Well there are only 51 weeks to go until 2009, or in fact 50 weeks until Christmas is with us again.

But before that and just an egg’s throw away is Easter and it won’t be long until the shopkeepers dust off the decorations, the hot cross buns will be out and the circus starts again.

But instead of looking forward I found myself looking back last week on New Year’s Eve when I was sitting at Picnic Point on a blustery morning, looking at the wild river and a wind that would blow a dog off a chain.

The week leading up to this had seen severe weather warnings, the promise of a tropical cyclone and panic buying at the shops for the fear of an upcoming disaster.

Now I often go to Picnic Point on Monday mornings after I visit my mother, and sit and think about the happy times I had there as a kid.

But on this particular morning I was well and truly in the ’60s timewarp.

I had received an email the day before about what it was like growing up in those times and before.

It went something like this and I must say caught my attention: “Firstly, most survived being born to mothers who smoked and/or drank while they carried us and lived in houses with asbestos roofs and walls.”

I was even a little horrified until I thought about it.

I know we are far more informed now than we used to be and more than once I have thought about saying something to an expecting mother who was either drinking or smoking, but it certainly does highlight a change in habits.

But it was the next couple of points that really got me thinking about a time gone by.

“Takeaway food was limited to fish and chips, no pizza shops, McDonalds, KFC, Subway or Red Rooster. We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle, and nobody actually died from this.

“We ate cup cakes, white bread and real butter and drank soft drinks with real sugar in them, but we weren’t overweight because – WE WERE ALWAYS OUTSIDE PLAYING!”

Sitting at Picnic Point delving into my dusty memory from childhood, I reckon there were two small shops there, one was groceries and takeaways and the other a fishing shop.

There were small shops and picture theaters scattered all the way from there to Mooloolaba.

Today at Picnic Point there are no shops but some very nice units. There are a few shops through to Mooloolaba but most have been engulfed by multi-nationals. It won’t be long before there are no Ma and Pa-type operations in anything.

With no mobile phone computer games and only a couple of channels on the television, those days in the ’60s comprised swimming, kicking footballs, cricket, renewing old acquaintances and making new holiday friends. There was never time to get bored.

How did we handle New Year in the ’60s? If I remember, people pretty much enjoyed each other’s company, went to a dance or amused themselves – unlike today, when a stressed-out mayor has to decide whether to authorise New Year’s Eve celebrations and the litigation that could go with it simply because the public expect to be entertained, for free.

This time of year in the ’60s, wild weather was the norm and apart from batteries for the torch and radio and a jerry can full of water, life went on with little or no preparation for impending disasters.

If something did happen it was a call to arms for friends and neighbours until the situation was rectified. Although as I sat there and looked over at Twin Waters, it did highlight to me the amount of waterfront housing that I look at today that when I was a kid was just waterfront.

As for surfers, the good ones went out there and the others knew their limitations, unlike these days when the police have to be called in to try to separate the all-the-gear-and-no-idea clowns from the guns.

In the ’60s, no matter what happened, no one was suing anybody for their own stupidity.

It was a thought-provoking email and while I have to admit we are better informed these days, I am grateful to the person that sent it to me because as I sat there in the rain and wind, I could just about hear smell and touch the holidays of the ’60s.