First day of November. 9am. Hot westerlies toss small branches and leaves through the already heated air. I have just finished some kick-boarding. The water at Lawson Pool is cool and the sky unblemished by cloud. Families gather at the shallow end to watch children take swimming classes. An aerobics class bobs in rhythm at the deep end to an old Beatles track, which has been looped over and over with no end in sight.

A large chopper hoves into view, its powerful engines sweeping away the gentle haven of Saturday morning pool sounds. It is an Elvis style fire-fighting helicopter. For a moment, people look upward, then back, though the meaning is clear. This is the price of living in the Blue Mountains.