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Driving Mr Daisy. To Portsea. #Daaahling

My family is in that odd transition stage, where there’s only adults and no kids.  While this generation is all grown up and finished school and working and technically capable of creating the next generation, we’ve all decided that we kinda like sleeping in on weekends and buying expensive shoes instead of paying childcare fees.  Save for the odd dog (and my Mum, after her second bottle of bubbles), there’s pretty much nothing requiring supervision in our extended family unit, which has put a bit of a unique spin on the family get together.

There’s no naps or bedtimes to navigate around.

No one will get bored or car sick.

We don’t have to pick child friendly venues.  No one needs a kids menu (I said needs.  We definitely all still appreciate a chicken nugget and an icecream cone…)

We can stay as long as we like, and leave whenever we like.  We can laugh and talk and chat around the table, without having to keep half an eye on someone chasing someone else out on the grass.  We don’t have to break up fights or do the hissing ‘ENOUGH’ threat across the table or let a delicious lunch sit abandoned, slowing going cold on the table because someone else needs to go to the toilet and is too scared to go on their own.

No one bats an eyelid when we hear a kid wailing because we definitely don’t need to sort the situation.  That is most certainly not coming from anyone or thing belonging to us, thank you very much.  (And, uh, if you could just turn your noisy kids off for a bit, that would be rad…)

But best of all, it allows us to do all those ridiculous things like jump on a completely impractical ferry, be picked up in Rob’s restored Jag and cruise around in the sun in Portsea – drinking rosé out on the deck and ordering far too much dessert.

Portsea gets a little bit of a snobby rep.  I mean, it is full of ridiculous summer homes of the rich and famous.  And it does host the Polo – basically the Melbourne Cup Birdcage of the peninsula – and it’s legitimately the only place I’ve ever seen someone wearing a Ralph Lauren cashmere sweater tied around their shoulders outside of Hollywood. But unlike it’s crowded and flashy neighbour, Sorrento, Portsea only has a dotted little handful of shops and the one sprawling pub – sitting quietly on it’s own little strip of beach.  If you drop in on one of the other 51 weekends when it’s not Polo Central, it’s just a sleepy little beach village, perfect for a random afternoon away from reality.

BYO small fluffy dog.

Em’s Top Picks 
(A Really Small List Because As Above, There’s Not A Whole Lot To Do In Portsea)

Eat:  At the Portsea Hotel.  A little bit because there’s not really that much else on offer, and a lot because they serve killer mussels, have an ice-cream AND pizza bar, and cliff top views of the bay.  Oh, and the place gets packed come sun down, so if you’re in a party-type mood folks, saddle up…

Get there: Via the ferry from Queenscliff.  Yes, technically you could drive to Portsea in the same amount of time it would take to drive to Queenscliff to catch the ferry in the first place (unless you live in Geelong, in that case, ships ahoy, friends!), but it’s stupid amounts of fun to get your sailor/pirate on and zoom across the bay.  And there’s generally always dolphins showing off, so you’ve got your daily insta pic sorted.  Oh, and did I mention that you can drink on the ferry?


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