Superb brick barn right on the road. Long drystone wall, wrought iron gates, spectacular roadside planting of roses, bright orange hips flaming on grey winter stems. What’s the story here behind this restoration?? No lingering locals to ask, unfortunately.
The view of Mt Roland from Glencoe Country Retreat…with a rare sprinkling of snow. How nice to find a nice old farmhouse that’s not full of chintz and doillies. Remi and Ginette Bancal have created an elegant and comfortable stopover on the way to Cradle Mountain (or a nice drive from Launceston). In the spring or summer, I’d love to sit out under the big old trees with a good book and a glass of rose or three. The added benefit is that if you ask nicely, Remi will cook you a fab dinner (cuisine bourgeoise style) with the bountiful ingredients from their garden and the local area. Think of a salad of grilled scallops and blood orange, a slow-cooked lamb dish and crepes with their own berries and home-made vanilla icecream to finish. Washed down with a bottle of local pinot (chosen by the somelier himself). After a good sleep, we started our trip back to Launceston with home-bottled pears and blueberries, brioche with luscious pear, cinnamon and vanilla preserves and a cup of expertly brewed coffee. Had to take some of those preserves with me. Not intending to share them with anyone but Self.
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They make tea in a pot with tea leaves, they make great scones, they’ll give you the ‘warts ‘n all ‘ answer to your questions and at Caltex Penguin, Wendy will cheerily fill your petrol tank for you. It’s a refreshing change from people who sit behind cash registers and we love it.
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We stopped at Boat Harbour Beach on our way to Stanley and had a fine meal of fish & chips and lamb burger at Jolly Roger’s. This was the view (around the edge of the play gym). Nothing between us and Melbourne except a large expanse of very cold water!
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The fly-fishing pond near the main building was covered in thick ice when we started out. MDH waited in the car while I went to check out. He said that every male that passed by, whether 7 or 70, had to make a detour to the edge, scrabble about for a stone and piff it in, attempting to break the surface. One small lad even managed to skim his across the top. The women folk all stood back, hands in pockets, waiting in various stages of patience.
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In spite of my poor photography and the dodgy light and weather conditions, you can see how beautiful the reflections are…
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