When country folk celebrate they do it with infectious enthusiasm, and the annual Xmas pageant at Oatlands was no different.
But, when I first saw the fire engine, above, go past with its flotilla of go-karts following in a cloud of fumes I felt sorry for the young tykes driving them.
Initially what I thought was the fire engine’s exhaust turned out to be their own foul fumes from their noisy stressed little engines which sounded like a few lawnmowers from my past (when I had a hated lawn to mow).
It appeared that any vehicle in town and the neighbouring farms that moved — trucks, utes, cars, motorbikes, quad bikes, police cars and fire engines — had been dressed up for the occasion.
While everybody appeared to be enjoying the festivities there were some notable exceptions, including these two working dogs who were obviously very embarrassed to be marching with glittery reindeer horns.
Finding an overnight campsite in any city can be a bit of a problem, but I’m lucky that I have a fairly regular spot in Hobart right outside a friend’s house.
Naturally I operate in stealth mode … curtains drawn and no lights after sunset.
Normally a fairly quiet spot, it becomes a bit hectic nearer Xmas and this is what greeted me this morning. The butcher and the delivery man were having a loud joke-filled conversation which woke me.
Of course, the jokes might have had something to do with the angle of the delivery truck too.
Revisited a favourite pub yesterday in Hobart — The Crescent — and had a lively session with some old friends (and don’t they look like everyone’s grumpy grandpa?).
They were in a nostalgic mood, tuning in to YouTube for some jazz classics — on an iPad which Dave, the pub owner, had commandeered so that he could watch while he served.
The pub also has a lot of books under the counter, some of which can be seen above. They’re not for lending, they’re a superb tool for settling pub arguments, and like all good pubs a lot of lively discussion takes place.
The library does wonders to settle bombast and prejudice. Somehow using the iPad to Google the facts would seem out of place in The Crescent.
Just spent a few days blobbing at Stanton, a lovely bed-and-breakfast establishment at Magra, north of New Norfolk … and yes, I camped as usual in Madam Plush.
However, mine host Mark, has decided he has had enough of ‘clients’ and decided to return the property to being a homestead, and a major transformation has begun in earnest.
Martin and Adele, his live-in boarders are both keen gardeners, and together they have begun to revive the veggie gardens of yore, the neglected orchard, and introduced chooks and a horse.
I’ll have more to report when I return for a working bee in a few weeks time.
A high pressure system provided two days of welcome relief from constant wind and drizzle and also brought Lake Dulverton’s trout to the surface for some fine catches.
Here’s the end of one epic battle with a light line and rod. The three-pound brown trout created an impressive whirlpool as attempts were made to net it.
The whopper brook trout caught yesterday morning was given a honourable farewell last night in Terrance’s smoker.
Just 20 minutes of smoking and a half hour of resting and served simply with Turkish bread (the only fresh loaf we managed to get in downtown Oatlands), a splash of lime juice and a cheeky young red wine. Delicious.
Arrived yesterday at a favourite campsite on the shore of Lake Dulverton to find the level has gone up to the highest it has been in 40 years.
Could not fish because of the heavy south-easterly winds, but knew a high pressure system was on its way overnight.
And I got an early view, at about 5.30am, because my mate Terrance was tapping at my window. A few pleasantries were exchanged but he was insistent.
I looked out to a mirror-calm lake and then my view was blocked by Terrance holding up the 5lb brook trout he had just brought ashore.
Plans were immediately made to smoke a fillet for dinner.
Many of the buildings along Oatlands’ High Street are lovely Georgian sandstone edifices, especially the old municipal and courthouse buildings.
Unfortunately, some time in the 1960s ‘Progress’ arrived in this small Tasmanian town which in those days still embraced the Midlands Highway.
One of the victims of the jackboot of progress was the local Post Office which had a makeover along its High Street frontage, luckily leaving most of the existing sandstone extant.
