We are still in beautiful Cairns!!! Our stay here has been extended for a number of reasons which I will explain.
Firstly – Frankie, Ben’s pride and joy, seems to not be as perfect as he hoped in the steering department. Since anything less than absolute perfection is unacceptable, she is having a new power steering thingy put in today before we head off.
The other reason is a tad bit embarrassing. You will notice in my blog that I will spend a disproportionate amount of time/word count discussing the amenities in places we have stayed. This is because when we are travelling, most of my thought process is concerned with adequate places for me to rid myself of waste.
You see while some people have a phobia or snakes, spiders or sharks…… my phobia lies within the claustrophobic walls of public restrooms. The very thought of them makes my palms start sweating and all rational thought flees my mind (if it was ever there to begin with – Ben says no). I am so consumed with terror that generally, as an act of survival, my body quickly withdraws what ever need I had felt that had caused me to want to use them in the first place.
Generally, I am super proud of my body’s ability to hold in the face of unkempt bathrooms. I don’t even have to try or suffer any discomfort. The need just vanishes. It certainly makes life a lot easier. However, on our 2 day journey from Brisbane to Cairns I may have overdone it a bit. The restrooms were so gross that I think I relieved myself only twice in the two days.
Consequently, by the time we arrived in Cairns I was very, very sick. A quick trip to the Cairns 24 hour medical centre confirmed that I was suffering from a severe bladder infection brought on by holding on too long. I am now on antibiotics and recovering nicely. The Coconut Resort we are staying in has sparkling clean amenities so I am quite happy to stay here a few extra nights. Ben even took me shopping to buy a camp toilet to cart around with us so this does not happen again.
I do have a shewee. What’s a shewee?? I’m so glad you asked. A shewee is a device that should make urinating for women as easy as it is for men. It’s like a little cup that sits over your ‘you know where’ and then the wee is supposed to flow out of the attached tube making it as easy for females to piss anywhere as it is for men. Unfortunately my body elicited the same reaction to the shewee as it did to being confronted with public toilets. Need withdrawal.
It seems that the only cure to my terror comes in the form of top shelf vodka. Once my blood alcohol level reaches a certain point my fear of public restrooms becomes obsolete and I will happily go anywhere. Whilst I am quite open to the idea of spending the entire trip under the influence (it may make dealing with Rohan and his appetite a little easier), Ben doesn’t think it’s an ideal solution (bloody killjoy).
Anyway, enough toilet talk.
Cairns at the moment is raining and wet. As Frankie is in having a new power steering thingy fitted we are stuck at the caravan park with kids who are driving me insane. Rohan is arguing with anyone and everyone. He does have brief periods where he stops arguing with people to whine about food. Yesterday, the arguing and whining clashed which resulted in a tantrum of epic proportions. SOMEONE USED THE BUTTER KNIFE IN THE JAM JAR!!!!! This led to a total contamination of the entire contents of the jam jar and had Rohan beside himself with grief/rage/anguish/desolation. This event has led him to question everything. What else has been contaminated with the vile sludge we refer to as butter? Is the vegemite safe? The pecks paste (anchovette spread)? He came to the conclusion that the only safe condiment is the honey as that is in a squeezy bottle. Peanut butter has been ruled out by proxy because it’s name contains the word butter. No amount of explaining that it does not contain butter will placate him as he believes that some elaborate scheme has been concocted between Ben, myself and Kraft to trick him into consuming butter disguised as peanuts.
Jasmine has been further enraging Rohan by detailing in her journal every little thing that Rohan does. She watches him like a hawk then as soon as he loses the plot slowly picks up her pencil and begins “Dear Diary, Today Rohan said/did…..”. I feel so sorry for our neighbours. The noise level emanating from our campsite would rival that of a rock concert.
Anyway, I’d best be going. Kids want me to watch them in the pool and I’d better get them out of Trampy before they either rip it apart, or our neighbours file noise complaints.
Tomorrow we are heading off to Maytown (providing I am suitably recovered from my bladder infection)!!
Thanks for reading.
Mrs Frankencruiser xx