Every time I come to Tassie I’m reminded of the fact that Tasmanians have stolen the most beautiful State from the rest of Australia and it’s time we demanded it back.

I’m sitting on the back deck of a house in West Hobart, looking out across the city to the Derwent River. This view is picture-postcard pretty. No, scratch that, this is better than a postcard, because it moves and changes as the afternoon progresses, which postcards don’t do until you get halfway into a bottle of tequila and that’s usually when the uncontrolled sobbing starts.

I love the rhythm and pace of Hobart. It’s kinda like everyone down here is on the really amazing antidepressants that you have to buy under the counter from veterinarians elsewhere in Australia [1]. I love the sense of history and the feeling that if you walk down this particular alley you are much more likely to discover a hidden cafe, rather than being mugged and left in a coma.

Also, more bad news if you live anywhere else, everything down here tastes better. In fact, the food in Tasmania is so good, it’s worth a separate visit on its own — which I think is sort of a deliberate ploy on behalf of Tasmanian Tourism, curse them for their foodie cleverness.

All-in-all, this place is frustratingly pretty and aggravatingly relaxing and I can’t think of anywhere else in the world that I’d rather be sitting right at this moment. I think I’ll have another beer and be pleasantly annoyed some more…