She Who Loves Tweed (commonly referred to as Tweedy here) and I decided to do something different from our usual exodus to California, and hire a car and drive two hours south to the little Pacific town of Carmel.
Clint Eastwood lives there and owns a B&B, (and judging by a few Google reviews, not everyone has been overly impressed. Come on Clint, with a name referring to a swine's breath, you have to ensure standards are high, dude.)
Anyway, here I am. At his pozzie.
As we were up at like 4am, we headed to the only bakery in town, grabbed a few gigantic pastries and a tea (try getting anything smaller than your hand in America. It's offensive to even ask.)
Beach was freezing, as there's this Pacific fog that descends on these places early morning that literally penetrates your bones. Beach reminded me of Cape Town a bit - lots of kelpy, deciduous plantation and vibes. Cold, basically.
Could be Robberg beach in Plett if I didn't tell you otherwise.
Which is what us on the pound do a lot of when we're heart - dollar is beautifully favourable for us.
View from the office. Bay Bridge is a little beeyoody.