Pink-orange Angophora trees twisting and turning like ballet dancers above a river of blue-green, pathways of sandstone, the sweet smell of the Sydney bush, the camaraderie of the Oatley Amateur Swimming Club, bodies diving off the concrete blocks, retro change rooms, sausages and tomato sauce, a salty taste on my tongue, sand and mud between my toes, the swish of the water, the flow of the tide and the heat of the summer sun.
Back in the 1970s, when my sister, brother and I were kids, we spent many years presenting compelling arguments to our parents why we needed a pool in our backyard. We were always hopeful but they never gave in. Their view was we didn’t need one as we had Northbridge Baths down the road. When[…]Read More