What one of the doyens of Australian cooking made of it I don't know and was polite enough not to ask.
Plates full, we opted to sit outside in the courtyard under an increasingly sunny blue sky, where the arrival of tourists bearing plates brought a number of seagulls, obviously well-versed in the opportunities for a free feed. One had the temerity to snaffle a chip off Madam's plate, and with another loitering with evident intent I caught it with a baleful beady eye and, in a stern voice as I indicated the carved turkey breast which had formed the base of the food mountain, remarked, This is your cousin! A chastened and startled squawk suggested that the message had hit home.
A postprandial stroll through the settlement provided an avenue for up close and personal quokka spotting and brought us back to the jetty at the appointed time, and once we'd surrendered the boat ticket, retaining the stub that we'd be needing, so Adine informed us, for afternoon tea, we made our way upstairs to enjoy finer weather on the return journey.
No one, however, had pointed out the change in conditions on the water and once we were under way it took about two minutes to realise if we stayed where we were we'd be well drenched by the time we made it back to the safety of the estuary. The pitching and rolling of the vessel, on the other hand, meant there was the danger of ending up in the drink, something I might have managed if a helpful hand hadn't grabbed my wrist as we made a run for shelter below.
Once we'd done that, things improved remarkably, and there was something reassuring to be sitting watching the spray cascade towards our former position knowing we were well out of it. The crossing was remarkably rapid, and before we knew it we were inside the outer mole of Fremantle harbour, making our way to the first stop.
With the second stop out of the way, as we passed under the bridges that link the eastern portion of Freo to the CBD, an announcement from Adine that afternoon tea was available for those who might choose to indulge was met with complete disinterest until the following remark that there was a wine tasting for anyone so inclined.
Needless to say two afternoon tea-sceptics were making their way towards the rear of the vessel without further ado.
The tasting, as it turned out, represented the downmarket end of the Sandalford range, but with the mouths of gift horses and all that, Hughesy had a sample of everything that was on offer, and could probably have gone around again since Adine seemed bored and listless with nothing to do on the final portion of the cruise.
Tour guide, marshal of geriatric sheep, cruise commentator and dispenser of wine samples, the girl certainly wore a variety of hats.
After the courtesy bus dropped us back at the Travelodge, there was the matter of dinner to consider, though neither of us were up for a substantial repast. I think it was The Week that advised me of the existence of Tom's Kitchen, but I'd mentioned it to Madam, and she'd been interested at the time, so we found ourselves sitting on a Red Cat and heading towards the other side of the Hay Street Mall.