Well, I hope you had yourself a merry little Christmas. In a clear sign of ageing gracefully I was pleased to unpack a new, lightweight, bagless, cordless vacuum cleaner and a brand new thermos flask in pastel hues. I think part of the joy was in unpacking something rather than packing it up. Other festive highlights included a love-hate relationship with a ham (I’m so over you) and sitting in the dark in the middle of the day. I haven’t felt so hot since being in, um, England.

So it seems I’m at the point where vacuum cleaners are exciting, too much heat is wearisome and I find ample satisfaction in ambling around the NSW town of Tumut. It was noticeable how many times I was asked Why Tumut?, including from the Airbnb host making money from people actually staying in the town of Tumut. But it’s just nice. Cute and a little cosy, I could live here in something actually affordable. There is a decent café and a Woollies and an awful McDonalds all out of Caramilk McFlurries but most of all there is the river swishing fulsome through leafy parkland and cow-filled meadows.

The Tumut River joins the Murrumbidgee River which joins the Murray River, feeding gigalitres of water downstream during the La Niña spring. For once there is almost too much water, and too much Dorothea Mackellar, espoused by the usual suspects to justify this as normal. Even my pretty little Tumut is not immune.

Feeding into the Tumut River, the Goobarragandra shows signs of flood in its flattened banks and weedy debris. It’s been a lovely drive through luscious countryside to Thomas Boyd Campsite and a trailhead for the Hume and Hovell. I walk a little of the track, barely decipherable through tall, snake-infested grass. It’s okay but nothing to write poetry about.

I pause for coffee (in an old flask) and a Macadamia slice purchased from Gundagai bakery. And decide the best means to perk things up – and fulfil the clichés of middle age – is to hop on the bike.

Flat and sun-kissed, the going is joyous as the road nears the banks of the river, seemingly wilder and more dramatic than it was around the campground. Grassy plains yield to undulating meadows, the shadows from cotton wool clouds projecting onto higher, bush cloaked peaks.

All too soon the river meanders away from the road and those undulations kick in. I climb one and decide that will be enough. And dream of Christmas futures when I can unpack an e-bike.

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Is another sign of getting old waking up with the kookaburras? I certainly have evidence to support this theory but then there are also those outliers. Or inliers, so to speak.

In truth the Christmas break has produced some relative lie ins, but this has been countered by a desire to get out early before the furnace is at full force. So there have been a few mornings where instead of sedately lying in bed listening to Radio National and sipping tea I have hopped and skipped out into the bush.

I entered Namadgi National Park around seven and was surprised to find a number of cars at the visitor centre. I suspect they had smartly set out for Mount Tennent while it was still cool and fresh. I wasn’t going to join them, instead heading further south to a rendezvous with a creek.

I do believe the Rendezvous Creek walk is one of the few marked trails in Namadgi I have never set foot on before. And with relatively low expectations (I find that can be the best approach here) I discovered utter delight. At first shady and fragrant, the trail opens out into a hills are alive style valley. The only sound being the rustle of grass in the breeze, the trickle of water, and the buzz of the great Australian blowfly.

Who needs touchscreens and Twitter and endless ham and Michael Buble schmaltz and David Warner tons and lightweight vacuum cleaners and Caramilk McFlurries when you can simply be blessed with the vastness of nature, the blueness of the sky and the buzz of a fly? But allow me one modern day indulgence. Make that two. A brand new pastel flask filled with tea and a Walkers shortbread mince pie. Well, it is Christmas after all.