Win a Virtual Winter Beach Break

I've felt chastened of late, being among the privileged bucket shop jet-set crowd who escape the depths of winter for a week long warm 'n salty seaside break. So chastened, I nary posted a pic on facebook. I did sneak a few onto my more incognito accounts - Instagram and Twitter. Yet I did not want to skite. Coz I've heard it on the radio, read it in the news.

"Shudduppayaface you snap happy sun worshipers, les miserables and stuck in Winterville just don't want to know. Only one pic allowed."

Then two weeks after my holiday I had a post-ers epiphany. After enjoying other holiday making friends posting endless happy snaps of their tanned smiling faces beside exotic stone pools in places like Ubud, Bali. I pondered for a short moment... who started this thing. This unwritten social media gag that we should not REALLY share our five nights of balmy temperatures while others are swapping muddy gumboots for slippers, lighting the fire and tucking into shin beef casserole and buttery baked potatoes, as another icy southerly rattles the chimney pots.

Which why.

Why why exactly.

Can you give me any feedback?

I mean every mid-winter break has been hours-on-Tripadvisor in the planning. Thousands of bucks in the doing. And yes we/you had a jolly fun and relaxing time. So suck it up, naysayers.

Sit back and virtual enjoy yee, curmudgeons.

Hit the 'like' button you green jelly monsters.

Better still shave your legs and put on your bikini. Now zip up your polar fleece onesie, pour yourself a virgin Mojito (limes are on special), flip open your laptop and then beside the toasty glow of the wood burner catch a piggyback ride to a better place. Gratis.

Virtual tourists you all can be.

Right now, because here's what I did on my holidays. Full volume.

The H and I flew to the tiny pearling town of Broome, North Western Australia. We arrived in May right after the rainy season. The average daytime temperature was 33 degrees celsius. Bitchin. FYI there are no naturally occurring pearls left in the world. In the olden days, pearl divers wore helmets. They looked like this.

On the second day we drove south for 90 minutes. The asphalt road was straight and terracotta verged with only one right-hand turn. We saw two dead kangaroos, ten wedge tailed eagles and five road trains. We did a u-turn after a ginormous green lizard crossing the road, but it ran under a bush.

I watched the sun come up, before I went to yoga in a windowless room looking over the Indian ocean. It looked like this.

One day we walked for two hours to find a cave. There were not many people about. So we swam in the nuds but did not selfie-self-it.

It took us an age to decide, but we were pretty sure this is what we were looking for...

There were other points of interest along the way.

I don't know what this is. The customs man didn't know either, but he let me take it home.

At night we sat on the beach and watched this.

Sometimes we added bubbles.

All the good living made me grow tall and thin.

There wasn't much traffic except for this doofhead in a helicopter who maybe came from Darwin for breakfast.

At night, the moon was a pearl button.

By and by we went back to the little town. We watched Mad Max Road Fury at 90 year old Sun Pictures, Cinema Garden. Petrol porn in the dark under a doona in a deck chair. How did they make it look like Charlize Theron had half an arm? That's prosthetics for you.

All too soon our sojourn came to an end. We missed the Paspaley Pearl Beach polo on Cable beach...

And soon after we got home the front lawn looked like this.

If my post has whet your taste buds to visit the dinky town of Broome well and good.If it took you out of your winter blues, even for a nanosecond, press the 'cool' button in the yellow section below. And share the love. I intend to.