Newcastle, how I love you!

This was my status update on Facebook this afternoon. I was at Merewether SurfHouse. I was drinking pinot gris. The weather was gorgeous. The view was divine. The parking was free … It’s times such as these that I fantasise about moving back to my birthplace. Living a simpler life. Wandering barefoot on the beach every afternoon. My drinking companion wasn’t quite so enamoured. He’s moving all the way to Finland to escape Newcastle. Though he agreed if he’d spent more time at places like Merewether SurfHouse he might have felt differently. Newcastle provokes two very different passions in people – either they can’t wait to escape or they never want to leave. Anything else feels like purgatory. My friend did his best to turn me away from the true path home. He bemoaned the violence (murders in Civic Park, rapes in King Edward Park, brawls at the pub down the road), he bemoaned (but also kind of enjoyed) the 1970s suburbia vibe to the place, he bemoaned the small-townness of running into people every five minutes. I reckon 30 minutes rambling through the rockpools, sun on his back, at Merewether Baths and would evaporate all his complaints. At least until the next car of yobbos drove past and yelled “poofter!” out the window at him.