Yamba - Day 12

Yamba holidays have a rhythm which belongs only to the two weeks we spend here in July. The first week is frenetic, full of family events, catch ups, jokes at usually the older brother's expense and the ticking of boxes to make sure we fulfil our expectations of the place, of the event.

The second week is so different. The pace is so slow that rust forms on the pair of us and is only brushed away during periods of sporadic activity. We sleep late, breakfast later, ramble on long walks, linger over coffee or lunch and read books in the afternoon. In between, we even engage in adult parlour games to remind us of our past levels of testosterone and fitness, safe in the knowledge that those aches and pains during and afterward are of no real concern to doctors back home.

The only fixed appointment in this week without diary is sunset at the Pacific Hotel. This week, Sue has used red wine and snacks as the fishing boats go out to work, as an opportunity to tap away on the iPad and gather intel about Paris and London, whilst I have have extinguished Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 and books of poems by CJ Dennis and Cate Kennedy.

It was just so today.

We had lunch at the Bean Scene (this years favourite) and whilst Sue shopped or browsed or did what ever it was she needed to do for three hours among the limited shops of Yamba, I went back to the flat and sank into deep chairs with a book. Billys Thorpe and Bragg provided company as it drizzled rain and the surf beat itself into a larger lather at the end of the street (have you heard Tangiers yet?).

Sue returned with a pair of $4 jeans which will grow into a retail legend to make her sisters cry in the retelling.

We finished at the pub but ate dinner at home.

If you were expecting Tolstoy today, I dare say you are disappointed. It seemed more peace than war to us.