morning yearning

How do you spend the early hours of your morning?

I am partial to sleeping. I’ve spent a few working. And of course on occasion, I have still been drinking from the night before.

But out of all of them, I think I like this way the best.

Waking up with or even before the birds and getting to the ocean. The effort made to experience it tends to be rewarded.

The light, the water, the people…

The image above can’t tell the whole story and even the full gallery would struggle.

With me still being landlocked on doctor’s orders after tempting fate, I saw my friends get some fantastic waves.

It was a different perspective from the usual. But then another perspective is always welcome.

And it still looks good from every angle.

tempting fate

Fate is a fickle beast at the best of times. Lurking unseen around the corner, watching your every move and ready to pounce at the right opportunity.

You can lure it out easily enough. Take children anywhere near water without a change of clothes or perhaps take a glass of red anywhere near white carpet.

At other times you can not so much tempt it as flash it, call it something derogatory and ask it to come and have a go…

Now there is a counter-argument.

That there is no such thing as fate, no predetermined course of events, no fixed natural order to the cosmos.

Whatever is at play – chaos, fixed order, bad luck or even Alanis Morissette-esque ‘irony‘, there is some poetry in the natural order of things described below:

All waxed up and nowhere to go

Saturday: Buy a new surfboard ready for the usual summer conditions of NE windswell and variable winds.

Sunday: Get excited about new board, wax it up and look forward to using it.

Monday: Big new south swell, go for dawn surf on regular shortboard, get a few, see a big one coming, swing around, late takeoff, vertical freefall, mess up the landing, fall side of the head first with 6ft plus of water piling in on top.

Result: Burst left eardrum, whiplash and a little concussion (if the nausea was anything to go by).

Now patched up and out of the water for the best part of a month with a northern-hemisphere family Xmas coming straight after. This board is going to stay dry for a while yet.

No big deal in the grand scheme of things…

…and still, worse things happen at sea.

bus stop boxer

Turn the corner and one is just pulling up. Could probably catch it by running. Golden rule – don’t run for buses.

Missed.

Another will be along soon enough. The corner of Cleveland and Elizabeth is usually an interesting place to wait.

Time passes.

An imported Nissan rumbles by with more bark than bite. The inevitable green P wedged in the rear license plate.

A couple of pharmaceutically assisted gentlemen decide that waiting for the green man is optional. They go for a weaving shuffle across four lanes. With some heavy-braking driver help they actually make it.

Two 393′s rolls past headed for Maroubra. Finally the 372 pulls up.

Climb aboard with a nod to the driver and do the Travel Ten dip whilst scanning for a seat.

The single seat right up the front is free. It is to be ignored. It feels like a special needs seat. A little pedestal so that the rest of the bus can examine the back of your head or watch you lick the windows.

A few other seats are free but standing preferred. The usual gamut of tactically defensive bag positioning and space taking sprawls mean they are not worth the effort.

Cleveland St is slow. Cleveland St. is nearly always slow. Not King St. slow but slow enough.

Past the Surry Hills Petting Zoo with the Coles and unappetising restaurant on the corner. This means passing Crown St. on the other side. Why did we move again?

These two stops are seemingly too close together. Just a little pointless. Could they have not split the difference?

Where’s a microphone? Next up on your right ladies and gentleman… Bar Cleveland. Hazy memories. Another #SHTBOX end game. Good people. Much alcohol.

People alight. A woman embarks. Actually no she doesn’t. There is a question. No, not going there my friend. Shes look strangely crestfallen. The double doors close in front of her. We pull away.

South Dowling has been breached. Success! Continuous motion is actually achieved.

Wait. Too soon. Flagged.

A new passenger. Pays in change. A bus load of eyes roll.

It also seems the declaration of victory against the traffic was somewhat premature. Long queue turning right onto Anzac Parade.

Ah touché driver. He lustily bursts down the inside lane ready to muscle in near the lights. He knows that cars arguing with buses tend to lose. His victory complete, the bus swings right and thus we roll on.

It rolls on.

Tomorrow and the next day.

trip advisor

Having spent the long weekend a few hours south of Sydney, the usual thing would be an in depth trip advisor-esque review.

A run down of the place, accommodation, food and attractions.

So here it is:

South Coast NSW is good.