The moon was still up at seven this morning as I walked up Juicy Fruit Drive. (It's real name's Jusfrute.) Juicy Fruit's a light industrial area behind the West Gosford shops with lots of industries like "Phuim Services". WTF Phuim do behind their seventies brown-tint windows is not indicated anywhere on their property so your guess is as good as mine. It was quiet there, even though it's fifty yards from the Pacific Highway. Maybe it was just the wall of sound effect from the cicadas up at Kendall's Rock.
Had a look at the outside of the Henry Kendall Cottage between Juicy Fruit and the shops. He was an Australian poet who lived from 1839 to1882. It was never actually his cottage, he only stayed there for a bit. But the cottage is a museum now and there's a seventies building beside it which will be chockers with souvenirs and historical artifacts. The little blue plaque on the outside of the cottage says "Henry Kendall Cottage, built c.1838, Gosford City Council Heritage Item №47". My hist list from Strom says "Cottage: museum (former inn), Peter Fagan 'The Red Cow Inn', Henry Kendall Road ... 1836/40". Don't yet know if Peter's the same Fagan the bay is named after. The cottage is a tiny stone building that barely looks big enough to house a dog let alone an inn. There's a few pictures of it here.
It was nice and cool in the shops. The shopping centre is a white eighties job with extraneous metal tubing and plastic verandas. But in the tunnel to the toilets you can see the back of the shops and the three in the middle have 1940s red brick backs with the bars still over their windows. Cool.
It was a pretty short walk. Started at 6.30 and finished at 8.20. The forecast was for 35 sweltering degrees (95F) so I wanted to finish at a decent hour. slacked off for a few minutes in the park down by the river. It must've been thirty degrees already but there was a seat under the trees beside Coorumbine Creek. There's a foot bridge over the creek then the cycle path winds through some pines. The sun was low still and blinding on the water, making a white haze and turning the mangroves in the bay and Point Clare and Green Point into dark silhouettes. The magpies were carolling in the trees, dog walkers were trotting along the path, someone was walking to work.
An aggro guy with a fat arse came along on his bike and yelled at a walker and a magpie in the tree overhead crapped too close to my notebook. It was time to go home.