You know your house is cold when you hold your hands into the oven as its cooling down because rubbing hands or putting them in pockets does not do.

You know it’s cold when you have to dance to even consider changing into proper clothes.

You know it’s cold when the car is icy out.

You know it’s cold when your friend slips over on invisible ice.

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My first trip overseas involved 27 hours of flying and layover time.

For an 8 and 6 year old who were used to running around all day doing their own thing, this was tiring and clearly something that would linger particularly in my life.

What could be so worth all that time?

Meeting new people. Seeing new sites. And the food.

German bakeries, lots of gifts and chocolate pudding.

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Every Sunday morning last winter I would get myself out of bed (on a good day before 8) and drive half an hour to a beach for a morning walk.

The wind would be cold.

The sand would be freezing to the point of not being able to feel my feet (I have a beach rule with no shoes).

And the waves would be harsh.

But at that time of the day it was mine. I shared this with no other souls and for a small handful of time the world was all my own.

With a holiday weekend comes extra time and I took the opportunity to return to the beach I have visited far too little this year and capture some images.
From where I came

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