“You look tasty,” I said to myself. At the time I was making my way to the counter at the “Discount Store” in the Hyperdome at Loganholme, Brisbane (where, for the princely sum of  $9, I was about to buy a nice wig for Lorelle, my childhood friend, to wear during our Christmas day party – hope she will like it!). Actually, I wasn’t talking about myself when I thought, “You look tasty” (in case you’re wondering); I was looking at a big bag of some of my favourite lollies from childhood. Now it’s not that they are exactly the most delicious lollies (or sweets, or candies – if you’re not from these here parts) in the world… but they are just about the most fun to eat. So I bought the bag for $2 (a bargain, only from the Discount Store) and I couldn’t resist opening them before even making it outside to the car park.

A sweet little girl saw me open the packet as I waited for Roland to come out of the ‘gents’ and she didn’t take her eagle eyes off of me – she knew what I was going to do… she willed me on… And Roland smiled when he laid eyes on me. And the little girl laughed into her hand up at her mouth. I gave her three winks as I passed her – I couldn’t talk because my mouth was well and truly full.

A bit later, after we had arrived at my brother Bill’s in Tingalpa, I was about to sit down with all the men out in the garden (my younger brother Henry, too, was there and also Rob and Ross, Bill’s friends) when I decided to bring out the old favourites.

“Want one of these?” I asked, offering the bag of lollies to Rob. Overjoyed, he went to take one and I added, “But if you take one you must put it on properly!”

He still took it. Ross took one also… and Bill. They kindly posed for photos and seemed not to object when I admitted that the shots would be broadcast around the world on my blog. Have you guessed what kind of lollies I bought? See if you are right….

It’s rather exciting to leave the mainland and head for a beautiful island – isn’t it? For those of you who are slightly nervous of anything out of the ordinary, here are some helpful hints to island survival (especially off the coast of Brisbane, Australia).

Firstly, you must be armed with a new pistol (only available on the mainland… priced very reasonably at all IGA stores). Be prepared to jump on the nearest available water transport, preferably the big blue barge, seeing as it’s more of an adventure to travel with vehicles (and cheaper!). But do not expect friendly banter from an old man in a wheelchair (not if he is engrossed in a book, anyway).

Learn to swim before embarking on your island incursion; failing that, do not wade out too far (and take off your best shorts as the water is tidal). Also, whilst on the beach take the opportunity to learn how to load your pistol and work out which way to hold the pistol (thumb on the trigger is not advisable).

Do not be frightened when one hundred chooks and ducks make a beeline for you as soon as you open the gates to the land of purple and pink railway carriages – the birds think you are bringing food (next time bring some stale bread). By all means observe large furry animals in cages but keep your gun handy…

Eat what the natives eat – there are plenty of ice-creams at the kiosk or at Red Rock Cafe – and do what the locals do (they seem to love swings, slides and jungle gyms – or is it Jungle Jim’s?).

By the way, as you will see from the photographs, it helps if you’re only three…

Roland really is a bird-man (not like the one in the miserable film called “Birdman” which I saw on the plane – well, I didn’t like it); no, our friend doesn’t attempt to fly but he is beloved by the bird population of Belivah, Brisbane.

A mother magpie with her chick (which sounds like Sweep from the old “Sooty” show) calls around at breakfast time for tidbits of bacon rind, and then again at dinner time for steak fat or chicken gristle (umm, lovely!). No bomb-diving from this attentive mother – she knows which side her bread is buttered. Throughout the day they don’t fly far from their beautiful woodland home – they flit happily from one shady bough to another, walk on the lawn or cool down in their special bath.

In the afternoon a butcher bird first sunbathes on the railings, then he flies through the open verandah and onto the boughs of the white frangipani tree; Roly knows the butcher bird’s antics and the butcher bird waits for the bird-man to respond. He goes to the fridge and finds a bite-sized morsel, prepared earlier, and throws it to the waiting recipient. The butcher bird catches the meat in his beak and Roland smiles to himself.

The rainbow and scaly-headed lorikeets descend in a huddle on the outside table where some stale bread, softened with water, looks delicious; then a pair, very much in love, fly off for some privacy in the perfumed boughs of the frangipanis… Roland calls them “the lovebirds”.

It’s really quite easy to fall off a cliff inadvertently – I’ve nearly done it twice! And both times the incident occurred when I was taking photographs. The first time was the more frightening because I did actually slip over the edge; I was resting precariously (on my back) over the cliff (rocks beneath) – a little like the coach in the film “The Italian Job” – but luckily the greater part of my body was still on the clifftop. Nevertheless, I was afraid to move and I lay there with my arms stretched above me as I waited for Chris to jump the fence and rescue me; either he was really strong or I didn’t weigh quite so much then (this was several years ago in Brittany).

The second time happened today. The sun was shining and beckoned me to go out walking in spite of my cold (I was cooped up all day yesterday). We had parked at a beautiful spot called Coombe Cellars, a mile or two from the mouth of the River Teign, and we followed the Templar Way footpath that runs along the fields above the river bank; the hedges were high and we could hardly see the river through the foliage so, when we found a style that came onto a woodland path that led down to the river, we crossed it. The autumn leaves glowed red and yellow in the shafts of sunshine that filtered through the trees and, whilst Chris walked ahead, I lagged behind taking photos. At a particularly pretty point I veered toward the edge of the track and, as I held the camera up to take a shot, my right leg reached out… and stayed in the air for longer than expected. I extended my foot and found dry leaves over the curve of the cliff beneath them; and in a deft movement I swung my leg back onto terra firma.

“You could have died if you’d fallen,” Chris tutted, “it’s high here”.

I laughed nervously as I looked down through the trees to the water. I had been lucky. Shortly, we had to traverse a fallen tree trunk to get back to the main track:

“Will you be alright going over this?” Chris asked warily.

But it was okay – the fallen tree was fairly big and I decided not to take photos whilst going over it. You could say it was “as easy as falling off a log”.

“I always like to take a trunk road,” Chris quipped (when I was safely back on solid ground again).