SUNDAY 11 AUGUST FORREST BEACH
Halleluiah! The neighbours began their (long) pack-up not long after breakfast. They left late morning and peace descended again on this part of the campground. Couey was able to be tethered outside again, without risk of attack from the marauding canines from next door, or of their children running through our site and falling over her. This had happened once, yesterday.
Now, she could have her ball fetching exercise on the grass out front, again.
Our internet connection still would not connect. John phoned Telstra. The repair process took quite a while. The person on the other end of the phone tried to talk John into paying for a remote technician to “repair and renovate” both our laptops. I demurred, finding it hard to accept that both laptops could have developed a problem simultaneously. To my mind, the problem had to be in the modem wifi connection, not our machines. Anyway, eventually all was fixed – and without any of the offered intervention.
I read for much of the day and finished the biography of Leonard Cohen that I’d brought with me. What an interesting and varied life that man had, and what a diverse range of female conquests! I was reminded of the comment made by one of our local lady vocalists, who had been one of the support acts at the Hanging Rock concert, that he was the sexiest older man she’d ever encountered…
Low tide today was around 5.30pm. John decided we’d walk dog and ourselves on beach about 4pm. He thought the sand would be alright for walking then. It wasn’t. The water wasn’t yet low enough, so it was a hard slog through soft sand on a markedly sloping surface. We didn’t get quite as far as the first houses before dog and I both decided we’d had enough. Such a surface quickly made my wonky ankle very painful.
Tea was a chicken stir fry and rice.
M phoned to say she would mail John’s medication tomorrow. She’d done some local research and asking around, for him, to find someone he could consult about his bladder, or whatever, problem. She suggested he phone the doctor concerned and make an appointment for when we would be home – there would be a wait list.
Whilst at our place, she’d mowed the lawns. If we travel next year, must make proper arrangements for that to be done; the grass still does grow over winter, it seems, despite John’s rather wishful thinking to the contrary.