A Sunburnt Country

On Tuesday, with music cancelled due to imperative teacher training, Eloise's idea of a fun thing to do was to go to the Sunshine Coast. I agreed with the proviso that we take the dogs and that we not go to the Sunshine Coast. Although I offered a nearby destination, that being Bribie Island.

Equipped with picnic and beach-related paraphenalia we set off on the hour-long drive. On the final stretch it started to rain a little. How typical.

Lugging the bag full of swimming stuff and food, the boogie-board, and the other gear down there was a bit of an effort when we got there but it had stopped raining. The car park, empty, promised a similarly empty beach. And not a soul was to be seen, with the tide low and lapping gently - a cloudy but bright day with an ominous-looking cloud hovering over Moreton Island with reasonably obvious heavy rain beneath.

We found a shady spot where we got changed and headed for the sea. Eloise practiced her swimming and I wave-spotted for her. We toddled around in the waves for quite a while when I realised that my sunscreen application might not have been all that it might have been, what with me having done with my T-shirt on, and my T-shirt now being off.

So we retreated to the shade where we ate our lunch, danced, buried each others' feet and so on and so forth. The ominous cloud receded and the sun came out, not that we noticed, its strength masked by the briskening onshore breeze.

I was reasonably pink by my standards, bright luminous red by most other peoples', over my shoulders, back and torso later on. Nicole predicted a sleepless night, though this was not to be. She also predicted peeling skin, rather hopefully. This also has not occurred.