Urban Pastoral Idyllic Fun

Here in the middle of inner city Melbourne, you can indulge your inner agriculturist / plowperson / gentle farmer / serf while satiating your predilection for all produce wholesome and organic and sipping your café latte.

We made a rookie mistake of sitting down and tucking in to a huge breakfast of atlantic salmon, eggs benedict, ricotta hotcakes and berry compote.  I was out and about early for a Saturday, the temperature was brisk, the bright golden sunshine hypnotic and I was hungry and in that vague, pre-first-coffee-of-the-morning haze when my decision-making skills are erratic.

Being stuffed to the gills quite defeats the purpose of wandering about a farmers’ market and tasting exotically flavoured olive oils, jams, chutneys etc.  Instead, we grabbed some coffee and wandered around the unexpectedly large grounds of the convent, came across a little boy halfway up a tree who insisted he wasn’t a monkey but rather, a human, and headed over to the neighbouring farm to see the animals.

There, we witnessed a cat chase and pounce on a terrified mouse in the midst of a group of excited children, patted an ambivalent goat, an indifferent cow and a disinterested horse, laughed at the piercing self-importance of the peacocks’ screech, and cooed over the surprising bulk of the big, black pigs.  But my favourite?  The fluffy chickens who looked to be wearing fur coats and Russian-style fur hats.


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