I have been waiting for an opportunity to air a funny photograph that I took whilst out cycling with my brother Bill the other morning; and now, thanks to my ‘bookworm’ friend Diana who sent me a collection of ‘word fun’ photo’s, it has the right forum.
Worzel Gummidge? You might well ask (as Roland did) if you didn’t happen to live in the United Kingdom in nineteen seventy nine when the new comedy series “Worzel Gummidge” (starring Jon Pertwee and Una Stubbs) became a household name. What has that got to do with fishing? Well, you see, Roly wore a funny straw hat out fishing with me on the rocks at Redland Bay. At first I just giggled when he got out of the ute and I noticed he was wearing the hat, and he looked at me bemused.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Nothing, Worzel,” I tried to stifle a laugh.
“Worzel?” he looked a trifle unsure.
He had obviously never heard of or seen Worzel Gummidge. My eyes fixed on his misshapen hat.
“Oh, you’re laughing at my hat – it got squashed flat under a paint tin – I suppose it does look a bit funny with the dip in the middle going from one end to the other.”
I was so glad he could see the comical side that I allowed myself to guffaw.
“You look like Worzel Gummidge,” I said, “but I can assure that it’s not altogether uncomplimentary because Jon Pertwee was rather handsome, especially as Doctor Who. Didn’t you get “Worzel Gummidge” in Australia?
“No, we didn’t have it here although I know who Jon Pertwee was – we had “Doctor Who”. Did he have a hat like mine?” Roly urged.
“Jon Pertwee was the best Doctor Who,” I prevaricated.
“Yes, yes, yes, but what about Worzel Gummidge?” he asked suspiciously.
“Well, he had a friend who was a doll – her name was Aunt Sally. It’s all very silly really but everyone loved the programme. It was so funny!” I looked at the hat and laughed again.
“And Worzel?”
“He was a… a scarecrow!”
Good old Roland laughed too. Luckily he has a great sense of humour; he grabbed a stalk of grass, popped it in his mouth, and invited me to take a photograph.
Don’t ask if we caught anything. Suffice to say that before leaving the rocky breakwater from where we had been fishing I called out to the Chinese trio who had had an excellent day’s sport (at least six to keep and two thrown back):
“Next time I’d like to go fishing with you, not him!” (You’ll notice that I didn’t call him Worzel).
I’m not sure if they understood every word but they reacted as if they thought it was very funny – or perhaps they had just noticed Roland’s funny-shaped hat.
Two-year-old Mason came over to Wynnum with his granddad today to see the whales. Firstly, they popped in at Tingalpa to pick me up and we all went to see Uncle Henry (of “Henry, eating all the Twisties!” fame – you have to be an Australian of a particular age to remember the old commercial!); then it was off to Lota for the best hamburgers since sliced bread (and I even managed to do a bit of match-making for Henry – with a lovely single lady we met there!).
“When are we going to the park?” Mason uttered in his own inimitable way (at least that’s what we thought he meant).
“Soon,” I assuaged.
“After we’ve finished our hamburgers,” Uncle Henry gave Mason a nice chip that had cooled down.
And, after some flirting and chatting-up between Henry and the blonde lady with the bubbly personality (he hopes – we all hope – she will give him a call), we eventually made it to perhaps the best play-park ever, which happens to be on Wynnum sea front near the wading pool. We were walking on the path that meanders through the tables under the trees when Mason spotted an interesting female called Molly. Molly liked Mason well enough, and was quite friendly to our gorgeous charge but when she saw Henry (“eating all the Twisties!”) it was a case of love at first sight.
As you can see from the photographs, we all had a whale of a time…
The first nice thing to happen to me today (after my nice phone call to Chris, of course) was a lovely bike ride with my brother Bill to Hemmant Quarry, not far from Bill’s house at Tingalpa, Brisbane.
“In the last five minutes you’ve taken more photographs than I’ve taken in the last five years,” Bill said, getting onto his bike as if to say that he’d had enough.
“Well, that maybe true,” I laughed, “but just think – I have recorded most of my happiest memories!”
We rode on down the track and passed the lower path to the quarry where you could actually walk into the water if you wanted to. I looked at it with a sense of loss as we passed. A little farther on we saw two men, obviously workers, doing something in the bush.
“Good morning,” I called out.
“G’dday,” they both called back and waved.
Bill and I were riding on up the hill when my older brother turned around and said:
“I expect you’d like to go in and see it from down there…”
And before I could reply he had turned his bike around.
“I was thinking how nice it would be,” I answered, “but I didn’t say anything because I thought you might be fed up.”
Some minutes and many photographs later I was standing near a clump of trees in order to take a longer shot of the scene when I became aware of the two workmen behind the bushes; they were spraying weedkiller in bottles attached by leads to a generator. The men looked at me and I felt impelled to speak.
“Are you spraying weedkiller?” I asked needlessly (it was quite obvious).
“Yes,” the taller man with the red beard said taking out an earplug and stopping to talk.
“It’s so beautiful here,” I beamed.
“Especially at this time of day,” he noted.
“When the trees cast long reflections on the water,” I showed my understanding.
“I hope we haven’t ruined your enjoyment with the noise we’re making,” he said very nicely.
“Not at all,” I assured and added, “May I take your photo?”
It was so pleasant and cordial out in the bush at Hemmant Quarry this morning but beautiful places and lovely weather always seem to have a nice effect…
My thanks go to my friend Lorelle who took these beautiful photographs of Ashton’s Wharf (the hinterland off Coolum and near Yandina, Sunshine Coast, Queensland) as the sun went down. Lorelle, Dell and I were not the only ones to enjoy the spectacle of the sunset reflecting on the water; a couple with three children were already on the jetty when we arrived. It’s heartening to know that people still seek out and enjoy the simple pleasures, and that children are not always on their computers.
Yesterday I had to stop the car and take shots of the fire in the sky above Belivah and just a few minutes ago I was impelled to get in the car and search for a better view. Higher ground wasn’t better – too many trees – and by the time I found the perfect spot (around the corner) the sun had nearly disappeared. But you can take my word for it that the sky was a blaze of red.
It’s the last morning of my house-sitting stint at Maroochy River so, before leaving, I simply had to go back and see Ashton’s Wharf and Mt. Ninderry in the light of day. Bella noticed me going down the steps to the car and she ran ahead of me.
“Are you leaving without saying goodbye to me?” she asked with a look of despondency.
“No Bella, I’m just going to take some photographs. I will be back in a jiffy for breakfast,” I assured her and she went up the steps.
I let her sit by me as I ate my toast and Vegemite. We both feel a little sad because soon I will be off back to Brisbane.
If rivers and mountains at dawn (or just after) are your cup of tea, then here is a little treat for you.
What do you do on an Easter Sunday on your own in a sub-tropical paradise? You go in the spa, take photographs of the extraordinarily beautiful dog and cat, and marvel at the colours and shapes of the sub-tropical flora around the spa; and when you’re drying off you notice the colourful insect-life also basking in the sunshine, namely a nice green grasshopper that looks like Jiminy Cricket.
Soon your friends come over to join you for lunch and you have even more fun in the spa. You sit on the verandah and imagine painting pictures of the bucolic setting made even more lovely by the long shadows of the afternoon. As daylight fades you all go to Ashton’s Wharf, just a stone’s throw away, and you watch as the sun goes down, reflecting its glory on the Maroochy River; and finally you take a drive up Mount Ninderry, but it’s a bit too dark to see the view so you promise yourself to get up at sunrise and return to the same spot.
In between all that I slipped on the wet decking as I got out of the spa. As I went down I took the tall stool with me. Lorelle jumped out of the spa in a flash, assisted me to my feet and ascertained that I was still in one piece with nothing broken or maimed. Then she looked around in alarm.
“Where are my glasses?” she asked. “They were right there on the high stool.”
Equally concerned and feeling responsible I bent down to search the decking area. As I did so a pair of glasses fell forwards from the top of my head.
“These must be yours,” I observed and everyone laughed.
Lorelle’s glasses had flown through the air and landed exactly over my head – even the arms hung down to my ears!
Have you ever been fascinated by a little spot on the landscape and thought, “I wonder what is behind there?” One afternoon, not long before nightfall, I decided to investigate an enticing gap in the treeline in the mid-ground of my view from the verandah (you may remember that I’m staying in Maroochy River, Sunshine Coast, Queensland). This is what I found…
Considering that it’s Chris’s birthday today, you might imagine by the title of this blog post that I am referring to Chris again, but you would be wrong because he neither old nor fat, which is more than I can say for – no, not me either (perish the thought!) – Bella. Now she is ninety-eight and weighs a ton; and she gets a bit breathless on hills and her hips give her gyp. Nevertheless, she still has all her marbles and she is incredibly beautiful in spite of her age and size.
Normally Bella stays at home, lounging on the verandah or pottering (pottying) around on the two and a half acre estate, but not when I’m here house, dog and cat-sitting. She remembers me and the happy hours we spent together on earlier, and more prolonged, visits. Perhaps she also remembers the day when a suckling mother pit-bull terrier broke through a fence and came at me, and Bella preempted the attack and fought, neck to neck, until I joined the fray and there was impasse… and then the neighbours came to our aid and checked our wounds – we each had a bloodied bite on one shin.
Bella associates me with walking, losing a bit of weight and becoming fitter. I know this because when she sees me her eyes light up, her tail wags and she skips around in anticipation of the words:
“So would you like to go for a walk Bella?” (“Beautiful Bella”, I might add, owing to the bond between us and because I like the sound of it rolling off my tongue.)
We went for a walk yesterday and today. We took the same route – just down the road and around the corner, past the small bridge and a little way beyond the electricity box. You might wonder that it’s boring, going the same way but it isn’t – we may encounter the same dogs behind fences, however their moods can be quite different from one day to another. None of them barked nearly so much today. People always slow down in their cars as they pass and they always wave or even stop to make conversation. Everybody loves Bella.
The first half of our excursion is mostly downhill or fairly flat – that’s when Bella is most buoyant; conversely, the second half – the home leg – is nearly all uphill and Bella needs to take regular rests in the shade. On one of these rest stops we met a nice little girl called Talisa and her mother Chantal; they invited Bella to meet some new chicks and we were joined by their poodles. After a drink of water Bella felt better equipped to continue the long haul up.
She walked about twenty metres and fancied another rest just where a trickle of water runs down the road gutter; she blocked the flow with her voluptuous body and, over the course of several minutes, created a dual-purpose dam that both cooled her underside and provided another free drink.
“Come on girl. Are you ready to go?” I asked enthusiastically.
“Not yet,” she said with her expression. (She saw through the enthusiasm.)
“Come on Bella,” I cajoled. “Please Bella?”
Some while later I decided to be firm and walk ahead.
Reluctantly, Bella advanced the thirty metres to where I was waiting by a neighbour’s entrance and she plonked herself down again in the same manner as before. Cars came and went. Some of the same cars that had left eventually returned. People waved. People wound down their windows and introduced themselves. People thought Bella was very clever, beautiful and… tired.
“You could be here all day,” said Kylie, the strong lady who remembered me from two years ago – she had picked me up when I had slipped over on algae and slid backwards, head-first, down the mountainous wet drive that was like a waterfall.
“I know,” I answered, getting up from the rock where I had been sitting for half an hour.
“Why don’t I get the car and we’ll give her a lift?” she suggested persuasively.
Kylie and her daughter returned with a four-by-four. Those off-roaders are really quite high I noticed when she opened the back door.
“Come on Bella, put your paws up there,” I urged, lifting her paws.
“Not bleeding likely,” said Bella with a face that could kill.
Kylie is a strong and practical lady and saw no reason why I shouldn’t be the same.
“I’ll take her front legs, you take her hind legs,” she bent and lifted before I had the chance to consider how to find a good hold.
“What about her bad hips?” I worried and attempted to lift Bella from underneath only half-heartedly.
Bella weighs a ton – now I know!
“Let’s see if she’ll jump up again,” said Kylie.
We looked and saw the futility. The slim daughter looked on and tutted. Bella, looking resolute, lay like a big roly poly pudding in her puddle.
“You take the front legs and I’ll take the back,” said the Amazon and she bent down to grab Bella’s bottom before I could assess how best to gently raise the pudding.
Did I tell you that Bella understands what you’re saying? Bella, with as much grace as a big flobbery pudding can manage, suddenly rose on all fours and made a dash for it up the hill.
We all marvelled and hopefully, wounded pride has been assuaged. Bravo Bella! Not quite so old and fat after all!
