Aussie Aussie Aussie

Cleavage and humidity do not play nice.

That’s just one of the conversation starters that cropped up this Australia Day.

We’d had the traditional discussion about changing the national flag, and the debate about becoming a republic, then it was down to the serious business of hitting the beach with family & friends.

With about 90% humidity by 9am, my cleavage and I thought it was a damned good idea.

So we packed the children, towels, umbrellas, shade shelta, sunscreen, hats, thongs, drinks, snacks and ice packs in the old car, along with a nifty little beach cricket set I picked up at the cheap & cheerful shop, and headed south. A little too far south, as a matter of fact, as in the heat of the discussion about patriotism my Beloved missed the turnoff and inadvertently joined the traffic bound for the freeway (proving once again that men cannot multitask the way a woman can).

If that wasn’t bad enough, he got a tad hot under the collar once his mistake was pointed out (no less than three times in direct relation to the number of other family members in the car) and forgot the flag sticking out the car window at the precise moment he wound it down. There was the ‘boxing kangaroo' waving its fist in farewell to us in the rearview mirror as we retraced our path up the Pacific Highway. Luckily we still had another flag poking out the other window and that was almost enough to keep the kids happy (and quiet) for the remaining ride to the beach.

That little incident aside, we proceeded to set up camp and have a great day beside the sea under the famous Aussie sun. After about 3 hours of frolicking in the sand and surf, we fired up the portable BBQ and settled in the shade for the traditional sausage sanga. There’s nothing quite like a burnt banger in a bun, complete with tomato sauce and healthy dose of sand.

Then after waiting the prerequisite 30 minutes after eating, it was another round of sunscreen and back to the sand for an all-in game of cricket (complete with Australian-flag-decorated bat). Happily, my back was feeling better than it had for days and I surprised everyone (myself included) by diving into the action trying to beat both boys and breakers to get the ball (our daughter was quite content to search for seashells, and the other mothers declined our invitation to join the game, for some reason). For me, the horrendous humidity took precedence over pride as I leaped and splashed about the beach in a bid to beat the heat.

It was only after I felt the sting of the sun through my multiple layers of UV protection, and the children (and husbands) were visibly dropping from all the excitement that we agreed it was time to head home, apparently taking half the beach with us in the back of the car (waiting for me to vacuum out the next day).

Sadly, there were two casualties from the excursion: my back started scolding me for being a little too ambitious in fielding wickets for the cricket… and my son suffered bright stripes of sunburn from where the zinc cream stopped after he refused to wear his hat after one too many dunkings in salt water.

As we all rolled into bed after celebrating our national day the Aussie way, we started making plans to continue the tradition for same time, same place, on the 26th January 2011.

But maybe next year, to paraphrase another seagoing individual: we're gonna need a bigger umbrella.

Jx
©2010