Holiday hand holding.

“Beauty lies in the eyes of the hand holder.”

Luckily for us, we live in a city of smilers. Gracious, grateful faces wandering the mall in the hope of nothing more than a cheap meal, a cold beer, or a half priced pair of new shoes. And, as it’s school holidays in Brisbane, hundreds of these people are taking full advantage of a gorgeous shed-a-layer type of spring day.

A black-hatted magician is holding centre stage, hollering to the growing crowd whilst creating a makeshift platform with his step ladder (apparently he never knew his real ladder).

The crowd is made up of lunching office workers, joyful school children, elderly gentleman, tottering old ladies, overseas tourists, excited shoppers and families with prams. But for me the best thing to see is the hand holders. They catch my eye, and make me grin.

The teenage girls with curious confidence, tattoos and undercuts. The children innocently noticing patterns in the pavement, skipping behind mothers more intent on texting and juggling oversized shopping bags. The high school sweethearts unknowingly attracted to each other’s similar features. Older couples who hold their histories in their clasped hands, with no need to tag their geographical position on social media.

I sit and watch the wonderful flow of humans for a little longer, and realise that although the magician has the attention of the crowd, it is the joy and the smiles of the crowd which holds mine. Turns out that this visual solidarity, the trusted connection of people just holding hands, is simply magic in itself.

Admit it. We all love dad jokes.

Almost every time I open my mouth in an attempt of clever humour, my efforts are met with “That is such a dad joke!” and I don’t even mind.

In my experience, despite what people say, everyone loves a joke that sounds like something your dad would come up with.  Whether it’s a play on words, a double meaning or a repetitive pun,  you can’t deny that an over-the-top eye roll is worth every second if it also causes the corners of the mouth to head north.

It started in October. A decade ago.

Buy a domain name he said. Too easy! she said. We’ll make you a website for your photos he said.  I can do this! she said.

That was 2008.

From the outset, the amount of time and effort required to complete such a task was grossly underestimated by this young photographer.  If a chocolate beetroot cake takes approximately one hour and twenty minutes to complete, surely the creation of a basic website could be only slightly more.

In reality, distraction replaced action for so long that it actually ended up taking nine years, ten months and twenty-two days longer than the average website to come to fruition.

Thanks Brit and Brett.

I owe you both a chocolate cake.