Benders to Beeches

A particularly magical part of the world this country Victoria.  A whole generation of cashed up hippie musicians and artists from Melbourne and flotillas of gorgeous and immaculate gay guys from the hospitality sector in Sydney have met half way (so to speak) and created a joyous outburst of fine dining and sweet living.

God chips in too, (showing his love for hippies and gay people) by giving them these idyllic pastures, gentle mountains, shady dells and fairy land like settings in which to dwell and prosper, to grind and stir, shake and slake, pour and more.

You can go bowling, play tennis, register yourself as dead and/or alive, imbibe the best coffee and chew on the finest croissant (not surprisingly one of the croissant maestos had worked with Heston and, though lovely, seemed a little highly strung), play peek-a-boo with our Lady Liege Queen and Sovereign,  not for too long though or you’ll miss the fabulous rustic art and country towns from central casting, then onto Beechworth, our dreaming land, gold rush  architecture, cheese and quince on a plate, poo in a bowl, fine wines, tractors in the dawning, beautiful people, sensational scapes.  Go there.



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