We visited our good friend, neighbour and goat farmer Melinda yesterday for brunch. I am a big fan of goat kids and always find them friendly, happy and just that little bit mad. The boys loved them and Marcus wanted to gambol in their paddock. Melinda lives in the narrow strip of South Hobart on the western side of the rivulet at the base of a nearly-vertical hill, and goats are probably the only animals that would be happy in this particular precipitous field. Even they have been provided with little ladders to help them get up and down.
Melinda has an excellent crop of fat raspberries and she made us pancakes to wrap them in. Michael found a ukelele and was hard to seperate from it, even to play with the goats. I went outside with Marcus at one stage and then saw, through a window, Michael attempting to play Melinda's cello with her special cellist's screwdriver. We smartly reintroduced the ukelele and there was no more trouble. He strummed it, he hugged it, he talked to it. The good thing is its exactly the same as the one already put away for Christmas.