Sunday, April 20, 2003

No research on pagan celebrations but I've walked through the park and town as a fabulous halo-like moon crowned black and grey banks of cloud. I heard a camper enthuse about the perfect pizzas he tasted in Italy, while others play cards on fold-out tables outside caravans. The adolescents staying here group closer to the office, away from their parents to chat and laugh in the semi-dark. The town is quiet and the people about are open and friendly.


Paddywagons are cruising our main street too, the lights flashing when they pull over two of the few cars we see. Bikies are staying at a nearby farm and 'the cops are everywhere' Mum warns (and is warned). We see the ambulance too, no sirens or lights, keeping within the 50km/h limit.


News is inconsistent but today, not far from here, a woman died after a king wave washed her and others - still missing - from their fishing spot. I was thinking about this when I heard a commentator on the telly say that it's tragic, a tragedy, that a footballer would miss a year due to knee injury.

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