Tasmania: Day Six, or the day I inhaled a gas fireball
Events: bloody long drive, kitchen malfunction.
Sleep: small one fell out of his bed at 3am, resettled soon after.
Sunday marked the first day of the family trek around Tasmania. A convoy of two cars started out from Hobart, heading north to Cradle Mountain.
The car I was in, with A, his parents and small one, turned back not fifteen minutes in to the journey to get some booking information for the second night of the trip. During this gathering mission, both A and I turned lighter shades of pale (quite something for our already pallor tones) and vomit appeared on the horizon before leaving town.
Happily, it did not arrive. Small one’s insistence on treats and absence of napping in the car did come, however, and the trip stretched out to Nullabor Plain dimensions. If only the road had been that straight.
It was windy (not straight) and windy (not calm) and cold and long. Finally, somewhere near five we arrived at Cradle Mountain. The lodges we were staying in had four types of wood panelling but charmed nevertheless.
The lichen and moss covered trees hugged close to the cabins. Enchanting all.
Dinner involved pre-made minestrone - by me - and toast. The toasting bit challenged. The grill was gas fuelled and A’s mother had turned it on and I grabbed the lighter and put it under the hood and I saw A BALL OF BLUE AND YELLOW FLAME rush towards my head.
I shut my eyes and turned away from the oven.
First thought: fuck, small one’s going to have a mother with a mutilated face.
Second thought: fuck, A’s going to hate me without eyebrows.
Third thought: why is smoke coming out of my nose?
Fourth thought: open your mouth.
I did so, a puff of smoke came out, and then my status of Puff the Magic Dragon was confirmed.
My glasses saved my eyes and eyebrows and eyelashes and it was my nose hair that really took a beating. They are all gone and A never even knew I had them.
