Once we’d alighted from The Golfer’s Taxi and checked in at the Townsville Terminal, there was the usual delay while we awaited the boarding call for QantasLink Flight 2300.
Having avoided weighing myself down while packing (supervised by someone who ensured there was no risk of incurring excess baggage charges) my suggestion that I was going to wander across to the newsagent’s stand induced a momentary look of concern.
After all, Someone knows from bitter experience the drastic consequences that tend to follow letting Hughesy loose in a book shop.
In a magnificent display of self-restraint, I managed to spend a whole ten minutes in the area without spending a red cent. This amazing development occurred despite the presence of the April edition of The Monthly, which I thought might be interesting reading on the Flight Over, a new Peter Corris Cliff Hardy novel and various Detective Inspector Rebus yarns that needed to find a niche on Hughesy’s bookshelves.
As I explained when I had finished browsing and returned to where The Supervisor sat, I’d packed a book to re-read while we were away. Joe Boyd’s White Bicycles would also provide me with something to write about while we’re in transit on the Shinkansen (assuming nothing is exciting in the scenic department outside).
A Cliff Hardy, Rebus, Inspector Montalbano or Aurelio Zen is something I’m likely to knock over in twenty-four hours or so, and I’d then have to lug the thing around.
While I was tempted to buy something else to read, it was better to stick with the Boyd and meditation on the musical matters he discusses.
There’s also the matter of a significant addition to Brownie points resulting from the aforementioned display of self-restraint.
There was still plenty of time that needed killing, so I wandered over to the coffee shop to check out the brunch options.
We were likely to get a sandwich or something on the flight, but something concrete in the craw was preferable to the vague possibilities associated with or something.
In the event, or something was an apple.
Call me a Philistine if you will, but I’ve never really been a coffee shop aficionado.
One cup of Industrial Strength Moccona in the morning keeps me going all day, thank you very much.
While I have been known to opt for the Coffee Club Big Breakfast, I don’t usually pay much attention to what’s on offer at the coffee shop. A couple of beers and a pizza has, up to the present, been the preferred option.
This time, however, it was too early for a stiff drink, the pizza option was on the other side of security, and I went to investigate what was on offer at Aromas without expecting anything much.
The sight of a couple of interesting variations on the standard meat pie (Chicken & Leek and Madras Beef Curry were two that attracted my attention) prompted me to place an order.
‘Er Indoors joined me for an orange juice and sampled a small portion of the Chicken & Leek variety, which I’d pronounced good, and she considered not too bad.
Having sighted the beer options available at the same venue, it looks like Bye Bye Eagle Boys.
And not before time.
And since Madam has pronounced the Chicken & Leek acceptable, maybe next time I can try the spicier option.
The 45-minute flight from passed without any excitement whatsoever apart from Madam’s sighting of Palm Island, which she identified by the presence of an airstrip, and Orpheus Island, an upmarket tourist destination that had featured from time to time on TV.
By the time we were level with Hinchinbrook Island, the aircraft was passing through fairly dense cloud, and once we were above that further sight-seeing became an academic issue.
We’d opted to overnight in Cairns rather than an early transfer from Townsville the next morning. Our overnight accommodation at Queens Court was close enough to walk downtown for afternoon shopping, stroll back to the room for a rest and then set off again towards the Esplanade for dinner.
We’ve enjoyed eating at Villa Romana in Melbourne’s Lygon Street and on our last visit I’d spotted a reference to a Cairns branch of the operation, so the venue for dinner was a no-brainer, particularly when the prospect of Spaghetti alla Scoglio loomed on the horizon.
We arrived shortly after five-thirty, halfway through the 20% off food only window. From the menu, we opted for a loaf of bread with roast garlic, pesto and olive oil as an opener, the Scoglio as a shared main and were able to go as far as squeezing in a risotto to fill in any remaining gaps in the gullet.
We washed the meal down with glasses of Nugan Estate King Valley Pinot Grigio and Wirra Wirra Sauvignon Blanc which hit the spot nicely.
A brief stroll back to Queens Court got us there just in time for the seven o’clock news, and an hour later we were pushing up Z’s in anticipation of our overseas odyssey.