Last week, I hung out with Jen Keilty, a Canadian ex-pat and friend of a friend in Sydney. We met for breakfast here in King’s Cross, then she gave me a driving tour of some of the more renowned areas of the city (some more than once–one way streets can be confusing).
We ended up at Bondi Beach, where we sunned and swam with the jellyfish. We rode some waves in–best bodysurfing I’ve had! Then we went for a walk around the head–the cliffs that rise up from the string of beaches. Great view, and in wearing away, the sandstone in the hills had become an enormous honeycomb, alien and grey.
We dropped off the car with Georgi, Jen’s roommate, and then took a ferry over to Balmain, where she lives. We had a pint and a monstrous pile of fish and chips, then went back to clean up a bit at her place.
On the way, I mentioned that I would like to play some cricket while I was here. She pointed down the alley at the side of her house: “There’s the pitch right there,” she said.
The “pitch” is the lane where the bowler throws the ball to the batsman.
“Every Sunday the guys get together and whack the ball around a bit. You’re welcome to join in.” I looked at the beautiful old houses across the street– an outfield walled with antique windows.
“What happens if you hit it across the street?” I asked.
“That’s six points,” Jen said, flatly.
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