My brother, Bill, has a huge mango tree in his garden. This year the tree has produced an abundance of large, juicy, sweet and non-stringy fruit. The only trouble is that the flying foxes seem to know exactly when the mangoes are about to reach their perfection of ripeness; and they come along in great numbers, under the cloak of darkness, to steal the fruit just before the mangoes are ready to drop of their own accord. Nobody would mind if the bats descended upon one or two choice fruit every night and ate them clean to the stones, but that is not their style; nearly every morning the grass is strewn with mangoes, often only nibbled at and bearing tooth marks, sometimes with a corner gnawed through, but never eaten clean.

The obvious answer to the problem is to pick the mangoes before the bats get to them but Bill’s tree is between forty and fifty feet tall, and many of the fruit are at the top. Being the kind of Australian male who can do or fix just about anything, Bill devised a telescopic pole with a cutting blade and a hook on the end. The long blade was apt to get caught up in dead branches and leaves, and was often more a hindrance than a help. Yesterday we ditched the blade and settled for using only the hook, which gave us better purchase and relied on just a firm tug to bring down the fruit.

Bill and I worked together, one manoeuvring the long pole while the other picked up the fallen mangoes; and we took turns in each task because the pole was heavy and difficult to control when fully extended above one’s head – our necks and arms ached. Whilst we worked a text came in on my mobile phone.

“What are you doing today?” enquired one of my Aussie friends.

“Bill and I are gathering mangoes,” I answered in text (when I wasn’t the pole handler).

Another text came back from my witty friend:

“Does it take two to mango?”