Sunday... well, there had been word of a group of people intending to "claim back the beach" at Cronulla (my home suburb) because 12 "youths of middle-eastern appearance" bashed up two lifeguards the previous weekend.

Police helicopters had been hovering above the suburb for half of the week, monitoring things.

An SMS had been passed around (regarding the reclaiming of North Cronulla Beach), and most people who received it (including most of Daniel's workmates) thought it sounded stupid. But of course the media found out about the message and made sure that all of Sydney knew about it, which meant that people who would not have known or cared otherwise felt suddenly compelled to show up and stick their noses in it.

I was out of the suburb for most of Sunday doing Christmas shopping, but Daniel called during the afternoon warning me to take the back streets on my way home because traffic was really badly banked up on the main roads.

It was way bigger than I'd thought.

Apparently 5,000 people showed up, mostly in support of the lifeguards but of course there had to be extremist idiots, who happily confessed to the media that they'd only showed up to "bash lebs".

When I got there, Cronulla was full of drunk teenage idiots waving Australian flags and beer bottles (longnecks, to make it worse - how derro can you get?), and it was the first time in my life that the sight of the Australian flag actually sickened me. It wasn't until Sunday night on the news that I heard about the violence that had taken place. People throwing bottles at police and ambulance drivers because they were trying to protect the few people of "middle eastern appearance" who had dared show up at the beach that day. Anyone who looked vaguely Arabic was attacked, and so were the police if they tried to protect them.

So there had been a riot in Cronulla. We awoke on Monday morning to the news that lebanese gangs had sought "retribution" (don't you love the choice of words?) during the night by showing up at Maroubra (another beachside suburb further north, whose well-known surf gang was known to have played a part in the Cronulla scene) with baseball bats and smashing up cars.

What is it with people - especially passionate young people - and the desire to create an "us-and-them" situation? Humans seem to thrive on it. It's almost as though we can't feel like a community unless we can exclude people from it.

On Monday, dad called me at work saying he needed my car until Thursday afternoon because his was being fixed. I was going to have to pick him up in the morning, drive him to my work, then let him have the car during the day, have him pick me up from work at the end of the day, drive back to his place and then back home again. Until Thursday. Not a huge deal but a bit of a pain.

By Monday night we thought the violence was over, at least until the weekend. Yes, another rowdy "gathering" is planned for this Sunday, and I'm going to do my best to be out of Cronulla along with my car. At about 10:30PM I heard a lot of honking of horns and, not long after that, police sirens screaming up the main road into Cronulla, followed by a lot of other cars roaring their engines to get out of there as fast as they could. Some cars came to our street, but not many. Mostly they were people who thought that they could dodge police by taking a "back road", which happens to be a cul-de-sac. They would show up and then turn around in the driveway and speed off the other way.

The police helicopter was soon back in the air, chopping away at the sky and making the place feel eerily like a war zone. Remember, this was all late at night.

Everyone was awake, and some of our neighbours on the ground floor had clubs just in case anyone approached our building. I don't think most of us really knew what was going on.

The Tuesday morning news (ie today) told us that the lebanese gangs (yes, it sounds racist but to simplify for anyone out there unfamiliar with the situation, this is pretty much a case of anglo "Aussies" vs "lebs" - despite what the politicians are saying. Don't shoot me, I'm just the messenger, and I think it's stupid too) had returned and smashed up cars right near where I live, as well as in neighbouring suburbs. I was lucky my car wasn't smashed - our street was one street away from the carnage, but just far enough out of the way for them not to get to us. There were piles of smashed glass everywhere where cars had been attacked the night before, and then removed.

Of course, I didn't see any of this until the next interesting event. Daniel woke up with acute pains in his abdomen this morning. I drove him to the hospital and we went straight to the emergency section. On the way there we saw the piles of smashed glass and I thanked my lucky stars that the violent idiots had stopped just before our street.

We were at the hospital by 6:30AM and it eventually transpired that Daniel had appendicitis and would need surgery. (I had already asked him not to blame this on my cooking.) He had his operation just before midday, but until then he went through various tests and prodding sessions by various doctors. He was an awful shade of green and clearly in a lot of pain. They gave him morphine in the end, which helped a lot.

I was trying to get in touch with his family all morning, as well as my work and Daniel's work, as well as trying to work out how to get a car for dad to use. He's driving Daniel's car until the end of the week.

I ended up taking the day off as it was just a write-off anyway.

Now Daniel is in hospital, my dad has his car, and I am spending the night at his parents' place because of fears that tonight's violence in Cronulla is going to be worse than yesterday. They are going to have 450 - four hundred and fifty - police on duty tonight to try to prevent it.

And there is still this Sunday to come.

How's THAT for an eventful few days?

I want to write something down that happened today that I found really touching, quite literally now that I think about it. Before Daniel had been given the full dose of morphine, he was still in pain. I was tickling his arm gently, because it's something that we do to each other - gently run our fingers up and down one another's arms, legs, shoulders. He loves it, like a dog getting a belly scratch. He said drowsily "mm... that's nice". I stopped soon after and put my hand on his arm as he shifted uncomfortably in his trolley bed, in an attempt to make the pain go away. I started to tickle him again but he weakly grabbed my hand and placed it flat on his arm. "Hm, my tickles seem to be losing their touch these days," I joked, but I left my hand there on his arm. "Mm-mm," he disagreed sleepily. "I just like touching you, that's all." He looked so content, having my hand there.

I don't really know why but I thought that was really sweet. Maybe it was the thought that just being there for Daniel and having my hand on his arm was enough to make him feel so much better, even if it didn't take away the pain. Somehow the full meaning of that struck me. There are very few people in the world who could hold your hand and really make you feel better, and for him, I was that person.

I thought that moment was worth recording.