30/03/22 The Unfairness of Devonshire Tea: Victor Harbour

I like working. I enjoy putting on my work head for 2 days a week, thinking work thoughts and doing work things. Wherever I am physically, I enjoy mentally spending time in Quilpie or Charleville or Roma; sometimes I even get to talk with people whom I realise I met back in Roma, walking past them every morning when we both did our morning perambulations along the Adungadoo pathway beside Bungil Creek.

Most days, while I work, Roger does admin and organisation and grocery shopping and chores. I think this is an admirably fair division of labour. 

On Tuesday this system failed me. There were no admin or chores to do and while I slaved away at the incy-wincy desk in our itty bitty cabin Roger went out gallivanting on his bicycle, exploring Victor Harbor and sending me lots of photos so I could fully appreciate what I was missing.

 

On Wednesday he went out and did the same, only this time it was worse for me because he had even better adventures.

He rode to Port Elliot beside the railway beside the sea.

 

Once in Port Elliot he did a spot of exploring, learning all about the many shipwrecks in Horseshoe Bay,

There's lots of shipwrecks in Horseshoe Bay. 

 

admiring the old buildings,

 

and thinking about how reluctant he was to face the headlands and the headwinds on the way home. And wouldn't you know it, just as he was about to start pedaling into the wind he heard a train pull into the Port Elliot railway station.

The Cockle Train runs from Goolwa to Victor Harbor but twice a week and there it was, offering him a painless journey home.  It didn't leave for two hours, which meant the poor man had no option but to sit in the sun and scoff an enormous Devonshire tea, all the while sending photos of this hardship to his wife. 

Hmph.

 

I decided not to feel guilty about polishing off the last of the gingernut biscuits with my morning coffee, as he waxed lyrical about how big the scones were, how generous the dollop of cream, how sweet the apricot jam.

By the time I finished work the benign morning weather had gone and a fierce wind blew horizontal gusts of rain against the windows. Having spent the day inside being diddled out of train rides and morning tea, I went for a walk along the Esplanade and out to Granite Island anyway. Thankfully the rain all blew away and I was left with the wild wind and, on the seaward side of the island, crashing waves that sent showers of wind borne spray all the way up to me on the boardwalk. The bird life of Granite Island had more sense than I, and was notable by its absence.

The old causeway.

Victor Harbour from Granite Island.

The lee side of Granite Island, sheltered by the island and the breakwater.

Pacific gulls were the only birds out and about, and even they were staying out of the wind.

Sunset.

 By the time I finished my walk the sun was setting and Victor Harbour had shut up shop for the night so there was nothing left to do but go home, listen to Roger reminisce about the size of the scones that came with his Devonshire tea, and make dastardly plans of revenge adventures in days to come.