Coromandel has a special connection. When I was young we used to stay in a place my Dads company owned. We could rent these places and would stay about 5 days. We would wind around the spectacular Thames coastline in the company car. The boot full to the brim with holiday baking, towels, togs and the obligatory fishing lines fed through the centre seats. Cute little houses were built into the side of the steep hills on the right. Passing cars with inches to spare as the road was so narrow. The drop to the left revealing craggy rocks leading to a pebbly coast with pohutukawa hosting flocks of Cormorants drying their wings after a morning fish feast. One house built into the cliff housed a lovely curiosity. Pop-eye waved from it’s front window and excitement would build slowly as we drove knowing just which corner would reveal the spinach munching pipe smoking character. “There he is” we would scream delightedly. Mum and dad would put the jug on immediately on arrival and the winding down would begin in earnest Dad would fish at sunset and we would walk down and watch the sun go down as we played on the beach waiting and hoping dad would catch something. We would find sandy hills to roll down, play on the precarious rope swing and discover sand all through our clothes when we shed them for a shower once it got dark. Coromandel always makes me remember Dad.