I have a secret obsession.
Some would call it dysfunctional. Others might even say it’s a complete waste of time and energy.
But if you’ve ever been to Tasmania on a family holiday and experienced the straight-up wonder that occurs on the other side of the Bass Strait, then you’d understand.
Let me backup and give you a bit of context.
Two years ago, when my boy-girl twin toddlers Cooper and Stella were barely walking, we took a family road trip in Tasmania.
We explored Freycinet National Park, swam naked in the Bay of Fires, ran after birds in Dolphin Sands, ran after Scott Morrison at the Museum of Old and New Art in Hobart, and spent our final hours frolicking around Cataract Gorge in Launceston.