Narooma

We've had a few firsts during this stretch.

The first 'first' is that I have learned that in addition to my usual latent rage that is ready to surface at any given moment, that if I stop taking my Graves Disease meds, for example for a test that the GP wants, that gives me extra, big rage. It's called thyroid rage and I am truly blessed!

A couple of know it all millennials on reception at check in, Ulladulla, were my first lucky subjects to experience it. They made poor choices with whom to argue with, about their local pet policies. Then, having admitted they knew nothing regarding the law or the Disability Discrimination Act that legislates everything that Assistance Dogs do, chose to start an argument on that very subject. I cut across their rhetoric and coldly requested a refund, then farewelled them with a cheery: "See you in court!"

That incident is now in the hands of the Human Rights Commissioner and the Australian Centre for Disability Law who are both helpfully setting in motion separating the know it all millenials from their jobs, and prosecuting Holiday Haven Holiday Parks for their unlawful policies. That'll be six months in prison at His Majesty's pleasure for everyone involved and some large fines. Good luck getting a job with a criminal record, millenials. Is there a double thumbs up emoji? Insert it here.

As I was driving away, doing the deep breath thing, it occurred to me to stop and google 'Is rage a symptom of a hyperactive thyroid?' Bingo. Very much a thing. As is 'Grave's Rage'. Wonderful.

Yet another brain cell free receptionist told me today that there was 'nothing we can do about it' in relation to the park's WiFi only covering as far as the door out of reception. Five minutes later, I was dictating as he typed an email to his boss, telling him all the ways they could 'do something about it'. I'm back on the meds now. That was my nice, patient side.

The second 'first' was feeding the New Zealand Eagle Rays in Bendalong. You need surprisingly large balls to hold the pilchard on the bottom as they headbutt your knees trying to suck the fish in. They're so soft and squishy! Surprising when they're cousins to sharks, who I am assuming, are neither soft nor squishy. Their barb is only a metre or so from your face hovering over the water, holding the pilchard on the bottom, well within strike range. It was just brilliant.

The fatal error is to step on one, as that would automatically cause their tail to whip up. Google tells me they don't actually have any control over it. Similar to the goosebumps on our arms or the hackles on our necks, the limbic or reptilian brain controls it, like the fight or flight response.

I watched everyone else feeding them on the first day and copied them, then became the resident expert on it from Day 2, as large crowds gathered to watch what the 'Sting Ray Whisperer' was doing and wanted to learn how to do it, too.

As the newly appointed Head Tour Guide, the most frequent SFQ I received, was "These are tame though right? We're totally safe?" "Oh yes, that's right" I replied, smiling sweetly as I wondered off. I'd forgotten how stupid folk are.

We're just a few hours from the border with Victoria now - excited!Читать далее