Yellow Wellies

Refreshed by a few days of Hedonism dearest Dottie and I settle up the bar bill and catch the free golf buggy ride from the Beach Club to Hamilton Island Marina for the last major blast of our visit to the southern hemisphere. Here we join our fifty foot charter yacht to spend a week cruising the Whitsundays. There is a bit of a tale about the boat as dearest Dottie is unwilling to let just the two of us loose on anything much bigger than thirty nine feet for safety reasons, however only the fifty footer was available. DD constantly gave the monster suspicious glances whilst I was forced to emulate that prat M Winner on telly, the one who endorses e-sure and witter "calm down dear its only thirty nine feet". We had been warned that the northern part of the islands could be crowded as they are within easy striking distance of mainland Queensland for day trippers, divers and fishermen etc, so we head south to visit Shaw Island and Thomas Island which we had more or less to ourselves apart from swarms of mossies when we made the mistake of anchoring too close to a mangrove swamp. After the initial adrenalin rush of joining ship, provisioning at staggering prices and setting sail (venturing too close to the airstrip and upsetting a light aircraft on final approach with our rather tall rig), we had a fabulous time, it was windy however we were surrounded by blue seas and skies with huge turtles and manta rays for company, with the added joy of navigating to new anchorages in spectacular sunsets with the independence of our own vessel. It was inevitable that one must adopt a Master and Commander roll but we rubbed along pretty well, eating lightly and sleeping under the stars in the commodious cockpit.

After a few days we returned to Hamilton Island to ship two guests aboard for the rest of our voyage, we took the chance to moan to the owner of our rather tired charter yacht, who was able with a cheery disposition to sort out some bits and bobs that were particularly knackered. This time when we slipped the berth we did head north to lovely anchorages, bays, reefs and sand bars. We had to abandon our plan to sail around the north end of the islands because of strong winds and adverse currents thereby missing the famous photo opportunity of Whitehaven Beach, however as I understand that one has to queue up to anchor there, I was not too disappointed. So with the comfort of our three double en-suite cabins (one holding tank blocked) and four showers, we turned into the wind for a fairly long haul back to the southern islands where we spent an idyllic day or two emptying the freezer of wine and beer and the tanks of 1000 litres of fresh water. We finally shot back to Hamilton Island on a fresh reach past Pentecost Island and its dramatic "Indian Head". From there it was but another free golf buggy ride to the Brizze Boeing and our hols were over bar a final day or so with family on the range.

What was there not to like about the antipodes? Well it takes a man even more foolish than I to think that our holiday trip was a true reflection of life in Oz, however the cost of living and the friendliness of one and all including anyone who serves you anywhere makes it hardly surprising that the Brizvegas city fathers are planning for an extra half a million inhabitants over the next few years, why would any sensible soul not thoroughly enjoy this cosmopolitan city with glorious lifestyle opportunities surrounding it. Our return by Emirates flying carpet took a worthy 27 hours from check-in at the sumptuous Brizzie Business Lounge to banging on the Great Door of The Tower of Glen Trollaigh in the early hours. Could we follow the increasing number of wrinklies who spend a month or two of northern hemisphere winter on the Great Dividing Range within a fart of Point Cartwright and the restaurants of Mooloolaba? Watch this space! Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.

It's not the leaving of Liverpool.

Image, if you will, an Orwellian mini state controlled by Big Brother set on an tropical Island Paradise that you might easily get use to visiting, and you have a pretty good picture of Hamilton Island in the Whitsunday group, the only reason the isle is not completely overrun by holiday makers is that it is extremely and I mean by any standards, extremely expensive, this spot was our next Queensland destination. Most of the Whitsundays are a national park with a lot of rules and regs and uninhabited apart from a couple of resort areas such as Hamilton. At some stage a group of wealthy chaps formed Hamilton Island Enterprises and started to spend zillions on five square miles of rain forest and rock, an hour's high speed boat trip from the Great Barrier Reef. Their shopping list was much the same as yours or mine might be, an airport, a marina and harbour, a high street with stores, pubs and restaurants, a few kilometers of sandy beach, apartment buildings, a 300 bedroom hotel and other luxurious accommodation including digs at £1200 per bonce per day (alcoholic drinks extra) and HIE own everything. The whole thing is controlled by central computers so that the Island's private security force knows when you have bought a sandwich in the harbour side bakery (£8) and charged it to your room. It all came as a little bit of a culture shock as we jetted in from Brissie some 400 miles to the south, while dearest Dottie oohed and aahed at the spectacular tropical scenery I kept my eyes firmly shut as there was quite definitely nowhere to land a 737 that I could see. The free golf buggy ride from the airport (staff collect your bags and bring them along later) alerted us to the potentially budget blending two night stay we had planned for R&R after the rigours of our trip so far. Dearest Dottie had selected the Beach Club for B&B, and I must say that it was hard to fault with a bed large enough for three, loo to match and a veranda that opened straight onto Catseye Beach, with an excellent restaurant, the ubiquitous infinity pool and lots of staff of cheery if fairly clueless dispositions. The only gripe was that our visit co-insided with a regular re-grading of the beach by earth movers, it took three complaints to get past the smiling receptionists (desk outside under the palm trees) to find a manager who moved the diggers from in front of our £300 per day patio; they were even daft enough to pull out the old "Health and Safety" excuse, which was frankly pretty patronising. Having not come across the control police anywhere else in Australia it was unsettling, however after the first 12 hours we began to relax a go with the flow, time for sunbathing which was the whole point of the visit.

So will we ever return? Strangely we might although fairly unlikely in real Trollaigh terms. We saw a lot of overseas designer visitors, so HIE marketing must be good and there is simply piles to do to keep you, or your family from falling asleep under the palms. Weddings are very big business, although I can think thousands of more interesting spots at home, and beach weddings in the Seychelles etc. are a bit of a bore. However, everyone to their own. For yachty buffs one of the Hamilton Island owners eventually managed to pour enough cash at a boat to win the Sydney Hobart in 2005, "Wild Oats", so these guys are determined to succeed and with a new yacht club and apartments (start at £1.5 million) and a whole neighbouring island, Dent Island, about to be turned into a new golf resort, who is to say they are wrong, certain not yours truly. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.

West of the Woop Woop

Whilst navigating to Brisvegas airport I switched on the wireless hoping for traffic reports in this busy city, it was a little like standing in a noisy wind tunnel and although there were traffic reports I could not understand the simplest piece of advice because of the speed of delivery and what we would consider the quaint practice of doing the whole item from inside a helicopter. I did hear a lot of rapid fire adverts extolling the virtues of sanitary fittings and floor coverings, it is good to know that such things are readily available in the city when they are a little thin on the ground west of the Woop Woop.

Having fought my way to the airport and booked into Europ Car I was sent off to a lonely car park joined by other lost wanderers on a similar mission, to find our hire car. Oh dear, the car hailed from some far corner of the Pacific rim, I have never heard of the manufacturer or the bland model type, to cap it all it was painted silver with a back seat that must have been the site of some historical biological event, perhaps perpetrated by a small child on a long journey (the car did have New South Wales plates) or someone older after overindulging at a boozy barbecue. When underway I was surprised to find a "low" setting on the automatic gear selector, however its purpose was quickly discovered when approaching the first hill of our journey west, then as the slight gradient increased one also had to switch off the air conditioning to have any hope of reaching the top of the modest brae.

However let us not be too scathing about the ghastly imported motor, as I am pleased to say that it was not Australian and the poor wee thing did manage to carry us to the home of good friends that we have not seen for several years. We had a splendid few days in the glorious farm lands west of the Great Dividing Range where one watches carefully what one steps on and red wine is kept in the fridge. Fortunately the fridge door was opened on a regular basis to release a steady flow of excellent vino and purvey to die for. We were feted around the countryside like royalty and only put to shame by our Bridge skills which were not a patch on the locals. Tree-huggers are a bit scornful of large scale farming in this part of Queensland also home to vast open cast mining operations, however I was most impressed when one of our hosts let slip that he had paid three million for a new irrigation dam, he was particularly proud of the fact that it was large enough to water ski on, however he did admit that it had remained more or less empty since he had built it! Eat your heart out SEPA.

Having found a way of opening the boot of the hire car, sadly the day dawned when we have to head east again, leaving our chums behind, when will we see them again? At least our next leg of the journey was mostly downhill and we could leave the air conditioning on as we headed back towards Brissie, dodging the ever vigilant traffic cops. Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.

Ice With That, Sir?

Here in the Antipodes as the sun shines and the temperature holds a steady Queensland autumn 23C,national confidence can be measured by learned Australian reports showing that the Antarctic ice is growing and thickening, good news all round. On the other hand the whinging poms take gloomy pleasure in announcing yet another failed, gender balanced expedition costing zillions to put some Cavalry Officer of dubious pedigree on the Arctic ice; the blighter then uses a tool first designed by Shackleton to forecast the onset of doomsday, before being airlifted to safety because his loo seat is broken and they have run out of tampons. Hey chaps, its the northern hemisphere spring any first former can tell you that the ice is melting.

I don't know about you chaps but I am having a bit of a problem with reading matter, it seems eons since I bothered too much about anything other than a few pages at bedtime. Suddenly here in the outback with the old Baronial bottom gently moulding into a veranda deck-chair I am faced with a pile of tomes to wile away the balmy hours before the sun is over the yard arm. I seem to be unable to get my teeth into any serious literature and the 500 page popular sagas bore me shitless. No wonder the elderly prefer a diet of Tatler and The Field, jolly good stuff. One blessing of living on the edge of the rain forest is; No Telly, simply wonderful.

Family weddings can be a bit of a mixed blessing, there are often those Rellies best avoided, however on the other hand there is normally a whole new family of in-laws to be met for the first time, and here in Australia where the baby boomers have created the "blended family" of divorce and re-marriage, one must be doubly cautious if one is naturally gregarious. Hardly a day or two into our jet-lag and dearest Dottie and I are torn from the deck-chairs and whisked off to a delightful kirk on the ranges west of Brisbane to attend the nuptials of a niece. I have prepared a tropical version of the highland kit with kilt, open necked shirt, long socks and deck shoes silently raising a silent prayer in the heat to the Trollaigh commando tradition. Dearest Dottie is simply fabulous in the infamous pink Von Furstenburg wrap with a large straw hat. Because of the risk of loss during air travel the bank would not release some of the classier Trollaigh Trinkets, and in retrospect they would have been a bit OT, certainly apart from the bride not a tiara was to be seen. The service was to be "non religious" however with all the old hippies belting through "Morning Has Broken" and lots of traditional Bridal aires, the whole affair fairly oozed all encompassing joy and celebration. In the super weather it was a pleasure to stand outside and chat while the team photos were snapped, then onward to a relaxed reception at a restaurant whose open veranda gave a view from the Range over the Glasshouse mountains to the ocean some 40K to the east, very special. One simply cannot go wrong with food and drink here as the locals sensibly keep the very best (labelled export quality) for themselves before shipping what is left to Mr Tesco. Wines, meat, seafood, fruit and vegetables are outstanding in quality and value. Cook your own or try any chip shop on the Gold Coast to appreciate what we idiots are prepared to accept back home.

Hardly a day to recover and I blag a lift to Brisbane to hire a car to carry dearest Dottie and I further westward onto the next stage of our hols. Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.

Laugh Kookaburra, Laugh.

A long trip to the outback "Down Under" has hopelessly interfered with my new found skills in cyber communications. Outwith any city limit mobiles fail and wireless t'internet can only be dreamed of if one is prepared to offer some obviously already rich squatter a small fortune in dollars for a moment or two's connectivity. I was not expecting this as I had erroneously assumed that Australia would be a veritable hot bed of new technology, and so it may be in the garish urban sprawls more akin to middle America than Dear Old Blighty. However here beyond the Woop Woop I am delighted to say that you might as well throw your laptop away and enjoy good company, good food and good drink that cost at least 50% less than those endured by you whinging poms. Imagine if you will the old Baron, tweeds and Borsilino cast aside for shorts and Hawaiian shirts, relaxing on the station house veranda, "a cold one" in hand chatting away to loads of Aussie Trollaighs not seen for thirty years, his only worry being the chilling evening air as the mercury falls below 30C when a woolly top will be required!

Dearest Dottie and I travelled half way round the globe, to attend a family wedding and then to make the easy decision to warm the old bones for a few weeks longer. Those of you who know me will realise that I avoid air travel like the plague, however for this voyage we blew the budget throwing ourselves on the mercy of Emirate Airlines Business Class for the whole 14,000 miles. These chaps swept us from the doors of the Tower of Glen Trollaigh to Glasgow Airport in a gleaming limo, this was all good stuff although our wait in Glasgow's "business class" lounge was a fairly third world affair. Unfortunately one of the chairs booked on our flight to Dubai was broken, meaning a relocation to the centre aisle were I had to endure sitting next to a young American executive who binged on free Champagne for seven hours only to collapse shortly before landing. One imagines that being helped pissed as a fart through immigration into a Muslim country does not go down too well with your average Arab official. We on the other hand secured the services of a gregarious Indian cabbie to show us the sights of Dubai and as dawn rose we marvelled at the development and the buildings of this modern city in a state which cleverly closed the taps on their oil reserves in favour of creating an international financial centre, with the oil to fall back on if the going gets tough. A most impressive place although to be honest not somewhere on our vacation wish list.

Back at the spectacular Dubai terminal 3, we had time to relax in a lounge facility that knocked dear old Glasgow for six or more accurately sixty six, then it was off for 14 hours to Brisbane now known not unreasonably as Brisvegas by the locals. Smart frequent fliers head for Sydney with an internal hop north to Brissie as the busier route boasts more modern aircraft, however we certainly could not complain about the comfort and service we received. Thankfully no drunken Americans, although I would not recommend trying to watch three different movies on one flight, the plots become hopelessly mixed up in the minds of the elderly. Another dawn landing, this time to be met by family and whisked off to the edge of the tropical rainforest with hardly time to get the Raybans on, feel the rush of the warmth, the humidity and hear the Kookaburras laugh for the first time in twenty seven years. Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.