Unlike my much more adventurous husband, I prefer quiet, wind free beaches. I like to paddle along the edge of the waterline looking for shells, heart shaped pebbles, mermaid money (sand dollars), messages written in the sand, or anything else that captures my interest.

I don’t think there can be a better antidote for stress. It covers all the senses: listening to the waves come confidently ashore and then retreat, and the seagulls fighting over the juiciest sea offering; watching the reflection of the sun as the colours bounce between the clouds and the water; tasting the salt in the air (or in the water if you fall over with your mouth open), and feeling the silky touch of the sand caressing your toes.

Even better, when you find that perfect patch of wet sand that just lets you stand twiddling your toes while you slowly sink up to your knees, giggling like a little kid when the waves catch you and drench the clothes you are wearing.

Life doesn’t get much better than that. Other than having your daughter by your side giggling too and hanging off your arm. Not quite a teenager yet, obviously.

So I am marked as the “quiet beach” person, and my husband is the answer when my daughter wants to jump the bigger waves on her boogie board. She begged me to go along just in case she got bored and wanted someone to talk to.

We compromised by agreeing that I could sit in this little park behind the windy surf beach, drawing the creek and the seaside town of Torquay in the background. Apparently the water was cold (in other words my sooky husband had forgotten his wetsuit) and the waves were pathetic. They didn’t last long.