I can't stop pinching myself - an internal job bubble pops as I do, floats to the surface, and forms again. I live here, I live here, I live here. It's all the more miraculous for the leaving - like getting well after you've been sick, or feeling free when you've been chained. The life journey to get back to the coast I grew up on has been an adventure, and I appreciate the journey, but damn - DAMN - am I happy to be back.

I can't even explain the beauty of the place I live. I live a kilometre from the beach, so at this time of year I'm still swimming in the ocean every day. It's not cold, but not tropical warm, as some of you would expect it - I live way down south, as close as to Antarctica as you can get unless you're living in Tassie, the small island off the coast of Aus. Even then, my best mate tells me the water is only two degrees cooler than here. At the moment, it's 16 degrees Celsius. I love it.

On this particular morning, I took out the goPro whilst Jamie sat on the beach (he'll swim, but only if the sun is out, and if he fancies it - I go in like a fish whose gills are drying out). The GoPro is a pain - I can't get teh controls right because of the water on the screen. I've never used a less intuitive bit of tech.

Still, in these photos there's a sense of what it's like out there, first thing in the morning on the high tide. The water at eye level. It's as close as I can get to surfing without my board. It's funny the things you settle for. As long as I can get in the ocean, I've been thinking, I'll be okay. I've even been looking into gut sliders - prone boards that you still arm paddle but don't need to leap to your feet. Whatever keeps you wet, right? :P

I think I'd bo mad if someone took my ocean away.

This morning I was called into work (first for the year, emergency teaching) so I high tailed it down for a quick swim. The sun was coming up all lemony. Fuck, fuck, fuck I'm lucky to live here, I think.

I think of Dad, and how he never got to see my new home or know I made it back. Here's here though - he punches my arm playfully and tells me I'm pretty lucky too. I miss him walking along the beach, talking to him in the carpark and doing up his wetsuit before we paddled out. I'm sad that my son lives in Melbourne and I won't build that ocean relationship with him or my grandson. I text my uncle instead and see how his gutslider shape is going. He might make me one, if I'm lucky.

For now, I'm starting Bowen therapy to see if that helps, and seeing the ortho surgeon for expert advice - I hope - soon, and continuing physio, and a boatload of hope.