Too Melodramatic For Words Darling
* Growing up in Bondi On grass-clipping streets and median strips and cracked concrete that baked in heat and bitumen on roads that bubbled under feet, you hurled water bombs at the kids from around the street and went to the beach 'cos that's just what you did. And there you sat in groups beside North Bondi Surf Club or near the barbeques or down South on The Hill or in The Corner or at First or Second or Third ramps. And the milkbars were still standing and at Valis's and Raffle's and Bill's you drank thickshakes and played the pinnies and you ventured to Homestead chicken for special hot chips. And school came and thankfully went and the endless six weeks of Chrissie holidays fanned out endlessly in front of you and it was fish and chips in the sunset park after a day in the water and into the 9pm dark and into sandy feet station wagons and off home to sleep behind salt-coated windows and open fly-screen doors and the whole neighbourhood wearing worn rubber thong