My Chris is such a wit (not twit, thank goodness). Even in his post scripts he cannot help but be amusing, as you can see….

P S If a mallard, conversing with a companion water-fowl, made a point of a dull or commonplace truism, would it be a duck-billed platitude?

I have been working on the new painting all day today and it is nearly there. I worked in the garage (door up, of course) and listened to music on the radio as I painted. My nice next-door neighbour Wendy called in to have a look and admire her boat – it was her suggestion – and the handsome pilot came over too. I didn’t have time to go for a cycle ride but I was on my feet all day, and I had a bit of exercise dancing (on my own, when no-one was looking… hopefully).

Actually, I could not have gone cycling anyway because it poured down with rain in the afternoon. It’s my fault that it rained because I watered the garden this morning; I should have remembered that it always rains after I have hosed the plants, if I had, I would have brought the washing in earlier and the sheets would not have had to go into the tumble-drier…

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Hot from Chris, our reporter nearly on the scene (scene it all before anyway!):

Just saw on the local Spotlight News the latest disaster chapter in the
ongoing Sea Wall saga!  This time, it involves the section of line
between Smugglers and Sprey Point, where there was apparently another
large area of damage in the great storm (of course, nobody can see that
one, because nobody is allowed on any section of the Sea Wall.)  It
seems they were worried that a section of the cliff face was unstable,
and that workers were therefore not safe working there, so they
triggered what they euphemistically termed a “controlled landslide”.  Oh
dear!  Apparently approximately 35,000 tonnes of cliff thundered down
all over the track, burying the rails completely, going right over the
wall itself, and making a new lower cliff face out into the sea!!
Moreover, the rest of the cliff threatens to follow, so they’ve called
in the Army – the Royal Engineers – with their specialist equipment,
skills and substantial workforce.  They are considering a series of
controlled explosions, and the use of a specialist water cannon tug
based in Plymouth to try to loosen the part they want to get rid of.
Lawks a-mercy, Mother!  However, a spokesman for Railtrack said they are
still hoping to open the line on my birthday!  Oh, yeah?

A few more photographs, this time of the countryside as you approach Cabbage Tree Point. You may recognise the cane fields and the cane farm on the hill as I’ve taken shots before. I’ve included a charming little Lutheran Chapel which dates back to 1882 and two typical Queenslander properties, one of which looks very dry.

Up with the larks, plenty of sunshine aswell as shade, a gentle breeze under the trees, cold drinks and smoko – what more could one ask for? Fish!

Yesterday I began a painting of my local river – it’s the view from Red Bridge, which I cycle over…

I count myself very lucky that, often throughout my life, children have felt impelled to offer me their house-cleaning services; it hasn’t happened for a while so I was glad to find last week that my housework is still of appeal to capable little hands – long may it be the case.

Actually, after a week had passed since the subject of doing my housework had cropped up, I thought that Jade and Drew (the children of the handsome pilot who lives two doors down from me) might have forgotten or withdrawn their rash offer, after all, the idea had begun as something of a joke. But no, on Friday afternoon (when the gates were open – my new policy of friendliness) there was a knock on the front door and a little head peered through the window – it was five year old Drew.

“I don’t think she has any clothes on,” Drew whispered to his older sister.

“Yes I have!” I called out, pulling my tee-shirt over my bikini top (well, it was hot and I was alone on my own) as I went to the door.

“We’ve come to do your housework, Sally,” the pair said together.

“Can you use a broom and a mop?” I asked.

“Of course,” they laughed.

“I think I saw some brooms in the garage,” said Drew.

The children flew around, inside and out, with their brushes while I trailed after them with the dustpan. Out in the garage Drew delighted in finding a bunch of old leaves that had blown in under the roller-door.

“Look what I found,” he said with a smile before brushing them into the pan.

“Our Dad’s a stickler for cleaning,” offered Jade by way of an explanation.

“What about your mum?” I asked.

“Not quite so much. Sometimes she doesn’t agree with Dad but she goes along with him,” Jade added.

Little Kevin, the Charlie Brown lookalike from down the road, turned up on his bike (minus the trainer wheels) and came into the driveway. He looked so cute in his blue and white chequered short-sleeve shirt and his big cycle helmet which left only his eyes and nose showing.

“Oh no, it’s Kevin,” Jade said softly.

“What’s the matter with Kevin?” I responded.

“He’s a bad influence,” she began.

“Yeah, he swears and I caught it off him,” Drew joined in.

Luckily Kevin wasn’t keen on the idea of doing housework and he pootled off happily on his own without realising he was a bad influence.

“You see those nasty marks there on the concrete?” Drew asked. “Why don’t I just nip home and grab a bucket of soapy water to throw over them? That’ll soon get them off.”

“No, let’s mop the floors inside instead,” I suggested.”I wonder if Sue has enough mops…”

“I bet she has,” said Jade.

I thought of my own two mops (albeit that one of them was bought in desperation and proved to be nearly useless) and I reckoned that my sensible ten year old helper was right, which she was; Sue has three mops, only one of which is useless.

Jade and Drew mopped all the tiled floors, wiped all the worktops and tables, and dusted every other surface until the house was gleaming and smelt like a mountain stream; and when they left with their handsome father who came to collect them home for dinner, they also left behind some footprints on the not quite dry white tiles. I didn’t wipe them away. I rather liked the signs of the little feet and they stayed there for several days until this morning when finally I succumbed to the need to clean the floor myself.

From Chris:
Well, after the noisiest night down on the railway line below us so far, through which even I, who don’t have a problem with extraneous noise at night, found it difficult to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time, I was eager to see what it was the blokes were doing all night that could make all that racket.  The results are attached – and I guess that, snug inside all that massive shuttering, resides a spanking new, fully reinforced parapet wall, guaranteed to withstand the forces of Nature for generations (hopefully!)

I have only just started out. I am less than half a kilometre from home. Admittedly, it is hot – about thirty-three degrees centigrade – but, even so, I cannot understand how I can be so out of condition because I ride in the heat almost every day. Nevertheless, water is trickling in small rivulets down from my hair and and over my forehead and cheeks. With the back of a hand I wipe away the beads of water collecting under my jaw.

A bit of a breeze is blowing and I don’t even feel hot – I have acclimatised to the Queensland temperatures – but my hair is soaked.

“Is something wrong with me?” I ask myself (silently, of course).

A droplet falls and hits my left calf as I round the corner into Easy Street (love that name!).

“Crikey!” I say aloud (in my Australian dialect).

As I follow the road around to the left another droplet falls, this time hitting my right thigh.

Then I remember and laugh aloud. All is well – it rained last night! I always hang my helmet upside down from the handlebars, as you can see from the photographs….

Later on, when I have more time, I’ll tell you about the day the handsome pilot’s children came to do my housework.