It's a beach city, built around coves and harbors, where the nautical businessman can duck out of his office and spend his lunch hour sailing. Architecture, despite the impression given by the postcards, is not confined to the swoops and curves of the Opera House. There are quiet, graceful streets where the houses are trimmed with wrought-iron lace - the Victorian iron that came over on the early ships, along with the convict settlers, Prisoners of Her Majesty. (To this day, if you're British, you're called a Pom.) The sun is usually shining, the pubs are many and various, and I always feel that Sydney is on the brink of a citywide vacation, which appeals strongly to the idle and frivolous side of my nature.