Coogee Mornings

Friday

I hid the tin of insects after Ella had gone to bed but forgot she'd nodded off clutching the ladybird so let out a shriek when I spotted it this morning, upside down in her cot.

We have a whole day to fill today. Darren won't be home until about 10pm, which means he won't have set eyes on Ella between Wednesday night and Saturday morning. Being married to a doctor has certain advantages (like co-codamol on request) but the downside is living with shift systems and long weekends alone. These are the sort of gaps it's left for mothers to fill. The sort of gaps that require fuzzy felts, cotton bobbins for threading and nerves of steel. The sort of days you have jaw-ache by five o'clock through gritting your teeth and getting on with it.

We set off down to Coogee for a stroll along the seafront at half nine this morning. Since the humidity wore off, we now officially live within walking distance of the beach, but that doesn't mean we actually walk down there too often, we usually take the car for reasons of practicality and steep hills. Anyway, there's heaps of free parking along the seafront. What more incentive do you need?

It's mid autumn and we're having what the British would probably call an "Indian summer". Just as the temperatures in Sydney and Warrington got to level pegging, so they shot back up to 27 degrees. The good people of Coogee need no persuading to get out and enjoy their morning. The seafront was already busy with skaters, mothers and retirees walking four-abreast in shorts and hats. Now that's the way to retire. Ella spotted a shih-tzu dog so we stopped for a while and chatted to it's owners, a scottish lady called Felicity and her Aussie husband, Cliff. Cliff returned from the kiosk with cappuccinos and offered to go back and buy one for me. I declined, but it was one of the nicest gestures in the whole time we've been here.

"I came in 1968" said Felicity, breaking bits of dog biscuit for Ella to feed to Scruffy. "A ten pound pom". She laughed and rocked back on the bench. "I've never regretted it". They invested in a small unit (flat) which they rent out. That takes care of the pension. "We come here every morning. If you're here tomorrow, we'll be in the same spot". They looked remarkably tanned and relaxed. "Cliff's youngest daughter is fifty years old" said Felicity. "you'd never know from looking at him". I notice this a lot, this healthy glow that the older people have. Even my relatives in Perth look tanned and healthy and my uncle will be eighty next year. They've both lived with serious, life-threatening health problems for years. They take each other's medication by mistake. As far as I can see, they owe their longevity to the lifestyle as much as to anything their doctors are prescribing.

Eventually we had to leave; Ella had some difficulty understanding that the dog's ball didn't belong to her and after she'd thrown it three times across the seafront and onto the sand, I'd had enough of playing fetch. We wandered up the front, she chased some seagulls then we stopped for coffee. I succumbed to the banana and raspberry bread (toasted until the crust caramelises but not buttered - that ruins it). It only takes one sunny stroll in Coogee to appreciate why they call Australia the lucky country. Cliff, Felicity and Scruffy will be gracing the seafront every morning after we've returned to the gloom of a British winter. They're lucky, but I think they already know that.

This afternoon I made a veggie frittata in between doing jigsaws and taking Ella to the park, where a fellow mother immediately launched into a story about her current pregnancy being a result of failed contraception. This is the same park where I met the woman with poly-cystic ovaries (and equally unplanned pregnancy). I want to push Ella on swings, not hear about rhythm methods.

Anyway, yes, I know, jambalaya and frittata in the same three-month period. I am the Nigella Lawson of the eastern suburbs. As my baking dishes are 12,000 miles away, I had to make it in the roasting tin, which takes up the entire top shelf of the oven. The result was an enormous frittata that we'll be eating for the rest of the week, whether we like it or not. It's scary-looking, like a Costco's pizza, but not as scary-looking as the (very flat) veggie lasagne I made in the same tin last week. For future reference, double the size of the tin requires double the amount of ingredients.