Hello!

The trip down the NSW coast towards Melbourne was always going to be comprised of stop-overs in small towns punctuated with long drives in between, and I don't think either of us really anticipated just how 'small-town' these places were going to be.On route down the coast we stopped at Jervis Bay, technically part of the Australian Capital Territory state (a token naval port to compensate for their land-locked status) anxious to soak up our first bit of proper aussie beachlife.We had also expected some sort of a town, but apart from nearby Huskisson - a generic high street hosting a few modern shops and cafes - Jervis Bay was essentially just a national park containing a few very popular camp sites and few white sandy beaches.We had made no bookings and hadn't actually read and info about Jervis Bay, and instead just arrived there unannounced at the end of a very long journey.We were very lucky in that we managed to arrive at exactly the right time to catch a cancellation and grab ourselves a highly sought-after stop at the Bristol Point camp site, a 300m walk from the beach.The only let-down really was the weather; this place would have been awesome on a hot clear sunny day, but we were again swamped by thick grey clouds and rain, and so the experience was a little subdued.We left the next morning and made for the southern end of the NSW coast, to a small place called Merimbula.

We chose Merimbula on account of the large population, relative to any other nearby town, and for its beaches and picturesque lake, and indeed it had both of the latter; but Merimbula was very much a small town.Neither of us could really fathom how people could live and work here, given the meager pickings for nighttime entertainment and the like.There was a bowling and a McDonalds, and a few pizza places in the modern lakeside development, but essentially nowhere to go for a drink, except one: a tapas restaurant that had a little bar attached on the side, with live music on the telly various music paraphernalia draped about the place; very contrived of course, and all done in very bad taste, but seriously, this was the ONLY place in town to go out.Needless to say we drank our sorrows at that bar both nights that we were there.

The extended stop in Merimbula was necessary thanks to the convoluted car registration system in Australia.The 'rego' was due in February and needed to be renewed, but because the car is New South Wales-registered this had to be done before heading into Victoria.Furthermore, for reasons that I won't bore you with, one also has to acquire a 'pink slip' and a 'green slip' before the regocan be renewed.The pink slip is like an MOT and costs just $33, providing that there is nothing wrong with your car.Trouble was that I could immediately think of three things it would likely fail on: a rear brake light was out, there was a chip in the windscreen the size of a chestnut right in the 'bullseye zone', and the glass in the wing mirror was held on with scotch tape.I managed to get the light fixed just an hour before the inspection, and I succeeded in sweet-talking the mechanic into turning a blind eye to the chip, but the resolution of the wing mirror issue was perhaps the most cunning of all.I got up early and crept around the hostel removing half of all the bits of blu-tac from the backs of all the posters and then used these to stick the mirror back in to the casing.It was definitely not a long-term solution, but it lasted just long enough, falling out and dangling down by its cable like an eye ball as I drove out of the test centre with the pink slip in my hand.We had everything we needed, and she had apparently passed with flying colours, but I began to long for the day that I could finally sell this huge, lovable, gas-guzzling, oil-burning, clutch-slipping, dollar-consuming chunk out metal that was beginning to take over my life.

R

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