And is your next, logical thought one of pity, for all those who can't just admit that sushi is overrated, or that fancy dress parties are a bore, or that going to nightclubs is pointless after a certain age?

As I advance into my 30s, putting as many blessed years between now and my 20s as possible, this feeling - this growing understanding of the truth of things - seems to get stronger every day.

Living in Canberra - out of choice, inclination, destiny, whatever - and fielding the usual Canberra put-downs from new residents or out-of-town friends is related to this mindset.

Among the many tiresome refrains those who dislike Canberra like to push is the one about the beach. You know, the beach that Canberra doesn't have. I've always found this one baffling. The relatively empty streets, the low-key nightlife, the spaced out suburbs - I can well understand why non-native residents might find these aspects of Canberra difficult to get used to. But the beach thing always gets me.

"There's no beach in Canberra," people will say, with a tone of incredulousness, mixed with a sense of finality. "I just don't think I could live that far from the water."

I used to scrabble in my mind for some kind of rejoinder and, finding none, would settle for a sort of begrudging agreement. Yes, I suppose that is a shortcoming, I would say, although deep down, I would wonder why.

But I've given up wondering. Because I just can't see it as a valid argument any more. I mean, come on. I just don't know that many people - even those who live in Sydney - who spend all that much time actually in close proximity to "the water". And at least half the people who claim they couldn't live a whole two hours from the coast are still - still - peppering their speech with references to the two years they lived in London - or New York, or Paris, or Tokyo - in their 20s. Puh-lease. Saying you don't like Canberra because of the lack of beach is disingenuous, to say the least.

Furthermore - and anyone is free to disagree with me here, but I know that deep down I am correct - I'll bet that, secretly, lots of people don't really like the beach as much as they say they do.

By this, I don't mean the concept of the beach, or the aesthetic of the laid-back beachy style we're all so world-famous for. I mean, we all want to look sun-kissed, and lounge about in the sand in our down-time, wearing very little and reading large books. But how many of us really do? How much does this beachy theme fit with the gritty, windy, awkward, cold hard fact of the actual beach?

Look, I'll give the beach a go a couple of times a year, in the spirit of being a good sport. I am capable of that. There's nothing like a brisk early-morning jog along the firm sand of the shoreline, or an afternoon walk - fully clothed - along the sand. The waves are sometimes fun, and if I'm a short walk or car ride away from a hot shower and civilised surrounds, then sure - let's take a dip. But, basically, the beach is uncomfortable. Admit it! Because, really, you're just lying in the dirt, aren't you? Sure, you can bring along chairs and tents and Eskies etc, but how annoying is that? You'll be all sticky and itchy from the sand and the salt, probably sunburnt no matter how many times you've reapplied sunscreen, and annoyed because your book has sand in it and your iPod is scratched, and then you have to carry all of this stuff home again? Why not just go camping and be done with it?

So there, I've said it. I'm just not really that much of a beach person. Neither is my partner, who comes from a landlocked country and, being south-east Asian, fears the kiss of the sun on his skin the same way we fear the fishbelly white of our early-summer limbs.

But there's another beach association here that I haven't mentioned - that of childhood. The beach is an integral part of the Aussie upbringing. Even, no, especially if you're from Canberra, with the obligatory drive over the Clyde come summer. I loved the beach when I was a kid, and didn't care about physical cleanliness or grit between the sheets. Diving under the waves and building sand castles and going for days and days and days without washing my scrappy hair - that was life pre-responsibility.

What, then, should we do about our infant daughter? Our little blank slate of a mini-human we've brought into the world, all primed to absorb everything we choose to expose her to? We've had a couple of outings to the beach this summer, both characterised by sandy nappies, sandy food, sandy boobs, and the all-round gritty, sandy discomfort of all three of us. All that sand everywhere!

A distressing possibility has just reared its head as I type this: is this what parenting is really all about? This existential bridging of the present-day self and the idyllic childhood and all the discomfort or compromise this might entail?

I fear the answer may be yes, and that there are many more grin-and-bear-it trips to the shore to come.