.
Easter time. The first signs of autumn are starting to smother in round Gerolstein’s mornings. ‘Joey, Joey … it’s time to go…oh’. But this year it’s a little different. I’m leaving my summer bolt-hole in the land of the now-too-frequent long grey cloud, but I’m not returning to Berlin. Indeed, not to Europe at all. For Europe seems to have gone mad. And Schengen has made it clear that it doesn’t want me for more than 12 weeks a year. And I’m blowed if I’m crossing the expensive world just for that.
Easter time. The first signs of autumn are starting to smother in round Gerolstein’s mornings. ‘Joey, Joey … it’s time to go…oh’. But this year it’s a little different. I’m leaving my summer bolt-hole in the land of the now-too-frequent long grey cloud, but I’m not returning to Berlin. Indeed, not to Europe at all. For Europe seems to have gone mad. And Schengen has made it clear that it doesn’t want me for more than 12 weeks a year. And I’m blowed if I’m crossing the expensive world just for that.
It was that
frame of mind that I was in, last winter, when I discovered the little seaside
town of Yamba, Australia. And, at the dawning of 2016, my nearest and dearest
there sent me a Real Estate Agent’s ad for a tiny little flat, just like the ones
I used to lease in Germany. But twenty steps from the sea. Walking distance
from restaurants, baker, bank, superette, grog shop, computer shop …
So, I bought it.
And, now, I’m on my way there for a deliciously quiet, warm winter.
I flew out of
Christchurch to Sydney on Sunday, to spend ten days in lovely Lane Cove with my
beloved friends of more than forty years, Barry and Rosemary. I had forgotten
how hot Sydney can be! We have had several days of sizzling! But I have started
being an Australian gentleman of leisure …
We had come for a
light lunch, so we settled on something I would very rarely eat, especially in
public: pizza. Preceded by a little calamari-prawn-fish croquette ‘n’ aioli
dish shared among three. And a little light beer …
Result: a total
success. The calamari was perfect, soft, with just a splash of batter thrown at
it, the prawns were miniature ones which people with real teeth (sob!) would
doubtless crunch up entire, the croquette was soft and delicious and the aioli
gentle and so tasty.
The pizza? I like
my pizza thin, soft and light. Nizza style. With no knobbly edge. I do NOT like
oil floating round globules of tomato paste (shuddering memories of eating in
San Remo c1970). So I ordered a pizza al sud. No tomato. Just Italian sausage,
a delicious creamy fior di latte cheese and new-to-me broccolini. I expected
the sausage to be salami or the ilk, but no, it was real tasty sausage meat. A
slightly knobby edge … but pretty good stuff! And I am now a fan of broccolini.
The whole washed
down with a Menebrea beer …
A very successful
outing!
And then we got
home and … but that’s another story.
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