There are quite a few murky heads this morning including my own.
On the road again, we stop at a petrol station for a toilet break. Jen decides she really needs to get off the bus and wants a flat surface to rest her head on, so she lies down on the station forecourt.
We camp about 150km from Sydney in a town called, oh I don’t know, let’s call it Frank. Our campsite doubles as a part-time horse paddock and, though there are horses there now with us, the evidence of their presence rests in the wall-less stable.
It’s our last night together as a group, so we descend on the pub, where my pints are regularly spiked with Tabasco. For some reason I don’t mind this even after I am told.
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