The last time I had taken a trip out of the city by myself I had fallen asleep in the train with my headphones in and my hoodie up and felt the curious sensation of being watched, therefore waking up to see three panic stricken train inspectors hovering over me. I was curiously enough on my way to Ararat for a shoot out at an old abandoned mental asylum.
This time around I was invited to Ballarat by an awesomely good friend from college (ah college). She had moved there for work, and we hadn’t seen each other for ages. That wasn’t really the main point- rather I really really wanted to see sheep up close and personal, and she knew someone who had a sheep farm. So off I packed and went.
Being a city dweller born and raised I developed an intense obsession with animals I really shouldn’t have anything to do with, and one thing on my bucket list was to go up to a sheep and poke it in its side and seeing how it’ll react. Normal ordinary people really do not understand this.
Nevertheless I arrived in Ballarat in one piece and was immediately tricked into taking a 5km walk to and around a lake with the promise of a lovely picnic lunch.
On the way we were distracted by swans and their blooming cygnets.
It’s really surreal being in a small town. It’s so so quiet to the point you can hear the tick tock of the clock. And see acres of land with no buildings. And the skies are blue and the sun is on your face and suddenly it feels like time just grinds to a halt. Until you get chased by two lambs 😉
And a torti cat.