Fighting to regain my writing mojo, my writerly friends from far away places said ‘take yourself away from the everyday!’…Sure said I…Tuscany here we come! ‘Fraid not! Retorted budget. Instead I settle for the good old iconoclastic Goldie. Home to the tourist hordes, theme parks, schoolie’s, a dodgy nightlife reputation, souvenir shops, meter maids sporting gold bikinis (yes they still exist), a Casino full of slow shows, fast food and bleary eyed Asian punters…and…absolute beachfront accommodation of such excellent value, not even Noosa my normal runaway bolt could match.

Endless toe-squidgingly squeaky white sand stretching to a misty Surfers Paradise haze one end, Tweed border the other; pounding waves spitting out bronzed, six packed surfers; fishing lines, buckets full of restless catch; tiny tots attached to colorful kites; hand locked lovers, determined joggers, Lycra clad cyclists, skateboarding dogs…and all vying forone common denominator – this tiny piece of 57kilometers worth of brilliantly clear aquamarine blue, sun dappled ocean that is the iconic Gold Coast’s cachet.

Y’know, I’ve strolled the beaches of Barbados, St Baarts, Martinique, Antigua and St Lucia in the Caribbean; dived off those of the Maldives and Papua New Guinea; battled water sport aficionados on Bali’s Nusa Dua shores, lived on the Côte d’Azur and Italian Ligurian sands; perused America’s Florida Keys, Los Angeles shores and Puerto Rico’s San Juan coastline – only to learn one thing…takes a trip or two half way around the world to fully appreciate what we have in our very own back yard and I’m staring at it right now.

Indeed the Angel has placed the world gently in the palm of my hand – along with impressive  lime and white rum mojito – therefore no more blog blabbing this week, there’s a spot of writing to dealt with!  Meanwhile, a couple of moody late eve shots, enjoy…