On Sunday last I went into the city to meet Ann after she had finished work, something I like to do regularly. I know that it's hard for her and probably very dull to sit for nearly three and a half hours on a train in transit, so meeting up gives us more time to talk and further, companionship on the way home.

She finished uncharacteristically early (fewer checkouts) and so suggested a bus trip to La Perouse. I don't think that La Perouse ranks at the top of my favourite spots but I am happy to do anything with my wife, so off we went, wending our way past massive roadworks for the light rail, past my alma mater at Kensington, past the maximum security prison at Long Bay, before finally being deposited at the hot and windy headland that is, La Perouse.

I had not been here for many years, not since my father drove the family to visit the nearby memorial garden. At that time, Aboriginal men would demonstrate boomerang throwing in the parkland. Nowadays, it is packed with families heading for the secluded beaches, or tourists idling on the rocks or walking the rickety bridge to Bare Island Fort. We trod the path between these two, clambering over seaside boulders, getting shoes full of sand and observing the aquatic antics of the barely clad.

It was fun. I was a tourist in my own town. My wife is a genius.