in the Icebergs pool the weekday swimmers pulse gently along deep green lanes like contented jellyfish across the bay the Pavilion raises a row of arched eyebrows at the near-naked humans on the sand and the neat ranks in the car park are a stock-still herd of glass-eyed tourists, transfixed by the million-dollar view the flags are all exemplary, each standing straight out from its pole like the stars and stripes planted on the moon a two metre swell teases the surfers— small dark seal shapes bobbing in the grey marbled hollow of the backwash all at once, three rise…