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It was with a really foul head cold, that Maude and I left for  Beechworth last Thursday. Heading up the Hume Highway, which is really a freeway now, to Wangaratta. We were going to stop at the HUGE Mc Donald's Restaurant, but missed it completely and headed straight into the township instead. While having a cup of tea, a group of the fattest schoolchildren I have ever seen waddled in ordering sticky cream buns and muffins. I was mesmerized as they all sat silently stuffing doughy gob-fulls into there mouths. After that freak show we headed west for Beechworth. You enter the township at the top of a hill, which runs along a deep and rocky gorge. The first stop was the Chemist, for some much needed Lemsip, to try and abate the flow of constant mucous sliding out my beak. My head felt full of cotton wool. No taste. No smell. Ears blocked.  ____________________________________________ Our first 2 nights was in a strange little Bed and Breakfast, it had one of the largest collections of  Bric a'Brac I have ever encountered. Our bedroom was cluttered with curtsey dolls and macabre little porcelain figurines. Thankfully, the only thing on my mind that night was hoping to breathe, let alone worry about the staring little faces from the mantle piece. This was not the case for the single young British girl staying across the hallway from us. Her room was larger and spookier, adorned with lots of dark velvet and creepier statuettes, her head was under the covers for most of the night. ____________________________________________   Waking to a freezing morning, I reminded our host that since we had a heating duct in our room, heat was not forthcoming. I let him know in no un-certain terms. Breakfast, like all breakfasts in the country was a lard extravaganza. Bacon and eggs and sausages and tomatoes, every morning. The Town of Chiltern was just nearby, walking around the silent and historical little town gave me the first real piece of tranquility I have had this year so far. Then on to Rutherglen. A rustic counter lunch of Corned Beef at the pub, and a stop at ALL SAINTS WINERY on the way back. It was when tasting the reds next to the fire that I thought my head had become one of the embers. Maude indicated my face had gone a touch blotchy, investigating this in the car mirror, showed the reflection of a man that looked as if he had been slapped silly. It was the Harvest Festival on Sunday and accomadation bookings for the Saturday night were scarce. I was lucky to book in advance, though a different B&B. Our last night was spent near the Beechworth Gorge. A more modern affair this time, but a memorable one just the same. Looking out on the golden and red hues of the changing leaves on Sunday morning left a lasting impression of the country. The history, Ned Kelly and the gold boom has shaped Beechworth into one the more fascinating country towns of Australia. I'll be back, without the dreaded next time.