The next day we packed up again and headed to our next house sit near Mansfield, trading desert roads for green hills and rivers. The drive in took us over an old metal bridge that felt like something from a movie, clanking under the tyres as we crossed into town.
That evening the local Carols in the Park were on, so we grabbed camp chairs, hats and water bottles and joined what felt like the entire town down by the river. It was hot, properly hot, the kind of heat that makes you grateful for every scrap of shade. Food trucks lined the grass, the kids zeroed in on pizza, and we sat outside listening to the band warm up, trying to get our heads around the idea of Christmas songs with people in shorts and thongs. Definitely not the UK version we’re used to.
Dotty was in her element in her Christmas T-shirt and Santa hat, high-fiving her way through the evening while the choir and brass band worked through the classics. Then, out of nowhere, the sky turned dark, the wind picked up and a storm ripped through the park. It lasted maybe twenty seconds but it was absolute chaos: dust flying, chairs tumbling and two trees coming down across the road.
And then, just as quickly, it was over. People checked on each other, moved branches out of the way, reset their chairs and the carols carried on like nothing had happened. It was one of those wild little moments that perfectly sums up Aussie life for us so far: heat, community, a bit of danger from above, and everyone just getting on with it.
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