I journal and we laze around in the cosy bed until nearly 9.30. We decide to skip the cooked brekkie this morning and have it for dinner perhaps, when a lot of things aren’t open in Hahndorf. It is delightful sitting snuggled up in bed journalling and enjoying the morning light through the trees outside.
Amble at Hahndorf is so cosy and the attention to detail is truly impressive. Among the plentiful pillows are a variety of different sorts, big fluffy soft (good for cuddling), narrower firmer ones (good for resting the notebook on my lap!) and an extra one in between (good for leaning on sitting in bed).
It’s a struggle but I drag myself away from the blogging and head off to complete my ablutions now that Hubby has finished his coffee and shower. Another luxury a good shower head. I dry myself and rub the towel vigorously over my head emerging severely tousled to dress ready for an exploration of the town. So, brush…. Um… where is my handbag? Uh oh. Oh no! I’ve left my handbag in The White House when we left last night and they are closed for the next two days. …and I can’t even go out anywhere as I don’t have a brush and my hair is beyond fingertip repair. My knight in shining armour brings his steed to a hasty stop. He searches the car. Nope. Not there. I knew it. He leaves a message for the restaurant and heads down to Hahndorf to hunt for a way to contact the restaurateurs and failing all else, to buy me a brush! I am 100% confident we will get the handbag bag and all contents intact. What really worries me is whether that will be possible before we fly out to Kangaroo Island. Well, nothing for this forgetful medusa to do but settle back in and wait and take the opportunity for some blogging. It’s an ill wind….
Hubby eventually arrives back with a brush, and the demon is tamed. I’m well obsessed with inserting photographs by this stage and being a morning person, I get a bit entrenched in to the pattern of a day by the activities of the morning. None the less having inserted the last of the photos for the day I press publish and determine that I must cease obsessing about the darn bag and get out and do something.
We walk down into Hahndorf and do a circuit of the main street. Ah, there is the White House.
A stop to look at some clocks and Hubby is carefully checking out menus as we pass. He’s keen to have a German meal at some stage, but neither of us is hungry at the moment. Having walked up and down and enjoyed the first beginnings of autumn colour on the trees, we decide that nothing will make the phone ring more quickly than leaving Hahndorf and heading somewhere else. Preferably somewhere with no phone reception, people are sure to ring then. We decide we’ll head up to Mt Lofty. First of all darling Tommie takes us the lower entrance to the Botanic Gardens. The signage warns of steep slopes and dangers for walkers. It’s 3pm by now. The gates close at 4pm. I check out the map provided. Hmm. I think Mount Lofty summit is really what we require. Back on the road, past the roadwork that is now packing up for the day. It’s not long before we are passing Mt Lofty House with it’s views over the countryside and pulling up in a nice parking spot at the summit.
We toy with maybe seeing if dinner is a possibility up here, but they have a function tonight so that is that one sorted. As I wait for Hubby and photograph the visitor centre, I hear my phone ring. It's in the manbag. Hubby misses it, but delivers it. Yes. Sure enough the friendly young woman from The White House has my handbag and when we get back to Hahndorf just give them a call and we’ll meet up. Phew. Phew and double triple phew!!
We take our time enjoying the views which read beyond a curving river mouth and right along the coast. Such a broad panorama can't be done justice in a still photograph so I take what will no doubt be yet another appalling video taken by yours truly. As I reach the end of the view, a beautiful young jenny wren poses for a photograph.
As I watch her flit back across the garden a flash of black and white flies past. I assume it’s something like a New Holland Honeyeater, but wait. No. It’s a male robin. He poses patiently on a branch, turning this way and that while I fiddle about with zoom in the hope of getting a good clear shot. Awesome. You don’t see robins like that every day.
Into the gift shop for a bit of a look before we head back to be reunited with my beloved handbag. It really is beloved. I bought it to go to Europe and it has lots of pickpocket resistant features, stacks of compartments, zips inside zips, and best of all it has an outside pocket that is the perfect size for either my phone or a notebook. I love that bag so much I bought two spares to keep in the cupboard for when this one wears out!! None the less, I cannot spare this bag or my purse and credit cards etc that are held within.
Eureka!! The gift shop sells Lothlorien possum merino gloves and beanies. I lost one of my possum gloves at Villers Bretonneux. I must replace the pair and buy a beanie before heading to NZ in winter. Hubby will need gloves and a beanie too. Here is as good a place as any. I can’t resist a nice little pair of gloves for grandson. Then I just need to scheme some nice cold day trips to take him on!
We pause briefly to fossick up some change for the conservation money spinner. Beautifully decorated.
Purchases completed we head back for a rendezvous to claim the bag and by now, having become hungry, we make a stop at Otto’s Bakery. It’s popular on TripAdvisor so I decide to check it out. I’ll try a Kitchener bun. Having initially hesitated Hubby goes bezerk. A chunky beef and potato pie, vanilla slice and a custard tart. Well. I don’t like our chances of being hungry at dinner time after a “snack” like that after 4pm!
We retire to Wren Cottage and indulge. Mmmm Kitchener bun is like a cross between a jam donut and a cream bun. Fresh cream. Mmm. It’s huge, ample to share between us. Glad we’re eating here where we have a nice sharp knife for the task. That was yum. I carefully cut the vanilla slice in half. Ooh that’s a good vanilla slice too. “Award winning” says hubby. “That’s why I got it.” “Nice work there dear.”
So, says Hubby, do you want some custard tart? “I’ll wait and check it out after you bit it. It’s looking pretty industrial at the moment.” Hubby takes a bite.. Yeah.. It is. I give it a miss. I’m especially fussy with custard tarts. It’s just not good enough if it’s not baked egg custard filling.
So, the new stuff out of the way, time to polish off some market morsels. We have a little bit of skordalia left and of course the baba ganoush, as well as some hard and unappetizing stale Turkish bread. Hmm. Never mind we’ll try toasting it. That does the trick and we get a good way through our dips and polish off the remaining debrecziner. A glass of local orange juice. Excellent. Hubby decides maybe a German meal isn’t so necessary after all. Our hosts have recommended we drive over to Verdun pub for dinner tonight. Hubby wasn’t keen, but I’m quite curious, not withstanding the bacon, eggs, tomatoes and sausages and left overs we have in the fridge.
Fatigue wins out and Hubby naps. We have a chilled evening and "scrape" for dinner. That is we eat the various bits and pieces we have hanging around. A good night wander on the roof by a local ring tailed possum, or so our info book tells us and we are off to the land of nod.