There are parts of Austalia that are startlingly beautiful. I’m sure it’s true for pretty much everywhere in the world. When the sun is right, when the morning light is coming in at just the right angle, when there is the smell of dew in the air, and there’s enough of a chill to make you glad you’ve got a jumper, probably anywhere has its merits. But Yass – or perhaps because of it – has a special place in my heart. It’s a simple enough place, but as we left there on Monday, all I could see was the town, covered in a golden sunlight, glistening as if new made. It was beautiful. The best part was yet to come.
The day had dawned crisp – it had been below zero the night before, and there was still a real chill in the air. When you walked on the grass, you could hear the frost crunch under your shoes. There was ice all over the windscreen – something I hadn’t seen since I left England. As we left Yass behind us, we started on what seemed like two different journeys. For long periods, we’d drive through the brown hills – it seemed like we were the only car on the road. The sun was warm, and Australia’s brown landscape seemed to stretch on forever. And suddenly, every now and then, we’d plunge into a hollow, and we’d be in a totally different world, surrounded by thick fog, so thick that the trees lining the road became half-glimpsed shadows and cars loomed out of the fog like intruders at the door.