Whilst the sea was calm, standing on the rocks certainly was not. Yet Evan did not care in those few, special moments he had taken to stand there.

He loved the wild of the waves lashing the small promontory, however wet he got in the process. So much so, that he would do this every day he was in the town.

It had become a habit that he could not – well, would not – easily give up, for it was a crowning point of his day.

As he looked down, he reflected on the times that he had not come here each morning. The brown and green pools slowly draining from the last onslaught of water caused him to think of days gone by, when he stood near other water, in a place that was not as enticing as where he now was.

Slowly a crab emerged, the sun reflecting off its wet shell with a sparkle that might have come from a diamond. He, or she, for Evan had no idea about such things, quickly darted across the pool, snatched a morsel of something and made its way back to its shelter before the next wave.

As it caught his eye, Evan was drawn back to look at the town sprawled out before him. His view was like one of those panoramic photographs you could easily take with modern cameras these days. Heck, he recalled, he believed he could even take one with his phone.

The promenade was intensely bright to his eyes, though not quite as intense as when he looked out to sea. The structures were typically higgledy-piggledy as modern building statutes had allowed over the years. In some ways this made it a pleasant sight, but in others, where there was a development that his mother might have described as an ‘eyesore’, he slightly grimaced.

But then Evan knew these places intimately now, for he had settled into the town at last.

The next wave caught him a bit unawares and really soaked him – from head to foot, actually. It must be the seventh wave, he thought. Someone had told him once upon a time that every seventh wave was a big one. Maybe he’d have to check that out, one day when he remembered.

Far out to sea, he could see three ships, just below the horizon. He wondered where they were going; where they were coming from. Whilst he had travelled widely, he realized that there were many ports he hadn’t, as yet, called home.

And for the moment, he would not move from this warm spot, on the East Coast where he now made his home.

As he considered his good fortune at his choice of resting place, however long that might last, he spotted a familiar figure making their way along the rocks. They were making heavy weather of them, partly because of their uneven nature, but also because of the load they were carrying.

“Evan. Evan, old boy,” the visitor called out, “I’m here. I’m here.”

“Hey there. Take it easy. There’s no hurry,” said Evan and strode off gingerly to meet the newcomer.

Even Evan had difficulty with the sharp and slippery rocks, yet as he moved away from the end where the waves were still coming in with their regular pulse, it became drier and a little easier.

Once they met, Alan, for this was the name of Evan’s acquaintance, shared some of his load and they moved a little further back to a seat about half way back towards the shore.

This was the easier option for those seeking out a spot of nature on the rocks. A relatively quite and warm spot, which was almost completely safe from the prospect of getting wet.

So Alan and Evan settled there, looking south towards the sun.

The seat had a small, brassy coloured plate attached to it, with the inscription, “For Jonny Elliot, who liked to sit here sometimes. 1923-1988”. Although it was burnished and battered by the elements, the writing was clear enough. It had lasted well.

That was not quite the case for the seat itself, which had some 16 horizontal slats that formed the back and seat, of which probably 6 were missing.

So actually sitting on the precarious seat was something of a challenge, especially is you didn’t want half of your arse hanging through it.

They were both used to this seat, however and adept enough, over the months they had met here to find a spot that suited them. Each settled into their own relatively secure space and began their daily ponder.

“I see they took out the bank last night,’ said Alan, seeking out a response from his teasing comment.

“Which one?” Alan replied.

“The new one, in that place out of town,” came the response.

“What did they do, ram raid and pull out the ATM?” said Alan with a resigned air about him?

“You got it. Lucky bastards.” Was all Alan had to say.

Both men squinted in the direct line of the sun until eventually and almost in unison, they each pulled out a pair of sunglasses and proceeded to fit them.

Alan’s, rather typically, were one-armed and showed further signs of damage from the sticky tape holding the two lenses together at the nosepiece. He seemed satisfied with their placement, although he seemed to have to lean slightly to hold them in place.

Evan’s were, as might be expected, Gucci. Whether they were real Gucci or knock-offs, only he would know, but with his typically parsimonious nature, it would be unlikely he would go to the expense of the real thing.

Surfboarders were peppering the bay ahead of them, zig-zagging back and fore as the breaths of wind allowed them. Far from the beach, the two men could vaguely hear the sounds of children playing and they could just see the exercises of the lifeguards at the station.

All in all it was a contented scene, with but one thing missing. And that was about to be resolved.

Out of all the luggage that Alan had been attempting to lug across the rocks was a large vacuum flask. In fact it was hard to describe it in the traditional sense as a ‘flask’, for it was bigger than that.

Alan took his coffee seriously.

He pulled the pump-action machine out of the scruffy carrier bag and then settled that back in the bigger bag. He set it up on two of the slats and proceeded to delve in a second bag – a large rucksack – pulling out a small bottle of milk and a blue Tupperware container of sugar.

Traditionally, Evan had a mug with an encouraging, ‘Keep Calm and Relax’ motif. Alan’s mug was a souvenir from the Sydney Olympics and said ‘Sydney Olympics 2000’. But this time, he had a treat for them.

Out of a further bag, which had the logo saying ‘DollarLand – Everything for a Dollar’, he produced two brand new mugs.

“I though we needed a change. So I bought these.” He waited for Evan to say something, but nothing came.

Evan was a man for routine. He didn’t like change much, so new mugs would be a bit difficult for him to accept. Yet he liked his friend and was mature enough in years to realize that small things were to be humoured, especially when friendship was at stake.

‘Let it Be’, with a smiling face of the long-departed John Lennon was on one of the mugs. The Skoda logo was on the other. On both sides of it, in fact.

“Go on, you choose,” said Alan, generously.

For a moment, Evan looked at both mugs with a hint of distaste on his face. Just enough for him, but not quite enough for Alan to see.

Then he looked out again, over the bay and the active watersports and then back to his left, to the heavy waves breaking over the still brown and shiny rocks and made a decision.

‘Fuck your new mugs,” he said.

Then he got up and walked back to the end of the rocks and proceeded to get very wet, once again.