I do not expect compliments from a small child, which is just as well because I have never had any. On no occasion have I ever asked a child to guess my age; on the assumption that they have better sight than I have, and less reasoning power, I have always reckoned that children think anyone over thirty is old (and I am well over thirty). I wouldn’t dream of supposing that a child would see me as an attractive woman – what would they know of mature beauty? – but I confess to trying to brainwash my little nieces and nephews (just for fun). The last time a youngster commented on my looks it was only to inform me, “Mummy says you’re looking a bit older, Aunty Sally.” Bless!

After a busy day of mowing, raking and mango felling (I’ll tell you about it next time) I decided to take a cold shower, smarten up and take myself over to Wynnum Plaza for a cool down in air-conditioned surroundings with shops and sales. I wore a red sun-top and red and white floral pants that I tied up, pirate-style, to just below the knees. Golden sandals, a red flower in my hair and a generous amount of luscious red lipstick finished off the bright ensemble.

Having tired of my hunt for bargains in the sales, I was walking back down through the Plaza when I noticed a cute little girl of four or five years old sat in a static toy car; her long hair was black and wild, her dark eyes flashed with reflected light, and she laughed as though she was having all the fun in the world. As I neared the happy darling, our eyes met and I smiled (she was already smiling).

“A pretty lady,” she said.

“And I was just thinking what a pretty girl you are!” I answered leaning forwards.

“You are more beautifuller than I am,” she insisted, still smiling.

I think it may have been the best compliment in my entire life.