Animal Liberation: Phase One

It seems like a long time ago now. On the day of the Sydneython we rose early - six o'clock - to take Mrs G into work so that we could pick her up later on and embark straight away on the Odyssey. Somehow I can never get used to being awake at that time in the morning, and frankly it's all a little hazy.

I do remember: raisin toast, hot air balloons, radio not working in the car, alternative approach to the hospital.

Nicole safely transported, we headed home and things continue to be hazy. A certain amount of packing was done, and attempts were made to resolve the radio situation.

When embarking upon a trek the staggering proportions of which were beginning to dawn fully on me, it is a Useful Thing in the allaying of boredom and fatigue to be able to listen to Radio 4. Failing that, it is a Useful Thing to be able to listen to the local alternative, which in this case is a station called ABC National, which is much the same as 4 but without the preoccupation with far too regular news delivered in clipped English tones and without the comedy, which is a pity - probably. There's the odd interesting programme on it anyway.

So annoying it is that, when changing the car battery yesterday, the radio re-initialised itself and now required a code to be entered in order to function. Not wishing to guess, I busied myself with trying to find some evidence of what the code might be amongst the vehicular documentation and phoned the garage that sold the car originally. They hung up on me accidentally, and I spent half and hour thinking I was on hold when I was in fact listening to the shell-like ambience of my own outer ear. When I phoned back they told me they didn't know what the code was, but that it should be written on the back of the radio. Not wishing to embark on that potential DIY catastrophe, I phoned the garage that did the last service. They told me that the garage that originally sold the radio should know the code and that taking those radios out is complicated, and that no, the code wouldn't be written on the back anyway.

Brilliant.

So on the back of that we went shopping, and bought a handheld radio to keep us sane riding through the FM stations, the tumbleweed, the petrol stations (will all aboard this Yankee station prepare themselves for battle stations).

Also we got some doggy futons, and ordered some dog beds, and got snacked up.

Packing packing packing. Then some more packing. A bit of sleeping, then some packing. Some useful advice came over the airwaves via text message then it was time to go. So, punctual as punctual things we pitched up at the hospital and picked up Nicole ready to go. Then turned the wrong way out of the hospital and were instantly lost.

Magnificent navigation overcame my hotheaded mistake and we were back on track for Ipswich, racing on through the sluggish traffic like a mid-ranger in a go-slow bike race.

The first leg completed at Warwick at 6.30 or so, as it was getting dark. We decided to try to locate a place to eat. We found a nice cosy Italian restaurant and got them to switch their lights on and stoke up the cooker. We waved our arms to the three tenors, as identified by Nicole. Sounds more like Rene and Renato to me.

After the meal Nicole changed E into her pyjamas. She had her shoes on to walk to the car. The first fashion mistake of many I imagine. There was some sort of cavalcade of classic (ancient?) cars going on outside with jazz music, it was quite nice on a balmy night. But we had spent an hour and a half there and needed to be in Armidale at some sort of reasonable hour.

Nicole drove the next leg which took us through Tenterton, and Glen Innes (pictured, left) where we stopped for a coffee. The driving is tedious as it's dark and we pass through blink-and-you-miss-them towns, blinking. I derive my entertainment by attempting to tune the radio I spent $24 on earlier that day to a station it will keep track of for more than two minutes. Apart from a spot in the middle of the FM dial that's reliably completely silent - is it subliminal programming? The only reliable station is some dodgy rural AM station whose host complains about pinko lefties and how pot smoking should be punishable by death. The highlight of the night is Hungy Like the Wolf by Duran Duran... or was that a different life... Anyway eyes on the prize - Armidale only an hour away, and we've climbed quite far. It's pretty chilly and I'm wishing I packed my long trousers... and Eloise is not a happy bunny having been in a child seat for the last two hours straight and six hours really, very tired.

So onwards into Armidale, where we arrived around 11.30. We attempted to navigate to our Motel, but it was difficult because our map printouts were very faint and it was the middle of the night. We guess the route, and pass many motels on the way. Eventally we recognised our street and pulled up at the establish to which we are headed. We parked outside our room - the proprietor having informed me the other day that he would leave it open for us - and note that the door wasn't open. Furthermore we note that a television was clearly on, inside; though we couldn't see it through the drawn curtains, we could hear it through the now obviously locked glass door, along with what sounded suspiciously like the snoring of the clinically obese.

Oh, shit.

Thinking I may have mis-remembered the room number, I jiggled a couple of other nearby doors... and was greeted at one with an apparently naked Bruce holding a curtain to his succulents asking blearily "Did someone just try to get into my room?" But no open rooms.

Ohhh, shit.

So a phone call to reception, who I wasn't expecting to be there. However there was an answer, and a half-asleep man who said he was working relief came down to inpect the book and confirm what I suspect already - the bastards haven't got us booked in at all.

Thank God for the Best Western Cattleman's Motor Inn, whose last room we took ten minutes later. It was the first alternative we tried. We collapsed into bed, exhausted, and very pissed off.

Here endeth the first day.