Aug 2020, Darlington Beach, NSW

Woody has breakfast under the awning and a big male kangaroo stands beside his chair looking for food. Luckily, he (Woody that is) is only reading the news otherwise things may have turned ugly.

We walk the long beach that stretches from Corindi in the north to Arrawarra Headland in the south. There are only a handful of people. The beach is strewn with pretty pebbles, each an individual artwork of nature. One or two find their way into my pockets, could lapidary be my next hobby?

A wander around the residential village reveals some lovely homes. All are unique and most owners are keen gardeners. Some homes overlook the nine hole golf course. Kangaroos laze on household lawns and on the golf course.

The park entry driveway is flanked by lily lagoons. There are plovers nesting on the expansive lawns behind us and one pair beside the Prado van.

I can see kangaroos outside our kitchen window.

We organise a caravan repairman to replace the bathroom roof hatch tomorrow.

Woolgoolga is only 8kms away and it’s busy with pavement cafes jumping. I visit the chemist and must stand outside and ring a bell. My temperature is then checked and I’m asked the standard questions (have you been in Sydney or Melbourne recently?) passing the quiz I then enter. When I return to pick up my medicine I stand outside daydreaming at the sight of the sun glinting off the surf breaking across the way. Another customer is complaining about having to stand out in the cold, she must be a local, cold it’s sunny and 19. Not bad for winter.

In search of flattened rice for my breakfast cereal we walk into an Indian grocery and come face to face with John Arkan the Sikh guy who starred when Woolgoolga was featured on the ABC TV show Backroads. What a character John is, he could sell ice to eskimos. We leave feeling as though we’ve made a new friend. On his advice we buy oysters next door and more blueberries from the shop down the hill.

We eat the oysters at happy hour while watching the plovers fending the ducks off. We Google plover nesting habits. Apparently, according to the internet, its difficult to tell male plovers from female. We agree with that. Every half hour they change shifts. To us the one on the nest is Mrs. P and the one evilly stalking the perimeter is CJ or Creeping Jesus*. Thus in our minds there is some sort of gender shift every half hour. If only our mate Toothless was here, he hates birds and would be beside himself by now. Woody cooks Yellow Curry Chicken, the ingredients of which we bought from John.

We see an ad for Earworx on TV. These people are ear wax cleaning specialists and I almost fall off the couch with joy.

*Creeping Jesus, apologies to all but this is an Australian expression for those with odd habits.