A Whole Different Holiday!

From early afternoon on Saturday 27^th the pace of the trip suddenly changed. We have chugged gently along for the last 2 weeks, doing our own thing, no schedule to meet, no others to have to co-ordinate with… until we arrived at Melbourne.

The transition was relatively smooth. The shuttle bus picked us up on time, crammed itself full with about $1100 of passengers, and we got to the airport in good time. Check-in was straightforward apart from the slightly officious Qantas lady who insisted that we went to the section for everyone, despite the fact that we told her we only needed a bag drop. She totally negated the effort we had made to do an on-line check-in, and the only saving grace was that we hadn’t spent money on getting internet access! We went into security and as usual I saw the burly security guard pick on this small English lady terrorist and started rummaging through her rucksack. But this time he had caught his fish! In an effort to minimise weight in the checked baggage Mum had put Alistair’s little gift in her hand luggage. Not a problem apart from the miniature Stanley knife amongst all the other tools! Disaster loomed; you could hear the cocking of weapons in the firing squad…except that the guard was more than helpful. Obviously the confiscation option was present, but he suggested that Mum went back and checked in her small rucksack, and escorted her back to groundside to go to Qantas check-in. He came back to me and said that his concern was that the airline might charge her a hefty additional fee, more than the value of the package, but absolutely no problem and the drama didn’t end in a crisis. How nice to find pragmatism in airport security staff…yes, I did just say that! Of course, on her second transit through security the small English lady terrorist was taken aside by another staff member to make sure there was no explosive residue in her bag!

Arrival at Melbourne was prompt; bags, including the infamous feather-light Camelback rucksack that we thought might evaporate, appeared, and the MacMillan tribe arrived from all corners of the airport. Mum was whisked away by Susan and Clodagh to go to the final wedding dress fitting, and on to tea with the other godmother, whilst Alistair and Ben (Clodagh’s fiancé) accompanied me to collect the hire car (not a single mark on it!), a Nissan Tiilda, not a misprint, that’s what it says on the back, and then to Susan’s house to meet the 2 boisterous, but lovely, labradors. A quick cup of tea and then a short walk, for a “pot” in a pub, to watch some Aussie Rules Footie, a quick shop for provisions, though Susan had prepared a Britfam box for us, and a reunion with the ladies back at Susan’s.

Time was moving on and Susan had prepared a meal for us all, but I thought it best to check with the accommodation what time we had to check-in. It closed at 7 p.m! Gulp! We were a good 45 minutes away…even if our route were not to take us through the traffic and road closures created by the final practice for the Melbourne Grand Prix! Plan B swiftly moved into effect; all food, additional crockery and cutlery were piled into the car, Susan came with us to guide through the backstreets. Ben and Clodagh went for more supplies in their car…and the arrival time on the TomTom slowly ticked up from 18.55 to 19.03. With about 15 minutes to go a desperate further phone call to the reception to ask them to hang on a couple of minutes, and we made it in the nick of time. Vouchers, keys and cards were exchanged and we settled in. No time for unpacking – straight into the business of food preparation and we all sat down to supper and loads of raucous chat and laughter. There aren’t many others staying here – I hope it’s not our fault. The Macmillans left, we unpacked and collapsed.