After two lovely weeks house- and dog-sitting in Melville, we’re back in the Mobi for another four weeks of van life. After that? Who knows! By then, Christmas will be just around the corner, and I’ll be saying my final farewell at work — probably with a grin wide enough to qualify as a safety hazard.

Right now, we’ve parked ourselves near one of Western Australia’s many world-class beaches. And no, that’s not just hometown bias talking — they really are some of the best beaches on the planet. White sand, turquoise water, sunshine… what more could you want?

Well, maybe slightly fewer sharks. Because as it happens, this is prime “Jaws” season, so I’ll be admiring the view from a safe and sensible distance — preferably with a cold beer and some shade. Debbie, of course, might be braver… or just more easily tempted by a paddle.

For now, we’re happy just winding the clock down, soaking up the sea breeze, and getting used to calling the Mobi “home.” The real adventure is right around the corner — and this little warm-up lap isn’t a bad way to start.

It began, as all good mysteries do, with good intentions and mild apprehension. We’d agreed to house- and dog-sit for friends while they were off gallivanting overseas. Lovely house, nice area — except for one small detail: the mozzies. On previous visits, we’d been treated like an all-you-can-eat buffet by the local mosquito population, so this time we came armed with sprays, coils, and long sleeves.

What we hadn’t factored in was the household’s newest security system — a dog with the reflexes of a fighter pilot and the appetite of a frog. The moment a fly dared to enter the airspace, the dog sprang into action, snatching the intruder mid-flight and crunching it with a look of triumph.

Within hours, our once-buzzy war zone was silent. Not a single winged creature dared to enter the no-fly zone patrolled by The Insect Assassin .

With the skies now clear and our blood supply intact, we retired to bed, grateful for the peace and a large, tidy room. That’s when I noticed it — the sock drawer beside the bed, half open. Odd, I thought. I could’ve sworn I’d closed it earlier when we unpacked. No matter. I shut it again and turned in.

Morning came, and so did the shock — the drawer was open again. “That’s strange,” I muttered. I shut it once more, firmly this time, convinced it was just my imagination. But that evening… there it was. Open again.

By day three, I’d given up trying to reason with it. If the ghost wanted the drawer open, the ghost could have it open. I wasn’t about to start a turf war with the supernatural. But of course, the next morning, it was closed.

I’m not saying anything, but I know what I saw.

We’re back in the caravan on Saturday — no drawers in there, and every cupboard has a lock. At least if anything moves on its own, I’ll know it’s not me… or will I?

We’re not officially on our Big Lap just yet, but the wheels have definitely started turning. The house is empty, our worldly possessions are in storage (hopefully all in the same storage unit), and we’ve officially moved out. It feels strange, exciting, and slightly terrifying all at once — a bit like handing in your homework and realising you might have left your name off the top.

Our first stop was Woodman Point Discovery Caravan Park for a quick trial run — a week of “practice retirement,” if you will. The weather, naturally, didn’t get the memo and decided to test both our patience and waterproofing. To make things even more entertaining, my back decided to join the rebellion. Still, we got through it with a mix of stubbornness, hot tea, and the occasional groan.

We did have some lovely company though — Lincoln and Olivia dropped by for a visit, bringing sunshine and laughter (and reminding us that sitting still isn’t really our strong suit).

For now, we’re house- and dog-sitting for friends for a couple of weeks before we head off properly into the great outdoors until Christmas. The adventure has already begun, just at a slightly slower pace — and with fewer kilometres but plenty of wagging tails.

Search and rescue operations were briefly (and somewhat dramatically) deployed at camp this morning after Debbie offered to do the noble deed of emptying the toilet cassette.

Now, some people think I exaggerate when I say Debbie has no sense of direction — that she could get lost in our own garden if given half a chance. But let the record show: I do not exaggerate.

Whenever we head bush, I make absolutely sure she’s equipped with all the essentials — radio, GPS, backup batteries, and even a whistle — because, frankly, the woman could wander off from a straight road.

So, when she cheerfully volunteered to find the dump point (which, I might add, is literally behind the reception building we both visited earlier this week), I figured she’d be fine. What could possibly go wrong?

Ten minutes later, I happened to glance up and saw our bright orange car cruising slowly up and down the complete opposite end of the caravan park, clearly searching for something that was nowhere near there. No phone. No radio. No GPS. Just pure determination and confusion in equal measure.

While it wasn’t exactly a life-or-death situation, I felt morally obligated to initiate a mild search-and-rescue mission. I tracked her down, guided her safely to her destination, and the cassette was successfully emptied without further incident.

I suppose every good expedition needs a navigator. Unfortunately for us, Debbie isn’t it.

Ok, so I have been a caravan owner for over two and a half years, not what you could call experienced but not a complete novice. To be fair, we have been on less than a handful of caravan parks, the vast majority of what we do is free or bush camping, you pull up where you like and camp, there are no regimented pitches. So anyone watching my solo attempt to get myself parked on our current site at Woodman point would have been thoroughly entertained. Debbie could not be with me this time, so I was on my own (no help with reversing the van). We had asked for an extra wide pitch because we have a large slide out bed on the side of the van.

When I turned up, sure enough, we had been given a large corner pitch, ideal. There was a large blue mat in the centre of the pitch which clearly was meant to be our outdoor area, so I was to park the van to the side of it. To left was another pitch with a caravan on it, to the right was a lamp post and the roadway. Behind was a large caravan. So I decided to park the van to the right of the blue mat next to the lamp post. Without assistance, it took me about twelve attempts to get the van exactly where I intended. I had avoided the lamp post and had not hit the van behind me. Without a “spotter” I had to get out of the car and check my position countless times. Well done me!

As soon as I was about to unhitch, I realised that the door of the caravan was on the wrong side. I should have parked to the left on the blue mat, not to the right. This would mean our awning would be covering the roadway. FFS!

Never mind, I will just have to move it.

Countless more manoeuvres were required to position Mobi to the left of the mat. Happy that we could now exit the van and set up our table in the correct position, I set about putting up the awning and setting up camp. Finally, I pulled out our slide out bed. To my horror it extended about two feet into next doors pitch. There was no way our neighbour would be able to park their car. Double FFS!

Just as I was about to put the last peg in the ground the phone rang and Debbie was ready to be picked up, the first thing she said was “ did you have a nice afternoon”?

I couldn’t help but chuckle at the day’s events. Despite the struggles, it was all part of the adventure of caravan life. Next time, I’ll remember to double-check my positioning before I settle in!

The big lap of Australia is waiting, and the freedom I imagined is already beginning. But I’m starting to understand that the true joy will come not from racing to the start line, or finishing every task before the first mile, but from embracing the journey itself — and carrying a calmer, steadier mind into the adventures ahead.

The big trip around Australia still has to wait until I hang up the work boots at Christmas, but in the meantime, we’ll be living in the van full-time. It’s not quite the grand departure we imagined, but maybe it’s the perfect trial run before we officially hit the road.

Life has a funny way of nudging you forward, even when you think you’re not quite ready. So here we go—one step closer to the adventure of a lifetime, just a little sooner than expected!

When we set out to buy a new car, the agreement was pretty straightforward: I could choose any car I wanted (within budget), and Debbie would pick the colour. Fair enough.

Now, let me be clear—I don’t hate the colour she picked. But let’s just say if it were up to me, I’d have gone with something a bit more forgiving. You know… white or grey. Practical, low-maintenance, doesn’t show every smudge, scratch, or enthusiastic grandchild’s cleaning effort.

But nope. Sunstone Orange Mica it is.

To be fair, it does look great. Eye-catching, vibrant, unique. And according to two separate people in the car industry, also a colour that’s very prone to fading if not properly looked after. Their advice? Regular waxing to keep it looking showroom-fresh.

No worries. Since it’s “our” car, we split the duties: I handle the exterior, and Debbie takes care of the interior. Deal.

Now, waxing a car in Australia isn’t a task you just do. You’ve got to plan around the weather. Waxing a hot car in full sun? Nope. Doesn’t work. So you’re up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday, before the sun really gets going. Except, of course, the weekend I’d planned for it turned out to be a rare rainy morning. Typical. I pushed it back a week, and when the stars finally aligned, I put in two and a half hours of hard graft. The result? The car looked better than when we drove it out of the dealership (on the outside, anyway).

Cue the next week. Windy. And in Western Australia, windy means dust and sand everywhere. I got home from work to a cheerful update: “The grandchildren washed the car!”

Oh no.

Internally, I cringed. Had they rinsed the car first? Or was the dust just scrubbed straight into the paintwork? I had visions of sponges being dropped on the driveway and then enthusiastically rubbed along the car’s panels by a very keen six-year-old. But hey, they’re the grandkids—they’re allowed to commit small acts of automotive violence.

Still, I was feeling slightly anxious. So I wandered inside to Wayne’s Bar for a well-earned cleansing ale. That’s when I saw it. The bucket. The bucket. The one I’d used to mix concrete for the bar footings a couple of weeks ago. It had been over 40 degrees that day, and I’d only given it the world’s fastest rinse. Sitting proudly inside this cement-dusted bucket? My car-washing sponge and chamois.

I nearly choked on my beer.

“Deb… what bucket did you use to wash the car?”

I shouldn’t have asked. According to her, nothing was wrong. And if something was wrong? Well, that was clearly my fault for tidying the garage. Apparently, she couldn’t find her bucket. (It was right by the door, by the way.)

So I gave up. I was fuming on the inside but knew I was wasting my breath. I haven’t even dared take a close look at the paintwork yet. I’m just… not ready.

Is it me? Did I overreact??

We made the most of the ANZAC long weekend with a short but sweet escape to a Hipcamp near Karranadgin in the WA Wheatbelt. The area was quiet, and the break was exactly what we needed — even if it did come with a few lessons learned the hard way.

Lesson number one? Always check your gear. We discovered the padlock on our shovel had rusted solid, making it impossible to regulate the fire properly. That little oversight led to a very short life for the loaf of bread we tried to cook in the camp oven — charcoal, anyone?

Fortunately, redemption came the next night in the form of a hearty stew cooked over the fire. It more than made up for the previous evening’s culinary disaster, and there’s just something about a meal made outdoors that always tastes better.

As always with these mini trips, it felt like we were packing up almost as soon as we arrived. Still, it was a great reminder of why we love getting away — and a good warm-up for the bigger adventure ahead.

We’ve got a three-week trip through the Goldfields planned this winter, detectors in tow. Can’t wait to hit the red dirt again and see what we find.

We recently managed to steal away for a short but much-needed break with Mobi, and this time, we decided to explore a serene Hipcamp spot just outside Gidgegannup. The location, fittingly named The Paddock, was everything we hoped for – a tranquil slice of nature, complete with a chorus of birds and kangaroos, and friendly sheep and cows grazing just over the fence.

It might not be everyone’s idea of a getaway, but for us, it was perfect. We had the whole place to ourselves, with only the sounds of the wild and the occasional farm activities in the background. The hosts, who run a working farm, were around but kept a respectful distance, ensuring we had our privacy while also providing a warm, welcoming vibe.

One of the highlights of the trip was the stunning lack of flies – a rare treat! But the little critters that did decide to make an appearance were out in full force, determined to make life a little more interesting. Usually, we go all-in with our bug defences, but this time, the pesky insects found a way through. Bites and stings are all part of the camping experience, though, so we powered through and embraced the nature of it all.

Update: It turns out that one of Debbie’s “bites” was either a snake or poisonous spider. She is getting treatment and has been told to go to A&E if the swelling and bruising gets any worse.

Update 2: We did end up attending A&E after the swelling and bruising did get worse. The doctors were very interested and took lots of photos, but were unable to conclusively deduce what creature had done the damage. A blood test and X-ray confirmed that she was not in danger of losing a limb and now two weeks later most of the swelling has gone.

Looking ahead, we’re already dreaming of our next adventure. A prospecting trip in winter is on the cards, and we’re especially excited about Pirate Camp 2025 – it’s going to be one to remember! Until then, we’ll treasure this peaceful escape in the Paddock and can’t wait to get back into the great outdoors soon.