Pipped at the Post

I'd managed to get a pass out and had every intention of making the most of it with colleagues from work on Friday night, but the past few months of flu had taken their toll. Three beers literally translated to three sheets to the wind. The tram ride home was unusually shaky

With grand intentions to take the Boy Wonder to the snow, The Lovely Samantha and I packed the car and plotted our course 3hrs due East for Mt Baw Baw. Two hours and 45 minutes into our trip we had to make the tough decision to turn back for fear of running out of petrol. It's not that we were oblivious to the warning signals, just that each signposted petrol station for the last 100km was bizarrely out-of-order. What are the chances?
A short stopoff at a trout farm salvaged the trip somewhat. Within five minutes of casting a line, Bodhi's completely unrealistic expectations of fishing had been cemented forever with a 2kg trout.

Sunday was...well...filling.

Love,
Minas.