Tropical

And this is our holiday flat at Port Douglas. I took a photo because Darren's memory has become addled through drinking too much VB (Victoria Bitter) and he can no longer separate Port Douglas from Fraser Island from the beach cabin at Murramarang.

This is a worrying development because it puts me in mind of communication books or communication passports, the sort of things speech therapists make to enable their patients to tell people about themselves, you know, like "this is the house where I live" and "this is my goldfish". I shall be watching his intake of VB over the next six months very carefully because, what with all this blogging, I've hardly time to set about making a sodding communication passport as well.

Anyway, the flat was lovely, though it was kitted out with cane furniture to make us feel, well, tropical. Cane furniture is never comfortable after a hard day's trekking through the rainforest and anyway, the cluster of enormous green tropical ants on the balcony did the trick just as well.