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After a few days of cool, Queensland heat returned, and we headed off to find water. At Canungra there was brown water, a grey rockface, a swinging rope and a huge inflated tyre. I sweltered quietly on my sand-chair while the kids frolicked. We were cool enough then to dash down to Nerang to see Hunger games 3 – ruined cities, rebellion against the odds, inconceivably cruel controller reminded me of Warsaw under Hitler.

 

 

 

The second waterhole was more secluded. My son and his daughter rode their bikes down the mountain and arrived looking red-faced and satisfied. My daughter-in-law and her son picked up five bags of rubbish, including six bongs, three pairs of trousers, one pair of Bonds undies and two T-shirts. I braved rock-hopping and water in makeshift swimmers, entry and exit made easy by my fabulous Keens sandals. There was some debate about whether froglets were cane toad babies. The day ended with an Indian meal at the restaurant where my granddaughter waitresses.