Around Christies Beach and Glenelg.
This morning was washing morning. Up early to implement the now proven strategy of first in, first dressed in laundry wars, we again nailed it.
Eventually we slapped on our best shorts and t-shirts before heading into Glenelg. Our memories of this beautiful place from 2007 were re-kindled until we saw all the people. Who would have believed a stunning seaside area at the end of the City tram line would catch on. It was still beautiful, just not much to our liking anymore. G canned the mood when she said, “if I wanted to be with this many people at the beach, I’d go to Noosa”. Got it in one.
We ate breakfast at a poky little café in a side street. I wrangled a few roses from a florist for G on our 34th wedding anniversary as the sun continued to shine in the makings of a very good day.
Back at Christies Beach we relaxed a bit before wine and chippy o’clock arrived yet again. We chatted to Trev and Sue about the work done on her car, learning heaps until the real show began.
Across the way we had heard some raised voices and periodically noticed a few people walking with the idiosyncrasies reserved for those habitually inhaling nutrition other than that from the five known food groups. The head down, flat out walking, swearing and fist punching were all there.
After a while from the partially erected tents came threats, and a more than gentlemanly offer of a fight which was declined on advice from a fairly sober coach standing nearby. Ultimately a crowd gathered, park management were called as were the police and social workers.
Taking the best part of an hour to resolve, everyone involved left via the appropriate mode of transport. Some walked, others hitched a lift with the social workers whilst one took the PoliceUber to his chosen destination. The comedy act began however, when the social workers tried to pack up three tents and put them into cars. Let’s just say camping was not their first language.
Some scrumptious rissoles for entre before a long, almost bearable, walk on the beach to watch the sunset and moon rise over cracking red and white cliffs. G took great pleasure in encouraging me to climb up on a ledge on a cliff face to get ‘that shot’. That shot taken, she could not contain her glee watching me try to get down again. The combination of stone wall like flexibility, a fear of heights and feet clad in thongs, made for an apparently very funny exhibition of mountain climbing incompetence.
Our night came to a close watching The Good Wife streamed on the i-pad whilst working on the now proven medicinal qualities of chocolate.
