20 High Street YAMBA

For me, home is not the physical street address that I go to after work to sleep and eat, but it’s the place that I desire to return to when given the chance; the place of my childhood where my nearest and dearest grew up, a part of the world where my fondest memories still linger in street corners and familiar faces.

A place where I grew up with all my friends, sleepovers, hangovers, drinkovers, birthday parties every year, laughter, camping in the back yard, listening to the Picture Theatre playing its movies, the drunks rolling and laughing down the hill from the pub and yahoooing, the childhood friends I am still friends with today who would come and holiday in Yamba, being able and very blessed to walk to the pub, the golf club and the bowling club every weekend, especially the smell of my dad’s cooking from down the street... the way the shop owners would always so.. 'I can always smell your dads cooking', and just a great place and best position to be bought up in.

So it comes to no surprise then, with the strong connection I feel about my 'old' home, that I defend it like it’s a part of my physical body. It was my sanctuary, the place I always came back to.

So it caught on fire... this is telling me that it’s about time the ole girl was laid to rest and a brand new start must be made and new memories on this spot.


Yes, I am very sad, very sad, tears well up, but the memories will live on in my photo albums, and I have plenty of them.