Travelling Hopefully - We're Almost at Husky Eating Stage

The next day the sun shone bright and hot.  I know this because the sun always does.  Unfortunately in Bundanoon evidence of this fact was obscured by the 100% cloud cover and the bitter, unrelenting cold.  Dribbling and wheezing we dragged ourselves from our respective beds, smeared ourselves with goose fat, donned about thirty layers of clothing each and headed out to find breakfast.

One of the problems eating out in cold weather is that the warmth inside the venue makes you forget how cold it is outside so that when you leave you practically die of the shock.  The café where we had breakfast had thoughtfully solved this problem by keeping the inside of the café the same temperature as the air outside.  I wasn't worried about my coffee going cold, I was worried that I might break my teeth on it.  In defence of the café I do have to note that it acted as a very efficient wind break which meant that when we left despite the cold of the interior we were still shocked to the point of death by the temperature outside.

After breakfast it was time for a stroll down the main street of Bundanoon while simultaneously hunching against the cold and trying not to trip over other people unaccountably engaged in the same activity.  My father was terribly excited at Bundanoon Railway Station, apparently it was going to be renovated to maintain the historic structure in its traditional state.  I pointed out that the railway station was essentially a slab of concrete with a wooden box on it but he stared at me with such honest non comprehension that finally I nodded and agreed it was a wonderful idea.

My mother in the meantime had found a makers market.  This had the advantage of being indoors so we leapt desperately for the entrance kicking children and small dogs out of our path as we did so.  A makers market is where there are a bunch of tables each of which is occupied by a small bunch of overpriced handicrafts and foodstuffs made (presumably) by the person selling them.  It's the sort of thing you imagine special needs children are given to do to introduce them to adult life.  There was also a fish stall the contents of which rather proudly stated their non home made origins.  Indeed there were "fresh Queensland prawns" for sale.  Since this was the Southern Highlands of NSW and the closest bit of Queensland was several hundred kilometres away I couldn't help thinking this might be a gentle exaggeration.  Presumably what they meant was "more or less fit to eat" or "not yet rotted" but I do agree that neither of those would look enticing on a sign.  To maintain their putative freshness the prawns were displayed on ice although its always possible that they were just placed on a slab and the air froze around them.

Once the opportunities of the makers market were exhausted we started off on our adventure for the day.  We were going to Berrima, a village not too far away which was quaint and rural and possessed of a historic courthouse, museum and gaol.  There was also a Berkelouw's Book Barn in the vicinity which seemed to be worth investigating.  All of these things had the advantage of being indoors so we piled into the car with a will and pointed the nose of our metal steed towards Berrima.

Driving down country roads through picturesque rural locales gave me the opportunity to introduce my parents to a habit that so far they had only read about.
"Cow!" I announced everytime we passed anything remotely bovine.  My parents took this in good spirit and on mature reflection decided not to hurl me bodily from the car.  Indeed my mother attempted to be helpful by pointing out a sheep apparently in the expectation that I would announce its presence in similar fashion.  I treated this with withering scorn, as if one would go about the countryside shouting "Sheep!" at every opportunity.  My mother attempted to review the non hurling me from the car decision but by the time it came to a vote we were in Berrima.