absolutely nothing to do with gherkins

I'm writing from Jacky's new house, in Pymble, the home of la famille Boyd. It has been a good Australia Day weekend so far, yesterday we went to Bowral to the family farm of my friend Dave, whom I met in Whistler. Dave has been travelling now for 3 years, seeing pretty much everything, including Antarctica, which impresses me, I must admit. So this was his coming-home party, and in spite of the rain, it was well attended. Jacky started things off with a little Avril Lavigne impersonation (the locals were not amused, they turned the music down, but ah well) and then ended up hosting the all-ladies-indoor Tea Party; I mingled outside and in the dance tent. The rain rained. Later on it took a break. I was in bed by 4 am, up by 10 am, home by 4 pm.

The party itself doesn't really bear description on here (if you've ever seen the movie The Party, with Peter Sellers (and if you haven't you really really should), you know that no party could, after that one) but the area in which it took place does. It was this lush countryside criss-crossed with little roads with little to no signage describing just where they went (see May and June of 2003, and what it was like to be in New Hampshire), going through fields covered in cows. Great big tall trees lined the road, rain came softly down, and sudden hollows had little mists in them.

The next morning, (this morning), the whole gang of hungover twenty-somethings and Jacky and I (being neither twentysomething nor hungover, cannot be included with that group) went to see a nearby waterfall. We walked up to the lookoff and tried to, well, look off, but the mist filled the canyon and all we could see were the sheer edges of rock going down into impenetrable grey. They said it went down 150 meters, and we had to believe them. Once everyone else had gone except Craig (looking nervous) I climbed over the railing and stood on the (quite large, really, Mum) overhang of rock and earth and tried to see further down. Honestly, it was quite safe, I had my footing and everything was cool. Still, though, no bottom to be seen, nor waterfall, though on the other side of the lookoff we could see the river flowing flat and smooth and then dropping over the edge.

Jacks and Craig and I had a nice relaxed drive back to the city, going through Kangaroo Valley (didn't see any namesakes, I'm afraid) and stopping at the Old Cheese Factory shop and the Pig and Whistle Cafe. I bought Lime Butter here, and some Havarti. Treats, or something.

Tonight, while most of Sydney partied hard (a Public Holiday the next day is the perfect excuse) Jacky and I ate dill-pickle-popcorn (the pickle part has everything to do with a flavoured salt and absolutely nothing to do with gherkins) and watched My Big Fat Greek Wedding, which we'd both seen before. There was nowhere else we wanted to be.