BurbleChaz

Every weekday morning our tram takes us past an old stone-built place with a huge sign saying 'Vintage Cellars'. Every afternoon we stay on the tram and go straight home. It's always been to cold or too wet or too far. Today, we hopped off early and went for a look.

We browsed happily through their extensive stock for a while. The staff were helpful and unobtrusive. Their range covers everything we want, and goes on to things we can't possibly afford. They advertise tastings every day, but there was nothing happening while we were there. We'll phone ahead next time. It's not Avery's Cellars, but it looks very promising. We heaved a couple of bots into my rucksack and headed home.

Outside, it was about 30 degrees, humid and overcast. Anywhere else in the world and we'd have expected a thunderstorm. In Melbourne we got a northerly gale with enough dust to blind a camel. The tall buildings in the CBD cause huge turbulence in the general galestream. As we crossed the bridge over the railway, the wind direction rotated right round the compass at wildly varying strengths. This, coupled with the explosion in the bush fly population, leads to ambivalence. While you stand in the galestream, the flies get blown away. Bliss. Then, as your corneas abrade in the gritstorm, the sweat-stealing eyeball-sipping blood-dunking turd-breeding vermin suddenly seem less unpleasant. Then the breeze drops back to 12 knots, the flies can overcome the headwind and your shotblasted eyes become easy pickings.

Beer and aircon are the only known cures.