Great Sunny Times

All work and no play makes bogey a dull blog. And Jack want to shoot himself, despairing as he may at the annual disgust that is spend the taxpayer money-a-thon so we can spend it all again next year. I note the last entry on this thing that I spend hours on and no-one actually reads was from Easter, over a month ago. In some way this makes me feel bad, but also good about my powers of endurance and resistance, since I am only now just tucking into that Lindt bunny with a warm cuppa.

So what can I share with, er myself, from the last month? It’s not like travel has been scarce, although even this was mostly packed into one week... Wagga on a Monday, Ballarat on a Tuesday, Sydney on a Friday. And Saturday, which was a blessing courtesy of blue skies and breakfasts. And Canberra is still here, still charmingly beautiful as it descends into the freezer. Dry as a bone, cockatoos causing havoc, the usual. Masterchef is back, and – is it me – or is it just a wee bit too early for the sentimental backing piano and tears already malarkey? Too many cooks and all that... Still, it’s eminently watchable escapism that makes me hungry and gets me cooking lemon meringue pies, and crispy roast pork belly, and... I think tomorrow a nice warming Lamb Shank casserole.

Clearly sounding more and more like one of those grumpy old men, it was definitely time for some real life escapism today, and what a very happy day it was. This is what you live for... pleasant cruising, sun-soaked brunch by the water, beachside ambling, rock pool adventures and pebbly scrambles, flat whites and sand, and a little fish with potato scallops. What we are looking at is a quintessential South Coast day trip I reckon. As ever focused around eating opportunities in between gorgeous walks, the early-ish drive down spurred on by the fact that you can be eating brunch by the water at Batemans Bay.

No guilt trips on this trip, the creamy scrambled eggs with bacon and mushrooms and toasted sourdough fuelling the spirit and body for a walk in nearby Murrumarang National Park, the classic Depot-Pebbly express. Although not so express, what with taking snaps and exploring rock pools and reading books. Departure point is one of the world’s more serene car parks – a gravel clearing surrounded by mightily tall and straight spotted gums – and an initial trundle through a rainforest gully down to the water. The cool of late autumn all too evident in the shade of ferns and palms and creepy creepers.

But out of the forest and into the sand, the sun warms and turns things quickly into a T-shirt day. I reckon shorts would have been okay too, bearable anyhow. At Depot Beach, which looks nothing like any depot I’ve seen, it’s time to hit the shoreline and meander from sand to rock to pebble to sand to pebble and rock together and then the – yes – sand at Pebbly Beach.

Here, just a scattering of people for company and probably some of the cushier living kangaroos... sunning themselves, eating green grass, generally looking a bit stupid but not really bothered kind of thing. It’s a tempting proposition if you like grass.

I didn’t eat any grass while here, neither did I eat the small quantity of crackers and smelly French blue cheese I brought with me. Best save it in case I get stranded and have to eat my own arm. I think my arm would go quite nice with a bit of Fourme d’Ambert. Then again, anything would. Alas, I didn’t get stranded and the Arm-de-Gaulle lives another day; though with the incoming tide a few of the pebbly stretches back to Depot Beach were fast becoming intimate with the Tasman Sea and required some careful negotiation and luck.

Back in civilisation, I satisfied myself with a coffee instead, and it is without doubt hard to beat a sunny day, a flat white, and a beach. Tomakin Beach to be precise, just one of the many little populated bays south of Batemans where retired folk come to retire, Toyota pick-ups come to pick up fish, and dog walkers come to walk dogs. There’s something very appealing about this way of life. I sometimes wonder about moving to some random coastal town, but then I think I maybe need to wait 30 years so that I could fit in and play bridge and go to the RSL for a Senior’s Special Schnitzel. Still, nice coffee for a small backwater.

Being 4pm and almost winter (and still in my T-shirt oh yeah, suck on that UK), the day was nearing its end, and seeing as I had been so disciplined in refusing to eat my arm, I decided to have a little twilight fish supper back in Batemans Bay. I wasn’t going to, but, you know, when in Rome and all. Then it was all over, and I rushed back to write this blog entry and eat Lindt bunny. It’s nice to have something to write about, something enjoyable and refreshing to share with me. Let’s not leave it so long next time, hey.