On Track to an Aching Back
A little over ten years ago the better half decided she wished to fulfil a long-held ambition and move to the far north coast of NSW, an area she fell in love with when she visited it as a teenager. She developed a detailed plan of campaign to set about making this move a reality and within two years we were living in our current location in the shadow of the world heritage listed area known to the local Minjumgbal people as Wollumbin (Mount Warning) near the NSW town of Murwillumbah. Before making the move she decided it would be a good idea to take a short holiday in the area to scope out local life and colour and possibly assist in convincing the rest of us such a move would be in our best interests.
I didn’t take too much convincing and once the kids saw the beaches, and the water slide at the local aquatic centre, they were sold. On that holiday we browsed for junk jewellery and other hippy trinkets in Byron Bay, went crab fishing in Tweed Heads and ended the trip by climbing Mount Warning. The trek to the top of Mount Warning, which I was not looking forward to as it constituted exertion on a major scale, took us about three hours or so. However when we got up there I had to admit it had been worth it, the view was absolutely stunning.
The one]. However the worst part was sitting across the table at breakfast from the kids, who were five and nine at the time. While I struggled to lift a mug of tea to my lips without letting out a groan, neither of them seemed to be suffering at all from the climb the previous day. I asked them “? They looked back across the table at me with genuine puzzlement on their faces and replied “.” in unison. I looked at Louise and she just rolled her eyes, one of the few gestures she could muster without causing herself serious pain.
