So whilst we waited for the fire to die down (see previous post) we went to the coast near a village called Falmouth. It is actually on the estuary of a stream called the River Wey, so it should have been called Weymouth … or not. The place names are interesting in Australia, some aboriginal, some given in flattery to political/public figures back in the UK; and some just given by the ragtag collection of convicts, freed convicts, free settlers and soldiers, sent there 10000 miles from a home they could never hope to see again. So they named places after home, a collection of names muddled from all over the UK just as they were. Bittersweet to see the names, to see how some prospered into towns and how some remained just a couple of houses.

And this image was taken on the beach, still stormy with great billowing dark clouds, threatening the downpour that never quite happened. A beach so covered in beautiful shells that you almost regretted each footstep for the beauty it was crushing; but then the next few tides would wash up their replacement.