|[ The Walking Wounded
Dear Lovers of Autumn Mondays
(and there must be quite a few of you)...
I had another splendid 6am walk
this morning through bracing wisps of left over fog and a muted sort-of-sunrise
glowing pink and grey above an incipid on-beach swell. The few heroic surfers
that I spyed had covered themselves in grease and war paint, all ready
to catch that last big one before they died. The laugh was on them, obviously.
We also saw many, many old people walking along / getting their excercise
/ being obnoxious and huffy when you smile and say g'day. During summer
(and daylight saving) heaps of fresh young things were out and about, almost
to levels that could cause a traffic jam if they had been driving cars.
But as we returned to Eastern Standard Time and the mornings become just
that bit chillier (just that much bleaker), the firm thighs have been replaced
with track suit pants covering years of eating sins, the tinkling laughs
have been replaced with a few serious nods and a crisp "Morning". Not that
that's so bad in itself but I'm just wondering about the stamina of these
youngsters!! Why aren't they out there in the near dark like those of us
who are more time challenged, falling over their own feet because they
can't see the road ahead of them, bumping into electricity poles because
the lights on top of them have been broken, getting abrasions to the face
as hard, twiggy branches are whipped this way and that way by previous
It's a tough life walking the
mean streets of Thirroul and a new breed have to meet the challenge before
it's far too late...