Sunday 5 February 2012

Why, why, Waiheke?

This crappy summer we've been having was all very well while it was everyone else on holiday (sorry) - but now that it's me, I'm taking it personally. Oh yes, bathe me in sunshine while I'm crawling backwards around the sweat-spotted deck (that would be my sweat), staining it board by sodding board - but now that I'm on Waiheke Island, scene of so many long hot sunny summer holidays, you're back to grey skies and cool winds and uninviting seas. Spit!

Still, the Dragonfired pizza was delicious, served by more of the beautiful Brazilians who seem to gravitate to the island, and it was nice to eat it on the beach, trying to feed the crusts to the seagull with the sore leg (there's always a seagull with one sore leg - sometimes just one leg, full stop) and watching the doughty old people swimming across the bay, full of purpose.

And now we're back at the bach, a different one this time at the other end of Palm Beach, up a steep path from a no-exit road, with only the sound of the waves, rustling wood pigeons in flight and quarrelsome tui to listen to.

Because the blasted TV doesn't work.

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