Monster trucks, car washing and bagpipes

Recently we made a pilgrimage out to Aunty Wendy and Uncle Ian’s farm, otherwise known as “Wandaroo”.  Situated somewhere between Dubbo and Yeoval their spectacular spread is the modern equivalent of the edge of the ancient mariner’s map warning - “Here be dragons”.  Five minutes out of Yeoval and our Garmin was showing a whited-out screen with our little white X-trail, graphically represented as a purple monster truck*, confidently driving through the middle of a vast expanse of nothingness. 

By the end of our time away my X-trail was sporting a face spotted with squashed bugs and a thick powdery coating of dust that made the back of it look like an oddly shaped poof out of a face powder compact.  To crown it all my darling husband perched a travel cup of coffee on the roof when we stopped in Cowra, forgot it was there as we drove off and voila, beautiful brown coffee stains as well as a milky film across the whole of my windscreen from where I tried to use the wipers to clear it all off.

Clearly my car needed a wash and this weekend Charlotte and I tidied, vacuumed, adjusted car seats for Summer growth spurts and, finally, washed the whole thing back to the gleaming pearl white finish.  Lovely.

As we cleaned a terrible racket started up somewhere in the neighbourhood.  Having shocking hearing I couldn’t discern what it was until Charlotte turned to me and said, “Mama, where are those bagpipe noises coming from?”

“I’ve got no idea, darling,” I replied, “But I’m pretty glad that it’s not from next door.”

She listened with her head cocked to the side, a small frown on her face.

“Well,” she said shaking her head, “I hope they’re still learning because that sounds appalling.”

*Not sure if this was the work of Charlotte, Charles, or both of them in cahoots.