I was working away on my painting, desperately trying to finish it by the end of the afternoon when I became aware that I was not alone. There was a movement on a chair back, followed by a cute sound…

“Hoo hoo, chirrup (Hello),” came the voice.

I turned around to see the small magpie sitting on the chair at the end of the verandah table. I took a few photo’s and was surprised that he didn’t mind the little bleep of my mobile phone camera focuser.

“Want some bread?” I enquired.

“Hoo, hoo, hoop? (What’s bread?)”, came the reply.

Maggie had moved to the railings and I placed pieces of bread on the top rail. He pecked and was perhaps disappointed – he threw a morsel onto the decking. It didn’t taste any better there so he returned to the rail and sat.

“Aren’t you hungry?” I asked.

“Hoo, hoooo, hoo, chrup, chirrup! (Not really, Sally, I just like to watch you paint!)” he said.

And he sat and kept me company while I finished the painting…

“Isn’t it beautiful here in the early morning?” I asked, making conversation with a passer-by.

The lady with her dog stopped.

“Especially the light,” I added.

“And especially after the rain – it’s so crisp and fresh!” said the lady.

“True,” I agreed.

“And people miss it by staying in bed,” she laughed.

“But not us,” I observed, laughing with her.

The dog urged to carry on and the lady in the white sun hat made to move, then she paused and turned back to me.

“You have a lovely day now!” she said cheerily.

“You too,” I answered equally cheerily.

Kindred spirits.

It has been raining for much of the day; therefore I thought I wouldn’t be able go out for the cycle ride I had promised myself, not until five-thirty this afternoon. It was late to set out, and I knew I would lose the light before my return, but I felt the need to go out on my own and say my private good-bye to Wynnum, the old-fashioned town by the sea, where I spent four of the happiest years of my childhood. Henry’s house, where I am staying at present, (Henry is one of my younger brothers if you are a newcomer to my blog) is close to the centre of town and only a mile from the seafront, so it wasn’t a long ride, just enough to feel the wind in my hair and feel the benefit of being out under my own steam.

I rode down, over the railway lines, past the shopping centre and down to the sea. The sky was pink with the setting of the sun and it reflected on the water in the wading pool, the same wading pool where, as a tot, I was stung by jelly fish; and later, where Henry saved a small boy’s life. There were few people around; the playground was empty, unlike yesterday when we met up with friends and their brood. The youngest tot loved the swings best. I loved to see the faces of the little children in their sandy adventure playground, and I loved it that some of them talked to me and showed off their skills on huge climbing frames, shaking planks and enormous slippery-slides (if you happen to be three feet tall or less). Of course, to experience this you have to walk on the sand yourself… and pop your own head into the hole in the wall so that your face is the face of the fish on the other side…

The light was going – Henry and Diane would worry about me cycling in the dark – and I moved on. Using the cycle-path, I rode almost to Darling Point at the end of the seafront, and I looked up in the direction of Mountjoy Terrace – there wasn’t time to go and see our old house. Instead, I headed back up to Bay Terrace, and the shops, then down Florence Street, past our old primary school – it isn’t a school any more. I remembered how, after assembly we used to march, to the sound of brass band music, from the parade ground into our classrooms. I felt a bit sad, but at least the school had not been torn down (thanks to an outcry from former students who fought against the developers).

It was dark as I turned into Foch Street. Henry and Diane were beginning to worry as I appeared at the top of the stairs.

I will have to get up early and go back again in the morning, just one last time… for now.

This struck me as rather funny. Thank you Robert.

My new painting at the end of day yesterday – not yet finished but well on the way. Here are photographs showing the stages of progression.

We had a goodbye party last night and Sue and Glenn invited some of the neighbours over. Jade and Drew, two of the children who have delighted me so during my tenure here (and whom you will remember from some of my earlier blog posts) made me these beautiful cards. They brought tears to my eyes. And now I must dash over to Wynnum to spend the final weekend of my stay with my brother Henry at Wynnum…

It rained nearly all day today. Nevertheless, with so little time left for me here I had to continue working on my latest painting. I painted under the cover of Roland’s verandah and was very happy. Initially, the lorikeets, magpies and butcher-birds were less so because my arrival meant that they were ousted (in their minds) from their preferred spot for sheltering in the dry; but they soon got used to me and became animated and chirpy when my back was turned.

Wallabies are great visitors. They don’t intrude, they don’t pester, they don’t make a horrible din, and they don’t leave their business on your outdoor tables and chairs; they make an appearance from a safe distance and wait patiently, on the off chance that you have saved a little bread for them. You know they would be soft to the touch but you can’t get that close. They let you admire them and take a few photographs while they nibble at your offerings; and then they hop off before you’ve had enough of them to get bored.

Due to the poor weather Sue and Glenn (the real owners of my lovely house at Loganholme) are home a little early from their caravanning adventure. At the weekend I shall be hopping over to Wynnum and in a week I shall be hopping off back to England.