Yesterday for the Queens Birthday public holiday (oh how very, I don’t know, motherland of us) we trekked out to the Dandenongs for lunch and a wee wander (aka, “bush walk”, followed by a “bush wee” for some of us. Not me.). Us and a billion fifty thousand other punters. Nothing quite like a relaxing bout of roadsnark and kamikaze parking to get the juices flowing, I tell ya.
The trek out to Sassafras/Olinda used to be a regular thing for husbando and I pre kids. I would spend hours in the therapeutically addictive Tea Leaves fantasising about herbal tisanes, teapots in the shape of cows and Grand Marnier coffee beans (seriously) and I don’t even really like herbal teas. Then we’d stuff ourselves senseless with devonshire teas.
POST-CHILD NEWSFLASH: Navigating a highly breakable shop with children is not relaxing. And stuffing cream, jam and scones into an already stuffed stomach loses its appeal after two children and twenty extra kilograms.
So we went for a wander down to Sherbrooke Falls along the walking trail—a one kilometre trail off the Sherbrooke Picnic Ground amongst towering mountain ash and moss-covered stumps. The air was crisp and cool (and “moist”… sorry) and the trail was muddy but perfect for a wannabe forest fairy princess. Hand me my tiara, please.