Yes, I've been M.I.A. again, as I am wont to do at this time of the year as budget season rolls around. I've stopped taking photos every day in part due to work / time constraints, in part because of something that I have to prepare for later in the year (which I'm quite looking forward to, but more on that later) and in part because, as doubtless happens to us all periodically, I've been feeling photographically jaded and have to put in some time to "find the fun" of shooting again. I have about 15ish shots to upload.

However today we took a break from all of that and pointed the car southward, up into the hills and valleys just to the west of the south coast area. It began with a stop for an early lunchtime pie at the Old Store in Barrengarry which immodestly declares that it sells "The World's Best Pies". They can make this claim by not entering any competitions that they could lose, and because there is no objective standard by which the claim can be measured. Nonetheless the pies are very nice indeed (not the best I've ever had, but ones that I'll certainly try again when next in the area and far better than average), and the rustic store, complete with metal product signs from the first half of the 20th century, all wooden furniture and walls, and archaic, colonial era bric a brac scattered around the place makes the visit an experience worth having.

After that it was down the road to Kangaroo Valley where "the olden days" never really passed, because that's their marketing schtick. There was a garishly painted building which announced itself as the English, Scottish and Australian Bank. That institution vanished way back in 1970 when it was taken over by the ANZ Bank, though it partially lived on in the name of the ANZ's commercial financing arm ESANDA. Across the road was a store selling old books, records and magazines. (1960's Playboys, even.) Further down was a coffee and pie shop where we grabbed a couple of coffees and some fruit pies. The fruit pies were not bad. Not great, but not bad. I had asked for my apple pie to be heated up but clearly they have a different interpretation of the laws of thermodynamics to me. The coffee was about on a par with Gloria Jeans, a local Starbucks wannabe. That wasn't a compliment.

Another place that we saw was an ice cream and fudge shop, which was supplied by an outfit named Fudge Addiction. We knew them from their appearance at local markets. However we didn't stop, having had our fill at the pie shops. And so away we headed, passing over the one lane late colonial bridge that leads in and out of Kangaroo Valley and on to the road back to the coast which is less a public highway and more a paved goat track. It's just wide enough for two cars to pass if they do it slowly and carefully and try to avoid doing it on the hairpin bends with 15km/h recommended speeds. Still, I was Ok driving it. Then I saw a sign. This sign. The sign from the Fudge Addiction outfit, which sits outside their property along with the refrigerator you see here which really is self service. (It's done on the honour system. You put cash into a box at the bottom of the fridge, you take an amount that you've paid for.)

"I have to get a shot of that sign!"

But it was receding in my rear vision mirror at the time, so I called upon the motor rally-bred abilities of my Lancer, shoved her over into a patch of dirt just off the goat track, and pointed her back down the road.

And so here, we see a partnership formed in Ireland, doing a roaring business in Australia. Pretty good for business partners who probably sleep 22 hours and eat 1 hour out of every day. (Like I said, one person at least will get the reference.)

And yes, we did buy some.