As much as I used to like watching "On the Buses", I don't like sitting in them for too long, which is why I booked on PREMIER MOTOR SERVICE from Batemans Bay to the Bomaderry railhead only, intending to catch the train from there into Sydney Central, not only for the extra space and smoother ride but also to take advantage of the only government assistance I'm entitled to as a self-funded retiree: an all-day all-buses all-ferries all-trains ticket for just $2.50.
Alas, it was not to be: at Bomaderry I was greeted by a railway worker in a hi-vis vest who informed me that all train services had been cancelled because of track maintenance work, and that I would have to continue my travels on yet another bus which pretended to be a train by pulling in at every railway station between Bomaderry and Wollongong.
Then, finally, at Wollongong I got onto a train to Sydney Central, and I retreated to a QUIET CARRIAGE to recover from all those jerky stops and starts and the elbow-to-elbow closeness with fellow-bus-passengers who insisted on telling me all their health problems and the many GPs they consulted and the many pills they swallowed. Since they were on the government age pension, I knew who was paying for all that socialising in doctors' surgeries: me! (sorry, but I always turn ungrammatical when I climb onto my hobby horse and start ranting about the excesses of our welfare state; and don't even get me started on the NDIS, a perpetual money machine for its unscrupulous users and their service providers!)
The Blue's Point Hotel is also "home" to the Blues Point Yacht Club
Just a short train ride across the harbour bridge to North Sydney, and I was back on Blues Point Road, and just minutes away from my old watering-hole, the Blues Point Hotel. Having stayed there several times before, they gave me their 'superior' corner room with not just one but three windows, albeit still with shared facilities.
The rooms had been given a make-over since my last visit but hadn't lost their 1960s-look; even the doorlocks were still the old LOCKWOODs I used to fiddle with in Barton House when coming home late at night.
The shower cubicles were also still in their 1960s-terrazo splendour, and as I was taking my first shower, turning with both hands the HOT and COLD knobs to get the temperature right, there was a knock on the door and a woman's voice asked, "Is that you, Kathy?" "Not when I last looked down", I replied in my best falsetto voice, and the rapping stopped.
Going downstairs for my first beer of the day and this being a dog-friendly pub, I soon was in conversation with a local whose dog was a Vizsla, a Hungarian hunting dog (GOOGLE it, Ernie!). In this he was as exceptional as his dog, since most Sydneysiders seem to suffer from some sort of autism which stops them from making eye-contact. In Batemans Bay you are hardly out of the car and you're being stopped by someone who wants to talk to you, or you to them. Not so in Sydney!
This being Sunday and a hot one at that, I allowed myself another beer before setting out on a walking tour through the neighbourhood which back in 1985 would have nearly become my home had it not been for the grit and grind and grunt of Sydney that finally drove me away!
This time I'll only be staying for just the one full day and two nights to attend to some unfinished business, of which I'll tell you more later.
