Broadwater Parklands

A large, well maintained space right on the water. That's the whole thing, and it's rarer than it sounds — most of the coast either gives you sand or gives you a shopping strip, and this gives you room.

The paths run the length of it and they're smooth and wide enough for everything at once. Skateboards, bikes, rollerskates, scooters, prams, runners, older couples going slowly, somebody deciding whether to ring the bell. Nobody's in anybody's way.

There's a water play area for the kids that does most of the work on a hot day. Jets and shallow pools and the sort of thing they'll stay in for two hours while you sit nearby and do nothing at all.

The Broadwater itself sits flat next to all of it. No surf to read and nothing to brace for, so children are in before their parents have finished unpacking, and it shelves gently enough that the ones who can't really swim are still only chest-deep a long way out.

It's maintained properly, which you notice without looking for it. The grass is mown, the bins are emptied, the taps work, the toilets are open. That sounds like nothing until you've been somewhere it isn't true.

Sundays the lawns fill with barbecues and birthday parties and eskies and the smell of cooking meat follows you the length of the place. Somebody always has a speaker and somebody always has too many children.

Early on a weekday it's almost silent, with flat light across the water and a few people swimming laps along the edge, and the paths belonging to whoever got there first.

Pelicans stand about near the swimming areas with the confidence of animals that have never been chased off anything, ibis work the bins, and nobody takes any notice of either. Once you're away from the water the shade runs out fast.