Give me hope, Savannah, hope Savannah, give me hope Savannah till the morning come.

Our stay had been very enjoyable at Undara, but we decided to head towards Normanton and set off early (for us) along the Savannah Way. The drive was pleasant, but totally uneventful, except for a lunch stop outside Croydon (I assume named after the South London borough) and that’s hardly an event.

Tommy loves a sausage!

We arrived at Normanton a little after 4pm, at a nice little caravan park on the edge of town with some lovely birdlife.

What a lovely Red-Winged Parrot

The place was famous for a cheap Barramundi and chips meal deal, and we’d been looking forward to chowing down on that most of the day. It turns out we were shit out of luck and they don’t serve it on Sundays. We were tired after driving all day, so we headed into downtown Normanton to see what they had to offer… Nothing is the quick answer; Sunday opening hours hasn’t reached Normanton. That night we tucked into peanuts and raw carrots, washed down with a lovely glass of apple juice. The great sunset and chorus of bee-eaters made up for it.

Rainbow Bee-eaters watching us eat peanuts and carrots

As I mentioned, we were very tired and in our exhaustion thought it would be a good idea to set up near the toilets, for convenience, see? However, the convenience of being a whole five seconds closer was quickly outweighed by BEING A THROUGHWAY TO THE FUCKING TOILETS! That, plus overhearing the constant chatter of old men as they pass each other outside the shitter was pretty annoying.

The next morning we woke and began packing. Our site at the Boodjamulla (Lawn Hill) NP campsite is booked for the 20th, and we were unable to get a site earlier than that. We had decided not to head to Burketown, so spent the next hour trying to think what to do next, pausing only for a mad ten-minute search for my misplaced keys (Becky found them in the car door). We settled on another campsite situated on a lagoon 20km outside Normanton, as neither of us could face another long drive, and I really didn’t want to spend another evening listening to Gerald complain about his piles.

These are the stresses of life on the road, but it sure beats working.