Justine McLeary did the right thing heading to Sydney to enjoy summer.
Manly's Shelly Beach couldn't be more inviting. After a hectic end to 2011, and a damp start to 2012 in Auckland, I've been dying to don swimwear and laze around in the sun. The shimmering turquoise water beside the boardwalk beckons. Down on the white sand, reality seems a world away as I doze in the sun, half-listening to the lilting accents of people around me while a gentle breeze dries the salt that a chilly dip left on my skin.
I could get used to this.
It's summer in Sydney and the temperatures are in the low 30s, making frequent beach trips essential. We've come to the right place; the city boasts more than 70 beaches, from secluded bush-fringed bays to the world-famous golden sands of Bondi. Here, glamorous bikini-clad girls and muscle-bound men strut, making it a less-than-ideal spot for a 30-something mother like me, for whom skimpy swimwear is history.
At Palm Beach, 40km north of Sydney, the bull ants are eager to bite and the pounding surf renders swimming impossible on our visit. The rugged scenery of Watson's Bay is spectacular, but the crowds make finding a spare patch of sand a challenge.