A beer, a Book, and Benevolence

'Twas upon the water the other day, Sincity harbour no less, on a voyage that could possibly be considered cliched yet immensely enjoyable. The vessel was the Collaroy, the destination considered Manly.

I do enjoy boating. When I was a kid, my Dad had a boat referred to as a "trailer sailer". Small and fibreglass, it could be hitched to the back of the car and taken down to anywhere a stretch of water existed. For 2 months a year it was hauled out for a handful of sailing days, with the remainder of the year being under a tarpaulin going nowhere. I can still remember sailing that craft. A small flag in front of the mast indicated the wind direction and you would point the nose just off an angle to it. A strong rope attached to the "boom" (look it up) through a pulley would be wrapped around my right hand ;) to pull the mainsail to the best angle and my left foot ;) would be upon the rudder to steer. You would then crash through the waves that would explode a spray of water over the boat. An immense feeling of being at one with nature and harnessing natural forces would sweep over you..... uhm, while you sat in a fibreglass boat ofcourse.

Now, the Collaroy is a bit bigger, has no mainsail, and I doubt the Captain was steering it with his left foot. But it was still nice to be out there. I love the roll and pitch of a boat, and have frequently wished to sleep on one to experience being rocked to sleep. One of my favourite things about being out on the water of Sincity harbour is the undeveloped green forested area's on the shoreline. I keep imagining the times of the earliest European explorers entering the harbour, and that they would be seeing the exact same thing.

Arriving in Manly, I trotted down the Corso towards the beach. I chose a blazingly hot day to do this but I am a fearless explorer me. The beach was crowded with what looked like a surf carnival. I'm not altogether a beachy kind of person, preferring the comforts of swimming pools, but the atmosphere was convivial, and when a troop of bagpipers began a performance I felt pleased to be there. Bagpipes have a rather grandeous aura about them, a fuck-off to authority attitude, loud and proud. I thought that a kilt would be a rather warm garment to don on such a day, and pondered the concept of how wooly daks would be considered both a mistake and a necessity at the same time.

Clearly with the heat of the day taking a toll, I retired to a local public house to slick a thirst. My first two choices of beer were in the process of having their barrels changed so I settled on a frosty ale from my old home town. In an example of how I occasionally withdraw from the excitement around me, I then proceeded to take my beverage to a comfy corner and read an engrossing book I was part way through. I did this partly to cool off, partly because I was enjoying the book, and partly because I dream of the day when quietly reading while drinking a beer in a pub becomes an activity that doesn't mark you out as anti-social, geeky, or just plain weird. I was fourscore pages in (not all while in the pub. A speed reader I am not), when an elderly couple sat upon a nearby couch with two tall glasses I mistook for pink gins. I felt their gaze:

"Hi there" piped up the fairer of the two in an American southern drawl, "watcha readin'?"
"Hi", I responded, "A collection of essays about an authors life".
"Don't read much myself" she admitted, "but surely the pubs for drinkin' and the library's for readin' ain't it?".
"Don't worry, I qualify", I said kindly, pointing at my glass of beer.

Her partner chuckled wisely and with slight relief. An engrossing conversation of 20 minutes then evolved, mostly involving the rights of people to carry guns and of me creatively adding the phrase "uh huh" in varied tone's. On consumption of their beverages, they took their leave.

Dan the VespaMan, a master of race relations.