Yesterday Bezley, her sister-in-law, Mo, and I tootled down to Tambellup for a funeral. It was a pleasant enough day, all things considered.
On the way home, somewhere between Narrogin and Pingelly, we passed a sign for the Lazeaway Caravan Park. This just charmed my socks off.
Why? I'll tell you why.
To think that somewhere out in the middle of thousands of hectares of farmland someone has the confidence to open a caravan park and to call it Lazeaway. Not The Overnighter. No. Nor even The Dropinn (which, given the local agriculture, would be a ripper of a double entendre). But the Lazeaway. As though people, looking for a brief escape from their cares and the grind of every day life, would not think about a couple of weeks by the sea in Esperance, say, with a stop overnight in the middle of a field of wheat just to make the journey a safe one, but would decide that a holiday set amongst wheat and sheep and flies and dust was just what they needed to recharge the batteries.
And who's to say that they're not right? Maybe I'll check out the Lazeaway Caravan Park on my next holiday. Maybe you should too.
No comments:
Post a Comment