When I first saw it I thought it was an old country estate, converted and expanded into a golf clubhouse.
It wasn’t. It is a purpose-built clubhouse and function center for corporate seminars and wedding receptions, as well as catering to the golfer, and golf tournaments.
It also has a very good outlook over the golf course.
But, in my writer’s mind, this will provide inspiration for a story that could be set in a large country house, with the central tower and lookout featuring in what might be a grisly death, and a group of guests who have gathered together to enact a mock murder that turns out to be very real.
Yes, the idea has been done to death over many many years, but I have a few new twists in mind.
How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect it.
In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.
I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.
Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.
There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.
Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.
It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.
For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.
It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!
We agreed not to plan what we were going to do today, but I had this idea we should go north or the opposite direction to yesterday.
That meant our destination, following the hop on hop off bus route was to head towards the Botanic Gardens.
Bur first, Rosemary had expressed a desire to go down to the water’s edge to have a look, giving an excellent view of the coastline at what was called Battery Point.
I tried to get there, but there were no roads that specifically went down to the water’s edge, but we did eventually drive-up Salamanca place, where we had walked a few days before.
It was not the same, but it did give us time to look at the line of sandstone buildings that had been there a long time and had been repurposed as Sn arts precinct.
Of course, there was only one flaw in the plan, Rosemary was not able to walk any great distance, so we were limited to what could be seen from the car.
But…
There was really nothing to see, just cars parked haphazardly on the side of the road near an entrance that led down some steps, or a few cars in a proper car park too far away from the entrance.
I was not sure what to make of it other than it was an exercise-intensive effort just to get from the car park to the gate, and then you had to walk around the gardens.
It was all too much.
Government House was on the same road, but it was not open to the public, nor was it in sight of the road, do no photographic moment there, so we were doubly disappointed.
The next phase of our unplanned tour was to go over the Tasman Bridge, perhaps to see the other side of the bay that we could see from our apartment.
Except…
When we got over the other side we veered left to follow the Derwent towards Lindisfarne where there was a yacht basin and several yacht clubs, one of which promised a view while you drank coffee.
Only problem, no parking spaces.
A good idea, unable to be acted on.
Instead, we drove around the esplanade, and continued on our way to Glenorchy, after not being able to get that coffee with a view.
Back on the main road, we take the Glenorchy exit and doesn’t take long to get there, though, by the time we’ve driven through the suburban area, we’re back on the main Hobart Road.
It was a case of don’t blink or you’ll miss it. We missed Glenorchy.
Change of plans, looking for that elusive coffee, we head for the center of Hobart shopping, Centrepoint, hoping in that center there will be a coffee shop. Of course, it’s Queen’s Birthday holiday so it’s possible nothing is open.
In the end, we found a parking space nearby. And a Hudson’s. Coffee and a toasted sandwich went down very well.
So, once again, we didn’t get to the places we were hoping to get to. This is what tomorrow, we’re not going to state a place to visit.
What I found was the moon out in the late afternoon, a phenomenon that might happen on a regular basis, but this one of the few times I’ve seen it.
And it reminds me of something I was told a long time ago. Shoot for the moon. I never quite understood what the person meant, not until a long time later when I realised that I was being told nothing was impossible.
Had I ever achieved the impossible?
The thing is, each of us define what is possible and what is impossible ourselves, and is therefore different for every person. If you tell yourself it is impossible, then it requires a mind shift to get past that barrier.
But, the question still remains the same, did I achieve the impossible?
I never thought I’d write a book, or have it published. Some would say I still haven’t achieved that goal because I self published it on Amazon.
I think I achieved what I set out to do.
I never thought I’d get a university degree, but people had faith in me, and yes, I got it in the end.
I never thought, when I was younger, I would be a father, and sometimes I wonder whether it was worth it, but having grandchildren dispelled any perceived disappointment.
And what is on the impossible list now?
Not a lot. At my age, I don’t think it’s possible I will travel to the moon, nor afford to skirt the edge of space, as much as it would be amazing to look back at the planet.
I don’t think I’ll ever become a CEO, but then I don’t want to. Too much responsibility.
What’s left that is achievable?
Tracing my family history, and going back to where my ancestors came from, and, hopefully finding someone who was ‘famous’.
We agreed not to plan what we were going to do today, but I had this idea we should go north or the opposite direction to yesterday.
That meant our destination, following the hop on hop off bus route was to head towards the Botanic Gardens.
Bur first, Rosemary had expressed a desire to go down to the water’s edge to have a look, giving an excellent view of the coastline at what was called Battery Point.
I tried to get there, but there were no roads that specifically went down to the water’s edge, but we did eventually drive-up Salamanca place, where we had walked a few days before.
It was not the same, but it did give us time to look at the line of sandstone buildings that had been there a long time and had been repurposed as Sn arts precinct.
Of course, there was only one flaw in the plan, Rosemary was not able to walk any great distance, so we were limited to what could be seen from the car.
But…
There was really nothing to see, just cars parked haphazardly on the side of the road near an entrance that led down some steps, or a few cars in a proper car park too far away from the entrance.
I was not sure what to make of it other than it was an exercise-intensive effort just to get from the car park to the gate, and then you had to walk around the gardens.
It was all too much.
Government House was on the same road, but it was not open to the public, nor was it in sight of the road, do no photographic moment there, so we were doubly disappointed.
The next phase of our unplanned tour was to go over the Tasman Bridge, perhaps to see the other side of the bay that we could see from our apartment.
Except…
When we got over the other side we veered left to follow the Derwent towards Lindisfarne where there was a yacht basin and several yacht clubs, one of which promised a view while you drank coffee.
Only problem, no parking spaces.
A good idea, unable to be acted on.
Instead, we drove around the esplanade, and continued on our way to Glenorchy, after not being able to get that coffee with a view.
Back on the main road, we take the Glenorchy exit and doesn’t take long to get there, though, by the time we’ve driven through the suburban area, we’re back on the main Hobart Road.
It was a case of don’t blink or you’ll miss it. We missed Glenorchy.
Change of plans, looking for that elusive coffee, we head for the center of Hobart shopping, Centrepoint, hoping in that center there will be a coffee shop. Of course, it’s Queen’s Birthday holiday so it’s possible nothing is open.
In the end, we found a parking space nearby. And a Hudson’s. Coffee and a toasted sandwich went down very well.
So, once again, we didn’t get to the places we were hoping to get to. This is what tomorrow, we’re not going to state a place to visit.
The castle is located in the southern Chianti Classico countryside and has been there for over ten centuries, and owned by the Ricasoli family since 1141.
Like any good castle, it has strong defences, and I was looking for a moat and drawbridge, but it looks like the moat has become a lawn.
The very high walls in places no doubt were built to keep the enemy out
The castle has been destroyed and rebuilt many times over the last 900 years. It was part of the Florentine defences, and withstood, and succumbed to many battles with Siena, which is only 20 km away. More recently, it still bears the scars of artillery fire and bombing in WW2.
The room at the top of this tower would have an excellent view of the countryside.
Here you can see the old and the new, the red brick part of the rebuilding in the 1800’s in the style of an English Manor
We did not get to see where that archway led.
Nor what was behind door number one at the top of these stairs. Rest assured, many, many years ago someone wearing armour would have made the climb. It would not pass current occupational health and safety these days with a number of stairs before a landing.
Cappella di San Jacopo. Its foundations were laid in 1348.
Renovated in 1867-1869, it has a gabled façade preceded by a double stone staircase. The interior, with a crypt where the members of the Ricasoli family are buried, has a nave divided into three spans with cross vaults.
The 1,200 hectares of the property include 240 hectares of vineyards and 26 of olive groves, in the commune of Gaiole.
We’re up early because there’s an informal breakfast put on by the resort at 9, with waffles, ice cream, and berries.
It also meant that we will be able to embark on an adventure a lot earlier than we have been previously, somewhere about 10:30.
Breakfast ends at about 10 and we take a few minutes to decide what we’re going to do. The best option is the go-to Port Arthur, nearly 100km away, about an hour and a half drive.
The weather is great considering so far we’ve had rain and more rain, insidious cold, and snow, so for the day to be sunny with blue skies is as if the planets have lined up.
Nearly 100 km driving in rain to visit a penal colony 8n the rain was not a good prospect.
Along the way, there are a number of scenic points and intermittent views of the water which in places gives views out to sea, but it seems mostly over estuaries because the water is quite calm.
Only as we approach Port Arthur do we get to see the ocean stretch out to the horizon, and there are lookout points over rocks that display the end result of the ocean’s fury with land.
There are several viewing points for landmarks such as the Blowhole. These we will stop at on the way back
Along with a lavender factory and cafe.
Not far from that lavender factory is a Tasmanian Devil union, which seems to be an odd name for scything, but we don’t stop to see exactly what it is
Just at noon, we arrive at the Port Arthur site to be greeted by two overflow carparks, then a three-tiered carpark. We try for the first, and closest, and get a park, more by good luck than anything else.
Good luck getting into the settlement other than through the edifice built across the whole front. This is how you make people feel secure. Not even an ant could get past it.
There us a restaurant, a Cafe, a gift shop, and entrance. The cost is $45 for an adult, $20 for children, and $36 for us.
And from what I can see if the settlement, and the activities included in the admission price, we could not do any of it, so coming was not exactly a waste of time, we had to come to at least see it.
Maybe when Rosemary can walk again.
We spend time in the gift shop, I get a book that had photos of what we’re missing, sad then we head back.
Lunch at a seafood restaurant beckons.
On the way back we visit the Lavender farm, and, of course, pick up a few lavender items.
Hotel Dunally Seafood Restaurant, or so the sign outside says.
We saw this place on the way to Poet Arthur and if time allowed, we would check it out for lunch.
About 1 30 pm we go in.
Sadly, the locally caught Flounder is unavailable, no one had been able to go out and get it, so there is no fresh fish at all, not even the flathead.
Asked about the flathead, but it’s frozen seafood out of a bag and fried. For a seafood restaurant, it’s very disappointing that it lacks fresh seafood.
We opt for the seafood bake, with chips and salad. It’s not going to be fresh seafood, but maybe the closest thing to it, with prawns, scallops, and calamari, as well as fish pieces.
WE then decided to go back to Daci and Daci again, for another cake.
As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.
Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.
For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1
These are the memories of our time together…
This is Chester. Back on the bed.
Another argument lost, another smug ‘I’ve got the better of you, again’ look.
Time to move on, pick a battle I think I can win.
Food. There’s the old wives tale, that cats love fish, and it’s true to a certain extent.
Chester doesn’t believe fish live in cans or plastic packets, despite how it’s dressed up. Fresh fish, he’s into it, but there always seems to be a measured reluctance to eat something out of a can.
I think he regards us humans with disdain when our food comes out of a can or packet.
He refuses to eat the leftovers!
Then there’s chicken, or its more expensive neighbor, turkey.
He loves turkey.
I’m sure he’d eat quail and spatchcock too, but no, he’s a cat, and cats have to get used to eating chicken. We’ve had this discussion, one too many times.
And just for good measure, I told him if he thinks he’s coming to Italy with us, he’d better get used to the idea of eating pasta.
Of course, always with the last word, he said, quite nonchalantly, ‘then you’d better call me Garfield’.
