4.3 in

.we rarely travel far to swim. We occasionally cross the river to Leighton or Cottesloe, where the white sand squeaks underfoot and the champagne foam in the shallows tingles the legs and fizzes over the shoreline and makes children giddy with delight. the cirrus clouds above the horizon often resemble passages of perfect cursive script written in soft white lines against the bluest Whish-Wilson’s Perth is a place where deeper historical currents are never far beneath the surface.