We all walk to the petrol station, about a kilometre away around the river and up a bit. M has his beloved haversack (his joy stems from buying it for $27 on eBay from a woman who had bought it new for over $300 and had used it once) into which we can fit a 10L fuel container. He will become the Fuel Mule.
Small DB, who continues to refuse to wear her winter boots (her brand new Keens sandals having conveniently been left on Deal Island, irretrievable), stays out the front of the petrol station with me, playing number games while we wait.
The Fuel Mule comes back ten minutes later, holding a large bottle of soft drink with Small Z skipping beside him. I laser beam him. “What did you buy THAT for?” He becomes hysterical. Small Z is beatific beside him.
“The guy in there, when we went to pay for the fuel, asked Zoe why she wasn’t in school today. She told him she was homeschooled. He asked what her name was, and she looked at him and said: ‘My name is Zoe Adams. And my sister’s name is Odgington Fartworthy, that’s Fartworthy – F-A-R-T. Fartworthy.'” M was cackling. “He didn’t know how to take that. He just looked at her – and I think he thought she was hilarious. He gave her the bottle of soft drink!”
The three of them were joyful and took swigs from the bottle as we walked back into town.
The rest of our time in George Town was spent at the library and also looking, aided by the excellent Ivy, through the Bass & Flinders Centre (a two minute walk from where we were tied up. We had been going to give it a miss because our budget wouldn’t cover it – but on our last day it was apparently the beginning of a week long festival and it was free entry although you had to spend money to go on the Norfolk replica – which the Smalls did).
This is the first time in five years, and the second time in ten years, that we haven’t been at the Maldon Folk Festival this weekend. I wasn’t thrilled with the rearrangements there last year, so wasn’t too forlorn about it, but am glad we are out and about adventuring in new places…