An extract from David Marr's essay collection, 'My Country', published by Black Inc.
Image via Shutterstock.
I can remember waking in summer to the sound of rain and feeling not disappointment but relief. I wouldn’t be forced to the beach. I liked surfing well enough once I’d dragged myself down to the water. But hot days had their inflexible routine: up, breakfast and beach. A wet day meant freedom.
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