So, brief post. Today (Melbourne Cup Day) we headed on down to Hastings Point on the Tweed Coast in northern NSW. Except…we weren’t supposed to. Yep, we were meant to be staying at Treasure Island on the Gold Coast for one more night. I stuffed up the dates, even though I printed out the confirmation email which has the dates clearly stated. Sigh.
But we’d packed up and we weren’t unpacking so we came here a day early and I’m glad we did. Treasure Island was okay and definitely a lot of fun for the kids but it was in the middle of an industrial area and of all the places we’ve stayed – and we’ve stayed at a few – we were the only ones not walking around without our tops on and a cigarette tucked behind our ears. And tattoos. Anth reckons people stare at us because we don’t have them. It seems “everyone” has one or fifteen. They’re not the domain of the so-called bogan any longer. I just can’t love them though. They’re so…permanent and we all know I’m not into commitment.
We’re at the Hastings Point Big 4 which I believe has won awards for being the best Big 4. Of course Dan’s disappointed there’s no jumping pillow and basketball ring. Kids these days. The thing I love about it the most? You can hear the surf. I am totally in love with the sound of the surf at night – it’s the sound of life continuing on its merry and not so merry way. It calms me. Pissed dickheads with loud music, not so much. As someone responded to my frustrated tweet about pissed dickheads with loud music at 11.30 last night at Treasure Island – #nannatweet. Yes, that’s me. Nanna. But seriously, Monday night in a caravan park playing Red Hot Chilli Peppers full blast. Fuck right off.
Yes, you’re right, I really do need a meditation retreat.
I’ve no new photos really, just ones like the one above of the kids playing in the surf at Surfers Paradise but this is Anth actually upsidedown on a roller coaster ride at Seaworld. No thanks.