Lake Bolac: The Home of Bob the Bunyip

It's autumn on the shores, and the season has its own pace and rhythm. Things are at once slow and busy as the weather works its wonders: no new growth but provisioning aplenty.

Farouk took his Easter late in a year when the Julian and Gregorian calendars were most at odds. Daphne saw this as a portent of the world as we know it. But, she has always been a bit too ready to catastrophise. Those of us with no ritual duties headed off for the weekend to visit the North East. Paris still refuses to be photographed by day and hid in the trees while some friends from Alexandra and Bali chatted with Scaramouche, a llama in exile:



There was a further example of this bizarre ikonophobia some weeks later when Paris (the Peripatetic) and I also spent a weekend along the Great Ocean Road visiting some relatives who run a bough and breakfast in Ocean Grove with some Melbourne mates. He was busy "marking" the famous entrance to the road when some tourists stopped for photos. He was off like the powers of ...! You can just see his tail disappearing past the "Historic Marker" sign. How apt!