3rd January

We've been sitting on the plane for over an hour and have only travelled a few metres - all of them, as far as I can tell, backwards. I've proudly donned my new flight socks, which I only now notice came supplied with detailed, six-step instructions on how to put them on - my own attempts involved baby wipes (don't ask) and much wriggling, a routine which Mike, for some mysterious reason, has not yet felt the need to emulate.

Aaaand we're off! Mike settles down into his one-man mission to watch BA's entire film catalogue. I can't quite muster the necessary arm strength to manhandle my TV screen into position, and spend most of the flight wishing I'd brought a reading light. This is occasionally interspersed with fantasies about a world in which families with babies are required to travel in special sound-proof cabins.

4th January

BA's take on an Asian Vegetarian breakfast features, somewhat idiosyncratically, bacon.

5th January

We arrive in Sydney without any hitches and breeze through Immigrations, only to be flummoxed by the airport cash machines. Neither of us had got round to doing anything quite as organised as changing money before we left, so the ATMs' insistence that we don't, in fact, have any money to take out is slightly alarming. Through a combination of dogged persistence and random button bashing we eventually manage to coax one into parting with a few notes, no doubt leaving a trail of horrendous interest rates in our wake.

Once we've picked up the keys to the apartment we'll be using as a base for the next two weeks and dumped our bags, it's time for lunch (well, technically it's 11:15, but our in-flight breakfast was served at 5:30 and consisted, in my case, of a single rice cracker). We head off with purpose for a Thai place recommended in the guide book, get hopelessly lost and end up eating unexpectedly good sushi from a shopping mall food court. Something tells me that intrepid explorers probably don't take many of their meals in shopping mall food courts; this may have damaged our credentials slightly.

Next up, we decide to meander in the direction of the Botanic Gardens, not least because it's free. (What can I say, I'm a cheapskate.) Sydney's surprisingly green - well, surprising to us, at least -  and our route takes us through an ibis-filled park and a gorgeous shady avenue lined with (I think) fig trees. On that slightly tenuous connection, here's Mike with an entirely different tree:

The Botanic Gardens and the adjoining area known as the Domain are decidedly pictureque - we see not one but two couples having their wedding photos taken. More interestingly, though, I spy what looks like lots of small black plastic bags hanging from the trees, which, on closer inspection, turn out to be several hundred fruit bats:

For some reason I thought bats favoured dark, out of the way places during the day, like caves; clearly I need to brush up on my David Attenborough. We didn't see it at the time, but going through the photos later we discovered a slightly blurry shot of two bats who are either mating, fighting or kissing, depending on how romantically inclined you are:

I also managed to get a quick picture of this little'un just before he flew off - according to the Receptacle of All Knowledge that is Google he's a Noisy Miner; a species which viciously attacks other, larger birds. Either his rather cute and fluffy appearance suggests this one's still a chick, or Noisy Miners are cunning masters of deception. (Mike edit: or Heather's got the type of bird totally wrong.)

Fear not, I'm not going to describe everything we came across in yawn-inducing detail. Here's the quick-fire round, comprising vividly yellow bamboo, intriguing logs and me in what we think was a petrified tree (I hope so, anyway, otherwise it's just me sitting in a rather dirty rock).

The ultimate aim of our jaunt through the Gardens was to reach Mrs Macquarie's Chair, a seat hewn from the rocks which, the guide books all agree, offers one of the finest views of Sydney. Unfortunately 80% of said view is taken up by a stonking great tree, and the remaining 20% isn't particularly inspiring; Mrs Macquarie must have been a woman of undemanding tastes.

Apparently all that nature was a bit too much for Mike, who felt the need to balance it out with some spectacularly unwholesome-looking cupcakes on the way home:

If you look closely enough you can see his reflection in the glass.* For those of you not well-versed in the language of Mike's facial expressions, this one says, "ah, sugar, where have you been for the last three hours of my life?".

* Come to think of it, shouldn't you be able to see my reflection too? Mysterious...