Balmoral Beach Excursion


With Mr. Woog away for the weekend on a dirt bike riding trip, I woke yesterday to a cracking scene. The sun was a-blazing and the kids were a-bitching so I knew that I needed to be oceanside STAT.

I called the bank and arranged an on the spot personal loan, for we were off to Balmoral!

For those not in the know, Balmoral Beach is a little gem of a harbour beach, situated in a suburb where the medium house price is 3,2 million dollars. A busting full of cash wallet is required to visit this part of Sydney. Four hours of parking will set you back $35 dollars, so those in the know often park a few suburbs away and then catch an Uber to the beach. It is cheaper and will save you driving around and around and around and around, slowly losing your will to live.

So why go there?

The water is beautiful and clean, the people watching is probably the most superior in the whole darn city and well, it is just as pretty as can be. You are always likely to spot a celebrity eating at one of the zhushy eateries that are dotted along the waters edge, and everyone is smiling. Because WATER AND SUN AND SAND = HAPPY MAMMA. The kids go nutso, jumping off the pier and I get hours of peaceful bliss, reading my book and watching the people. Then of course, after a few hours, the boys appear, screaming like the seagulls, demanding to be fed.

So me, Jack, Horatio and Horatio’s mate Hamez (They love their GANGSTA names) schlep over the road to the famous Bottom of the Harbour Fish and Chip Shop, where I do this to the young man behind the counter….


We sit and wait and talk and people watch, when Hamez and Horatio start an ongoing description regarding the cars that are passing us. All the glamour wheels were there. The black Range Rovers, the silver Mercedes convertibles and other very fancy vehicles. I started feeling very self-conscious that I drive a second hand Subie. But the kicker? This little sentence.

“Mum. The drivers of these cars are so YOUNG! Why are they so rich and YOUNG?”

So I looked and sure enough, the families in the fancy cars were a lot younger than me.

“Well,” I tell him “Your mum is a semi-professional blogger, which was not even a thing a decade ago, and your father is trying to become a semi-professional dirt bike rider at the age of 43. Our car reflects our current status. HAND TO MOUTH. Now eat that fucking $15 hamburger and let us not speak of this again*”

*That sentence was not said but thought in my head in a really loud voice.

What is the most you have ever paid for parking? Where was it?

And just who the fuck thinks that $6 is an ok price for a coffee?