We’re home for the holidays. My wife insists: ‘We live in a resort!’ The neighbour’s roof is in front of us, but above that is Phillip Island, with the sea between, in Streeton blue on a bright day. So why be anywhere else? Sure, it’s not as pretty as the view from Westernport Bay where Greek triremes once set off to sail beyond the sunset, to that ‘untravell’d world whose margin fades forever and forever when I move’.
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