My eyes look like oysters
My hair feels like string
My throat’s full of razors
I’ve lost all my zing!
We recently spent a totally relaxed week in the high country of Victoria with a bunch of mates. Nothing to do but talk, laugh and drink in the scenery…wisps of woodsmoke on the clean mountain air, a babbling stream and clever chattering birds.
All too soon it was time to drive back down to Mansfield to join the rest of our club members for the formal part of the muster. Woody got the van all set up in the caravan park and fell into bed coughing and complaining of not feeling well. By next morning I too had gone down ‘like a sack of spuds’. By the Sunday we summoned up enough energy to see a doctor at the nearby hospital and as suspected we had chest infections of some sort which of course needed yet more pills and potions!
Thankfully by this morning Woody had enough energy to drive us home, while I sat in the passenger seat looking like I was in a trance, because I was.
How was the muster? Well I hope everyone had a good time, because we slept through most of it.