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.
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