Just around the corner from us here at Tingalpa of course! So much easier than catching them.

My friend, Lorelle, went off to work; Michael the Bavarian engineer (and backpacker for three months) went off to Maroochydore (my computer wants to call it “Hydrochloride”) with her; and I was left all alone. I did some hoovering and brushing up (trying to be a good guest) and considered packing up my things and heading off early, with the idea of calling in to see one of my nieces en route to Brisbane; but I remembered how those visits can seem a little rushed, and then there’s the peak traffic to contend with… so I dismissed the thought and decided not to make any arrangements that would commit me to a particular timescale. There was no need to hurry. I had all day. I was still drowsy from allergy tablets. And it was hot…

I looked out of my bedroom window onto the pool and noticed that quite a few yellow leaves had dropped in overnight. Lorelle has always emphasised (to the point of brainwashing me) the dangers of organic matter ruining the ph levels of the water and clogging up the pool filter, therefore, I hurriedly popped into my hot pink bikini with the frill (the one Lorelle “wouldn’t be seen dead in”, and set about my labour of love. It wasn’t until every leaf and groat had been removed that I allowed myself the pleasure of taking a mermaid swim.

I wondered about the omnipresent old neighbour (who may be Austrian) who used to spend much of his time working by the back fence whenever I came to stay or house-sit at Lorelle’s… I couldn’t see him through the gaps in the fence, nor did I hear him. I reasoned that it didn’t really matter if he was there or not – after all, if he had seen it all before, why become so prudish all of a sudden? Besides, mermaids are very quiet creatures and do not splash about too much or, by any means, draw attention to their presence deliberately.

And so, like a water-baby, I had the most delightful of swims on my own (my first since a year ago).

Later on I learned that, at around the same time I would have been travelling on the Bruce Highway, had I decided to visit my niece, there was a bad accident between two caravans and a car on the highway. The road had to be blocked off and the traffic was held up for hours. So glad I decided not to rush.

For those of you who love white beaches and sunshine…

Yesterday afternoon, when Lorelle was at work and I was terribly drowsy as a result of taking antihistamine tablets for my allergy rash (cause unknown), I took a short walk down to the beach path to perk me up a little. The sun was shining, the sea was azure blue, the sand was white and a cool breeze came in from the water. I had intended to walk farther along the path to the exercise machines but I was drawn down to the sand and sea – it was so beautiful. I took off my sandals and waded in the water.

A kite-surfer scudded along the tops of the waves and took off occasionally (but I was not quick enough to catch a photo of him in the air) – up and down he went until his strap came off and he came out of the sea at just the point where I was walking. I stopped,he stopped and we chatted… I felt quite perked up as I walked back to Lorelle’s.

Today, here at Lorelle’s place on the Sunshine Coast, we said Auf Wiedersehen to one group of German backpackers and hallo to Michael from Bavaria. Because Michael is travelling alone my good friend and I invited the young man to go with us to Caloundra (fifteen kilometres away), where we had arranged to meet up with another friend from school. En route my Sat Nav kept reminding me, very politely, every time I exceeded the speed limit by even two kilometres per hour and this led to a discussion about speeding offences and fines.

Michael, who speaks excellent English, recounted a run-in with the Australian police that happened to two German friends of his when they were backpacking in Australia two years ago. Apparently the travellers were pulled over by a police car with flashing lights.

“Let’s pretend we can’t speak English,” one suggested.

“Yes, let’s speak German,” the other agreed.

“Sorry, aber wir sprechen nicht Englisch (Sorry, but we don’t speak English),” said the guilty pair.

“Das ist in ordnung, ich spreche Deutsch (That’s alright, I speak German),” said the police officer who had emigrated from Germany to Australia fifteen years ago.

The speeders had to pay a fine of $250.

As may realise, I usually put photographs on my blog when I haven’t time to write or when nothing exciting or interesting has happened; today it is a bit of both – I want to go out for a walk on the beach and nothing extraordinary has occurred (swimming in my pool is not extraordinary, just very pleasant). Today I shared my pool with Lorelle and the German young men who have been staying recently (my friend does B+B), but really I prefer to have the pool entirely to myself.

On my own the pool is not merely a swimming pool, it is a blue lagoon and I am a mermaid. Mermaids like to think and sing to themselves rather than to make conversations with people, even when the people are three hunky young men (well, the eldest is only twenty-two!). Mermaids in lagoons like to dream up stories and blow bubbles through their noses… But today I was not a mermaid – just an ordinary pool-cleaner and swimmer.

And now I am going to the beach – I’ll take some photographs on my mobile camera just in case nothing interesting happens….

I was standing in one of the checkout queues at Woolworths in Kianawa Shopping Plaza (my favourite shopping plaza) early this morning when I overheard a peculiar conversation over at the next checkout.

“I really like your hair!” a man’s voice boomed.

“Thank you,” said the lady serving at the till, “I had it all cut off on the weekend.”

“I HATE long hair!” the booming voice shook the shop floor and reverberated in the eardrums of shoppers and shop assistants alike.

I looked at the lady serving at my checkout; she had long red hair in a ponytail, which was much more feminine than the cropped head at the next till. I envisaged my own long hair and I wondered what kind of man would dare to proclaim to the world about him his hatred of long hair. The assistant and I both glanced in the direction of the man.

He was a big middle-aged man wearing a t-shirt, shorts and a wide-brimmed hat. He had an enormous pot-belly and a stupid-looking face.

The man in front of me on my queue smiled a Mona Lisa smile to himself and left with his shopping. My provisions moved along the shopping travelator and I responded to the “G’dday” of the lady with the long red ponytail:

“Aren’t you glad that you have long hair?”

She smiled knowingly and acquiesced. The woman with the short hair overheard me and turned around to explain whilst still serving the man with the hat, the stupid face and pot belly.

“I always used to have long hair and only had it cut because it was my birthday – the big five o”, she couldn’t bear to say it properly (and I commiserated with her).

The man with the booming voice and poor taste in haircuts reached the end of his checkout to gather up his bags of shopping. He looked at we three women chatting and he made another announcement.

“My friend died of cancer yesterday,” he bellowed.

“Did she have long hair?” asked the smart fifty-year-old with the jaunty short hair, and her laughing eyes darted over to the redhead and me.

“I was about to ask the same question,” I remarked.

We womenfolk laughed and the man looked astonished.

The bike, which my brother Bill has given me for my particular use, is the same one I had last year; in fact it hasn’t been used by anyone else since I left nine months ago – such is its allure. And, come to think of it,  even before then it wasn’t wanted by its previous owner who gave it to Bill rather than the dump. Well, it may be plain silver (or grey, perhaps more accurately) and it may have funny handlebars (to some people) but it has some plus points – I need not buy an expensive bicycle lock (nobody will ever steal it) and I prefer to walk up hills anyway (it’s so tedious to have to pedal away like anything and go only two metres). The old bike enjoys going at a leisurely pace so I can take in the scenery and best of all, it seems to know where it is going – it especially enjoys going to our local Minnippi Parklands where there are lakes with ducks  and turtles, and designated areas for remote controlled aeroplanes; there is even a quiet spot where ladies can balance on one leg for great periods undisturbed (hence no photographs of the statuesque lady who I saw).

Now I am heading off up north a little way to the Sunshine Coast to stay with Lorelle, my childhood friend, until Friday. She has a wonderful pool, something you will be aware of already if you have read my book, The Innocent Flirt Down Under (a smashing read!). Must dash – calling in on another friend en route….

Well, that is the question. It was to be – was it not? – that I was destined to be nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows (especially the arrows) of outrageous fortune, rather than to take arms against a sea of trouble-makers (with bows and arrows). To Die, to sleep, to say an end to the heart-ache (albeit up a bit and to the right), the pain in the neck, the stomach-ache, and the thousand or so unnatural shocks that my flesh has hitherto been heir to – ’tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. Ah, and here’s the rub (oh for some liniment), having shuffled off this mortal (?) coil who else would bear the proud man’s contumely and who would fardels bear? Perchance to dream….

As for myself, I had no compunction, rather I felt good when, having taken up the bow (from twenty-five metres), I managed to shoot the deer in the neck, heart and stomach.

Sadly, the garage door suffered irreparable damage at my hands (twice) and five arrows need new feather flights.

Apart from all that, nothing is the matter, dear.

I have just been in Bill’s garden, talking to the menfolk (Bill’s good friends whom I have got to know over the years). It felt a bit odd being the only woman in the company of four men but it was quite pleasant. They all refrained from using any coarse language in my presence – it’s nice to observe that Australian men are still old-fashioned and courteous – and we enjoyed a bit of friendly banter.

I noticed that three of the men were smoking whilst Sam was not.

“You don’t smoke any more then, Sam?” I asked.

Sam smiled and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket.

“I don’t smoke any more… and I don’t smoke any less,” he answered.

I thanked Sam for the material for my blog today. Now I must be off – I have a party to attend and I’m not coming back till tomorrow. I wonder if there will be anything interesting to report? Have a good weekend!