Akin to selling all of my equity funds in October, the plan was to achieve a sense of closure after an emotional year of downs and ups. Readers may remember that my father carked it — as we say in Australia — at the end of January. He always told me I had to scatter his ashes at sea.
A mile off our beach house north of Sydney to be precise, where a large rock called The Bull rises from the water. It was grandpa’s favourite fishing spot and four decades ago my dad rode out on a surf ski to throw Jack to the waves.
Therefore I grew up knowing that eventually I too would do the same. A fortnight ago, the day had come. But he bloody hated fishing, said my mum and sister. Why not just dump him in the surf at Soldiers? He loved that beach.
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