by Jonathan

February 2013

Is there any sound more evocative than the sound of the sea? For me, it is an instant time-machine whisking me back to my youth idling away hours on a Wexford beach. Early morning on Bondi when the beach is quiet, I just have to close my eyes, listen to the lulling waves, and I am back in Ireland. But for a spell in London, I have always lived by the coast and I find being away from it for too long quite claustrophobic. Indeed, weekends in England tended to be bookended with desperate car trips to and from the coast to any beach we could find. This usually meant a sad, grey and stony affair on the south coast but the smells and the sounds were the same. Eyes closed, and it could be any beach in the world.

Now, as Patrick and I bounce about in the waves, or sit on Bondi’s sand staring out to sea, we remember all the seas we have lived by, visited, experienced and cherished. I suppose this explains, in a roundabout way, why we are called Coast. We from very different coastal parts of the world, have travelled far, and have ended up at Bondi Beach, rough stones honed by the sea and thrown up on Antipodean shores – well, he’s still a rough one; I was always ultra smooth! (barf – PC)

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The smooth one is actually on the right (yeah, smooth headed! - JN)