Back at the house after the BBQ, we found the cars and eskies already packed ready to head straight down to the beach. A short drive, and Gav was lighting a fire with trees Tim had pulled from the nearby bushland. Once the blaze was going strong, we each grabbed a drink and headed up the beach to meet the other parties who would be dying with us that night.

Personally, I found staggering up the beach with a plastic cup of whiskey quite a challenge. Although I drank plenty to keep the staggering going, I spilt a few drops in the ocean as well. Both Darren and I were keen to actually meet some of our grave-mates, and we agreed to go and talk to them. We also agreed that any mention of Jesus and we would be leaving without delay.

Well, the first group (about eight late-teenish kids), wouldn't talk to us. They just turned their backs when we wished happy new year. When we got to the second group (about 30 30ish blokes), we saw that they had created a true bonfire. That is, a fire whichw as 'bonnie' as Jon The Scot would have said. The woodpile was higher than me, and the flames shot up at least five meters. We sat next to a man who was alone on a dune, and Darren opened "Nice Fire."

"Thanks," the guy answered with a cheery vacuous grin. "We're all Jehovas witnesses, so when we set to building the fire the community spirit meant that we got it up & going in 20 minutes."

'Jehovah's witness' qualifies as a mention of Jesus to me, so I left and went back to the campfire. Darren continued the conversation: "You don't have a drink?"

"No, we don't drink or smoke or swear."

"Fuck, eh?"