Firstly, Mason (Roland’s two-year old grandson) went to town on the hoovering, then cleaning the car (lots of red dust from the gravel roads at Spicer’s Gap yesterday!); but after the work was done we really went to town. That’s South Bank in Brisbane, where Chris and I had tickets for the Brisbane Wheel (thanks to our friend Lorelle), and Roland and Mason came along too.

As a special treat for Mason we finished off the afternoon in the play-park on the seafront at Wynnum (my old home-town). And, as you can see from the photos, Mason went to town again, letting us know that he didn’t want to go home just yet….

“Want to go fishing tomorrow?” Roland asked.

“Of course!” I answered and turned to Chris, “Would you like to go fishing Darling?”

Now I knew that Chris isn’t much of a fisherman (an understatement) but I thought he might enjoy the sea, sand and boats down at the spit at Southport.

“Yes, alright,” he said with a smile to hide his thoughts about his sunburnt shoulders and being uncomfortable in the sun again.

“We don’t have to, not if you don’t want to, considering that you don’t like fishing,” I gave him every opportunity to decline.

“No, I do like fishing and I love it down the Gold Coast, besides, I know that you want to go,” Chris insisted.

“You can wear a tee shirt if you go swimming…” I suggested.

We chose a beautiful spot under the shade of a tree; I thought it smelt a bit doggy and Chris agreed after he’d taken matters in hand (using a plastic bag he located on the beach!). Our friend Roland had set to work putting out the rods straight away. Chris thought he’d sit on the trunk of a fallen tree but found that it was occupied already by a thriving ant colony. He sat on a towel in the half-shade and tried to look happy. A frogman appeared in a wet-suit and oxygen tank, and entered the water about twenty metres along the beach from us.

Our fisherman friend had some extremely good luck and caught a fine bream within ten minutes of casting out; sadly, the fish slipped out of his hand onto the sand, and because the tide was in, the lucky fat fish made it back into the water with ease while we looked on bemused. Now I usually have better luck fishing than Roland so I was quite envious that he had made a catch so soon (even though he lost it even more quickly). I changed my bait from squid to a prawn immediately (which meant that from then on I had to replace my bait every minute or so – prawns don’t stay on very well).

“What are those strange bubbles just out there?” Roly asked.

“Where?” I squinted (no glasses on).

“Just a few yards out, there – see?” he pointed.

And while he pointed, the top of frogman’s head showed above the water.

“It’s only the frogman,” I said needlessly and added, “He can’t be a very confident diver.”

“Maybe he lost his Rolex watch there yesterday,” Chris suggested.

“Or his wallet,” Roly offered another alternative.

The frogman dived a few inches deeper into the three feet of water ten feet out.

Whilst I continued to lose prawns the lucky fisherman caught another fish, a flathead this time.

“Is he edible?” I inquired.

“They taste great,” said Roland grappling with the ugly brown fish with a flat head and spiky fins.

He put him in the bucket I had filled with seawater and the flathead jumped out and made a dash for it on the sand. On this occasion we were more prepared for desperate fish antics and we surrounded him.

“Chris, would you fetch the bigger bucket from the ute please?” asked Roland.

Once the fish was ensconced and the lid put on, the bucket proved to be a most comfortable alternative seat to the towel which Chris had occupied previously.

Perhaps an hour or more later the frogman, who had remained within the same proximity during the whole period, walked boldly out of the sea. He carried a net.

“Did you catch anything?” I called out (wondering about the watch or the wallet).

“Just the one,” he seemed rather pleased with all his effort in that one spot.

Carrying his quarry, the delighted frogman frogmarched off the beach and returned minutes later, presumably with a new oxygen supply, to resume his hunt in the same area that had hitherto been so fruitful.

“Here, you can have a go,” I offered Chris the use of my rod (we had only two between the three of us).

After several false starts Chris eventually sent his line into the water in front of him – only about ten metres, but that was an improvement (he found the release mechanism at last!). Half an hour later Chris very kindly gave up the rod to me, he seemed to understand that my need was greater than his…

Tired of replacing prawns to no avail, I returned to squid as the bait of choice (Roland had caught his flathead with the same – unbeknownst to me he had made the change himself – fisherman can be quite crafty at times!). Would you believe it? I landed a beautiful sliver bream. It had such a pretty mouth that, honestly, a part of me was glad that it was only five inches long and needed to be freed to grow to an appropriate size. I hope it lives long and prospers.

And what of the flathead? Did we have him for dinner tonight? Well…no, nobody could fancy fish. Roland is having steak and Chris has made a cauliflower cheese dish for us…

We were up to see the sunrise this morning and soon we’ll be on our way to the Sunshine Coast. Roland was on snake-out duties – he had wondered why the magpies were upset and spied a big carpet snake up in the magpies’ favourite hangout…

How about some photo’s of the pretty Albert River from the pedestrian bridge (not dull or boring – for walkers and cyclists!)? Chris hates the photo of himself in the black Germanic cycle-helmet and I hated seeing him in it so we swapped helmets during the ride!

It didn’t look much from the outside – just your usual one thousand and three hundred square feet edifice built on a commercial scale (without any twiddly bits or ornamentation) – but inside it was a footballer’s or pop-star’s dream residence. The house (coming up for auction soon) was full of light and glass, and water and space… and spectacular views over the range at Toowoomba, around one hundred and thirty kilometres west of Brisbane. We just happened to be driving by on a sight-seeing tour with Terry and Val when we saw that the house was having an “open day”.

“Want to go in for a look around?” asked Terry.

Dressed casually in our shorts, we wondered if we looked like genuine potential buyers as we made our way to the front steps to be greeted by a beautiful girl in an elegant black dress and high-heels.

“Millionaires, too, wear shorts,” someone suggested and the rest of us agreed.

Indeed, we were greeted and treated with the deference usually reserved for the very rich. However, before leaving I admitted to the agent that Chris and I would have to win the lottery in order to even consider buying the property.

“But our friends are rich,” I smiled.

“Perhaps you’d like to enjoy a glass of champagne with us here on Monday night?” the agent asked Terry and Val as they were departing a few minutes later.

“Thank you, we might just do that,” answered Terry.

I’m not sure if they went. As for Chris and I, the next day we drove back to Brisbane – to Roland’s place – and would you believe it? Roland asked us if wanted to visit the house that a friend of his is in the process of building not far from here. The house is a massive edifice, built on a commercial scale with lots of concrete and steel, and big windows, and an inside pool (of course), and fantastic views of Belivah and beyond; and, oh yes, it will be about thirteen hundred square feet, possibly more if you count the bedroom patio. Is Roland the friend of a film star or celebrity? No, his friend is a bricklayer.

Incidentally, I came across the kind of property to suit my pocket – note the tree-house in the last photograph!

Well, actually, it wasn’t quite the last straw (though it sounds good) but who knows how many are left in the world? Perhaps I should explain…

At the time – last Saturday afternoon – Chris and I were at a wonderful place called “The Barn”. We had been enchanted by the setting and the authentic atmosphere of old Australia when our friends Val and Terry had taken us there on a previous visit to Toowoomba four years ago. This time there were some new additions – Scotty’s Garage, Texaco petrol pumps and a nineteen forties Ford in the forecourt – and I was transported back to my childhood (not that I was around in the forties!).

Inside The Barn the others ordered modern coffee – cappuccinos (unheard of in bush towns in the sixties) – whilst I plumped for a diet Coke in a can (in my childhood “The real thing” came in curvy little glass bottles that, when empty, also doubled up as fishing lines).

“Would you have any straws please?” I asked the waitress.

“Oh, aren’t there some in the holder?” she responded.

“No,” I answered, “don’t worry, I can manage without one.”

“Oh that’s alright,” she smiled, “I’ll find you one from out back and bring it over to you.”

A minute or two later the pretty blonde was as good as her word and brought out a single straw. She seemed very pleased with herself and I was happy to receive such hospitality The straw felt rather strange to my fingertips, not smooth – even a little knobbly – and quite unlike straws to which I have grown accustomed. During the course of our conversation, and many sips through the straw, I found that the end of straw was getting wet and soft, so much so that I had to turn it upside down and resume sucking from the other end. I chuckled to myself. I hadn’t enjoyed a Coke so well in a long time. Before leaving I took my empty can, complete with the wet straw, to the counter.

“Thank you for the nostalgic experience of drinking through a paper straw,” I beamed.

“It’s the last straw,” the lady’s husband turned to me from behind the bar, “at least, I bought two and a half thousand of them sixteen years ago and there are about two thousand left, but then that could well be the last of them. Here, have a couple more.”

I gave one to Val and kept one to give my brother Bill. I wonder if he will recognise the waxy coating when I hand it to him…. Will he say, “Well that’s the last straw?”