Back when I was very young and the world population was only a mere 3 billion there never seemed to be a shortage of people. Even out in the bush at Gumdale, where I spent my first ten years on our three and an half acre property, you could look out of the window or be in the garden and see people: Mrs Hersom might be out by her gate, chatting to Mrs Conelly and Mrs Hood might call out to them, “No time to talk, I’m on my way to Wynnum!” and she’d hurry on walking down our dirt road for about a quarter of a mile to the bus stop by the main road; or Mr. Bark, always dressed in a dark grey suit and tie, might be cycling past on his way to Crockford’s shop at the corner by the main road – he used to wear bicycle clips to prevent his good trousers from getting greasy from the chain – and if he saw us children, for a bit of fun he would hold his hand out for shake, which we always responded to (if we were quick enough); or the drivers of the water trucks would stop to fill up at the mains water tap (set high for the trucks) just up the road and mad Rosa would come out wearing a mini-skirt and swinging an empty bucket as an excuse to flirt with the water-men; then there was eccentric  Mr. Arundel driving past – he’d slow down to greet the ladies with a nod or a “Good morning”, and they wouldn’t get so much dust in their faces; and there was Mr. Shilling, drunk as usual, and ugly as sin with a huge nose covered in purple broken blood vessels; and there was smiley Mr. Holland who drove a VW Beetle (which could go through floods without breaking down) and stopped at everyone’s letter boxes by their gates, which, come to think of it, is probably why people lingered out by their gates – Mr. Holland always had time for a cheerful few words about road access (in the floods) or news about the neighbours.

Now the world population is around 7.6 billion and I’m house-sitting at my friend Lorelle’s place on the Sunshine Coast about 70 miles north of Brisbane but not one person is in sight. There are houses to the left of me, houses to the right, to the back, and across the road…. I know there are people here – from my bed I can hear them banging doors and starting engines from around six in the morning – but I don’t see them. There are no ladies out by their letter boxes, I guess the wives and mothers are part of the weekday exodus to the roads. Thibault, the young Frenchman (Lorelle’s other guest) is still in his room (and it’s lunch-time).

There are thousands of cars on the roads. You don’t see many people walking, except up on the beach path (and most of the keep-fitters drive there). A few cyclists make it to the beach path for a spin early in the morning but after nine o’clock it is too hot. I don’t blame them.

But where are all the cars going? Are they all working people, driving for a living, driving to work? At all hours? There must be a heck of a lot of sales-reps in Australia! Where are all the retired people? No need to conjecture, actually, I know the answer to these questions.

The truth is that everyone is at Kawana Shopping Centre a few  minutes walk from here. I went this morning. Kawana Shopping Centre is a haven for people of all ages. It  is beautiful and cool, and there is everything there that you could possibly want – even watch a film there after your pedicure and massage, after seeing the bank manager and booking your holiday. But you must leave early in order to find a parking spot (hence the early exodus). I was there before the last few spaces were filled, and there was a queue for my spot as I left.  Yes, I know I could have walked… but it would have been hot walking back… with the ice cream.