Hobart and Happiness

I promised you I would have an adventure in Hobart, internets, and so it proved!

Picture the scene – a lovely hotel apartment with one bedroom and unfortunately only one queen-sized bed. In it sleep a charming lady and her intimidatingly elegant mother. Who snores.

Sorry, Mum, but all my readers know I am sworn to the noble cause of Truth*!

ME: *am having a nightmare about TERRIBLE THINGS*
HOTEL FIRE ALARM: *goes off*
ME: *wakes* Oh, it was only a dream! Thank goodness! … wait.
HOTEL PEOPLE: Don’t panic! Please stay there while we investigate the cause of the alarm.
MUM: We should get dressed in case we have to evacuate.
ME: Good thinking! You do that, and I will check my email.
MUM: Karen Elizabeth Healey!
ME: What? Pyjamas are my work attire, totally legit.

It turned out that the alarm was false, but I think that was duly adventurous. Since we were awake, we took a bus up Mount Wellington along steep narrow roads that reminded me nostalgically of Japan and the one car crash I have been in, and from the top we saw rather a lot of Tasmania, which reminded me agreeably of home.

View From Mount Wellington by tigitogs@flickr

After that we bought things! It is a pastime which we both enjoy, and I found a little black handbag that looks sort of vaguely professional and YET is still big enough to hold a paperback. On sale! I will take it to New York City and show it the sights! (Oh yes, I am going to the USA for two months, more about that at some point).

Then my mother walked into a jewellery store that was having a half-price sale. This is pretty much like me walking into a bookstore having a half-price sale** ie, sharklike frenzy. There was no way she could be surrounded by many things so pretty so pretty and so cheap and escape without figuratively biting a boat in half.

So when she suggested buying me a charm bracelet to commemorate the publishing of my debut, I nobly acquiesced. For her own good, you understand.

The bracelet is gorgeous. I am to add a charm for every book published, which I think shows a touching faith in the longevity of my potential career.

And this is but the least of the reasons I love my mum. Even though she snores.

* This is a lie.

** Or walking into any bookstore in the US, which works out much the same money-wise. Things I laugh wearily about when Americans complain about the prices thereof: books, petrol, postage.

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