Binalong Bay in Pictures

Bay of Fires

It is the middle of spring break here so I have DorkySon home from school and haven’t had a lot of time to sit down and write. But we visited the East Coast of Tasmania for a few days last week and I really wanted to share a few photos.

We were staying in Binalong Bay  which is a small coastal village on the Bay of Fires, once named the best travel destination in the world by Lonely Planet. It’s about three and half hours drive from Hobart, although because we were travelling with DorkySon we chose to break the journey up with lunch on the way up (at Saltshaker in Swansea), and with ice cream on the way back (at Kate’s Berry Farm), so it probably took us more like four and a half. The roads were a bit hairy in places, but the views were spectacular for most of the way, especially driving though the wine valleys and then catching our first glimpses of that bright, white East Coast sand.

We had a really magical time. The house we were staying in – Bay of Fires Seascape – didn’t overlook the main beach at Binalong Bay, but it had an incredible view of Skeleton Bay, and all three of us spent a lot of time just gazing out the window watching the hundreds of birds, the sea, and the ever-changing light. Continue reading

Book Review: Can’t Dance Cameron

Can't Dance Cameron by Emily Dodd

There is nothing that DorkySon loves more than coming home from school to find a parcel waiting for him on the table, and especially so when it contains a new book. We have been so grateful since we moved for the kindness of friends and family who have sent so many fabulous little parcels across the oceans.

The most recent arrival was a new children’s book written by my friend Emily Dodd, who is a blogger, freelance writer, science communicator and all round bon oeuf. (One of Emily’s gigs is writing scripts for Nina and the Neurons, and we always get very excited when we see her name in the credits!) Continue reading

Bath Time

We are coming to the end of an era.

For as long as there has been DorkySon, there has been family bath time. It is the most set-in-stone part of our routine.

Regardless of what has happened during the day, we always take a bath before bed. No matter what country we’re in, whose house we’re staying at or how long a flight we’ve just stepped off; it is the family ritual that grounds us. Whatever time zone our brains believe themselves to be in, the sound of a bath filling up means that bedtime is not far away.

DorkyDad does most of the baths with DorkySon. By ‘most’ I mean all. And by ‘does’ I mean he’s right in there, in the water. For a few weeks, we tried to do baby baths the traditional way. We held our wailing newborn boy in a wee plastic tub, three inches of tepid water in the bottom. We sponged and we soaped, we sang soothing lullabies, but DorkySon was having none of it. He knew he was missing out on something better.

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The Blogger Who…

The Blogger Who logo

There is no Tuesday Treats this month, because I’ve decided to share some blog love in a slightly different way. Instead of linking to individual posts, I’m just going to link to the homepage of blogs that I read for a variety of reasons, and let you have fun exploring them yourselves.

So. Without further ado.

The blogger who…

 … I wish I knew better is Aly Hodge from Bug, Bird and Bee. Aly is one of the most generous bloggers out there, who is always sharing links and support on social media. She’s a single mother of three, and a self-described ‘Pagan, greenie, vegetarian, eco-warrior in training’. I love reading her thrifty tips, her slow cooker recipes and all about her foraging adventures in the UK. At the last BritMums conference in London before I left for Tassie, Aly brought me a bottle of her homemade Limoncello, but never got the chance to hand it over. I have a dream that that one day we’ll be able to sit down and share it, because I like her a lot, but I’d like to know her better.

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One Year On

Hobart Tasmania

This time a year ago exactly, we were spending our last full day in Harpenden.

DorkySon had toddled off to his wonderful nursery for the last time, and he would come home a few hours later laden down with gifts and cards and photos of himself hugging the staff. I went for one last trawl of the local charity shops to see if I could find any bits and pieces for the flight – I got lucky, and picked up a collection of Shirley Hughes stories and a huge bag of toy cars for a couple of quid.

Our flat was a mess. The removal men had arrived that morning, and it was hard to move for all the sheets of packing paper, cardboard boxes, and enormous rolls of bubble wrap. That night, cupboards bare and crockery packed, we went for dinner at a local Italian restaurant. Somewhere between the tagliatelle and the tiramisu, immigration officers raided the place and started interrogating the kitchen staff. We headed home for an early night.

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