More a chocolate bar than a state of mind.

So I spent a very enjoyable week between Christmas and New Year hanging around in Moore River with Boxer Girl, One-Eye and their gang. Their crew, if you will. It was a lovely and very relaxing week. There was nothing else to do except go to the beach, take the kayaks up the river, lie around in the afternoon reading and then sip delicately upon a beverage or two in the evening. It was all very civilised.

Except for the constant sniping between Boxer Girl and One-Eye, which was the week's entertainment. There was The Incident of the Used Fork Dropped in the Seafood Sauce, and the Strange Case of the Impromptu Perth Cup Sweep Won by One-Eye. I'm saying there was tension in the room. An atmosphere of sorts. Not the same sort of atmosphere as when One-Eye's husband went to the loo and didn't open the back door, but an atmosphere nevertheless.

Luckily the evening always ended with Baileys, and they could never stay mad at each other when there was Baileys in the offing.

On my last day we all trooped off to the beach. I stayed for a swim and a bit of a chat and then wrapped my towel around me, gave everyone a kiss goodbye and was on my way. As I climbed the steps to the car park, I could hear querulous voices behind me. I turned around and called out to the truculent two, "How appropriate that the last thing I hear is you two bickering at each other."

Then I ran, before they both turned on me.

Purchase

On Sunday morning Heidi and I decided that we were too tired to cope with the demands of a dive, so settled for a snorkel instead at Boyinaboat Reef. Heidi wanted to check it out because she thought it would be a good spot for a dive. As we climbed up and down the rocks, them and us baking in the sun, I vowed and declared there'd be no way she'd get me all trussed up and lumbering over the mole in heavy, awkward dive gear. I can feel awkward just walking down the street, thanks.

We jumped in the water and swam out to the reef. We'd only been floating along for about ten minutes when I broke down and almost demanded of Heidi that our next dive be here, on this very spot*. She just smiled. Well, I can never really enjoy a thing unless I create a bit of drama first. And my resolve only wavered slightly as we exited the water, when the swell had picked up and getting a toehold on the rocks was a bit tricky.

Afterwards we had eggs. Nothing beats eggs. Not even scissors.

I could live on just eggs all the time. With maybe some lime to keep the scurvy at bay.

And a ship's biscuit.



*By 'this very spot' I mean Boyinaboat Reef. Not here in my office where I'm composing this blog. While the visibility would be good, when I'm in it conditions can rarely be described as calm.

The Shoe Fits

Although I wasn't feeling particularly sociable, I agreed to meet Lost in Translation at the beach this arvo. I'm so glad I went; it was a blissful afternoon. We lolled on a blanket and chatted until the sun had set behind the clouds which emerged at the very end of the day.


Occasionally I got up and played with LiT's daughter, who wanted to build a sandcastle but then decided it should be a birthday cake. LiT marvelled at the way the floodlights lit the beach up like daytime. LiT loves being in Perth and I do too, so it's good to hang around with someone who isn't whinging all the time that Perth should be more like Melbourne (except, you know, with our beaches and open spaces and weather...).

After the sun was completely gone and things were feeling a little chilly, we ducked across the road for fish and chips.


LiT's little girl disappeared inside the shop and we found her behind the counter, charming the two men who worked there. They wanted to send her home with a whole barrel full of Chupa Chups, but LiT politely declined on her behalf. They didn't seem all that keen on my suggestion that I take them off their hands instead. Maybe I need to start wearing more clothes from Pumpkin Patch.

She threatened to drown me!

k. and I were lying on our towels on the beach, soaking up the sun after a swim. We were chatting about how she and d. could be back off to Africa at any time.

"So you'd better make the most of me while you've got me, baby!" she said.

What I meant to say: Yea verily, there is much truth in what you say. It also reminds me that QEII now lives in Melbourne, New Girl and Man Hands might flee these shores at any time, Heidi will eventually move back at Sydney, and frankly The Antiquer's company waxes and wanes: sometimes I see him all the time, sometimes never. There are still the shining lights of, for example, Boxer Girl and Scarab, but a girl should never become complacent and since chums are important to me, I should always look for opportunities to expand my circle of intimates.

What I said: Yeah. You know, I really need to get some new friends.

How IS the serenity?

Aaaaaah, just back from my dive with the marvellous Heidi. We took a dive along Robb's Jetty and it was bliss. Swimming past the stumps of the old jetty as the sun sunk lower in the sky somewhere above us was like walking through an abandoned sculpture garden. The shapes mysterious and silent, covered in all manner of brightly-coloured plant life and bird-like fish darting and hovering everywhere. Only it was better, because when the bird-fish floated off, we weren't earth-bound, we could float off after them.

Thanks, Heidi. That was brill.

Hot Lave

We had a swim at the beach. I stupidly forgot my bathers and had to go in the water fully clothed. Going in in just my underwear would have violated the hospitality I'd been shown. I try to be considerate of others - particularly when it comes to preserving my dignity.

The day was still and muggy, and the water was cold and clear and refreshing.

"Well, that's my shower taken care of," said BG's friend as we floated on the swell.

"Not to mention my laundry," I added.

Distraction

I met Boxer Girl and a friend of hers at the beach - BG was walking her dog and we were walking with her. It seems the patrons of the northern dog beaches aren't as civic-minded as those who use the southern beaches. We had to dodge a few bullets as we strolled along. Boxer Girl told us that there is a woman who comes along the beach and picks up the dog poo that gets left behind. I was filled with admiration for this fine citizen. I reflected with some shame on the fact that I contribute so little to the community in which I live. Later she pointed out the sainted woman walking on the beach but by then we were so engrossed in hearing about a juicy argument BG had had with someone at work on Friday that we really didn't pay that much attention. But I'm sure she's a very nice person.

Bliss

An early morning walk on the beach with horses galloping past. Then it gets light enough to pick out (and pick up) the new pieces of glass that have washed up on the shore. The dog walkers are out and are a mostly cheery bunch. At home I make a fruit smoothie and get the combo of flavours just right. I drink it while driving to work and don't even spill any on myself.

Life is good.

And it's not even Easter!

This morning on the beach k. pointed out an elderly gent lying on a towel, surrounded by a group of women in bathers.

"Who does he think he is? Hugh Hefner?"

And chocolate balls?

I'm feeling all gloriously hot & salty because Heidi and I have just been for a dive. My first dive in five years! But luckily Heidi is a dive master and she held my hand - not just metaphorically - through the whole thing.

Then, afterwards, we went book shopping! Walking through Freo bare foot like a couple of hippies*. Really, it doesn't get much better than that.

["Right," says New Girl, "I'm not standing for this. Sign me up for a PADI course now." Steady, old thing. There's plenty of book lovin' to go around.]



*Heidi is a hippie; a groovy hippie. I have hipness and grooviness by association. In my mind, anyway.

Like Popeye to Spinach

k. convinced me to come down to the beach for a late afternoon swim. I nearly declined on the grounds that I wanted to clean my bathroom. But then I decided I quite liked the tickly sensation as those fungus spores travelled down my throat.

"I'm smashed," k. told me on the phone. Because she's been dealing with so much lately, including what looks like a recurrence of malaria, I just assumed she meant that she was plum worn out.

When I got down to her house and saw her I said, "When you told me you were smashed, you meant that you were pissed, didn't you?" [In her defence, they'd had a delicious lunch and it did go well with the chicken.]

d. had done what any sensible person faced with such a domestic situation would do: he'd gone to bed. Also? He was plum worn out.

So k., t. and I trundled down to the beach. After a swim I lay on my towel for a few quiet moments of peaceful introspection while k. and t. built castles and moats a little further along the beach. I felt light droplets of something spray across my back and legs. I felt around: k. had flicked sand all over me. I gave her a look. She seemed amused.

I decided the easiest thing to do was to turn around and snooze on. I know, I know. It was very irresponsible of me. There I was at the beach with two children and giving them no supervision whatsoever.

Changeable

On our walk this morning k. gave me a half-hug.

"Sorry, that's the best hug I can manage."

"No, thank you. That was very nice. Anyway, I wouldn't have expected anymore: what with your shortness and you're walking on a lower part of the sand."

"Excuse me, it's not my shortness! It's your tallness! Here, swap places with me."

"Why?"

"Much easier to kick you into the water that way."

It's Puberty Blues All Over Again

k. and I were walking along the beach this morning and I was telling her about a group of ghastly girls in my course who are alienating everyone. Although, as k. and I agreed, they make good teacher practice as they sit up the back of the class and whisper and giggle and comment on anyone who says anything. Yes, you really do have to wonder.

So we meandered along the beach picking up all manner of glass and shells that were washed up by the wind and the tide yesterday. I told k. that I'd been at the doctor's yesterday.

"Oh, what for?"

"Just to see about a couple of moles on my back."

"Haze, the doc can't do anything about those girls at uni."

He Never Stole Christmas

Grumpy, bless his cranky little heart, is really pleased that I've got this year away from work to do other things. He is truly happy for me. But I think sometimes the happiness is a little strained.

Like yesterday, for example, when I rang him in the middle of a hot day to tell him what a great snorkel I'd just had at Mettam's Pool.

It wasn't that he wasn't happy for me, I think it was just that I was so happy for myself.

Sea Glass

I love that it's called sea glass. Like some treasure washed up from deep in the oceans' trenches. I love that you go into a daggy little tourist shop and there they are, selling it in nylon net bags*. Someone else's litter is a delightful way to remember your holiday!

I'm glad the sea offers it back to us, gives us a chance to redeem ourselves.



*Yes, I know that stuff is usually "fake" - not authentic sea glass! - but I think you get my point. Come on, you do, don't you?

She gave him some nice stuff for Christmas, though.

Like many full-time mums, k. has been known on occasion to get a little sick and tired of her offspring.

"Take it outside and bury it," was one instruction I heard her give to d. regarding their small boy.

Today on the phone she was relating to me an imaginary conversation with her son in which, in answer to his constant asking of "why, why, why", she told him, "Because I don't like you."

Then she said, "Oh, I am a bad mother. And by that I mean in a nurturing sense, not that I'm riding a Harley and wearing a bandanna on my head."

But this morning it was quite cool on the beach and k. did come down wearing a jacket with a hood covering her head. So, you know, she could mean it both ways.

My Eyes Have Seen You

k. and I were walking on the beach. A wind was blowing, the sort that Bloody Ern would have called a howling easterly. It made the water nice and flat and kept the flies at bay. What I'm saying is, it was a strong wind but it did its job.

The past couple of days I've picked up some bits of glass, nicely worn by the water and the sand. As we walked along this morning in the half light I grabbed at a piece of glass, light green mottled with some darker patches. I felt with my fingers around the edge of it: the corners were sharpish but the overall surface felt...well...soft, even squishy. Odd, I thought, trying to figure it out.

k. looked slightly exasperated, "Haze, it's watermelon rind."

----------------------------------------

Not long after this we were chatting away when k. began a story with, "I was telling my friend about you last night..."

Now, I don't know about you, maybe you're made of sterner stuff, but frankly I was affronted by the way that was put. I was ticked off, if you will. I told k. this. She just looked at me like she was going to push me into the ocean.

Then she got distracted by a grass ball floating on the water, which she thought were the feelers of a crayfish just surfacing to offer itself up for breakfast.

Suddenly my watermelon rind wasn't looking quite so hopeless.

We Care A Lot

This is for K & D, pining for home.

In Other News

(1) Grumpy and I finally got out for dinner to celebrate the anniversary. "It's not that we forgot," says Grumpy, "it's just that we don't care." We even got to drink a bottle of fancy champagne. Then we went home and I went to bed while Grumpy sat up and watched Rage. Crazy times, my friends. Crazy, crazy times.

(2) Bloody Ern's back was playing up after a day tilling the soil at the Ponderosa, so I tootled down there to help Bezley put up some Ikea shelves. Ern stood over us in his sarong - mercy! - to supervise proceedings. There was an increasingly hysterical pitch in his voice as he pointed out all the things we were doing wrong. Luckily, there was a disturbance outside and Bezley managed to distract him by suggesting it might be a bit of wildlife he'd like to shoot.

(3) We had a lovely evening out at a jazz show at Araluen with our friends K. & D. They stopped at our place afterwards for a night cap. At some point we got into a very disturbing discussion about whether Harry Chapin had ever sung 'American Pie'. K. was most insistent. Books were consulted. We even fired up the internet. Is this how people should be spending a Saturday night?

(4) Even more disturbing, Grumpy and I found ourselves on Sunday night glued to My Restaurant Rules. We have decided we're addicted to this show. We only decided this after realising how anxious we were at the introduction of Nathan & Georgia, who are going to take over a restaurant after the current 'owners' are eliminated! Well, they can just bloody well back off from The Mint Leaf in Freo. Then on Monday night we watched some of Today Tonight because they had a story on how The Mint Leaf wasn't being given enough air time. We agreed it was all just a beat up and advertising for the show but also, schyeah, how obvious is it that there is SUCH a bias against them???

(5) On Monday afternoon we had a swim at the beach. Isn't it great that it's March and we can still swim?? Great for us, that is.

The Dunes of the Cape

On Sunday Grumpy and I went for a little drive up the coast, just to enjoy the fresh sea breeze and the view. Also, I got to have a Mr Whippy! A strawberry nut sundae - my favourite.

Anyway, just north of Mullaloo, there are two fantastic houses overlooking the beach. The first is a mansion done in finest mock Tudor style. Nothing says seaside livin' like mock Tudor.

The other house Grumpy loves to call the 'maldicion you'* house. The second storey has a long thin verandah jutting out from the front of it, and it is home to a swimming pool - a swimming pool in the air! Of course, we don't know the owners and just hanging round out the front panting with admiration and envy isn't going to get us an invite indoors - and, more pertinently, upstairs and outdoors - but I'll bet that when you're lolling about in the pale blue water and you look westward, you don't see the road, and possibly not even the beach teeming with the great unwashed, all you see is the Indian Ocean rolling away to the horizon. What indulgence. And later you won't be futilely rinsing sand out of all the cracks.


*You think he actually says 'maldicion you'? You dumb maldicioner.