I ate one Easter egg for each paragraph of this post

It is Easter Tuesday, and we are now all flopped and flooped around the house like dead fish. We drove back from the north west coast this morning, after four days holidaying up yonder. Again we took Winston with us - this time he remembered not to eat his lead (twice).

We were doing a house swap with our marvellous friends X and Y and their girls, who live in a tiny country hamlet. We didn't expect to see them on the road, but Campbell Town lived up to it's reputation for bringing travellers together. We were gingerly walking Winston around the no-dogs central park, when Y hailed us from a slowly passing car. They piled out and we had a bit of time together mostly taken up with them saying "God, he's huge. Man, he's enormous. Oh Lord."

Mum and Dad have actually sold their house, so when we got to Turners Beach the hound with his EZ-shed black hair and dripping jowls was not permitted inside. We stayed Friday night there, with the boys where we would usually sleep, and us in Mum and Dad's campervan. The spot where the boys would usually sleep is just boxes, boxes, boxes.

On Saturday Mum and Dad headed to Hobart to continue their house search, so we popped across to the other end of the coast to our Swappy Home Away From Home. X and Y are renting, so our hound was not allowed in there either. As they have incomplete fences, he couldn't stay outside either, so we had to take him up the road to the local cattery, for his first experience boarding. Cattery Lady said he was very nervous at first after we left but settled down pretty well after that.

We had a quiet day in the very quiet little town, kicking the footy in the never-ending backyard, reading, drawing, and getting to know the Wii games.

Marcus leaped about like a dervish doing Wii boxing, in which you start by beating up The Dude out of The Big Lebowski.

The instructions helpfully suggest that you PUNCH THE FACE.

On Easter Sunday we spent the day in Stanley. We took the chairlift up to the top of The Nut. Last time we were there the flies were practically blotting out the sun. This time there was one fat fly welcoming visitors as they got off the chairlift, but that was all. It was a perfect day, and the views from up top would have been worth the climb that we wimped out of.

[Just remembered I should mention Elf and boys got me an Easter egg the size of a football].

Stanley was a fishing village, but with a hinterland of very rich farmland. It's very tourism-dependent these days - everything is very well presented but the town has a lovely relaxed feeling to it. You get the feeling that rather than having some committee of awning-colour-nazis, everyone is just motivated to keep their own little bit of it looking good. Folks were friendly too.

The page I pinched this pic from suggests that the "staple" of Stanley is "crayfish washed down with crab". That is a little unrealistic.

We spent some time in the cemetery, the highlight of which for me was the grave of a man named Mr Horsenail. I completely forgot until we'd left that poor old Henry Hellyer was buried there too.

On Monday we collected the noble hound, and drove over for another night at Mum and Dad's. In the morning Mum and I walked Winston on the beach for the last time as resident of and privileged visitor to Turners Beach.

The drive home was uneventful (I have copied and pasted that from every other trip away I have blogged) but I did notice a sign in the driveway of a bottleshop in Oatlands: FORM ONE LATTE. I liked it but I have no idea what it means.