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Trading Ungaro for Uggs

An Adelaide woman has let the city and set off into the countryside with her family for a new type of life.

Not long ago the idea that fleecy pants, Ugg boots and a surfeit of two-minute noodles would become the ordre du jour would have been absurd.  But then, so was the idea of toilet paper shortages and pasta hoarding in the midst of a global pandemic.

Covid19 saw us trade our comfy suburban bungalow, the leafy promenades, verdant verges and aromatic coffees of our beloved Adelaide for uber isolation in the bush.

It has been three weeks since I loaded two kids, cat and pantry into our little station wagon, and, bumper bouncing and sparking along the freeway, embarked on an eight-hour odyssey that culminated on a dusty track and the arms of my station manager husband.

Now, instead of refining my palate at the plethora of vine-laden eateries or basking in the linseed-oiled glow of quaint antique shops I’m mastering sheep mustering and bread and butter pudding. 

We are now firmly ensconced at the family property in far-western New South Wales, a land of flies, dust and truculent twin tubs. Mornings consist of repairing broken pipelines, feeding sheep hungered by drought and using spades to clear sand from porches.

Afternoons are reserved for refereeing unfriendly encounters between the incumbent cat and our own feline interloper.  Evenings involve educating the children about the difference between a fork and a shovel, and wrestling a toothless old sheep dog who is not keen on her arthritis tablets.

Mail is delivered once a week, if the postie decides he’ll get out of bed or thinks the roads won’t be too dusty, too muddy, too bumpy or too long.  Thankfully we do have the internet, so at least the bills get through.

Oh, Adelaide how I miss you!  But for the time being, it’s not too bad sitting it out up here.  A gin and tonic on the verandah of an evening, watching willy wag tails dip and swoop beneath the sprinkler, it could be so much worse.

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