Seventies shot.jpg

I'm Jaq. 

Warning: Contains a little bit of potty-mouthed humour where necessary and an overuse of coconut oil. I also eye off other people's whisky, as depicted here. 

When Everything Old is Newsa Again

When Everything Old is Newsa Again

 Photo by moi hoping not to be beheaded by a coconut.

Photo by moi hoping not to be beheaded by a coconut.

Holidaying in Noosa can be extremely exhausting, and not just because we had to suck in the car fumes, sitting in the front row of tables at Aromas in Hastings Street my friends.

Greetings all. I am just back from pooncing around Noosa, or ‘Melbourne-but-on-a-better-beach’ as it is otherwise known, (or at least it seems that way during school hols).

I thought it was about time I did one of my travel writing larks and not because it means I could deduct the cost of my acai peanut butter bowl from Acai Brothers at tax time; I mean who would do that?

Visiting the Sunshine Coast at this time of year is like a reward for surviving a Melbourne winter. All the Victorians walking around with their Melbourne tans seem to nod to each other with a silent, ‘How good’s this?’ smuggery. Yours truly included.

We have personally found solace just outside of Noosa in a happy little hamlet they call Sunshine Beach. Sunshine Beach to Noosa and Hastings Street is what Flinders is to Sorrento, you can still get an Aperol Spritz, you just don’t have to wade through a thousand people to get one while your significant other does laps, due to a lack of car parks. Even better still is that Sunshine Beach is still close enough to Hastings Street that we can go for a poonce should the desire take hold. Happy hour at Bistro C is but a short drive away.

That actually reminds me of a proud 70’s parenting moment we had a few years ago.

I think Joan Rivers and The QE2 were 13 and 9 respectively. The Gent and I gave them $30 to  get an ice cream from Royal Copenhagen Ice Cream Extortionists of which we were expecting no change. Anyhoos, there we were at Bistro C which if you know it, has a lovely beachfront locale. We were able to watch the girls eat their truffle infused ice cream and do handstands while we were getting stuck into happy hour.

After about an hour of this….otherwise what’s the point of happy hour, Joan Rivers and The QE2 started to get restless and were making faces and gestures through the window, demanding to be fed or other some such inconvenience. The Gent and I were not interested in moving from our cozy digs and thus pretended not to know who these street kids were (all while keeping a safely guarded eye on them of course).

That would have worked a treat except that both those little buggers look so much like The Gent it’s a bit tricky trying to disown them. Eventually a concerned fellow patron pointed out that our children were trying to get our attention while The Gent and I looked in the other direction pretending to admire the ropey artsy fartsy light fittings that were hanging from the ceiling. Naturally Joan Rivers and The QE2 have never let us live that down, and it sits proudly as a black mark on our parenting record.

Joan Rivers: ‘Remember that time you and Dad abandoned us in Noosa with no dinner?’

Me: ‘We didn’t abandon you, we gave you money for ice cream and you did handstands on the beach.’

Joan Rivers: ‘But anyone could have kidnapped us, and you wouldn’t have known because you were at happy hour.’

Me: ‘We had our eye on you the whole time.’

Joan Rivers: ‘But you had your backs to us.’

Me: ‘I have eyes in the back of my head - crisis averted.’

Seriously, my girls and their version of bad parenting. It may be about time to reveal the dark family heritage. I was about 10 when my Dad was assigned a summer secondment ‘mission’ to Jervis Bay as the acting local law enforcer. Mother Mary won an empty copper torpedo shell from the Senior Officers Mess at the Naval base after sculling a yard glass of beer when normally all she ever drank was Moselle. Oh yes, that article is coming soon.

Meanwhile back in Sunshine Beach.

I have to make a few recommendations for you sweet loves and encourage you to take a drive up the hill for five minutes and visit this village for it’s laid back hipster vibe….with Range Rovers.

You can imagine my excitement when I found out that the guy who plays Harvey Spectre on Suits has a holiday house in Sunshine Beach. Oh my lordy be! Potential celebrity stalking and a Sunday session at the Sunshine Beach Surf Club all in one holiday? Stop it! By the way the G&Ts are super charged at the Surf Club so go easy my friends.

 Yeah the sunsets are pretty average at the Sunshine Beach Surf Club, but we manage.

Yeah the sunsets are pretty average at the Sunshine Beach Surf Club, but we manage.

It wouldn’t be a trip to Sunshine Beach without seeing our favourite remedial therapist and dominatrix, Jennifer Kirby. She operates out of the local hair salon which is old school and Jennifer is sunshine personified. We have been seeing her for yonkies and even though I am in pain for a good majority of the time I see her, she gets all the kinks and knots out of this old body. She is such a gorgeous lady and gives the best hugs, but you have to book well in advance of arriving (see her details below). She also plays groovy Spotify mixes.

We had some nosh at Sum Yung Guys and it was hands down some of the best food I have ever inhaled in my life. A wonderful Asian inspired (even if a little shortish) menu, but all of it cracking good even for a pain in the butt gluten-free pescatarian like moi.

Speaking of healthy food, I think I ate my own body weight in peanut butter protein balls from The Jam Café in Duke Street and their raspberry dream smoothie with kale and coconut water was my morning blessing.

 The Jam Cafe peanut butter balls are eye- rollingly satisfying and they avoid those food babies while donning your cossie.

The Jam Cafe peanut butter balls are eye- rollingly satisfying and they avoid those food babies while donning your cossie.

The girls love going to Fratellini Italian usually on the first night we arrive after a long day of travel (it’s hard work to ravish the Virgin lounge buffet in 45 minutes). There is usually a preliminary final on the same day so we are the tragic footy family watching the game on a phone after Joan Rivers has hacked the space station for a telecast.

But for mine, the hero of the whole shebang is the beach. It is one of my favourite coastlines. At one end is the Noosa National Park and Coastal Walk with a very, very, very steep set of steps to the top of the point. From there you can view all the way down to Coolum and Maroochydore, it is breathtaking; no literally, you’re knackered when you get to the top.

When we first started holidaying there we thought walking the steps was enough of a challenge but each year we have managed to get to a point where we can run it. By we, I need to clarify, myself, The Gent and The QE2. Joan Rivers thinks we all need our heads examined for doing such exhaustive exercise on a holiday.

This year was something else again. I don’t mind confessing that I have just turned 48 and the need to continually push and apply myself in new and mostly uncomfortable ways, is something I am very focused on in addition to looking after my health. I am trying to be more fearless and go with a ‘what’s the worst thing that can happen?’ attitude.

The Gent and I set a goal to be able to run up those spine crushing steps three times by the end of the week (by the time you do two sets the lactic acid in your legs is starting to flow well and truly). We were on the express to pain town. But each day pushed us closer and the funny thing was that once we got to three sets with a couple of days still to go, pushing a bit further didn’t seem such a frightening prospect.

Watch for full appreciation of pain and suffering.

On my last morning I did six! (Sorry, not sorry for shameful boast)

Don’t get me wrong, the last two sets were sa-low and I thought I was going die on the side of that hill. But then I thought that wouldn’t be such a bad place to go, now would it?  Glass half-full of Aperol and all that jazz.

Jaq xxx

PS the number for Mistress Jennifer (she really isn’t a dominatrix by the way) is 0402 802 487. Book in soon for Easter 2019 my peeps.

 

And They're Off and Racing

And They're Off and Racing

Giving Pause

Giving Pause