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Oh, and the slang – “hooker,” “working girl” – cracks me up every time. I’m sittin’ there, sippin’ coffee, thinkin’, “Ida’d lose her damn mind here.” “Who are these people?” she’d whisper, all holy-like. Me? I’d shrug – “They’re survivors, kid.” Ain’t glamorous, but it’s raw. Once knew a gal, swore she banked 500 bucks a night – exaggeratin’? Maybe. Still, made me go, “Hot damn, that’s hustle!”

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Now, picture this: sunrise at Cape Byron Lighthouse – a beacon in the fog, guidin’ lost souls, remindin’ me of that line from Son of Saul, where hope flickers in the darkest of nights. “In that moment, all of us became witnesses,” sort’a say it, don’t ya know? We face our inner demons here, as if every dawn is an epic battle. We shall fight on these golden beaches, on these rocky outcrops, just as in those intense frames of the movie. Ain’t it grand?

Greg Norman circles Byron Bay property market