It’s a run to Bondi Beach (more like a dragging limp for anyone who’s seen me jog) – worth remembering that the Christmas pudding ice cream terrine isn’t going to detach itself from my skin.
The Hungry One has learned that the easiest way to bribe me to do exercise is to promise me breakfast out half way through. So when we finally get to Bondi it’s a bowl of four fruit bircher with rose water yogurt at Harry’s Espresso Bar, one street back from the beach, directly opposite over priced designer caftans at Camilla’s (mental note, if the running doesn’t work, caftans – the gussied up cousin of a mumu are another solution).
Then it’s a wander and a skim latte.
Leaving plenty of time for a quick marvel and a photo to remember how great it is to be so close to one of the most glorious places on earth (pink face and all).
It’s nice to be ‘home’.