Mistress P (and Rufous) continue to astound.
A windsurfing trip to the Aussie mecca of wavesailing, Geraldton, Western Australia, wasn't going to be allowed to slow down mum or tum. Even if the harness was impossible to fit in position with Rufous in the way.
Solution? A trip to Bunnings (where else?) for some heavy duty velcro, which was dutifuly glued to the spreader bar and stitched onto the wetsuit. (An old spring suit, previously given a stretching by our friend Courtney at 8 months preggas for a session of boogie boarding!)
Voila! Mistress P revolutionised windsurfing as we know it. The hook could now be laid above Rufous when she lay in the water to start (rather than dangling down beneath her legs in an impossible position), but once hooked in the velcro released and away Mistress P would go, with
hook directly out in front (of Ruf) as it should be, held in place by the harness line tension.Of course the windsurfari had many more challenges than just managing to windsurf. Dodging the infamous W.A craypot lines strung out, some may say deliberately, across the known windsurf haunts such as Coronation Beach was just the start. Hence Mistress P gave a self imposed exile from the waves, keeping to the inner reef and out (well most of the time) of the reach of those wacky crayfisherman dudes. Oh you guys...
Living in a house with between 8 and 10 others for over 2 weeks also meant avoiding food that everyone else wolfed down in Mr Creosote-like quantities (e.g., no Praise Dejonaise - egg whites apparently: though the closest we reckon it ever came to an egg was when the truck drove past Chicken Treat on the way to the supermarket ) and resisting Emu Extract (err... Export) beer. (Actually the latter wasnt really that hard - even for beer.)
Still the other great staple of a house of marauding windjunkies - BBQ shapes - was consumed in vast quantities and may well have contributed to the gain of several kg over the trip and... the commencement of "the waddle". Subtle, but it has arrived. It also meant that walks on the beach were almost an exercise in yoga movement, as Mistress P discovered the correct strolling posture that didn't lead to back pain. (Its remarkably hard, and involves lots of belly-sucking-in.)
On the plus side, there wasn't any longer a need for tummy feel-ups for people to get a piece of the fetus action - little Ruf just needs a stiff (cool sugary) drink to dance about for all to see. Sometimes from across the room. And as a reward Mistress P exposed the belly to the sun every day - supposedly at this time the little-man can sense/see the sun as a glow through the belly. How cool is that?
Rufous. The worlds smallest windjunky.
Thats him (and mum) under the yellow sail, middle of photo, heading out at Coronation Beach (WA), protected by the Ricketts Point posse.
A very special thanks to all those that assisted and encouraged during the trip - particularly those who helped lug well over 60kg of sailing equipment (plus packs) through the airports(!) - theres some things even a Mistress P admitted she shouldnt do: Big Ta to Adrian/Porridge, Mel, Jon, Miss Jane, my folks and Melb pickup David and Sue, MikeH, MichaelC, Brian, Wally, Mandy, Joel, James, Spotty, Phil, MikeCK, young Tom, old Tom, Simon, Sue, Brett, Deb, Jase, Megan and even Rick from Sailwest, for their support, good times, laughter, long beach chats, jelly snakes, and ultimately, great memories.
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