Victorian High Country

We set off for the High Country the next day in a two-car convoy.

Things were a little touch and go after Adam put his back out tending his vegetable patch, but he soldiered through on a cocktail of drugs and we were all systems go.

A couple of hours up the Hume Highway, and we stopped for a road-side convenience break, opening the car doors to break the seal on the air-conditioned haven and allow in the blistering heat of the 43 outside degrees.

We proceeded across ever-increasing undulations until the Alpine peaks came into view, and pitching up at a little place called Merrijig, arrived at our cottage.

Somewhat reminiscent of an isolated cottage in the Dales, we entered the dressed stone building to discover that it was clearly designed for winter. With all the fans in the place on max and all the curtains drawn, it was wickedly hot inside.

It wasn't long before someone realised there was some flavour of wine that had been left behind so an emergency was duly constituted and we had to go back into town for tastings and procurement of wine and managed narrowly to avoid the catastrophic destruction of civilisation as we know it, and have known it these past three thousand years.

Unable to quite get my head around the gravity of the situation, I got a cup of coffee and had a look around town. Mansfield was a little township with some shops. Ski shops. It was very hot. Not much skiing.

We went home after the visit to the Delatite (pronounced "Della-Titty" according to Nicole) Winery. Eventually we went down to the bottom of the garden to swim in the gurglingly chilly Delatite River.