I took Rigby for a walk down the beach earlier today and overhead the Roulettes flying low zoomed by in formation, twice. It’s Anzac Day, always significant, and always a big day. Like I’ve said many times before, it seems the truest of our national days. Just about everyone has some kind of personal connection with it in a way not possible with Australia Day.
Both of my grandfathers fought in WW2 and I grew up watching the parades down St Kilda road. Later on, I was in Gallipoli for the 2004 Anzac Day commemoration, and about 7-8 years ago marched in it with my nephew, wearing my grandfather’s service medals. That was a great occasion. It’s always been a big day for me.
We had bucketloads of rain last night. It kept the crowds away from the dawn service, but there were still 30,000 there, which is damn impressive. By now as I write all the old diggers and their families will have finished marching and will be off having a beer somewhere, or else be playing two-up with mates. I love this day.
To honour the occasion I cooked up a batch of Anzac biscuits this morning – pretty good, though next time extra oats and extra golden syrup.
I’m not going to the footy this afternoon. I still can’t afford to go to most games. I’ll be watching it from my couch though. I’ll crack a bottle of red and unwrap some cheese and indulge myself while the mighty Bombers make a mess of the pies. The sun is out and while I’m not tipping against further rain, reckon it will be largely fine for the game. Can’t wait.