Rock, of course, had a different theory, a theory involving rates of change, plenty of dy/dx's, and the odd kinematic equation. But like all of Rock's theories, postulation ceased at the first sight of the cafes lining the picturesque expanse of golden sand.
Is there a better way to spend a balmy spring day in the Harbour City, than with a hunk of chargrilled meat hanging tantalisingly in front of one's face?
Gosh darn it, the Jetstar copyright lawyers aren't suing me yet over the trademark jump - it's almost like no one actually reads this blog.
The lazy curve of sand is framed by a row of Norfolk Pines - it's just like Manly, except without the drunken Poms.
Hey, it's a rock pool. Hur hur hur, a rock pool, geddit?
Of course it's cold! It's come all the way from bloody New Zealand!
It's obviously not quite summer yet... the tops are still on!
Looking back west from North Head, the jutting peninsula of rock that marks the northern side of the mighty Sydney harbour.
The sails are out as the city bakes in the hazy afternoon sun.
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