Years ago, I went on a bus trip from Melbourne to Noosa with my grandma. I was 19, it was a diabolical nightmare, and while at 89-years-old she’s had the good fortune to forget every single detail—and even gaslights me each time I mention it as though this is the fanciful delusion I’d choose—I still occasionally wake in a cold sweat remembering the details.

Apropos of nothing somewhere near Port Macquarie, my grandma turned to me and said, ‘We’re not a very affectionate people, the Rosewarnes, are we?’ Not the only zinger from the trip that I remember two decades on—being chastised for not removing my earphones so that I could marvel at the Hawkesbury still feels fresh—but that remark was the journey’s existential standout.