Ze Pool.

...Dip your toe in the aqua aqua. It's kept warm to spite the Autumn air and offers an embrace of solice...

The shoulder season meant the road-side motel was rather empty, leaving the amenities free to utilise without disruption. After an early start and a couple of hundred miles of driving, including an hour spent escaping the city's clutches, this suited us perfectly.

Where's a good light-house when you need one?

The Californian fog rolls in strong, shrouding the land, the trees, the buildings and the people. Distant figures are barely visible, and only offer enough evidence to hint at their true identity; it's an eerie disclosure.

Minus the light.

Thanks to the following for putting up with my behaviour that night. I was a little self-indulgent.

Light-show.

It's not the same as watching lightning crack over cane-fields, but it's always a sight to behold. Trying to get a half decent image of a strike can be tedious, and of the hundreds of photos you take, maybe only five or 10 will be something considered good. But who cares? The chance of getting a good photo provides the excitement and the pleasure of watching such power at work provides the inspiration. 

One.

The Spit, Gold Coast. Some time in December.

A little something something.

Typical, really.

A fuller type of circle.

My Dad bought himself a (new to him) car. It's a delightful 1960 MGA 1600 which, when being restored was fitted with an 1800 motor. From some of my youngest momories spent driving around with Terry (Dad), I can recall him telling stories of cars he'd owned through the years, and the pieces of crap he'd bought as a young man. The point of the majority of these stories was that cars are a money-pit and rather a poor investment. This is of course, true, but I always thought that the freedom and enjoyment of driving was worth the cost, and a big part of growing up and learning responsibility.

Seeing my Dad's face light up when explaining the lustre of the British Racing Green paint, the quality of the tan interior, the finish to the chromed luggage rack, and witnessing his enjoyment at blipping the accelerator while working down the gears into a corner tells me that He hasn't lost his youth; it just got buried by all that shit you have to do when you grow up. It also reminds me of the similarities in our personalities. So, if I grow up and become as He is, that'll suit me just fine.