Punting on the Avon.....
Living like a tourist in your own city is a great pastime....we tried it last Friday.
Four not so desperate housewives donned their Sunday best, smuggled their flutes and a bottle of France's finest champagne and headed to the Mona Vale vantage point to board their floating lounge room for a genteel drift around the inner city sanctuary.
They were greeted by “Tim” the post pubescent Puntsman, complete with his aqueous pole vault. Introductions complete they boarded as gracefully as possible in their high heels onto a greasy slatted wooden surface.
Off they went, corks popped, bubbles flowed and camera shutters shuddered. The sun shone illuminating the picturesque locale. Reclined on the red velvet seats supping bubbles they were transported physically by Tim and mentally to Venetian waters.
They marvelled at the wide variety of ducks swimming about unnervingly at eye level, and at the gardens of the rich and infamous that dotted the river. The punt got perilously close to the nearby weir and its accompanying nine foot drop. Tim, almost blinded by the weeping willow managed to execute a textbook u-turn saving us and our Sunday Best from certain misfortune.
Thirty minutes over and one bottle down, the four disembarked, their wanderlust momentarily sated for the paltry price tag of $26/head.