Split shifts

I'm feeling irreplaceable. Not true, of course, but where is my main man? Disappeared down a Turkish plughole, that's where.

Mikey and his sentimental dad say goodbye

Until he hauls himself back into the light (rumour has it he has "pinged" his back again, and that troubles on arrival with certain of his bright shiny toys may have contributed to tightness in the spinal region), here are a few snaps to keep the blog from terminal droop. They speak for themselves, but as per my previous post, leave a lot unsaid too.

Louis and his mum told me they liked company

Louis at 11 weeks

Dave and his back yard - one day he'll have his music studio

Pops

On this side of the world, summer is technically over. The clocks have been wound back, and we're on "winter" time.  You wouldn't have known it today at Bondi which, on the first day of the Easter holiday, was packed with sun worshippers. I'm a quarter of a century too old to qualify as a Bondi babe, but since Sydney's most famous beach is literally around the corner from my latest temporary abode (profound thanks to my dear friend Shelley), I took myself down to the water. I let the foam rush up around my ankles and bathed my urbanised lungs in salt spray. That felt good, very good.

Late afternoon on Good Friday at north Bondi beach (and below)