Not only is my sister the kindest, sweetest, most caring, and intelligent woman you could wish to meet, she is also very beautiful, which is why I cannot understand why she considers herself to be ‘invisible’ – meaning that nobody looks at her anymore. The revelation came out during a long chat we had over the telephone a little earlier.

At present Mary is house-sitting for friends in Brisbane, which makes her comment even more incomprehensible since everyone knows that Aussie men are real macho men, or at least they used to be. Nowadays strange new laws have been introduced in an attempt to curb the Australian he-man’s urge to wolf-whistle (and make a normal girl’s day); happily, ute-men – the drivers of those half-car/half truck utility vehicles – and often, the male cohorts in the passenger seat, are about the only men left in Australia who are brave enough to flout the ridiculous law; however, even they may do so a tad more discreetly than they used to.

“Are you having fun?” I asked Mary.

“Well, I’ve lost over a stone and I’m nice and brown and healthy looking,” my sister replied.

“That’s good, but have you met any interesting people?” I delved.

“I had a lovely time with Lorelle and Kaylene up on the Sunshine Coast,” she said.

“I know that, but what about now that you’re back in Brisbane?”

“I’m afraid the cat will die inside the house if I stay out too long. I do go out though, just not very far. It’s so hot Sally!” Mary explained.

“So you haven’t met any people since you’ve been house-sitting?” I queried, amazed.

“When I was out shopping in Corinda yesterday I met a nice lady – older than me but not old – and she was all on her own after losing her husband and her son. She cried as she told me,” Mary’s voice quaked.

“So you’re telling me that you haven’t been chatted up since you’ve been away?”

“Nope. I think I’m invisible these days. It’s what happens when you’re middle-aged,” Mary answered.

“Rubbish,” I contended, “I don’t feel invisible so why should you?”

“You’re younger.”

“Yeah, eighteen months,” I said in disbelief, “And no hot-blooded Australian male has shown any interest in my gorgeous sister over there alone? I can’t believe it!”

“Honestly, it’s true – well, no-one apart from two ute-men,” she laughed.”

Tomorrow Mary plans to risk leaving the cat inside, with plenty of water and food (and kitty litter), and she’s going to go into the city to take in an art gallery, or museum, or swank along South Bank – anything to get out. She’s going to wear some cute new navy and white cut-off pants and white top (great against a good tan); she’s going to wear mascara and red lipstick – she will look like an Italian fimstar. She will not be invisible! (I hope that Geoff, her husband here in England, will not mind that I gave Mary a bit of a pep talk!)