Beach Life

The only thing I have in common with the wife of the Chinese president is that we've both seen the koalas at Taronga Zoo within the last twenty-four hours, though unlike Madame Ching Wong Po (or whatever she's actually called), we had to drive through the harbour tunnel and visit in the conventional way, while the dignitaries other halves were treated to their own private audience when the zoo mobile came to them (which is causing a bit of a fuss because koalas don't appreciate being transported around Sydney and wouldn't normally be expected to either).

Anyway, unlike Mrs China, we've not been having a free lunch at Bondi Icebergs today, and neither have we been treated to a special display of beach life; the swimmers from the icebergs club doing lengths in their blue speedos, local children frolicking gamely in the waves and the surf lifesavers putting on boat racing displays and generally showing off.

It's been raining again this morning; I've no idea where the spring is hiding, so you have to feel sorry for the poor souls who agreed to putting on the display while the dignitaries wives were busy munching on lamb with pesto, but then again, it serves them right for pedalling the myth that Bondi beach always looks like that, when a real vision of beach life would include two dozen ginger-haired poms drinking VB from brown paper bags.

As for Mr Bush, well thankfully he's skipped town early and most of the fuss (and helicopter droning) has died down. Sure, he made a few trademark gaffs (though just minor details, OPEC instead of APEC, Austria instead of Australia, that sort of thing), but the man's no fool. Skipping town before they've even totted up the bill was the canniest move he's made in a long time.