Sea Change

There is a sports (of sorts) ground at Weymouth, One of those village green type set ups on a hill over the back with cow crap patches waiting for the next incoming flight of dung beetles to clear the deck for an occasional holiday cricket match.


But sport was off the agenda this weekend. Rose and Nick were getting married so Jane and I were there with a few close family members for their second time around nuptials.


They had both faced some challenges in the journey to the day but there was a feeling of relaxed contentment the as the sun set on Friday night and after it had slipped around the back and resurfaced to a calm, crisp Autumn day that is indicative of all that is good about this time of the year in Tasmania.


As the morning evolved the already buoyed spirits warmed with the freshness of the air inhaled from beach walks, bicycle rides or infused with strong black coffee taken in sunny spots.


I watched a simple ceremony framed by lush green Acacias bracketing a backdrop of preening salt water birds on sand and a few stragglers from the Summer intrusion with rods greeting the incomingPipersRivertide. The business was done. Rose was glowing having recovered from the nervous Nick’s faux pas reference to taking her as his “awful weathered wife” during his vows.


Under the sun’s soft warmth the partnership of chopped chicken, pistachio and chives sandwich nibbles and locally produced vintage Janz bubbles with the company was wonderful.


A small convoy, driven by the younger designated drivers, headed in land to theBayofFires Vineyardwhere local delicacies were taken with Pinots and Riesling. Tasty titbits indeed.


Back to the shack to relax as the sun set and the warmth of the fire pot in the calm evening drew people out doors to frog calls and wallaby thumps that would be soon usurped by a little bit of old people’s rock and roll inciting the tribal dance of a long lost youth.


But life is cruel. With the yin and yang of every moment the line between pleasure and pain, bliss and grief is ever so thin. While on one side of the undefined boundary between two beach shacks there was chatter and happiness, next door the dwelling was in darkness and Garry was in bed wallowing in grief. The insensitive neighbours partied in a manner that defied all sense of respect and common decency.


As Garry dealt with his tragic loss from the night before his half mast flag hung remorsefully, saturated by the descendingBass Straitdew. And nobody appeared to give a hoot.


  1. Its all weddings and funerals down at Catland this week.
    Good to see you back in fine writing form Phantom. Those Bay of Fires Pinots and Rieslings are a thing of beauty and a joy forever. I’m jealous of your weekend (until Sunday evening).

  2. Dave Nadel says

    Have you hauled your own flag to half mast yet, Phantom?

  3. It’s hard to find Bay of Fires riesling over here in the tough waterside bars of Morristown Phanto. And there you are right in the midst of it. As we were at the Punt Road End on Saturday – right in the midst of it. Sure it was only the Free Falling Fuchsias, but our Championship Quarter was a statement in Self Belief. I hope it cheeyud ya intelekchully challunged bruva – as ut did uz all ova heer at Punt Rode.

  4. Haven’t got a Cat’s flag Dave. But I know where one is being unfurled next Saturday

  5. Nice backhander Sir Phantom,

    The great thing about flying the Pies flags that you know the only people who would pinch it are PIes supporters too tight to buy their own. If the Bay of Fires Pinots are indicative of Tassie’s other exports make mine a case. Any one for Balldock Shiraz or Hudson Chardie.

  6. I want to know where he stole the flag from.

  7. Andrew Starkie says

    The Falcon out the front makes the photo. Can be anywhere in the country. Gold.

  8. It’s a reconditioned Mustang Andrew and it belongs to an itinerant wedding guest, not poor Garry.

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