Slip. Slop. Slap.

"Don't be a tosser", scream the signs along Bondi Beach. I was one.
For a start, I obeyed the instructions on kids' TV.

I slipped, slopped and slapped.

Slipped on a banana skin. No, that's just a hilarious joke. I slipped on a shirt.

Slopped on the Sunscreen (from Kgale via Thruxton and Erro).

Slapped (but not tickled) on a hat (the ugliest evvah!)

Now, kids may watch that TV (slightly more fun than anywhere else because they all do atrocious Australian accent impressions). They may even heed the message that a tan is not healthy, merely a means of introducing nasty cancer cells to you lungs, liver and kneecaps when you least expect it. But nobody who goes to Bondi Beach on a perfect Saturday gives a damn.

Here it is almost exclusively a question of slipping out of everything but your toned body and minimum modesty gear (with label, sometimes just the label); slopping along the promenade in your thongs (different from modesty gear, these go on your feet) and slapping everyone heartily on the shoulder saying "no worries, mate."

"A tan is not healthy", said the TV. I can see that on my once-abused arms and face. But I'm still the tosser in this crowd. Even after being super-kewel and paying P30 for a freshly squozed Feng Shui. Apple orange Ginger and kiwi. Bring it on!

Have you noticed the present tense? Yup, I'm tapping this out on my phone at the beach because I have run out of novel, can't draw muscles, tats and piercings and won't occupy my hands with a cigarette.

What a tosser.

Except when it comes to tossing litter. I don't do that. It gives SQUIB indigestion. Stormwater Quality In Bondi. Cute, huh? Come to think of it, all most as cute as Bondee. It's a limp-wristed sort of word and that's not anyone from outside Australia thinks of it. That's why you can hear the foreigners from afar with their wistful but macho Bondai!

The real problem though, is that Bondi isn't a beach. Sure, it's got turquoise water, acres of golden sand and even a little slip-slop (aka thong) fringe of foam between the two. But it isn't a beach. I lived in Durban for 8 years. I know. On a non-tsunami day (like today), the life savers don't have to rush around blowing whistles. There are no side-currents ripping children from parents' arms to sharks' jaws. Just a gentle slip-slop-and-slap of utter pacific ocean. What's more, then hamburgers are big, fresh and delicious. That's not "beach", that's just showing off.

Got lost on the way back. Sort of found myself wandering through a suburb without any clue as to where to find the 381 bus back to Bondi Junction for train to Kings Cross to fetch luggage and go to Central to catch train to Albury later this evening. I'll say one thing for NSW, service is excellent; provided you know exactly what you want and don't expect the server to understand or speak any English (other than "no worries, darlin'", even taxi drivers on their second night in town can do that). Aunty Korea, however, eventually managed to grasp my predicament and signalled her understanding with howl after howl of laughter. The bus stop was right outside her Convenience Stop door. How dashed amusing, what what?

PS if any of my American friends is reading all this rubbish: enjoy the turkey. I suggest you stay traditional, cooking with hot stones wrapped in leaves has it's place. Far away.