Off to Orange

Oh god we're tired. So, so tired.

Ella continues to wake at half five every morning, because, we assume, the mornings are getting lighter. The only defence against this is to go to bed at 9pm, but who wants to go to bed at 9pm when there's important stuff to do; e-mails to send, holidays to research, a blog to be written.

And so onwards we march, bleary-eyed.

Today I ran the playgroup, sang the songs and then hosted a professionals meeting which attracted various people from around Sydney, physios, speechies and social workers, that sort of thing. The social workers looked and sounded exactly like social workers back in Britain, you know, all dangly earrings and floaty scarves and the sort of voice that betrays a cigarette habit of such impressive proportions they might well have called their children Lambert and Butler.

Anyway, I was glad when it was all over and I could go home and start packing, as tomorrow we're off to the so-called Central West region of outback New South Wales, via the Jenolan Caves system; pretty much the largest limestone cave system on the continent.

We'll be based in the town of Orange until Sunday, which is about four hours away by car. Orange is a pretty big cheese in regional terms, though the population's only 38,000. The town is situated on the western slopes of the Great Dividing Range and it's position high on the tablelands means it's significantly colder than down here in Sydney (in fact they've forecast an early frost on Saturday so we'll be packing the fleeces). The surrounding land has rich soils, which makes for a real farming community (Orange alone grows half of the New South Wales apple crop, though no Oranges, oddly).

And then there's the promise of the elegant nineteenth century splendour of the architecture (the town was established in 1846), the beautiful parks and the cosmopolitan vibe. But most importantly of all, it's the birthplace of the famous Australian bush poet, Banjo Paterson, who we all know wrote Waltzing Matilda.

For me, it's all about the opportunity to browse through little specialist shops and drink nice coffee. If that makes me shallow, so be it.

So I'm off to pack the swag and set the billy boiling. Banjo Paterson never carried a modem, but our hotel does, so we'll see what we can do.