Clontarf

It's the bank holiday for the Queen's birthday today and after we'd resigned ourselves to British weather and planned to go swimming, we woke to a glorious blue sky. The storm, which I must admit did cause some quite serious damage up the coast (and washed away the ferry wharf at Cremorne, so if that's your commuter route into the city, you're stuffed), has passed.

We stuck to our plan and drove up to the olympic stadium at Homebush, where we've been before. Ella loves it there, with the fountains and the river rapids and toddler jacuzzi. She doesn't mind that it's a bit chilly inside now it's winter, she doesn't even mind when her lips turn a bit blue and she sits shivering in that toddler jacuzzi muttering "it's a bit wet" through her gritted milk teeth.

Afterwards we drove to the reserve at Clontarf (on the north shore) where all the winter chill in the world won't stop the ever-picknicking aussies from putting up their little tables, laying out the gingham cloths and tucking into their banana bread. We have a picnic table and chairs as well as a rug and two flasks. If only we hadn't scoffed banana bread, it might have been worth putting them up.

Anyway, happy birthday, maam. We raised a glass for you this evening, just after the DJ on the radio referred to you as "the old hag". The colonials have no respect.