The Great Depression was so named because it was meant to be the last, but I think we’re about to discover that’s a load of old cobblers.
And The Great Depression came soon after The Great War. Similarly, that was meant to be the war to end all wars, and we know what happened to that prediction.
I suggest we stop labelling things ‘Great’, except possibly aunts and uncles, and maybe just lovely little events like walks through the bush. If someone asks how a bush walk was, you can say “Great!” without the weight of global expectations pulling on your bootstraps.
But it wasn’t just the threat of looming unemployment that had me reaching for the old thermos on the top shelf of the pantry. Looming middle age probably had more to do with it and a hankering for a simpler way to secure quality refreshments while travelling the highways and byways.
When I’m outside the city limits, that also means I’m miles away from my trusty barista, Daniel from the Bamboo Garden Cafe in Highland Park.
Ordering coffee elsewhere can be risky and I’m sick of explaining to cafe staff that my ‘double-shot-trim-flat-white-hold-the-froth’ is NOT a latte.
Instead of railing against expensive, substandard café food and poor service while in transit, I’ve realised it’s easier to take a thermos and make my own cuppa.
It’s nice not to be charged $3.50 for a pot of hot water and a few leaves in a bag.
When I was a kid, my parents loved stopping at roadside rest areas. They’d pull the picnic hamper from the boot (cringe), unwrap the egg sandwiches made with brown bread (double cringe), and pour cups of tea from the thermos (that was a triple). By this time I felt like crawling under the tartan rug.
Even hundreds of miles from home I was convinced that all my school mates were going to drive by and see me sitting on the woollen rug with Mum, Dad, siblings and egg on my face.
Now that I’ve advanced in years, have a mortgage of my own and a grumpier disposition, it’s nice to keep life simple. If travelling that means avoiding stopping in busy towns, stressing out to find a park, and then trying to find somewhere decent for afternoon tea.
Taking a break at a scenic picnic spot and enjoying a breath or two of fresh air (hopefully), is really rather peaceful. Yes, I’ve turned into my mother, but this isn’t a bad thing. It’s fun chatting to livestock over farm fences and thanking them for the contribution they make to the economy.
In my conversations I have asked several bulls and cows to hold back on the farting, but have received only blank stares when mentioning global warming.
A tip if you have children in your travelling road show: instead of saying that visiting cafes while on holiday is off the menu and they have to sit on the side of the road and drink water, try to make the prospect of a picnic sound exciting. And how about suggesting that by “taking your own” there’ll be more money for a family holiday, an ipod or some other essential of life.
If roadside picnics are a hit, you could progress to thermette boil-ups and billy tea. These require more knowledge than operating a thermos and will need an entire column devoted to their workings at a later date.
