Point to Pinnacle 2013

[Sweder]

News of the great Plodder's return to the streets has warmed the cockles here, and boy do they need warming.

Tasmania was kind to us, plenty of sunshine and cool breezes, terrific food and fabulous vistas, not to mention great company. Sydney by contrast is under siege, suffering airport closures, marshal law, riots in the streets, all for a bit of light drizzle. Graham steered us calmly through the storm. We are, as ever, deeply in his debt. Things were getting ugly at the airport as baggage accrued on the flooded tarmac. Locals were restless and the line for train tickets was threatening a conga to make Sangatte look like a cubs' picnic. G slipped away to purchase tickets before the resumption of baggage delivery and we made our dash for freedom before the real blood-letting started.

We've just waved goodbye to Suzie. Our shining Maple is heading home having conquered the mountain and added hugely to our merry band. My gratitude to Graham and Jane knows no bounds. Their hospitality has been unstintingly generous. We have dined like Kings and travelled like explorers, discovering the impressive flora and fauna of Tasmania in all its rugged glory.

   

Sadly the fun must end. I spent some time trying to cram my belongings into two unfeasibly small travel bags, a task almost as daunting as that facing England's cricketers after yesterday's tame surrender. I'm heading to Melbourne via Newcastle, to visit recent exile Soft Al and his family, before starting on the World Diabetes Congress. The thought of working cheek by jowl with a bunch of hardened Aussies as our boys are torn assunder fills me with dread.

Beyond the immediate horizon lies the Moyleman.
Hard work ahead.