holidays when the whistle of the Emmylou paddlesteamer, greats me through the gum trees. I just look, smile, remember the trips with our sons when they were so young.
Twice a year the river beckons us , only an hour or so from home. The air smells different… is this what makes a holiday? We only go for nine or ten days at a time, yet our sons still come for a visit for a day, they bring their grandma up for an outing, and just like to see if the place has changed….
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