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Holiday'n South

Holiday to Huskisson.

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Today was a nice day...

When someone says they had a nice day, do you think they mean 'nice' or do they just not care? Well in this case I did actually have a nice day. Nice, if you also think swimming in the rain with no one arround is good.

Izzy, Marty and I drove south to Huskisson to Izzys parent's holiday house. Tristan joined us later in the day, his leathers a little wetter than our holiday'ing hats. I like my holiday hat; it looks like a fishing hat, only mine is missing the luers. My outfit: one holiday hat, one tight-tight t-shirt, and a pair of pink Haviana thongs. Perhaps it looked a little gay. Whatever.

Leaving some people alone to ignight the loungeroom fireplace was misguided. After swimming for a second time and showering outside the house, something smelt smokey. By the way, an outside shower is very convienent with a beach located twenty meters from your door. Tristan and Izzy left an ash brush over the fireplace, which of course smouldered and burnt.

Wow. Such an incredibly unique experience this all is. That is not cynicisim, by the way. It just seems too similar to a story you've all heard before - holiday time, swim, eat, have all the standard funs. Something far more interesting is that most of the time in Huskisson was being spent riling up Izzy to react to anything we said. There were more double entendres than you could imagine. Something else amusing was watching her reactions change, starting with 'eeew! gross boy talk!', to making crude buttsex jokes herself. I think we broke her :-)

The next day started with snorkeling. The best sighting was a ray shark lazily lying on the sand. Being on holiday here was a truely lazy experience; sleeping in until midday, breakfast at 1 pm, and planning to have no plan whatsoever are all great examples. I guess it's because of the people here. Tristan, with nothing looming on the foreseeable horizon; Marty, awaiting the enevitable hellish four years of medicine; and Izzy, who's employer just recently screwed her down to only three shifts per week. None of them in any kind of rush to do anything.

The afternoon adventure was a little more adventurous. One of our possie proposed walking along the beach to a good snorkeling point... that was 4 km away. On foot on sand and in the sun, this felt a little longer. You see, the thing about walking along the coast means you come across bays so you can't really see how much further there is to go. Calves and ankles - nasty things to be aching all afternoon. Much worse: the thought that you have no choice but to walk back again with some god-awful groin chafe caused by speedos. Praise be to the freedom of board shorts.

After the ironic death of Steve Irwin to a stingray sting, sighting one or two tiny numbrays in the sand below may still not be too unnerving. However, when a stingray as big as you turns about and glides smoothly below you, one may be slightly impressed. When you need to ask yourself is this safe?, then clearly you're clearly doing something each day that nearly kills you. I was impressed. I was also impressed with trenches in the rocks you can swim through. These trenches, about 3 meters deep and over 10 meters long, proved a good place for Tristan to make new friends. After swimming down and through one of them, at the end he came face to face with a stingray. Hello there! is what the stingray may have been saying, but Tristan was not staying anywhere near there to listen. He swam at a sprint back to the beach, where he lost his lunch.

The beaches here were all strewn with smelly seaweed, same as anywhere else. But here were also shark eggs. Not one or two - millions of them! You go years without seeing one and then suddenly they're everywhere. Being as tired as we all were, we'd be near willing to eat them boiled for dinner. Yet some of us managed to salvage the little energy (legs) we had left to cook. Actually, we've been eating like kings while here.

If we could keep this up for a month, we'd become super-fit ultra-tanned people of great sexyness. Not that we aren't already hot, but a moon-tan is about all we can manage yet. Ahh, city living - where a spray-on or salon solution is all we have. That idea is such a soft excuse for not liking the beach. You hear me ranting? Yeah? Take that society, in your face!

So what did we do the next day? The same thing we did every day: drive to Berry. Tristan's escape attempt the night before was a failure (flat tire), so today we were left with chaufering him back there again to fix his bike. The garage plugged it, we had coffee, we drove home with Beyonce's singing on the radio. There is something that happens one day when you re-visit old songs and movies: you understand the sexual inuendo. Today Marty heard the Grease Megamix, including the lines 'pussy wagon' and 'he went by me, got me so damp'. Hmm...

Another location: Blenheim beach. The water clarity was terrible, near unswimmable, but the water-life was amazing. Not only in number - not only in size, type, colour or shape - but in all ways to describe schools of fish, we were impressed with what we saw. The fact it began with a sting-ray bigger than the one yesterday was a good sign. It was freaking-well wide as I am tall! There was a ridge to follow where all the interesting things were hiding. We followed it out to sea to about six meters depth, which mostly looked the same as the shallow parts. Back by the shore there was one very interesting fish; it was a teeny tiny one, but was incredibly bright and appeared to glow in orange and blue fluro colours. Pretty.

And something unrelated but still worth mentioning: Prime TV has a flying penis as some kind of kids programme logo. interesting... No local TV, or for that matter - any TV, is worth watching. I think TV is gradually dummening. I don't normally watch it, so when I finally do it seems so much worse than I remember. In case you're like me and don't watch TV, it's still all the same: Survivor, Biggest Looser, Simple Life, endless American garbage. Just now I saw six ads for phone sex in a row, followed by an ad for Lube Mobile. Yes, it's only an on-road car repair service but the timing was perfect - Little dry after all that phone sex? Hehe!.

On our last day in Jervis Bay we drove to Murrays Beach near the Farie Penguine Colony island. Getting there in the mother-of-all-downpours was really fun, searching for an underwater camera, trying not to get the car muddy. We were the only buggers there, it was great! Where we decided to enter the water, only 4 meters in front of us, were a few dolphins playing. I am serious, only 4 meters away! Shame we couldn't get our gear ready in time to swim with them... Something else that was a shame was forgetting the suncream and the sun coming out. On top of that, Marty was stung by a bee, cut his foot on a shell and was stung by bluebottles. Bugger that!

In the end, the final proof we had broken Izzy into being a boy was her reaction to Emma's question: 'when are you coming to Europe?'. Her answer was 'Hehe, coming... Hehe!'. We win!