What do you do on an Easter Sunday on your own in a sub-tropical paradise? You go in the spa, take photographs of the extraordinarily beautiful dog and cat, and marvel at the colours and shapes of the sub-tropical flora around the spa; and when you’re drying off  you notice the colourful insect-life also basking in the sunshine, namely a nice green grasshopper that looks like Jiminy Cricket.

Soon your friends come over to join you for lunch and you have even more fun in the spa. You sit on the verandah and imagine painting pictures of the bucolic setting made even more lovely by the long shadows of the afternoon. As daylight fades you all go to Ashton’s Wharf, just a stone’s throw away, and you watch as the sun goes down, reflecting its glory on the Maroochy River; and finally you take a drive up Mount Ninderry, but it’s a bit too dark to see the view so you promise yourself to get up at sunrise and return to the same spot.

In between all that I slipped on the wet decking as I got out of the spa. As I went down I took the tall stool with me. Lorelle jumped out of the spa in a flash, assisted me to my feet and ascertained that I was still in one piece with nothing broken or maimed. Then she looked around in alarm.

“Where are my glasses?” she asked. “They were right there on the high stool.”

Equally concerned and feeling responsible I bent down to search the decking area. As I did so a pair of glasses fell forwards from the top of my head.

“These must be yours,” I observed and everyone laughed.

Lorelle’s glasses had flown through the air and landed exactly over my head – even the arms hung down to my ears!