“Is this the way to the sea?” I called out as I zoomed past a man who was putting a mower in his Ute.

“No, it’s a cul-de-sac!” he called back.

I put on my bike brakes (I wasn’t actually going that fast) and he came running up the pavement to where I’d stopped. He was a tall thin man in his forties. His sharp nose and chin, and the freckles and lines on his skin, denoted that he was a “typical Aussie”. Some red curls escaped from beneath his workman fluorescent orange cap (one of those with material at the back to protect from the sun). He wore blue sunglasses not dissimilar to my own and he had a ready smile; indeed, I suspected he was pleased to see another soul to speak to on that stretch of lonely, lifeless street.

“Where are you heading?” he asked.

“Well, I thought I was going to Thorneside but I really don’t mind – I just want to find the sea and I’d like to get to know the area because I’m house-sitting at Birkdale.” (Not exactly too much information to a stranger, considering there are quite a few houses at Birkdale.)

“This is Aquatic Paradise,” he said, beaming.

“Aquatic Paradise? I’ve never heard of it – are you being serious?”

“Straight up,” he laughed, “I remember when the land was all flattened, before the diggers came in to excavate the canals. I used to bring my girlfriend down here to make out.”

(“That’s a bit of a sexy thing to say,” I thought but didn’t voice.)

“How long ago was that?” I asked, completely ignoring the reference to making out.

“Now let me see… I was about twenty… so it was around twenty-four years ago.”

“Goodness,” I said, “of course, I live in England these days with my English husband so maybe that is why I’m out of touch with new, or not so new, developments.” (Thought I’d better mention my husband, just in case.)

“I have five of the houses in this street,” he boasted, “that one across the road, and the four along here.”

“You must be a millionaire entrepreneur,” I complimented.

“Aw, not really,” he lowered his head bashfully.

“Well, I had better go and find the sea,” I put a foot up to a pedal, “or the fifty factor sunscreen will melt off and I’ll get burnt.”

“Yeah, I use the fifty cream too,” he looked at his arms and laughed, “but it turns me green because the grass cuttings stick to it! Now if you go on back over the bridge, turn right at the main road and you’ll come to the sea. Have you got your address and your mobile phone?”

I nodded and patted my pink knapsack.

“So you’ll be alright then?”

“Yes.”

“Listen do you have a lot of grass at your house-sitting place?” he asked.

“No, it’s just a normal-sized garden for a modern house and it’s all immaculate. I watered it this morning, which is why I’m a bit late getting out for a cycle ride. It was nice to meet you,” I held out my hand. “I’m Sally.”

“I’m Darren.It was nice to meet you, too,” he shook my hand.

“I expect I’ll be thinner when I see you again,” I said (for some inexplicable reason).

“Well, I’m along here most Wednesdays,” Darren said.

I mounted the bike and started pedalling.

“And you look nice already,” Darren called after me.

“Bless you!” I waved back without turning around.

As I cycled onward to the sea at Aquatic Paradise it occurred to me that I had misunderstood Darren and he had been too shy to tell me directly; obviously, he had the job of cutting the grass at five of the houses in that street… I chuckled to myself.