“I really love your son,” said the man who owns Mason’s favourite cafe at Lota.
“Isn’t he just adorable? He is Roland’s grandson,” I admitted (although I was inclined to let the mistake pass uncorrected).
Of course, everyone loves Mason, as you can see from the photographs taken at Uncle Bill’s, Lota and Wynnum seafront today…
In itself, there is nothing too odd about finding discarded items of clothing and shoes on Australian roads (those Aussies are a sexy lot!), but usually the shoes are broken thongs or a pair of sand-shoes (more often than not, tied together and thrown over the electricity lines); therefore, I was intrigued whilst out cycling yesterday to find a single black lace-up shoe on the side of the road and a black sock in the middle of the road. Why just one sock and shoe? Was the owner a one-legged man? A passing motorist was similarly intrigued to see a woman photographing a black sock in the middle of the road…
“Are you alright?” asked the concerned fellow.
“Oh yes,” I looked up surprised, “I’m just taking a photograph of this mysterious sock and that missing shoe over there.”
“It probably fell off a Ute,” he said smiling, “I saw your bike on the side of the road and you in the middle of road and I was worried.”
“Don’t worry,” I said, “but thank you for stopping.”
We smiled at each other for a second or two and then, without any excuse for chatting longer, the driver bade goodbye and drove off. It’s heartening to know that you can always count on an Aussie male to help a damsel in distress.
In truth, it was rather late in the morning to out cycling, especially on a very hot day, which is why I had lathered myself with hypoallergenic sunscreen. I was keen to discover somewhere in the area, other than the Albert River, as a cycling destination; Roland had suggested there might be some cycle-paths around Windaroo, a couple of kilometres from here down the main busy road. Happily, I didn’t get hit by any big trucks or speeding cars even though the cycle lane had a tendency to run out just at the most dangerous points. In fact, I must have been looking very happy when I arrived safely at Windaroo Lakes Golf Course because a Japanese golfer in a cowboy hat said:
“Ah so, you look so happy!”
“I am happy,” I said (little did he know about the cause of my happiness).
Within a few minutes the three Japanese golfers, having finished on one green (it’s not a huge golf course), passed by me again.
“Are you following me?” I joked.
“I think you so happy, if I see you again, I catch happiness from you,” my cowboy friend joked back.
“He happy because he the winner!” informed one of the other two Japanese golfers.
A little later I saw the trio again – this time I was catching up with them.
“Are you still winning?” I called.
“No, he winning,” the cowboy pointed to the smaller man in the baseball cap and check shirt.
The new ‘Number One’ approached me, smiling. I think he may have thought I brought him luck.
“You look very energetic,” he said, “look like sexy guy!”. And his shoulders did a dance from side to side to show his appreciation.
I shrugged my own shoulders (in a figurative sense) and laughed to myself as I watched the figure of my oriental admirer (under the blue parasol) pressing on to join his pals.
Something hit my helmet as I cycled homeward on the busy road. And yet again. The same mother magpie bomb-dived me four times and I had to put on a spurt to get out of there quickly. The sweat dripped from my brow and my eyes smarted. I could hardly see – I was going blind… Then my nose streamed… Thank goodness… it was just the hypoallergenic sunscreen lotion – not so hypoallergenic after all. The cycle-lane ran out and became a gravelly hard shoulder. Barely able to see, I dismounted to wipe my stinging eyes…
What do you think I saw? Right before me on the hard shoulder was the other black shoe and just up the road a short way was the other black sock. Case solved. He (whoever ‘he’ was) hated those hot thick socks and heavy shoes!
Amazingly, considering all the land in Australia, many modern properties have tiny gardens. Not so in beautiful, semi-rural Belivah (South-side Brisbane) – here you need a ride-on mower and plenty of time on your hands for manicured lawns. One of Roland’s retired millionaire neighbours can often be seen lying outstretched on his extensive lawn; he’s not sunbathing – he has a magnifying glass in one hand and a pair of tweezers in the other (for the newborn weeds).
Surprisingly, considering all the sunshine Queensland has at this time of year, the gardens in Belivah are lush and packed with colour and wonderful scents. Here are some photos I took yesterday as I walked back from the cow-house.
Miraculously, considering nearly all the other gardeners have said the frangipanis we put in three weeks ago (using the wrong method) would not survive, they appear to be doing well. And the geranium cuttings Bill gave me at the same time are in bloom!
“You must be highly regarded,” I called out over the barbed wire fence. At the time I was walking along the drive to the big gates of the new property where Roland has been working recently.
“Moo, moo,moo moooo – why is that then?” (Moo translation), asked the largest of the cows, looking up at me (the driveway was above them).
“Because you have your own milking shed in the form of a picturesque little Bali Hut and you have your own swimming pool,” I said, taking out my mobile phone camera.
“Moo, moo, moo etc… – don’t be daft! Just look at the size of us! We’re of a rare breed – we don’t provide milk, except to our offspring. Yes, we are much admired but the main drawback is that our calves are very valuable and don’t stay with us long, especially if they are redheaded,” continued the garrulous cow.
“What are those two silver buckets for then?” I inquired.
“What’s a bucket?” asked the cow.
“Never mind,” I uttered intolerantly. Well it was hot out in the sunshine at eighty-thirty this morning and I wasn’t planning to stay there all day teaching her new words. “I take it the red calves are rarer?” I turned the conversation around to safe ground.
“Moo – yes,” she said succinctly and left it at that (obviously a sore subject).
“It’s a great spot here,” I tried to perk her up.
“I suppose so,” she said despondently, “but we’re rather disappointed…”
“Why is that?, ” I asked surprised.
“Moo, moo,moo – well, you’d think they would line the swimming pool, wouldn’t you?I can tell you that we haven’t been swimming once! Also, they started building the house nearly two years ago and it’s still not finished.”
“These massive constructions must take a lot more time to build than conventional timber-framed houses like the old Queenslander style. Then there are all the high-tech modern gismos to be installed…You know ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day’. Oh, sorry, I don’t suppose you do know about Rome?”
“Yes, of course, we heard about Rome the other day, on the electrician’s radio. We could do with some nice clean Roman baths here!” said the smiling cow (chuffed that she knew about Rome, if not silver buckets “Whatever they are!”).
“I must be off,” I offered.
“Do you know what really gets to me?” the cow reverted back to her woeful mood and gave me a ‘cow eyes’ look.
“No, what?” I started walking to let her know that I couldn’t stand around all day chatting.
“We were hoping to move in for Christmas!”
And if you don’t believe me… here is photographic evidence.
I was sat in the verandah at Toad Hall. My legs were outstretched with my feet resting on the seat of another chair. In truth, I was admiring my new white thong sandals with the sparkly bits on the top – they glittered so brilliantly in the afternoon sunshine.
“What do you think of my new shoes?” I asked Toad.
“It’s a pity we don’t have snow in Queensland,” he said without even a hint of a smile (rather like a miserable toad).
“Why’s that?” I returned, not guessing at his answer but anticipating a funny remark.
“Well, they are snow-shoes – aren’t they?” Toad broke into a broad beam.
Dear old Toad. He meant no harm. In fact, he simply wanted to try on my new sparkly shoes!
I couldn’t leave Lorelle’s place at Buddina, Sunshine Coast, without going down to the beach. I snuck out the house before anyone had stirred and spent a glorious hour walking on the beach path and the sand… Laden with photographs and frangipanis, I returned to the house for breakfast with Lorelle and Monica (my old friend’s beautiful guest from Germany); and soon I was making tyre-tracks back to Brisbane and the arms of my gorgeous boyfriend Mason (well he says I’m his girlfriend – he’s only three!).
We were in our blue lagoon at the time… It was raining outside but the lagoon was like a warm comforting bath (had it been a hot afternoon it would have been too hot for comfort!). As always, I busied myself with the pool net, removing every skerrick of fallen leaf or waterlogged fly, although I did so more from habit than need because the pool was as clear as a mountain stream; in fact, we mermaids rather enjoy the feeling of our arms stretching out, this way and that, through the water. Lorelle understands this very well – we are kindred spirits. So, I quite understood when my childhood friend (and mermaid) looked up at the palm trees by the pool and exclaimed, with horror:
“Oh no! I missed them, just look at that clump of flowers that are going to fall into the pool!”
Of course, everyone knows that floral flotsam and jetsam is anathema to a mermaid and her habitat. Lorelle (or should I call her Lorelei?) immediately jumped out of the pool and found her stepladder and long-handled secateurs. I smiled to myself as I remembered my own adventures with long-handled secateurs and trampolines when I was house-sitting for Lorelle some years ago (see chapter “Virgin on the Ridiculous” in my book “The Innocent Flirt Down-under”). And I took these photographs of a mermaid quite as at home out of the water and up in trees.
“You Jane,” I thought. I a Jane too, but you may already know that.
A couple of days ago I was on the move myself when a familiar, but long unheard and almost forgotten, voice came on the car radio; the presenter said that it was “the late great Johnny O’Keefe. At the mention of that name my mind immediately went back to my very early childhood at Gumdale and I could see and hear my late (great) dad singing along to Johnny O’Keefe on the radio; for quite some time Dad used to wake us up to his own very exaggerated rendition of “Move Baby move” (click on the link below to see the originator). Funnily enough, I had never actually seen Johnny O’Keefe singing “Move Baby Move” until just now when I checked him out on Google and I was surprised to see that he sang with his hands held behind him (how sedate for such a rousing song!). I also noted that Johnny O’Keefe had a severe traffic accident in June 1960.
Two days ago I had packed up my bags, said goodbye to Doris the cat, left my swanky pad at Birkdale, and called in at Bill’s before driving down the M1 Pacific Highway to Roland’s house. Very soon after joining the motorway, the traffic slowed to walking pace and sometimes to a halt. A fire truck raced past on the emergency lane. Logan Radio traffic news told of an accident – two fatalities – on the road ahead. At Springwood there was a barricade of police and emergency vehicles and all the cars were ushered, in an orderly fashion, into one lane; there was no trying to push in, or of any sign of nervous frustration owing to the hours of being held in traffic – irritation had long since given way to acceptance and then to a reverence for those who had died on the same road we were passing over.
At the barricade policeman waved me on. I looked at the vast empty road before me and was almost too overwhelmed to press my foot on the accelerator. I looked in the rear mirror and saw that the drivers behind me were similarly bewildered. At length, I gave it some gas, watched the needle reach one hundred… and moved on.
Yesterday, mindful of the traffic, I moved on again, this time I took the motorway north. As I turned off the Bruce Highway onto the Sunshine Highway I felt a familiar excitement – a sort of holiday, come homecoming excitement – for I was nearly at Lorelle’s.
Johnny O’Keefe ♥ Move Baby Move ♫. sallie6.
“Oops,” I am thinking, “the chain is off!”
Of course, it has happened before – whenever I have changed gear badly (my Aussie bike is a delicate piece of machinery and doesn’t respond well to lackadaisical gear changes). Now normally, when it happens in a park, or when I’m cycling with Bill, I get off and look a bit helpless, and some kind man (possibly my brother but often complete strangers) will step forward and upturn the bike for me. A man, unlike me, doesn’t seem to mind dirtying his hands and he usually knows how to ‘demon tweak’ it with the minimum of effort and oil on hands. Also, a man usually carries a big white hanky or a piece of rag (if he happens to be in the habit of helping hapless lady cyclists).
Sadly, the chain has frozen in a funny position (not quite off but if I push it I know it will proceed to do so) and there is not a man in sight. It is a rather lonely road – Creek Road (off Birkdale Road) – about a mile from the house which I am looking after for Janis and Neil and I am on the way back to Birkdale Road because there was no short-cut through to Quarry Road. I try to move the pedals back and forth – no doing – and I mess around with the gears. Still frozen! I upend the bike and look at it. Unfortunately there is no passing traffic to take pity on me. I have to take some action – I have to take hold of the chain… gingerly. It still won’t budge. I have to grab it with both hands…
I am looking like a coal-miner, the chain is in the right position at last and I’m wondering how I’m going to get back to the house without getting black oil all over my handlebars… when an old-fashioned camper-van comes up behind me and pulls in on the grassy nature-strip ahead. I’m not scared because it’s a friendly looking van. The doors either side open simultaneously and and oldish couple (Grey Nomads) beam benevolently at me.
“Let me take a look at that for you,” says Mick, the seventy-something husband.
“Are you going far?” asks his wife June.
“Just thought I’d suss out the way to Lota but I was thinking I might have to go home first to clean up,” I answer.
“Well your bike’s alright,” says Mick, turning it back the right way (and saving me from getting dirt on my clothes).
I hold up my coal-miner hands and Mick goes into the camper-van and brings out some ‘Wet Wipes”. They are not man enough for the job. June has already gone back inside the van and comes out with a bottle of ‘Acme’ cleaning fluid. I look like a surgeon scrubbing up and June and Mick look on very pleased.
“You’re my ‘Good Samaritans'”, I continue scrubbing, “I don’t know what I would have done without you – yes, I do….”
“The grass,” we all say together laughing.
When I am ready I hold up my hands to June and she points to the tap at the back of the van. She lets the cold water flow and Mick offers me a blue towel he has brought out for my particular use.
“Will you be able to find your way?” asks June taking out her mobile phone to check out a map of the area. “What road do you want?”
“I think I can find my cycle path from Chelsea Road,” I answer.
“That’s quite a way – nearly three kilometres,” she queries.
“That’s nothing,” I pipe up and June nods knowingly.
“Thank you so much for being my life-savers,” I say.
“Perhaps it’s destiny and God will reward us by helping us find the right new house we’ve been searching for,” laughs Mick.
I hope so too. They go on their merry way and I go on mine. I find Chelsea Road and the short cut over the creek. I have the most wonderful cycle ride and reach my destination at the bottom of White’s Road, Lota (in a few weeks time I shall be house and dog sitting at the other end of that same road). I return home just before nightfall, my cheeks are flushed with the exertion of finishing my ride all up-hill; I have cycled at least fourteen kilometres and I am feeling very proud of myself. Two hours before I had considered taking a nap!
He may be a bit childish but so what? The new gardener here at Number Seven (lucky for some!) is keen, willing and totally gorgeous. He’s blond and blue-eyed, tall and handsome, and what he lacks in horticultural knowledge is entirely made up for by his personal charm and eagerness to please…
