I got a real shock in Sale

For those of you that know me, you’ll be more than aware of my love of the finer things – nice things.

Ever since I started on my travels, just after poor Harold departed this world, I’ve developed an uncanny knack of picking the perfect accommodation with my inbuilt sense of style. I’ve become so gifted at it now that people ask my expert opinion on just about all matters related to the perfect travel experience. They trust me and know that my opinion counts for more than what they might be able to find on their internet computer.

But there are occasions when even an old veteran girl like me can, well; not exactly ‘get it wrong’ but let life take me on an adventure into another world. I suppose even I have a thing or two to learn.

Several months ago I was heading off to the country to see my good friend Margaret who lives at the caravan park at Lakes Entrance. Poor Margaret. Things have never been quite the same for her since Jim passed.

It was a warm day and after travelling from Melbourne for five hours on that ghastly Princes Highway past all those La Trobe Valley electrical chimneys, I had to refill the old Merc up at Sale. Gaven, my son said it should take about three hours from Melbourne to Sale but I don’t like to speed. Whatever Alan says, I always add half as much time again just to be safe. And I’m usually right.

After the marathon drive with caravans, cars and all sorts of other vehicles stretched out behind me for miles and miles, the thought of being quite intrepid and stopping the night in Sale was tempting. It was quite a tiring trip on my own and with only Neil Diamond and Anne Murray to keep me company on the cassette player I was feeling the taxing effects and loneliness of a real journey.

After I handed over several twenty dollar notes in payment for my petrol, I asked the sweet young thing behind the counter at the BP if there was anywhere ‘nice’ to stay in her town. “I want a B&B. Somewhere nice with all the usual things – can you recommend something nice” I asked politely, stifling a little yawn.

“Minnies” she said “Down the highway, through town, turn at Gibsons Lane and you’ll find it.”

Minnies. That sounds perfect. I can tell a lot by a name. Minnies. I sat back in the driver’s seat of the old Merc and gently coaxed her in the direction the nice young attendant told me.

Minnies. I can judge a book by its cover and I can also judge a good B&B by its name. Nice floral prints, maybe a four poster bed, lovely rugs and deep tapestry works on all the walls. Minnies. If it had have been a colder day there would have been a fire lit in the parlour too. Minnies. How perfect for this weary traveller. And it’s probably run by someone of my vintage who knows a thing or two about running a country B&B. A little stiff gin and tonic, a rest in a soft chair and a good night’s sleep would be perfect.

The little blue sign saying “Minnies B&B” indicated that I needed to turn right off the highway. The car’s indicator had been on for at least a mile just let all those people behind me know that I may need to turn sometime soon so there was not need to pause to turn it on again. The long driveway was lined with adolescent oak trees and meandered up towards what looked like a modern house.

Modern! Am I in the right place?

With the fading light gently reflecting off the car’s yellow bonnet I saw a young woman walk towards my old Merc.

“Hello dear, can you direct me to Minnies please, I think I’m in the wrong place” I asked graciously,
despite my obvious weariness.

“Hello, I’m Mandy and you’ve come to the right place. This is Minnies over here.”

I collected my handbag from the passenger seat and walked with her away from what was obviously her own house – the modern thing, towards another building of a similar vintage. A discreet but colourful sign at the front said “Minnies”

Well, you could just imagine my shock. This is not what I’d imagined at all or even what the young woman at the BP led me to believe. This place was modern. B&Bs aren’t supposed to be modern. It only looked a couple of years old, if that. And its exterior walls were iron – corrugated, shiny iron. Mandy led me up the couple of steps and into the building.

As I walked inside I almost had to reach for my prescription sunglasses. The colours on the furniture were the most vibrant I had ever seen in my life. Hot pinks, lime greens, against a black velvet background which dressed the huge club lounge in the centre of what looked like a living room. The same motifs were featured in the very modern pendant lights that hung in a neat row from the ceiling. Highly polished floor boards extended through the living room through to the kitchen which ran along half the length of the building. I suppose this is what modern people call open plan living. Well, it’s not for me. That’s all I can say about it. Open plan indeed.

There were no mats or doyleys on the kitchen bench, there were no curtains on the windows. Only those roll down blinds that you see in the modern decor magazines. It’s absolutely not what I expected.

At one end of the living room was a very pretty bedroom but with some more of the those hot pink touches jarring at my senses, however, the large bed was dressed in a gleaming white cotton bedspread that reminded me of a perfectly iced wedding cake. My personal taste would have been more sated with a nice floral with a ruffle or two and some billowing curtains to match, but apparently in modern decor, there is no room for ‘nice things’

Oh, the bathroom was harsh. Stone floors, shiny tiled walls, a deep ceramic basin with those sparkling, contemporary flick mixer things instead of two lovely brass taps and it even had a huge walk in shower which, of course, I thought was ostentatious, showy and totally unnecessary. And no peek-a-boo window in there either, just a large panoramic window letting in all the late afternoon light. Big fluffy white towels however, looked nice. Very nice. And there was even some of those little bottles of toiletries that you find in big hotels. Sanctum, I think the label said, but I did have my sunglasses on.

At the other end of the living room there was another bedroom in the same oversized proportions as the first one AND another bathroom. But this was too much. Black Thai silk billowing curtains (very foreign isn’t it?) and shocking lime green splashings of dramatic interior design. Who on Earth did the interior design of this place?

I inspected the house more closely. It was immaculate. Well at least if Mandy has no taste in interior design and can’t afford to place a few nice little pieces of lace around the place to make it more welcoming, she knows how to keep a sparkling home. Even the dishwasher and monstrous oven sparkled.

“I’ll take it.” I said graciously, knowing full well that she would have difficulty renting out the place, poor dear. “Just one night thank you dear” Poor Mandy, she’ll get the hang of things eventually.

I gathered my overnight bag from the boot of the Merc and settled in for the night. As I walked around the place trying to get comfortable in such a modern environment, I looked for the guest book to see what others had said about the place. It’s the first thing I always do in a B&B – have a little squiz at the guest book. Above the bookshelf was a laminated page from a travel magazine which, according to a travel writer by the name of Kevin Moloney, “...a night at Minnies is perfect.” He must be young, I thought.

But the comments from other guests said similar things.

‘Well’. I thought. ‘ If this is perfect, then there is absolutely no room in this world any more for good old fashion country accommodation, with gentle pastels, soft curtains, cream teas, lace trimmings, a welcome mat that features a picture of a cat, a collection of baskets on top of the kitchen cupboards brimming with dried flowers and gum leaves, an embroidery sign above the stove - Bless this House, a garden full of hydrangeas and petunias, an old wheelbarrow at the front door with cactus growing from it and the lingering, heady scent of lavender permeating every room.

“Perfect! My fat aunt!”


MY DIARY NOTES

If you have absolutely no taste for the finer things in country accommodation – Minnies will be perfect for you. Others in the guest book describe it as funky, living art, contemporary and cutting edge (whatever that means). All I can say is that it needs a good dose of lace and lavender.

It’s address is Gibson’s Lane (off Cobains St) Sale, Victoria. Phone 03 5144 3344
They have one of those computer internet things which is www.minnies.com.au
Stars ****
Cost – As a single woman, it cost me, $150.00 for the night with breakfast (which was scrummy by the way)
Owner - Mandy Rowe (sweet young thing – she’s the artist) but her husband Shane, is gorgeous

Note to self – next time in Sale ring Phyllis – she knows someone on a farm down that way who does some beautiful quilting – might teach Mandy a thing or two