Monday was over almost as soon as it began - at least, that's what it felt like. The weather was glorious, and all I really wanted to do was lie in the sun all day. But instead of that, I did the sensible thing and prepared myself for my next bout of travel adventures (that's right, I did my washing, packing and shopping).

I allowed myself a break for lunch, and I had pasta with my mate Ian on Lygon Street. He was telling me about a very dangerous situation that arose on his oil rig last week. It was quite chilling to think that here we were, chatting in the dappled shade of a pavement terrace, when he so nearly died only six days previous.

In the afternoon I went for a walk around town with Fiona. We stopped for coffee just off Flinders Lane, in one of Melbourne's signature dingy alleyway bars. I am really going to miss this city! I was slightly hysterical while I was with her (yes, more than normal - you should hear some of our inane conversations!); I put this down to an awareness that soon I won't have the pleasure of her company any more.

A few drinks that evening put paid to the hysteria, and ensured that I got to sleep without stressing too much about travel plans near-term and slightly longer-term (only 16 days to go...).

Another week, another state! Hot on the heels of my jaunt in South Australia, after the briefest of r&r breaks in Victoria, I set out for a few days in Tasmania. Jetstar were good enough to fly me from Melbourne to Hobart in a shiny new Airbus with sexy leather seats. It was weird in the airport though: I remember how strange it felt to be there when I was flying to Malaysia in July, and yet now it felt so normal. Just like the old days.

For my few days in Tassie, I decided to hire a car. Nothing's too far from anything here, and by the time I've bought day trips with tour companies I've spent the same amount of money. And I'm so glad I did it! I had quite forgotten how much I enjoy driving, and the roads of Tassie are without exception scenic and blissfully traffic-free.

The Avis chap who sold me the rental deal was frighteningly reminiscent of Bernard's friend Tye in Dunedin! Same colouring, same facial hair, same zany humour. This was the beginning of a sequence of impressions that link Hobart to Dunedin in my head. Another is the fresh tang of sea air all through the city. Melbourne's on the sea as well, but you'd never know it just going by your nose. Here the invigorating salty note is omnipresent.

Tasmania feels similar to NZ altogether. Similar latitudes, similar flora, similar laid-back attitude and friendly people. I like it a lot. Same mix of sunny and rainy weather too. Classic "sunshine & showers", the way England used to be when I was a kid.

So I headed into Hobart, found my accommodation, and then walked into town. It was already raining by this stage, and I had to battle with my umbrella because gusts of wind were coming from all angles. I took shelter in Fish Frenzy, a seafood restaurant on Elizabeth Street Pier, slap bang in the middle of Hobart's waterfront. The portions were immense and tasty.

Then I walked the recommended walking route in Lonely Planet, to give myself a feel for the place. I stopped on Salamanca Square, just behind the lovely Georgian sandstone terraces, for a coffee and that's when it really started to pour. But I couldn't tear myself away from the ever-changing pattern of water pools on my pavement table. I sat huddled under my brolly until the shower had passed and Mt Wellington had emerged from its shroud of cloud.

After nightfall the rain came back, but I didn't let this deter me from driving up Mount Nelson, a small mountain just to the south of the city, to see the city's lights. I was all alone up there, and was fortunate enough to see a bandicoot foraging in the wet grass. And then, driving down again, I saw a long brown animal as it ran across the road in front of me. Not sure what it was.

Later on that evening I made my way to a bar that Claire (a native of Tassie) recommended to me in North Hobart. Sadly, this being a Tuesday night, there was sod all people in the place. I had a chat with the barmaid and then made my way back to the hostel, where I found my dorm had been invaded by six Irish folk and their voluminous luggage - they're at the end of their travels, and next stop is the Emerald Isle.

The next day the weather had changed completely. It was now sunny and pleasantly warm, so I parked up on Salamanca Place and had brekkie in one of its many cafes. Then I set off for Port Arthur, on Tasman Peninsula, the site of one of Australia's most notorious penitentiary camps from the old convict transportation days.

But there was heaps to see on the way there: I stopped at the Tessellated Pavement, a bizarrely geometric natural rock formation at the shore just by Eaglehawk Neck, the thin isthmus that separates the Tasman Peninsula from the mainland. Then I stopped at the isthmus itself to retrace the route of the Line of Dogs, literally a line from one shore to the other 100 metres away, along which were chained 25 ferocious and hungry watchdogs to deter convicts from escape.

On the road to Port Arthur I got a lovely buzz of virtuous self-love when I stopped at a roadside fruit stand and got some delicious raspberries. The virtue? I actually put money in the honesty box; there was no vendor here. And it wasn't half-arsed virtue either: I put in the right amount, so there!

Port Arthur is Tasmania's number one tourist attraction. This made me nervous about over-hype, but in actual fact I was impressed by my visit. There was a pleasant cruise around the Isle of the Dead (the camp's cemetery), and organised walks around the ruins of the camp which took in not only the history of the place but the botany as well: the Camp Commandant and other non-convicts were keen gardeners, and brought out from England many plants & flowers to remind them of home.

On the way back to Hobart I stopped at the Tasmanian Devil Sanctuary, where devils and other injured wildlife are nursed back to health for re-release into the wild. I was lucky enough to arrive just in time for a devil feeding, so I got pretty up close and personal with these cute but deadly creatures (their bite is second only to the crocodile in terms of pressure).

The rest of the drive was, as before, blissfully traffic-free and incredibly scenic. The views out over the dozens of beautiful bays and inlets that dust the coastline was spectacular, and a little nearer Hobart there was the backdrop of mighty Mount Wellington to draw the eye away from the horizontal. Just lovely!