the Fleurieu Peninsular via Hahndorf, Meadows and Victor Harbour. At the latter, Sue refilled the larder while I went for an hour of Peter time.
Things have become increasingly more difficult in the past week as one mediation has dropped out ad another increased. Strange as it may seem, the drug I am taking to place a heavier lid on depression and anxiety is causing, as its major side effect … anxiety. Back are the unpleasantries of experiencing all the symptoms of having a heart attack plus several other goodies. Just have to wait until my body adjusts. As a result, Sue insisted I have some time to myself to sit with a cuppa or two and read.
Having been Siri-assisted, I found a posh joint and at the back, in a dark corner, a comfy lounge and an old-fashioned reading light under which to finish Orwell’s “1984”. Some roasted feta infused with rosemary would accompany this little hour of down time.
It lasted five minutes. That’s all it took for a woman to sit down, preen and then start chatting me up and tell me her life story … well at least the last eighteen months, during which her husband left her for a “young thing with no knowledge of politics”, where she had done some real soul searching “and I don’t just mean soul searching, I mean the really private, really intense sort where you question your beliefs, your relationship, your sexuality … if you know what I mean” … and where she had decided she was “back in the market for some dangerous liaisons.”
I gulped my tea, took the feta down whole, made my excuses and tried very hard not to knock young children over as I ran for the door. Orwell would wait. I found a pack bench across the road that faced the Southern Ocean and did some writing instead. (Running Away To Sea) I should have been flattered, I guess but it was not what I needed on this particular day.
Sue, bless her little cotton socks, was understanding and didn’t laugh at me … well, not to my face at least.
Loaded, it didn’t take long to travel the final fifty kilometres to Deep Creek Conservation Park, right at the tip of the Fleurieu and overlooking the so named Backstairs Passage – an alternate and narrower way into the Gulf of St Vincent and Adelaide, passing Kangaroo Island at its north eastern point.