Sometimes parents are the worst people to bring up their own children.  Over-invested, over-emotional, over-protective and over-competitive we can go to great lengths to ensure that our gifted and unique children do not have to suffer the trauma of being stonkingly bored and directionless occasionally, take responsibility for personal injury, make self-determined important life decisions and above all strain their brain against the angst and agony of critical thinking.

Ok, so that was such a lame title!  But after 23 years of living five minutes from the coast of Western Australia, who arguably has the best beaches in the world, I’ve discovered the joys of getting up at 6am and taking whichever teenager (or husband) is out of bed and our dog Tipsy (aptly named) down to Dog Beach for a walk.  Dog Beach is next door to Horse Beach and that time of morning the beach is filled with people, dogs and horses.  We’ve even gone swimming before the sun rises over the dunes, braving the sharks, the seaweed and the jellyfish.  Tipsy, our little Maltese/Lhasa Apso cross is so small the tiny waves break over her and unless we lift her up she just stands at the water’s edge barking.

There is nothing on earth that induces more unmitigated terror than spotting a bus full of those unholy sadistic creatures known as high school students.  It may be a bright, sunny day but dark clouds suddenly rain down acid 70’s memories where getting tortured by Idi Amin was more preferable option than catching the school bus home.

Going to school and coming home to your parent’s house afterwards is no big deal – unless you are 47 years old and it’s your second 30th school reunion in four months and you need a crash-pad for the night. 

Only this time it was with Brother School Mazenod - or Spazenod as we used to call it.  This is the fourth I’ve been to from the same school and I have to say they get better and better.