My beach town is overrun by people from Melbourne. I absolutely love it

Not long after 9am, I hit an Ocean Grove bottle shop for a local chardy. “Good idea, beating the crowds,” the bloke at the till said. “Those people from Melbourne will be all over this joint in an hour or so.”

It’s always fun when “people From Melbourne” are invoked in my adopted coastal home town. As was discovered when we moved from the city, PFM are the scourge of the locals in summer.

Many beachside towns, like Lorne on the Surf Coast, see their populations swell over summer.Credit: iStock

Responsible for sucking dry the internet, getting all the good parks outside Coles, stripping sourdough baguettes from shops. PFM hog the golf club bistro tables on buffet night, take all the waves in the sea, plunder the take-home lasagne at Groove Cafe.

That’s when they’re not flicking through racks of linen drawstring slacks in the main drag, tailgating, jogging in Jaggad gear or shouting on the beach for Eliza and Charlie (could be dogs or kids).

So I egged on bottle shop man. How can you tell if someone’s from Melbourne?

“They come in and ask for three things. Ping pong balls because every holiday house has a table. Bottle stoppers because they might not finish the fourth bottle of Jansz. Cigars, because they’re wankers.”

“How do you know I’m not from Melbourne?”

People shopping and eating on The Terrace in Ocean Grove.Credit: Penny Stephens

“You wouldn’t have stopped to talk. They’re busy bees, always going like the clappers. They think everything’s going to disappear if they don’t. Their idea of relaxing is running around,” he said.

Being chill enough to pass as a true local amid the seasonal onslaught is quite cool. During the January school holidays, the 12,000-strong population of OG – the largest town on the Bellarine Peninsula – swells to almost 50,000.

But while many locals are roping off nature strips against PFM’s cars, railing against full rubbish bins or getting out of Dodge to escape tourists acting like they own the place, I couldn’t be happier rolling out the giant welcome mat to all ye visitors.

This is easily my favourite time of year at the coast, which otherwise mostly resembles a zombie apocalypse in terms of vibe. Usually, everyone is tucked inside at 5pm for The Chase Australia.

Now, there are illegal fireworks at the party Airbnb up the road, gangs of teenagers on bikes, there’s ice cream popups and a fabulous energy infusion.

Getting stuck in traffic – traffic! – en route to Barwon Heads is boring, but otherwise I love the uptick in ambience, the fortunes of businesses and the pace of daily life.

Love seeing what people are wearing, love making fun of what they’re wearing (mate, save the pink seersucker shorts for Noosa) love that of all the places on the planet where they could spend their precious holidays, they choose mine.

The streets of many beachside towns are clogged during the school holidays.Credit: Penny Stephens

Dog walking around the local lake, I eavesdrop on a PFM posse. They’re tossing up where to go for dinner (almost nowhere, trust me) and pointing out houses for sale.

“Is that the one which is $1.4 mill?” “Yes. I sent the link to Caroline.” “Four bedrooms? Might not be big enough.”

I trot home to our hobo three bedder and play totem tennis and am rapt thinking about that lovely proprietorial feeling seasonal visitors have for a place they live in for two weeks a year. Which might have been their family’s spiritual summer hangout for decades.

If you’re Victorian, you have a natural peninsula. Mornington for the aspirational, Bellarine for the cashed-up bogan. You could be a Lorne lover, a Wye River tragic, an Inverloch devotee. It might be all about Lakes Entrance or Apollo Bay or Torquay.

Wherever your somewhere is, you’ll know where to find the best fish and chips, brunch, walks. With the gild of summer on everything, you’ll make memories, play cards, eat cold watermelon, use boogie boards as stumps on the sand, revel in liberation from reality.

Then you’ll leave. And I’ll miss your noise, your kinetic force, your loud crapping on at the wine bar. See you next year.

Kate Halfpenny is the founder of Bad Mother Media.

The Opinion newsletter is a weekly wrap of views that will challenge, champion and inform your own. Sign up here.