Yamba Day 2 - 2013

I will not eat soft cheese. I will not eat soft cheese. I will not eat soft cheese.

The first coffee moments

I'm looking up and to the left, hoping for an neurological imprint to prevent me from having further hostilities with a small, gooey substance which holds a contemptible, unrequited love for me. Up in the night, paracetamol fixed my stair-weary legs but my stomach and nose ran a conga line of discomfort whose origin lay on biscuit six hours earlier.

I'm moaning this morning and allowing Paul McCartney to whisper words of wisdom ... let it brie, let it brie ...

It rained yesterday, more off than on. This morning has reversed that trend and the palm trees are swaying under the onslaught. After nineteen consecutive winters here, you learn to accept the weather as part of the experience. Whilst some will give you dissertations over coffee about the inappropriateness of horizontal rain and blusters of wind, I remain weirdly fascinated when nature misbehaves. It has never bowed to the urging of others who wish to quantify and control: to blandify its desires. No white pills for this babe, nature. I can dig that. Watch it. Write down what it does. Note it for history but don't whine about it.

We stocked the larder, stopping at the fisherman's co-op so Sue could grab her feed of prawns, even if a day late. Across the road was "the murder house", named by Chris many years ago. We had passed the house as we left Yamba one year and three police cars were parked outside and uniformed officers were climbing fences and knocking on doors. I told the children as we reached Glen Innes that I had heard on the radio a double murder had been committed there that morning, a creative licence taken to occupy them on a long trip and it kept them talking all the way back to Tambar Springs. Ever since, its been "the murder house" in our family.

The ancestral Gibbens home somehow ignores time and still stands in its glorious fibre-asbestos glory on the corner of Freeman St. Two bedrooms and John and Joy and five kids to fit. Your maths is as good as mine. With development everywhere in Yamba, this double block defiance opposite the Yamba Mariner, with its matchstick house and lung cancer cladding, is remarkable. A symbol, perhaps, of their former inhabitants endurance.

Sue's sister Rose arrived yesterday from Brisbane and Flick and John left on the long road back to Melbourne. Just like Ronny Corbett, our time with them was too short. Rose arrived in a whirlwind of stories and breathless anticipation of time with family, arriving at our digs with red wine to share.

Our day was one of chores and encounters and the evening devolved, as usual, into the assembled family group, yarns and catch ups. Some had new girlfriends to display, others fresh twists to old news which revived understanding in ways the listeners had not guessed at in their pick-a-path beginnings, despite being there. Sue, as is often the case, was the most revealing. I have often said she is a shocker and just as often, have been misunderstood.

I profess to enjoying watching the Gibbens girls laugh. I can see the best of their Mum on their faces as their eyes squint, sometimes watering and everywhere on them, about them, the humour of the situation is unmistakeable. Hands bang down on thighs or table, reaching to touch shoulders or forearms as they seek permission to interrupt the laughter with a fresh addition, an anecdotal addendum which sends them off to a new set of hysterics. All this achieved without the "noice" sister to stoke the fires.

Small things about this group I guess but reportable, non the less.

Yamba 2013 - Day 1

Fish & chips for dinner

At times, Sue's incapacity can be awkward. Walking around with a time bomb ready to detonate between L4 and L5 is no easy task. Once carefree and willing to try anything, she lives with the danger of picking up shoes. Not a person easily given to limitation, any constriction is an irritant. Add a heavy cold and rain and her favourite place - yes, even more favoured than a certain European destination - and you have a frustrated wild child, fighting pointlessly with valour toward no end.

Then there's the little piece-picker-upper that is me.

Journeys represent significant workloads when your partner in time can't do much but sit there and look cute. You pack it all up, turn it all off, lock it all down ... drive for six hours with long breaks to allow for rest and recovery ... and then you do the reverse at the other end ... only to discover its raining and you have now caught the edges of the cold she has been snotting, coughing and wheezing up all week ...

... but it's not home, the ocean is out there through the fog somewhere and if you have a second, runaway home, this is it.

We were later than desired leaving Tamworth for a variety of technical reasons and weren't disappearing up the Cockburn River Valley towards Moonbi until most of the morning was spent. The rain which had arrived during the previous evening latched a towing rope to the Forester and tagged along with us for most the journey. A long stop at the roadhouse at Guyra for lunch and frivolous chatting was our first stop. We left well fed and laughing.

Everywhere on the tablelands was wet and cold and miserable. Sue had talked about work for most of the moments of the first leg of the journey to Guyra, so I set the iPod to classic rock and drowned out the background hum, eventually beating difficult personalities, inadequacies in the funding system and the heartbreak of children no one cares for ... etc ... into submission under a 4/4 beat. Deep Purple and Grand Funk Railroad finally put our holiday on the road.

The fog thickened as we headed north west and a departure point from the tablelands at Gibraltar Range NP. In late afternoon light muted by constant rain and fog, the giant ferns took on a deep green glow as the most obvious vanguards of might have been an advancing nature. The road seemed narrower today. Over the leap and down the mountain pass, the road sides closed in dramatically, with two landslides reducing us to a single lane and turn-taking with approaching mountain climbers. On the eastern side of the range, the cloud thinned to sunshine and the fog was frightened away by the warmer coastal air.

Our pace quickened as we met and travelled with the Mann River. Its odd topography makes it appear to be flowing uphill. Its other unusual trait, is being the same river you drive beside when you make the descent of the tablelands along the Old Grafton Road.

The rest of the trip was quick but we sill arrived after sunset. Having rented the same flat for nine years, there's always a comfort in opening the door.

The evening was spent in the company of family in the unit owned by Sue's brother Lance. It's always good to catch up by being in the same room. Despite smart phone, emails and social media keeping us "closer" than in the dark ages of my early adulthood, sitting across the table from an anecdote still rates as the superior experience. For Sue and I, spending some time with nephew John and niece Flick, was the most treasured of these few hours. Strong and independent and both studying law, their sharp minds and courageous spirit is a recommendation for the mother they lost in brutal suddenness only two months ago. As the crazy uncle, I play no favourites but I really enjoy their company. A light shines from both of them.

Bed ... rain ... the sound of an ocean angry that it's not permitted to sparkle ... and a warm doona.

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.

Yamba - Day 10

Lots of walking today. We travelled 6kms in all, with our first decent walk of the holiday which took in Lovers Point and Pippi Beach in the morning and then town in the afternoon.

Coffee and shopping in town, Sue had her ears pierced for the third time on Yamba holidays but all through the same spot on her ear lobes. She has just never managed to maintain the anchor point very well or worn the wrong ear rings and infection and laziness has caused the site to repair. Don't understand the whole/hole puncturing thing but to each their own. Sue also grabbed groceries whilst I just wandered, grazing on retail until finding myself, inevitably, in the bookshop. An illustrated history of Led Zeppelin seemed so reasonable and lonely that it will return with me to Tamworth.

In between walks we had home made bread rolls for lunch, stuffed with salad.

Pacific Hotel at sunset and a longer than usual stay. We met an interesting couple - Celestine and Bill - who opened the conversation by commenting on my Hawaiian shirts, a ploy which made them immediately interested. Bill is a retired TAFE teacher - among other things - and Celestine (spelling?) a Careers Advisor in high school education. Of course, these are just their jobs, rarely a definition of the person. How often do we meet people and ask them their job in order to box them into a stereotype? What a totally useless line of enquiry. I had a longish chat with Celestine as she was within a year of my age and had grown up in The Shire. There was much to be compared.

I took this willingness to engage as a sign the dark clouds had passed.

Early night after watching Jack Lemmon and Sandy Dennis in "The Outoftowners", a very funny Neil Simon story of a couple who travel to New York for his job interview. He's a left-mode, super organised, list following man whose world falls apart when planes run late, hotels give his room to someone else, transport systems are on strike and he is twice robbed. They sleep in Central Park, steal food from a dog for breakfast and are skyjacked on the way home. Just the tonic for us who leave Australia to be at the hands of others in four weeks!

Yamba - Day 8

This is all I can show
without getting  intellectual

After greeting and then farewelling the passing parade of family who were departing Yamba during the morning, the afternoon was spent on another road trip as Sue is yet to return to pedestrian speed yet.

Before lunch, we drove to Gulmarrad Public School, the setting for the Lower Clarence Arts and Craft Exhibition. In previous years I have submitted entries in the photographic section but I have cut back on such endeavours this year. The place was alive with little old ladies protecting their intellectual ownership from mean middle aged men who night rob them of their property with a camera. I had no intention of taking shots of the artwork or the photography but was somewhat surprised when one old dear turned storm trouper and all but frog-matched me from the grounds for being rude enough to snap her friend at a spinning wheel and catch her in the background. She insisted I should have asked and when I erased the picture and asked after the event, I was given a resounding no as she stood up to her full height of 4'11" and strutted across the room to brag about her efforts to a friend. The spinner, meanwhile, said she'd be more than happy for me to take another photo and that "Agnes sometimes goes off like that". By then, I'd lost interest and declined the invitation.

At the fine art room - and some of it was fine art - I had the camera slung behind my back ... holstered as it were ... but before more than a word could be spoken, Katharine, the border guard on duty in fine art, said she remembered me from last time, knew my name and my reputation and forbid me from taking any photos. This was all news to me, as I was fairly convinced I had never previously met Katharine. Perhaps, like a regular throng of others, she thought I was Rolf Harris and the bastard ply-board flogger had been giving me a bad name by stealing the intellectual property of crafty old ladies across the length and breadth of the Lower Clarence. More likely, dementia is now a membership requirement of the LCACA.

The quilts were impressive.

Earlier, as we arrived, smithies were demonstrating the forging and manipulation of hot iron into many useful and remarkably cheap tools. They posed for photos, clearly in a state of intellectual abandonment.

We continued out along the road to the small village of Brooms Head, a postage stamp which clings to the coast mainly because of the caravan park which occupies a two level line along the water's edge. The elevated lookout is on top of the head itself and provided stunning views. In little more than a month, the coast view we'll be taking in will be in southern France. Its still disturbing our minds.

Late, late afternoon

Heading north west, we were off with the ferries for lunch, eating late at the Ferry Park Gallery at the southern turn off to Maclean from the Pacific Highway. The food was delicious but over-priced. As usual, the gallery had a wide collection of art and crafts for sale from local artisans. My favourites were a wood carved stork bent drinking in perfect arc from feet to bill and a companion piece, a fairy wren.

We returned to Yamba via the shopping centre on the outskirts of town and then left the car at the flat and walked up to the Pacific Hotel for the sunset. On the way, I snapped a pretty rainbow over the ocean. I was on solid ground. With showers sweeping across the watery landscape, the ocean was in a variety of moods from bright sunshine to grey-out conditions. It was as stunning as it was yet again different.

Quiet night in tonight.

Yamba - Day 7

Almost to the halfway mark of the holiday and rain threatened for the first time today.

With Sue feeling better every sunrise, we made our way to Pippis for breakfast. Delicious Bircher Muesli for me and eggs, bacon and mushrooms for Sue.

It was Mandy, Joel and the kids last day on a shortened tour of duty for them this year, so with Rose in tow, we undertook a car convoy to revisit starting points and explain some of them to Jack and Ava, the youngest Gibbens. Driving inland through Maclean, we crossed the bridge across the south arm of the Clarence and onto the largest riverine island in Australia, Woodford Island. Skirting down the western side of the island, out trip took us across the Lawrence vehicular ferry and the north arm of the Clarence. The crossing created a deal of excitement in the youngsters.

Lawrence lies on the other side of the ferry ride and it was a few hundred metres to the tavern. There was a chilly wind blowing from the south so we ordered lunches and ate inside. The only bar has an interesting attraction: hanging above and behind the bar on a high wall stretching up to an extended ceiling, must have been a hundred hats. Most were battered and beaten, first into shape and then into history. The vast majority were broad brimmed Aussie work hats made from pelt, leather, canvas and other tough materials. There were a few caps, a hard hat and the odd variation but mostly they had been the shade structure of honest, Aussie bushmen. The selection hanging to the right had been grabbed when left on or in the bar but it was the mob on the left which hung with poignancy for their owners could not longer claim them and sat up n the wall as a permanent reminder of mates lost but not forgotten.

After lunch, we crossed the Clarence again and a few kms after retracing our steps towards Maclean, turned off on the Roberts Creek Rd and headed to the heart of the island. The road follows Roberts Creek, which is not as it seems. After weeks of generous rain, "Roberts Creek" is a series of deepening puddles in depressions which will join only in times of flood. The "creek" flows at no other time. Towards the end of Roberts Creek Rd, we turn down a single vehicle dirt road which enjoys the traffic of tractors and farm machinery more than it does cars. It was along this narrow road, Gibbens Lane, that Rose, Mandy and Sue once travelled to and from the family farm which fronted the lane about half way along its length. They travelled it again today, with a more family tread than previous times in the adult lives, to stand outside the fence line and imagine the house on brick piers which were never high enough to keep snakes from floating in the house during a flood. I was told again where the dairy used to stand and anecdotes which were subsets of that fact. I love going back there even though my eyes can only see the farm buildings and five bare foot kids, their burdened mother and the straight back and honest sweat of their father through their recounts. Its more than enough.

Leaving Gibbens Lane, we made brief stops at the site of what had been the South Arm School and the remains of their house, modified and moved from the flood prone flats, up to Red Hill. We followed the road along the South Arm and soon found ourself back at the McFarlane Bridge which joins Maclean to Woodford Island. Afternoon tea was a combination of milkshakes, coffees, babychinos and red spiders, in a cafe in Maclean.

The return journey was marked by rain as we drove into Yamba.

In the evening, we had a meal out at Sol's Cantina, making the Sydney mob's departure in the morning. It was noisy and I don't do noisy very well but the food was fair and the company I could hear was good.

Yamba - Day 6

Gumby and Co

Sue woke improved after the application of antibiotics and lots of sleep, so after breakfast and some balcony sunshine, was able to walk the short distance to Pippi's - our close and handy cafe/restaurant - where we met up with Rose. We discussed our businesses, past lives, present successes and future directions.

Rose returned with us to the flat when Sue's health licence expired and Mandy and daughter Ava joined us soon after for a late morning modelling class but nothing Miranda Kerr would ever have taken part in. This was plasticine "in the round", with all but me taking part in the shaping of best examples of the art and the display of same on the central table. Pride soon turned to panic as the colourful creations of furtive imaginations soon imitated the Wicked Witch of the West and could be heard screaming "I'm melting, I'm melting" as the hot winter sun slacked their spines and puddled the aspirations of creator and creation.

Rose was good enough to be Susie Sitter Sister whilst I walked into town to post the box of shells Ava and I had collected for my daughter Sarah. A Yamba shell held in the pocket can fix many a problem and ward of even the most persistent demons, so we sent her a box of them because placed in a bag, they could play merry hell with a demon's face.

Encouraged by the the Wobbly One, I had lunch in town - a bacon and egg roll and a bowl of fruit salad and yogurt washed down with tea - and then walked home. They were both asleep in the same position I left them, although they assured me they had absented themselves from the bed to devour lunch. I'm not sure I'm that gullible.

Sue and I are great walkers, especially on holidays and by now, had this been a "normal" Yamba, we would already have thirty kms up for the week but as Sue's head had wanted to walk in circles, then smaller circles  and then not at all, we have been missing our long walks, geography lessons and hands held to bind us to this life we have made ...

... so, in an effort to make amends, we went for a drive instead. On Pacific Parade, which runs behind Pippi Beach, I got some spectacular snaps of three guys riding para-boards ... surfboards with wind sail kites attached. The waves were choppy and the wind gusty so their manoeuvres were pretty exciting. As I was taking photos, the wind blew my cap off. After finishing, it looked like I had lost my cap because I couldn't see it anywhere until an nice old lady pointed out it was at my feet. Doh!

Next stop was Main Beach, scene of many of Sue's greatest Yamba achievements, many of them involving boys not buoys.

Lone surfer

At Turners Beach, I got some good snaps. One in particular, of an older surfer sitting with his board on the sand watching the waves and readying himself to go out, was a goodie. Seagulls and rocks and trees also become subjects. From there, we went to the Yamba Wharf which reminded me to make a booking for the Jazz Cruise on Sunday. We went last year and had a ball listening and dancing to a five piece, and enjoying a cheese platter and a few bottles of red. A very pleasant way to spend four hours on the Clarence.

Further west, we drove down Carrs Rd to Oyster Channel. Our children will remember this as the place where I bogged the Nissan Patrol and their mother instructed them in the merits of discretion being ultimately the far superior part valour. I dropped it to the back axil in mud and water, ruined a pair of joggers suck-stepping around the car to inspect what the fool driving had caused and then coloured the day with language unbecoming. These were back in my days of being a turd. We eventually got out thanks to luck, although at the time I talked up my skill to an appreciative but hardly gullible audience. Home was home no matter what pretence it took to get you there. There were no such dramas today - the track is blocked by large boulders, not just the "do not enter" signs which were there previously. It looked a quiet place to sit and read ... as long as no Nissan Patrols turned up.

It was late in the afternoon, so we drove back into Yamba and had coffee as the staff packed up around us at Caperberry's, before I returned Sue back to the flat, no worse for wear. I went out to the Plaza to hunt and gather, with Dylan and then John Mayer blasting in the white ear pieces whist people smiled at me dancing up aisle three amongst the pasta sauces. Don't talk to me about surrealism Salvador.

Buritos for dinner and then out to Lance's place for the evening and a chance to catch up with nephew John - Lance and ex-wife Jenny's son. He's taller and still has an easy smile and is always pleasant to spend time with. It was a nice night. Sue felt well enough to give her brother heaps but then, she'd need to be in a box not to do that. She lasted to ten o'clock and then, apparently concerned I would turn back into a house mouse and the Forester into a pumpkin, she yawned instructions to be taken home.

I squeaked agreement and took her arm for the dangerous passage down stairs, upstairs and into bed.

Tired now, I'll clean my whiskers and dream of cheese.

Yamba - Day 5

It might seem to readers of "Travels With Pete & Sue" that reporting on our time at Yamba is like recounting paradise. Today was a day which redressed that.

Sue has been feeling increasingly light headed for the past week. Since we arrived at Yamba, each day has been a little worse. At times, she has had to sit and wait it out but by last night, it was becoming chronic. This morning, things were worse again and nausea was now added to the mix. With things clearly deteriorating and in the light of other events planned for the day, I sought a doctor's appointment for her, believing the problem was a middle ear infection which was a secondary development from the bronchitis and sinus infection which had floored her two weeks earlier.

Finding a doctor proved problematic ... well, not so much finding one but getting past their receptionists. The first told me that her man was a locum and therefore didn't take appointments (what?) and the second reported that her man was only working half a day tomorrow but I could ring at 8:00am and compete with others for an appointment. I needed to be prepared for the fact that appointments were set aside for locals.

Frustrated, I resorted to taking Sue to outpatients at Maclean Hospital. They were unhappy that the doctors in Yamba were more hypocrite than Hippocratic but never the less did their very best. The hospital has relatively new facilities - very few scuff marks on the walls or door jams from wheel chairs and trolleys - and looked well resourced  in everything but doctors. The one doctor on duty was dealing with five patients inside the ER and five outside and it was remarkable we were able to leave inside two hours. The diagnosis was in concord with Dr Langston and Sue left with strong antibiotics and stimitil for the nausea.

Gibbens and Thomas clans

Despite feeling like an end-stage drunk but with more money in her pocket, Sue insisted on fulfilling a commitment to a family reunion which she had organised with Brian Thomas, the youngest of three cousins Sue and her siblings had grown up with on the Lower Clarence. Brian had bumped into us several times at Yamba and after apologising profusely, the pair of them hatched a plan for a lunch at the Pacific Hotel during which the families could get together. The common link was Brian's dad - David - being the brother of Sue's mother - Joy. Brian's sisters, Anne and Karen, were both there, as well as their parents, David and Marcia. It was all very friendly and pleasant, chatting and eating in the glass protected sunshine of the dining room and a group photograph was produced at the end as well as plans for future meetings. Karen, for instance, comes to Tamworth most years for horse events so Sue issued an invitation to stay with us.

All of this happened in the context of Sue feeling dreadful and deteriorating so we didn't stay anywhere near as long as either of us would have liked and instead made our apologies. By the time I got Sue home, she collapsed on the bed, a victim of her middle ear and the stimitil, which not only settles the stomach but also induces sleep. She slept the afternoon away

It was the intention that we host the Gibbens mob during the evening but this was also abandoned and instead I made Sue pasta with a tomato based sauce. She took her medication, ate half of the meal and went back to sleep. I watched the deciding State of Origin game, by myself, with the volume reduced to virtual silence. I missed my sons enthusiasm and noise. It had all the appeal of eating soggy cardboard and pretending it was mudcake. In between tries, I visited Sue by stealth to assure myself she was okay. In the end, I stayed sitting beside her for so long, just watching her breath and wishing my super powers included making troubles absent themselves from the ones I love, that I missed Cronk's field goal. I met the news with an appropriate shrug. There are somethings more important than football.

One day, I might say the same of cricket ... but that day seems a fair way off yet.

Better luck tomorrow ... maybe.

Yamba - Day 4

Sunset behind, moonrise ahead

The morning started with the obligatory breakfast on the balcony and sometime mid morning Sue wandered to the beach whilst I finished drafting a new poem. Timing my run, I joined her with coffee before she had her dose of the white water. She can no longer body surf or go much beyond waist level owing to the power of the water and the twists and contortions it might place upon her lower back, so she allows the low waves to wash past her instead. Its a poor substitute for a beach babe but better than being land locked.

While she watched Mandy boogey board, Mandy's daughter Ava and I gathered shells along the beach for Sarah. Many were broken, pulverised by the storm surged waves and high tides which have removed the sand from Main Beach and have largely replaced it with smooth rocks up to fist size. Despite this, we managed to find shells of differing shapes and colours and quantities to make a reasonable collection. Ava lovingly washed and sorted them and stored them in a bag for me to take to the post office. What a sweetie.

Back to the balcony for lunch.

Sue and I went for a walk into the village during the afternoon and coffee at one of the haunts. I was left soon after, Sue and Mandy having most important business to attend to which included wax and dye and eyebrows. Some mysteries are best left ravelled.

I wandered the shops, stopping several times to chat with proprietors. The most enjoyable of these chats was with Nicole at Corindelo Arts & Crafts. Her and her husband were originally from Toowoomba, where they operated a locksmiths business but both had a desire for another life, in another place. Nicole is an artist who has ventured into wheel thrown pottery in the last few years and Rob likes working with wood. The bench top of the service counter in the shop is a highly polished single piece of irregularly shaped wood which speaks loudly of Rob's talent. Their shop is an eclectic mix of items, some tourist, some artistic but its the back galleries which drew me in, with their collection of paintings and ceramics. They are still in the early stages of their arts journey, which is far less important than the fact they are heading out.

From the shopping centre I walked to the breakwall and then climbed the stairs to the lighthouse and headland beneath. Its always a breathtaking view. Then it was home past the Pacific Hotel, down to Main Beach and along the platform in the late afternoon to discover a multitude of recreational users. A couple in their thirties combed rock pools with their young kids, pointing out creatures and colours to their excited students. Fishermen cast long rods to lazy fish. A reverse generation gap had been set up by coincidence on adjacent rocks. A women in her late forties sat reading from a laptop, making sporadic satisfied entries followed by hand to mouth laughing as though it was illegal to enjoy yourself in such a setting. Not far away sat a boy in his late teens, ensconced in a paperback. Both were no more than three metres from an ocean which pounded the rock platform in its tireless desire to tear it down. Juxtaposition has probably never been so sweetly exampled.

Senioritis and margaritas

Returning to the flat, I was informed I would be left alone for sunset drinks at the Pacific Hotel. Sue hand stood me up for margaritas at the cantina. Pity. It was probably the best reverse sunset I have seen, accompanied as it was by a full moon, the rolling surf and the fishing fleet heading out to sea. I wrote bitter poetry for those I know trapped by the cruelty of others and drank one too many reds but all in a good cause.

Unification over meatballs, then we retired to Rose's flat for the evening patter.

Yamba - Day 3

I spent the morning writing. Yamba has been a rich place to mine and refine ideas from raw materials into the stories I need to tell. "Head Full of Whispers" alone had six of them. This morning I drafted some ideas, only one of them enthusing me and the others might well stay as dot points but at least they are no longer "whispers".

Sue was late to the beach and initially missed connections with family but the tribal drums soon beat rhythms of meeting places and she was able to find Mandy & Joel at Turners Beach. By the time they had toed the water and played at beach babes and then wandered back into town, I joined them. As always with Mandy & Joel, the conversation was swift, interesting, often funny and with that enveloping warmth the best of family brings to the table. We probably enjoy their company more than anyone else we know. For me, Joel has become a good mate (despite being a Manly supporter) and Mandy the intelligent, witty, funny little sister I never had. Time with her warms my soul.

After this morning tea/lunch time interlude - its not always easy to tell on Yamba Time - I was able to secure a place for "Head Full of Whispers" at the Yamba Bookshop. The proprietor, Helen Anderson, is a strong supporter of independent publishers and authors and welcomed the opportunity of stocking my second collection of poetry. It also gives me a convenient excuse to return to Yamba in three months to check on returns.

We had many good intentions for a long walk during the afternoon but I became lost in creating words and Sue in reading them so sunset was nearly upon us before we realised that much of the day was gone. We made it to the glass walled bar of the Pacific Hotel in time to watch blue become pink and then black on the eastern horizon, as the sun retreated to warm some other place, leaving the moon to ignite silver sparks on the rolling high tide below us. A Taylor's Cab Sav helped accentuate the view. Sue watched the ocean as I watched the people gathered to worship with beers and phone cameras, their conversation punctuated by the silences of Google searches to win one argument or another.

Dinner was steak cooked on the Weber which now lives on our balcony. Like the completely reworked kitchen, its a new addition to our two bedroom flat on Clarence St, just behind Main Beach. Now in our eighth year in the same digs, we are always surprised to be paying the same tariff as that first year, especially when things change. Last year it was a flat screen TV but the change this year smacks of preparations for the owners to retire here. A farming couple from the New England Tablelands, its seems unlikely that such an investment as a new kitchen would be made unless occupancy was imminent. Next year may be a new place and a shock as most places are $200 dearer now.

We spent several evening hours with family at Mandy and Joel's place. It was the usual round of cut and thrust. The eldest, Lance, accords himself full local status after being a wannabe who arrived annually from Melbourne for many years. He is the reason we started coming here eighteen years ago. For all the Gibbens, it was their childhood home, back in the day. Lance is developing the full blown aging surfer/hippy look but the personality needs more change to keep pace. The hard edged cynic still lives inside the long hair and hair band. In order to honour his new appearance, we all wore hair bands last night, a fact not noticed until my red plastic strip showed prominently in my white hair. It doubled as a show of strength for St George, who showed none of the same losing again last night. The evening devolved into half an hour of discussion which started with confident statements saying Monty Python films aren't funny when you watch them now and ended with us all wetting ourselves as we quoted from "The Life Of Brian" and "The Holy Grail".

Go figure.

The dark cloud on our evening was news from Sydney. Sarah had been assaulted in a robbery attempt on her suburban street in Dulwich Hill. The outcome was subsequently better than it might have been but I'm sick of Sarah having to be tested by these ordeals. My sleep was difficult and ended by a dream I haven't endured for ten years.

Tea ... writing ... patience ... and eventually sunrise.