Jet lag ensures we’re wake at 5.30am and after an hour or so staring at the ceiling we decide our time would be better spent at the beach.
Bondi has certainly cleaned up its act since we were here 5 years ago. Back then, it was quite scruffy, the promenade and cafes were looking sorry for themselves and the beach itself wasn’t too clever either with litter and fag-ends everywhere.
Well, what a transformation.
They’ve banned eating, boozing and smoking anywhere on the waterfront. Smart eateries and bars are in evidence everywhere and – most importantly – the locals have developed a fresh pride in the beach. Even at this early hour there were hundreds of folk surfing, running along the water’s edge and bending themselves into unlikely yoga poses. Brilliant stuff!
We skip the yoga and surfing, but pile into the crashing waves and finish the session off with a jog from one end of the bay to the other.
Feeling suitably smug, we return to the house to tell the lazy fat slobs how wonderful we are.
In the evening we celebrate Selina’s 30th birthday. Caz and Hoady have booked a table for 20 at one of the aforementioned swanky restaurants and everyone gets suitably drunk.
This is fun. We like it here a lot.
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