So humming the song, we bounced a little, and settled at an outside table at Annie’s Kitchen.This place is a bit like an Aladdin’s cave of foodie delights.
To Nonesuch Distillery owner Rex Burdon, whose passion started way back in the corporate world, there was no better name for his beautiful gin.
You know that song “Hotel California”? Every time I step in to the Alabama, I hear that song. But it’s not a lonely place! It’s just got a retro feel.
The true test of a business is how it deals with a surge in custom. Front Beach Taphouse were sorely tested when we descended upon them recently.
MoMa always draws a good crowd. And on a glorious Sunday in summer, one can visit MoMa – or the MONA Market – and enjoy ‘stone soup’.
A superb blue sky day just outside Hobart, soaking up the green and blue of a blueberry orchard. Carl spends every day there. He knows he’s a lucky man.
I took in bucolic, rolling countryside with an old shearer’s quarters and shed at the top of the hill, with TWAMLEY FARM painted proudly on the roof.
Hobart is like a great lady of the burlesque. She’s constantly teasing, revealing, and always her colourful history informs the smallest detail.
If there’s too much confusion, you need relief, and what better than some really good comedy? Even better still if it’s Jokers at the Polish Club.
When we finally reached Southbank, the place was a soggy mess. We pulled up at The Jetty, fanging at the bit. Or hungry, if the slang does your head in.