With every era of greatness, there is a timely ending. Today, I fear, may well be the last blog entry from Sydney; at least for a long while, anyway. And while there is much to look forward to in the coming days (Harry Potter at the IMAX on Friday. Well, he won't be there, obviously, but the film will be), the time has come to start to pack up our little bags, wave goodbye to the busy junction outside our humble abode, bid fare-thee-well to the enthusiastic owner of our local fruit and veg emporium, the Borsellino Brothers (if it's not in some way linked to the mafia, I will eat my own hat) and sup upon our last Max Brenner hot choc. The bright lights of Adelaide await us.

After the heady delights of Saturday's jaunt north of the bridge, we have spent the past few days in a recumbant manner, gathering up the proverbial scraps of what Sydney's culinary scene has to offer and licking the sugar-coated fingers of life. But I digress - what with all the yummy food on offer over the past few days, it's gone to my head.

On Monday night, we met Howard's friend Alex for dinner, which turned out to be an eye-opening affair: never before had we realised that the combination of pastry and raviolli-fillings/pasta sauce variants was such a wholesome and delicious one. In fact, I would say it was lip-smackingly good. Not a whole lot of lip-smacking went on on the way home, however, as after we (or should I say Howie) had literally stuffed ourselves to the point of bursting, we then had to cycle home. Not that I'm complaining, because I am now - strangely enough - quite fond of my antique bicycle: we've had our tough times, but ultimately, the memories of the good times carry us through. I won't pretend to remember the name of the place we ate, so can offer no useful advice for anyone wishing to come to Newtown to savour said pastry delights, but I do remember that the chocolate ones they did for dessert were equally as yummy.

Yesterday, Howie developed a fantastic new idea for a business (really, it's genius) and I matched his intellectual folly by developing an effective way of cycling to the library to return your library books but not wishing to bring a bag. Simply stuff your library books down the front of your shorts and hope that you don't have to brake suddenly, or you'll be cut viciously across the abdomen by the hefty spine of Daphne du Maurier's Jamaica Inn.

Today, it is grey and looks like it is about to rain. Fortunately, Howie wasn't in great spirits this morning after getting up at 6.30am to build a website, and by 11am he was starving. This paved the way for a monumental breakfast at Big Brekkyacross the road. I had apple and cinnamon pancakes, the Irish one had baked eggs with salmon, dill and creme fraiche.

Friday is the big day as we head down to the IMAX to fully experience the ultime Harry Potter, erm, experience. Personally, I'm so excited I could apparate there right now and get queuing, but Howie is about as excited as a goblin working at Gringott's. Saturday is moving out day, and we shall be heading over to central to catch the Indian Pacific to Adelaide, where we hope to make our fortune (much like Oliver Twist, but without the sewers and grubby urchins).

So to South Australia, James, and don't spare the horses!