We successfully managed to clear the bar whilst having our celebratery pint on Saturday evening. No idea why, but every single person left the bar in the 40 minutes we were in it. Maybe they were all seeking refuge in the warmer looking 'lounge'. The trip back to the campsite - all of a kilometre and a half (that's around a mile to those thinking in old money) - was awful. For a start it was raining, none of that fine rain that soaks you through either. This was more like God had decided to empty every container cantaining water and throw in all down within 1 square mile. (Incidentally I thought I'd look up clever metaphors and similes on the net for 'heavy rain/storms', my brain isn't feeling too crash hot this morning, so I thought I'd cheat. The only site I could find didn't have any although they did have 'He was as nervous as a hemophiliac in a razor factory' which I thought was quite good, if totally irrelevent). While I'm at it (irrevevance that is) what happens if you do say 'boo' to a goose? What does the goose actually do? What does it say about you? How would you catch the goose in the first place to say 'boo' to it? This came to me a few seconds after one flew toward us at a rate of knots before climbing just before experiencing windscreen armageddon. Funny how the mind (well mine at any rate) works. Anyway back to Saturday night....We eventually made it back to the 'van wetter than a polar bears backside (did that one myself - can you tell?) and as cold too. Thank God we had a heater (how ironic, thanking God when it was he (if you believe all that stuff) that just made us wet...) and, thus, managed to dry everything, even though it took a good hour for my (supposedly) quick-drying trousers to dry. The wind just got stronger and stronger throughout the evening and at times we felt like we were on a boat such was the rocking of our high-sided van.

Sunday was one of those mornings when you wake up and are glad to be alive. Bits of trees, mud, sand, small children, you name it, it was strewn all over the campsite but for some reason us, and our van, were pretty much unscathed. With the weather a little calmer we took a trip out to the Cape Leeuwin Lighthouse and joined the 9.45 tour. Our group was the usual motley crew (alas this time there was a poodle perm) and as we started to ascend the 6 flights off stairs it became apparent that one of the Aussies wouldn't be making it to the top. To describe her as a weeble would be a tad unfair, but then when have I ever been particularly fair? She made me look like Kate Moss and struggled breathing before even starting to head upwards. Still, at least she tried, one guy was left holding 4 tickets as his assorted friends left him to go up 'on their behalf' citing the weather, the height, allergies to (almost) cylindrical buildings on peninsulas etc...Anyhow back to weeble woman. She made it to platform one before her Mum (almost as rotund but seemingly a little fitter) made her excuses for her saying 'Yeah, she's a fat knacker who can't be arsed'. Or words to that effect. (She actually said 'she hasn't got a head for heights' - how I contained my urge to shout 'Liar' or counter it with 'she's certainly got a head for cakes' I'll never know). Our tour guide was excellent, highly informative (lighthouse built in 1895, 2 oceans (Southern and Indian) meet here, it is one of the most feared capes in the world along with Cape Fear and Cape Canavaral or something) but she had a kind of face that had clearly got a little weathered over the years. This made her look like she was going to burst into tears at every opportunity, although thankfully she didn't. At the same site (ish) as the lighthouse is an old, salt-encrusted, waterwheel. We went for a quick peek and couldn't decide what it's purpose was or really to be honest if it was what it said it was (couldn't see anything remotely salty wheel-esque).

Sunday was to be the 'day of the long drives' and, we duly made our way to the little town of Pemberton - home to the Gloucester Tree. This tree is hundreds of years old and stands over 60m high. Back in 1946 some kind people decided to pout rungs in it and and platform at the top and thus made it accessible for the public. Being the daring sorts that we are we took heed or the 'you need to be ultra-fit to climb this' notice, scoffed, and climbed. It wasn't as bad as they portrayed - Aussies do love their hyperbole, just look at their current most famous export, Steve Irwin - the walking exageration - and we enjoyed the views from the top. That is, until the winds started picking up again and we made a hasty retreat to the safety of the ground!

The next stop was just outside of Walpole - The Valley of the Giants. This is a $1.8m project set up over 6 years ago that has now received over 1.1m visitors. Set in a forest of tingle trees it is a 600m long circuit walkway that rises to about 40m. The bridges (all cantilever) sway in the wind which was a little un-nerving but it gave was a fun diversion and a great way to view the world as say, a falcon or koala would. Leaving there at about 4pm we had a bit of a dilemma. Denmark was the nearest town some 50kms away - easily doable in full light. Albany - where we really wanted to be was some 100kms away and we weren't too keen to travel in twilight. Just to emphasise the point three 'roos (the first we'd seen since 'fateful-Friday' night) crossed the road just as we were pulling out onto the main highway. Our mind was made up for us when we reached Denmark and saw no food shops, no campsites (only one we saw was down a dirt-road and we're not allowed down them in this van) and no people. It was as deserted as a recruitment company at Friday lunchtime. So we headed off to Albany and made it around 5.40, keeping the speedo well and truly down and 'roo-watching' (didn't see any more but then they say it's the 'ones you don't see') all the way.

So, here we are in Albany. It's only 11am here and already it's rained as heavily as on Saturday, been sunnier than on a Thai beach and been windier than a Heinz convention.

One thing has become very obvious over the course of this holday. How much myself and my dear wife are becoming like our parents. We enjoy guided lighthouse tours (I even decribed it as 'jolly'!!), delight at seeing trees and nature, and even visit a bloody waterwheel. I have also found great delight it spotting real Aussies driving. You can tell real Aussies as when they approach they lift their finger from the steering wheel in a kind of G'day mate' type way. I have had literally hours of fun doing this. Please transport me to the zorbing, snowboarding, bungying paradise of NZ before I start wearing sports-jackets, join the National Trust, and start smoking a pipe.