A morning without mobile reception

Frost and cow poo covered the grass outside of the cabin. The fire had withered to the same orange glow as the sky. Birds had just started to chatter.

“Where is Stanthorpe?” asked Kendra from Melbourne.

“It’s about an hour and a half from the city towards Warwick.”

“Horace! It’s two and half hours, and pass Warwick.”

“If you drive real slooooow.”

“That’s normal driving!”

“… Soo… I am not so good with distance it seems.”

Cal had organised much of the weekend, including driving all of us – the out of towners – to Stanthorpe. She had even made tea for us in the morning. The fire was roaring again by then. 

We were to keep our breakfast light because we were going out to wine tasting and lunch. 

Cal was in the kitchen preparing our breakfasts while we discussed the spelling and purpose of “spittoon”. 

To be continued. 

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