It was soon time to move on to our next house-sit and I was a tad worried about the big cavity in one of my back molars, the one that has long since lost the temporary filling my dentist at home had put in (at no cost – but then it wasn’t worth much because it didn’t last the course and I was somewhat “up a gum tree” or without a paddle!). Ever since the filling had come out I had been looking for “DentaFix” (the elusive and perhaps apocryphal temporary filling material supposedly available in Australian chemists and pharmacies) to no avail; then Chris arrived with a little pot of something similar for the same purpose… Sadly, Chris’s inferior product from England lasted but a day or so on each attempt to fill up my cavity (not unlike the Scottish dentist Phillip McCavity) and the pot was empty after four tries, though it has to said that it was only a small tub, not a regular bucket, and had a diameter of about a centimetre!

Fearing toothache or an abscess (probable according to my dentist), I decided to take the plunge and visit an expensive Australian dentist; our friend Roland with whom we were staying advised that there was a “Gentle Dentist” just a couple of miles down the road. The kind receptionist at the “Gentle Dentist” was most understanding. Having an English boyfriend herself, and knowing that he would not shell out on Australian dentistry, the young lady well understood my reluctance to readily agree to book up for a slot with the soft dentist, which would have meant an immediate fee of $50 plus whatever the new temporary filling would cost – possibly another $95. And I would have had to wait until next Tuesday, and I wasn’t even going to be in the area at that time. I left the tender receptionist at the wimpy dentist establishment and my eyes scanned the car park for Chris who had been waiting patiently for fifteen minutes.

“Darling,” he called waving an arm to grab my attention.

He hadn’t been all that patient actually. While I was pouring out my heart to the compassionate receptionist my husband had gone on a mission in the small shopping complex.

“How much was it?” he asked urgently.

“About $145 for a temporary filling – I didn’t even bother to ask the price of a proper filling,” I added.

“Did you book? I was so worried you’d book or, worse still, you were so long that I thought you were having it done now,” Chris looked for confirmation.

“No,” I said, “it takes a good while to discuss delicate matters with kind receptionists. Besides, they couldn’t see me until Tuesday and I explained that I would like to hunt for a cheaper dentist, but hopefully not a rough dentist.”

“Phew! That’s good,” said Chris proudly holding aloft a tube of…. DentaFix!

“No!”

“Yes,” laughed Chris, “the pharmacist told me they had just come in – $13.99!”

Two days on and my self administered temporary DentaFix filling is still whole and in place, and the prospect of the last few weeks of my stay in my homeland is rosy – or more aptly, sunny. We’re house-sitting again at Seventeen Mile Rocks, a suburb of Brisbane not too far from the Botanical Gardens, and it’s very hot. It’s so hot that I’m writing with one strong fan behind me and another in front, so I’m sandwiched between lovely cool air. The only trouble is that I’ve become used to the cool air and now I can’t move. Luckily, I don’t have to do a thing now – all the housework was done this morning, which reminds me of a funny incident…

At the time I was busy cleaning – my hand in a bucket of water – when a handsome strawberry blond snuck into the room.

“What are you doing in here? Can’t you see that you shouldn’t be in here at the moment?” I asked.

“I only came in to use the convenience,” he answered with a withering look, “I didn’t know there were any birds in here, honestly!”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to go outside for your business, if that’s not too inconvenient for you,” I softened my tone because he was so handsome and appealing.

Gorgeous Sterling went out with his tail between his legs and I shut the door firmly while I finished cleaning the lorikeets’ cages. Mr and Mrs Gregory Peck (as I call them) jumped about freely with glee and I let them hop onto my back and peck at the fake flowers in my hair slides. Gregory licked the sweat off the arm he fancied and now we’re bonded – he was very gentle and soft, like the dentist I didn’t see and won’t be seeing (if the DentaFix holds out!).

Chris and I were up at Mapleton on the Blackall Range (Sunshine Coast hinterland, Queensland) when I noticed a garage selling discounted petrol at under $1.30 a litre. I pulled in and Chris put $20 worth in the tank. I was prepared with my saved Woolworths receipt (over $30 spent) in my purse as I went up to the counter.

“Will a Woolworths voucher be alright for the discount?” I asked the heavily tanned and bearded Australian (not a lady!).

“No, sorry,” the man said shaking his head.

“Coles?” I asked. I had a Coles receipt too (it pays to be prepared).

“Nope,” he smiled.

“Well, how do I get a discount?” I persevered.

“Just spend a bit of money in the shop,” he said dryly.

It seemed he didn’t mind us leaving the car at the petrol pump while we did some shopping at the garage, which we thought was rather quaint.

“Let’s buy some bananas – they’re only $2.50 a kilo,” I suggested.

A few minutes later we returned to the petrol checkout with our receipt for a kilo of bananas (a girl served us at the grocery counter).

“How’s that? Good enough?” I asked, giving the bearded man my docket.

He looked at it and chuckled to himself.

“Is that alright?” I asked.

“Well, you’re supposed to spend $30 but I don’t suppose my boss will give me the sack – I’ve been working here for eight years,” he said with resignation.

Then the man produced a small package and placed it on the counter.

“Oh!” I said, thinking it was for me, “What’s that?”

“It’s my pie!” piped up the chap standing behind me.

Still laughing, we left the shop and got into the car, at last vacating the spot at the petrol pump.

Before long we reached  Mary Cairnscross Reserve and rainforest where first we stopped at a picnic table to have our lunch. Three bush turkeys fought for position on the area around our table and, ignoring Chris’s protestations, I answered their pleas with crackers and the fat from around the ham.

Some time later we were on a path deep in the rainforest when we met a very tall middle-aged lady accompanied by half a dozen children of primary school age. We guessed she was a child-carer, perhaps associated with a larger group we had come across earlier.

“Did you see anything in the forest?” asked a precocious little boy wearing a big sunhat.

“Oh, do you mean wildlife? I responded.

“We saw a snake,” he nodded.

“Oh no, we haven’t seen anything like that, but we were looking out for the small red wallabies we saw last time we were here. To be honest,” I turned to face the tall lady as I spoke, “my eyesight isn’t quite as good as it was…”

“Me too!” exclaimed the lady in her very deep voice. “My sight has got so bad that when I was in my paddock recently I thought I saw my little dog and I called out, ‘Darcy, come here boy. Darcy, come here!’. My daughter said, ‘Mum, why are you calling Darcy?’ And I said, ‘Because he’s there in the middle of the paddock.’ ‘No, Mum,’ she said, ‘that’s not Darcy – it’s a magpie!”

The children didn’t think it was as funny as we thought it was. On our own again a little while later Chris and I spied one of those red wallabies and a reptile – not a nasty snake but a lizard dozing on a log.