False start

All planned and ready to go.  Up at 3 am to catch the taxi, quick check online of the flight ... dismayed, delayed by seven hours!  And now the taxi has arrived.  Paid him off and called Virgin.  They moved us to an earlier flight but still won't be in Sydney until after 6pm.  They gave us a thousand dollar credit to spend with them.  That may be generous, but not sure if we will use it.
Back to bed.

Taxi rebooked but doesn't arrive (:n:).  Operator says it wasn't in the system.  Have to take two cabs instead of the maxi we'd booked, but on the road at last.

Because we moved to another flight we weren't able to all sit together, but a nice man swapped his seat for mine so that I could sit with the two young ones.  We sat on the tarmac for three quarters of an hour while they searched the holds for the luggage of an abscondee.  And at last we're up ... and two films later, (and a pastrami sandwich) we land in Sydney, grab our bags and meet our mini bus driver Pete.

Pete is oldish and fattish and has his shirt open with white hair over the foothills of his stomach.   We exchange introductions but he opts for the radio while I stare tourist eyed at the fruit bats, buildings and hewn rocks as we roller coaster through the northern 'burbs to the rocky coast of Manly. 

We've done alright, the apartment is comfy with a large outdoor area on the ground floor. The girls are full of beans running about and making long exclamations of certitude about their new, temporary lodgings.
'I won't live on the ground floor, I'm not coming in!'
'I only want to stay in places like this!'
Next on the list is food.  Local Coles and a forgivable meal in a local restaurant.  Bad wine, but service beyond it.  And all the while the sea and wind combine in chorus.  The salt tang on the air makes us all remember England, while the holiday thrill has us all looking forward to tomorrow.