Today it is raining cats and dogs so I’m not up scaffold, in west sun, baking like a honey bun.
This fortnight has tested most of my faculties: I’ve been many stories high painting an epic mural on a tight (self imposed) deadline. I’ve woken at 5.15 week days to avoid traffic so I can land in the epicentre of the Gold Coast unscathed. And lastly, my poodle cross was poisoned; to the point that on a Sunday night I was in Emergency with him praying like a sinner. Believe me
I’ve had some time off. I took my boys and our faithful poodle-cross, Duncan, to Wooli; a small fishing hamlet nestled on a sand spit just north of Grafton on the north coast of NSW. Our home for three nights, I knew, would be sublime because it’s owned by a friend I class as one of the finest nest builders I know. The aptly named, Gull Cottage, was a picture and a dune away from the beach. We packed light. Always do. The only baggage I had to handle were the rods that fli