Drinking & Driving

We are currently driving very fast. The Father-In-Law is breaking every speed limit to get us to the airport on time. We had to visit just one last winery this morning before leaving Margaret River (no, really, we did, it was completely necessary) and the journey back to the airport is taking slightly longer than expected. We’re all just praying that we don’t get stopped by the police as I’m not sure they would be completely understanding of our reason for speeding – “Sorry officer but we had to squeeze in a few tastings at a winery before we left Margaret River and as a result we’re running a bit late.”


I must just point out at this juncture that The Father-In-Law did not partake of the wine tasting and was therefore perfectly sober and legal to drive. To be fair, it was pretty early to be sipping wines and we did feel slightly like alcoholics as we drove onto the magnificent Vasse Felix estate (Margaret River’s first commercial winery) as soon as the cellar door opened at 10am. We were not, however, the first – there were already three elderly ladies propping up the counter who obviously needed something to get them going in the morning. Then again, if they’re anything like my English grandparents they’ll have already been up for four hours so it probably felt like lunchtime to them. They certainly weren’t holding back – they demanded a taste of every single wine on the 12-strong list and when told where the spittoon was located, they merely laughed and said, “Oh goodness no, we won’t be needing the spittoon but we may need bigger glasses!” When I grow up I want to be just like them.

So now I’m sitting in a speeding car feeling rather sleepy and mellow and not really caring whether we get to the airport in time or not. Perhaps I should have had a few glasses of wine before the journey to Margaret River a few days earlier. The Husband made a monumental error while map-reading, thinking we were 50km further north than we were, therefore turning off and managing to take a road back in the exact direction we had come from. It did mean that we got to see a bit of Mandurah, quite a lovely little coastal town, but it also meant that we had come 50km back on ourselves and, by the time we got back on to the road we were never supposed to have left, had wasted an entire hour. I didn’t think it was right when we turned off but The Husband will not be told he’s wrong, especially when it comes to anything to do with cars, driving and maps. Perhaps all car journeys undertaken with one’s husband should involve a stop at a winery beforehand.