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.
Turning a pig’s ear into a silk purse? Brisbane nails it. If you like food in the slightest, and are in Brisbane, visit Gasworks Newstead for case in point.
Ever wonder what fruit picking as a job is like? It’s a hard way to make a living. And picking strawberries, so soft and low, must be the hardest.