…be struck dumb. The beaches are in-smegging-credible. See the video I took below with me own delicate little pinkies.
So long as you don’t mind the Killer Salties or estuarine crocodiles, sharks, jellyfish, spiders, scorpions or the occasional maddened sheep. Although I am reliably informed that you are more likely to die from a coconut dropping on your head or a bad dose of skin cancer from not applying enough sun screen. Honestly. Unless my brother in law is bullshitting something cruel. Which I wouldn’t put past him. He’s a maritime cove after all.
We’re off to a crocodile farm tomorrow to see the real thing from relative safety. And I’ll be asking for a quick sandwich at the restaurant, and make it snappy! Well maybe not. I don’t want to be their next course. The Crocs I’m told, say we taste like chicken. Hmmm. Then we’re off to see the Great Barrier reef for an evening cruise. Providing the visit to the Croc farm hasn’t already cost us an arm or a leg.
In the meantime we’re layering on the SPF 50 sunscreen, wearing sun hats and serious polarised sunglasses. And drinking whiskey to keep the dreaded Lurgi at bay. You know it makes sense. Allegedly.
Meanwhile; back at the ranch. Looks like a little inclement weather back home. Such a pity we’re missing all that snow-covered fun. Not.