On a day like today we are not in any winter thrall to speak of. Wave after flat wave softly slushes into the sand and dies in a sigh, to be gently gathered up again and returned to the white hot glitter of blue sea diamonds which are spread out today under a clear sky and bright sun. The breeze knocks the top off waves on the headland but can barely stir up the ocean on this side, where a slippery black wetsuit clad man stands on his surfboard and poles himself along, an incongruous picture form the Sepik or the Amazon. Other black clad surfers sit looking like half sunk ships, bows lifted out of the water, stern sunk and invisible. The sea barely stirs them and the pod is clearly more optimistic about a wave ride today. Kids build sandcastles, swimmers lap the ocean pool, bikinis bounce around in those flat waves that slide under the surfers and only appear at the sand. Must be tourists from colder climes. Fathers invest in boys by football kicking and scooter riding and bike riding lessons. It is a sign of our times that I watch them and wonder how many of these are Sunday access visits. Too cynical, sadly.