What does a summer in Sydney mean to you?
Bare feet, pull-on thongs (if you must), stubbed toes, fried and overly salty scallops, cruisy playlists to accompany scallops (may counteract high blood pressure, but please consult your own medical specialist), hot sand, scorching concrete, the stubbing of not-yet-pricked toes, unbearable Bondi coffee lines (until they magically shrink over Christmas and New Year when locals evacuate to quieter sandy beaches up and down the coast), our evacuation to a quieter beach which entails a longer Road trip aided by Dad’s Playlist and Truckstop Chiko Rolls (fried if I’m lucky, but reheated dry too many times – the water bath of my life) and unbearable coffee lines – populated by familiar Bondi faces – on our once sleepy short vacation away from home.
Earliest memory of summer in Sydney?
The youngest of seven children, I found myself wedged between the luggage and the roof of the station wagon as we drove from Moree with our cousins (one family, nine children, probably two or more station wagons). On one side it was around 1968, on the other side it was 1971. One’s memory is unreliable. My memory is that we nearly drowned when a sandbar collapsed, but a priest, a family friend, saved us. Controversially, a cousin (and fellow survivor) tries to correct the records. He says tragedy almost happened but it was on another family beach holiday in Terrigal and the beach was Wamberal. My brothers insist it was Manly. This will be settled at another Feneley-Egan meeting, date to be agreed. In any case, I survived another near-tragedy in Manly. My Uncle John is very tall. The ceiling of the apartment was very low. To greet me, he picked me up and picked me up. My head hit the ceiling. I recovered (mostly).
Do you take visitors with you in the first place?
Bondi Icebergs for lunch or dinner on the club’s balcony, not Maurice Terzini’s IceBergs Dining Room upstairs, which is excellent, but I prefer not to refinance my home and loved ones for a feed. It’s the same billion dollar view from below. In a blustery Northeast, try the balcony at the North Bondi RSL, the everyone’s bookend to the same town beach.
I refuse to have favorites (ask my daughters). Sharing the love: Porche and Parlour, Bondi (for the beach); Gertrude & Alice (for browsing books while eating); Favoloso, Bronte (local every day).
https://www.smh.com.au/national/nsw/summer-in-sydney-means-stubbed-toes-and-secret-cafes-20221215-p5c6n0.html?ref=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_source=rss_national_nsw Summer in Sydney means… stubbed toes and secret cafes