"snakes hit the beach"

That's the headline of a story in our local paper (unavailable online) about that dude Peter I once mentioned here. There he is in the photo, looking very ZZ-Top; bushy beard, reflector aviators, red flannie, and wearing a python like a feather boa. That's Candy (so-called "because of her sweet personality"). He's talking about the wildlife rescue service he works at and what to do if you come across a snake, and now I'm feeling very guilty about the red-belly my cat killed the other night. Mea culpa, mea culpa. Next time I'm calling Peter, promise.
Speaking of characters, you know how I'm always going on about this novel I'm going to write? And you know how they say you should write about what you know? Well, in case anyone's worried, it's not going to be about a single mum's seachange (or "tree-change" as drop-outs to our neck of the woods are sometimes called because of the national forests around here). Babies won't feature in it much at all, either.
Also speaking of our neck of the woods, I noticed the other day how, on the local millionaire's strip where the views are unbelievable, someone has erected a neat little sign warning people not to use their 'private beach'. That pisses me right off, because there's a 30-metre reserve around the lake foreshore so that beach belongs to all of us, pal. I'm going to make a point of using it in the summer, haha. Nice beach it is too.