Tasmania

We've spent a few days in Tasmania and, of course, visited the former penal settlement at Port Arthur. This is one of the walls of the ruined penitentiary, where the common criminals were kept in the later days of the settlement. We also saw the rather more luxurious accommodation afforded to political dissidents, including the Welsh Chartist, John Frost. After a couple of bush fires and systematic looting by locals trying to expunge the convict stain, it's nowhere as grim a place as you'd expect, except perhaps for the rather more recent memorial to the 37 visitors and staff killed by a lone gunman in 1995. We also went to the Freycinet National Park and walked to Wineglass Bay...More photos here

Shouldering On

I feel as though I'm being inducted into a small,informal society (I also feel as though I need a physiotherapist for my shoulders). John and I were joined on the waves by two other surfers this morning. At a conservative estimate, our joint ages couldn't have been less than 200, so there was nothing flashy going on, certainly not on my part. They knew John, of course, but paddled over to shake hands with me. We did the being patient thing and then the paddling frantically to catch a wave thing (I was the only one who had to paddle frantically; the others do it effortlessly) and, I'm glad to say, I also did the catching the wave thing, which was very satisfying. Need more strength in my shoulders, though. Oh yes, and I learnt the rugby results and where to find good cheese in Tasmania, where we're heading tomorrow for a few days.

Master Class

Today started with a surprising role reversal when Sara leapt out of bed at 6am and brought me a mug of tea. I thought I was dreaming at first but a poke in the ribs persuaded me that I was in fact awake. Apparently, the deal was that I went surfing - it's sunny and there's no wind, I was informed - and Sara went back to sleep.

Down on the beach, I met our neighbour, Liz, who told me that partner John had finally decided the water was sufficient warm for him and was out there somewhere on his board. We located him, at what seemed to me an alarming way out to sea, and I paddled out to join him for a lesson on catching big, green waves (John, like many Australians, has apparently been surfing since he got out of nappies. Though not when the water's cold).

"It's important to be patient," he told me. That sounded good to me, as I felt as though I'd paddled a fair way to New Zealand, and we practised being patient for a while. It dawned on me that surfers actually spend a lot of time doing that, bobbing up and down sufficiently far out so that a wall of water doesn't fall on your head, and having a friendly chat. "It's great out here," he mused. "You can be out here some days and a dolphin will pop up next to you." He paused. "It's only happened once. Scared the living daylights out of me."

I found being patient came quite naturally. Catching the green waves, not so naturally. The easiest way to catch a wave is at right angles, which is fine on white water, but try that on green face and you find yourself rocketing downhill until the nose of your board digs in and then everything becomes very confused and very much like drowning. So you have to take it on an angle but, to do that, you need much more momentum of your own and the kind of shoulder strength that comes from starting when you were four years old. So I practised not catching the waves for a while until one caught me at precisely the wrong stage of wave development (from my point of view), allowing me to stand up until it whipped the board from under my feet. John, of course, caught anything he chose, with no apparent effort.

It really is the kind of skill that you need company to acquire, if you've got any sense, that is, so this morning was very welcome. It also confirmed my suspicion that it's far better to be on top of a big wave than under it. A useful session and I shall persist.

PS: I've had a couple of emails from Garrett Goulash. Not sure who or where you are, Garrett, but thanks for the compliments (they weren't on my surfing) and no, I really don't mind who reads the blog. The more the merrier.

Summertime

Summer seems to have arrived. No sooner did the spring storms abate, than the temperature went up and stayed up. The thin duvet has been banished to the linen cupboard and there's now just a sheet on the bed. It was 31C today.

I've not worked through a summer before and feel rather glad than I don't have an outside window so I can't see the sky. Also, it's cooler. At least it is when the air-conditioning is on, Luke and Karleaha freeze. When it's off, I roast. Greg, wisely, has his own fan. When I go out for a coffee, I wear sunglasses and stick to the shade. The barrista in the deli is usually melting by lunchtime. I don't know how Margo, the owner, manages to prepare cooked breakfasts. After 9am, I don't know how anyone eats them.

Leaving work, it's still hot. So when we got home, we went for a swim off Sandy Beach. Then ate supper in the garden and sat out until it got dark and, apparently from nowhere, a gale got up which is now lashing all the trees. It may be a precursor to a late spring storm so the sooner I finish this and disconnect the computer to prevent the modem being cooked by lightning - it happens often - the better. Either that, or the power will fail again.