A weekend in Whiritoa (Toa for short, now that we've been there three times). Staying in our friend's old bach with its peeling lino, faded flowery carpet and squeaky old divan beds, we woke every morning to the faint sound of surf slamming onto hard sand. No email. No telly. Not a lot of anything, apart from reading, eating and lying around like lazy seals, while the kids did energetic kid things around us. We ate ripe salted tomatoes and passionfruit straight from the vine; started on the G & Ts at any old time in the afternoon. A very fine weekend of beachiness indeed.