From midnight Friday 10th October until midnight  Monday 13th you may get your Kindle Ebook free. Just click on the image below and it should take you directly to Kindle Ebooks. Have a great read NEXT weekend! Look out for more links from my site NEXT WEEKEND. (Thought I was giving the promotion this weekend but got the date wrong – never mind, it builds the excitement!)

The Innocent Flirt Down Under (Kindle Edition)

by Sally Porch

 (1)

 

I borrowed this photograph from the Facebook page of my good friend Lorelle in Oz.

My body says:

“Thanks for losing those five pounds but that’s quite enough. Now that we’re slim why can’t we eat banana cake?”

My voluptuous body is deluded, of course; it thinks we live in Tonga.

After two weeks of “plateau” – neither up nor down despite the rigors of Dr Dukan’s protein diet (no fruit) – I decided to “take the bull by the horns” and last evening Ma Homet (or Porch, in this case) went up to the mountain, the mountain being the long steep hill up Sandy Lane to the Leisure Centre. The Leisure Centre is something of a misnomer – far from being a place to enjoy one’s leisure (time when one is not working or occupied; free time, spare time, spare moments, time to spare, idle hours, time off, freedom, holiday, respite, relief, ease,peace, quiet, recreation, relaxation, inact-ivity, amusement, entertainment, pleasure,diversion, distraction, fun, games, fun and games), it is the hub of arduous activity.

Take last night for example, I dragged my recalcitrant body along for what I thought was to be an hour of gentle Pilates; imagine the nasty shock when the receptionist informed, “That’s Thursday, Wednesday is ‘Bums, Tums and Thighs’ night” (the most vigorous of exercise classes bar circuit training). The instructress, thrilled to see a newcomer, came over immediately for a signature – she liked to keep track of her numbers. Without a sports bra, the “Keep it low if you prefer” option was heeded. The youngest member of the class, a twenty-year-old with a lovely bottom, goose-stepped rather than marched during lulls and I’ve taken that on board for future reference.

After an hour of constant bending, skipping, and jumping (albeit ‘low’) my body, rather than feeling enervated and sapped, was surprisingly stimulated; so much so that I had a sudden urge to enter the gym and spend twenty-five minutes on a cross-country machine at “Fat Burner” setting. The machine took a dictatorial stance and kept announcing in red lights “Slow down, the machine will adjust for heart rate reduction” (or something like that). My body said, “Nanny state!”

This morning Chris and I went for a lovely bike ride to Cockwood (after he fixed my flat tire); the tide was out – one of the old boating men of Cockwood said, “It was full a minute ago but someone pulled the plug. If you wait a while it’ll be back in…” But we didn’t stay because I was eager to get back to the Leisure Centre and –  who knows?- nice Brian might be there to make it a little less boring.

It was a bit boring on the cross-country machine (at ‘Fat Burner’ setting) and even on the rowing machine at I don’t know what setting (because I didn’t have my glasses) – everyone was too busy to chat. On the big screen girl singers, who all sounded the same to me, provided the necessary beat for regular exercise (glad it wasn’t River Dance or the machine would have gone into overdrive with warnings and red lights!) whilst I preferred to look out through the glass walls at the green fields and the sea in the distance. And then I went for a swim to cool down. Funny how fast some of those old people can swim, even in the slow lane.

What a surprise when I came out from the changing room – Brian was at reception.

“Want a piece of banana cake?” he tempted, “I cooked it myself!”

“Just a small bite because I’m on a diet and health kick,” I helped myself.

The cake was light, not too sweet and delicious. (Brian is an excellent baker – perhaps he’s in training for the “Great British Bake-off”.)

My starved and tired body said:

“Thank you!”

And in a short while I shall mosey over to the Leisure Centre for some gentle Pilates…

A short while ago I had a visit from little Rosie, aged nine days. Is there anything more lovable than a newborn? Want to have a peek in her pram?

Chris has brought me a nice cup of weak tea and he comes back to bed for our first chat of the day, as we always do. I have barely opened my eyes yet when my husband says:

“My ear is no better and I’ve been using that powder for a full week now.”

“Oh?” I sit up and peer at his ear, uselessly, as it happens because I don’t have my glasses on, and anyway, I’m slightly squeamish about studying other people’s ailments and blemishes. “Do you want me look at it?”

“No, it’s alright, I’ve seen it myself – inasmuch as anyone can see in their own ear – and I can feel that it is no better,” Chris answers, perhaps sensing correctly that I’m not eager to make an examination.

“Are you sure that it is Athlete’s Foot’?” I inquire solicitously (like a good wife).

“No, of course it’s not ‘Athlete’s Foot!”

“Sorry, Athlete’s Ear,” I laugh (as wives do).

“Don’t be facetious, Sally. I wish I hadn’t mentioned it. But I thought it was a fungal infection, which, as you know, is why I’ve been using my old ‘Mycota Foot Powder'”, Chris says snootily.

He picks up the blue and white tin of Mycota (for Athlete’s Foot) and inspects it.

“When did you buy that?” I ask, “You haven’t had Athlete’s Foot in all the years I’ve known you – or didn’t you like to tell me about it?”

“Why would I try to hide it? No, it was years ago…”

“Well we’ve been together for seventeen years now,” I remind him.

“Perhaps the powder is out of date,” Chris searches the tin for a sell-by-date, “Oh, it was probably in the days before they had to have a sell-by-date. The price label is still on it… G.H. Powell, The High street, Caterham. Well I’ll be blowed.”

“Didn’t you live in Caterham when you were really young?” I have my eyes wide open now.

“Yes, I was there in about nineteen seventy one!”

We often have funny conversations in bed. And here is a photograph of the old Mycota tin that was purchased for a nasty bout of Athlete’s Foot over forty years ago.

An imagined transcript from Ground Control, Dawlish, at 10 hundred hours this morning:

Okay Guys and Gals, this is Ground Control. You’re a long way from home but don’t worry; everything is under control, except for my Canadian accent (just to make you feel at home). It’s a beautiful sunny morning here at Dawlish and there’s not a cloud to spoil the view. You sure chose the right field for takeoff – right on top of the cliffs.

Now you young’uns just remember the drill – you’ve done it all before – and there’s nothin’ to worry about. Okey Dokey.

Group One, I’d be much obliged if you’d gather in an orderly fashion to the far left, at the end of the longest clearway. Well done. You’re looking good and all set for takeoff. No, hold it! Pardonnez moi – there’s a couple of long-legged egrets overhead, coming from six o’clock. Patience… Okey Dokey. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one and we have liftoff!

Group Two, mosey on over to the same spot. Only twenty of you? Okay. You’re clear for take off. Ten, nine, eight….

Group Three, all sixty of you, now listen to me – don’t you go takin’ off early like those smart Alecs from group two. Glad to see you got Captain Drake in command. Hold your horses, think we got an arrow of swallows coming over the flight path – nope, they definitely have square tails – they’re martins. Okey dokey. Prepare for takeoff Captain Drake. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one… And up, up and away you go!

Group Four. Already in formation? Well done! Oh right? Three stragglers holding up takeoff? Step to it goosies – no time for preening yourselves when you’re in Group Four. Ten, nine, eight, seven… Okey Dokey, as you wish ladies.

Group Five, excuse me, Group Five? Ground Control to Group Five? Can’t you hear with your beaks full? You don’t need no more protein pills to get yourselves airborn. Sure I know you’re the flying aces but you gotta get into line just like the rest. We got rules to follow. Major Don, now you just bring the old guys down to the runway – come on. Ignore those cyclists sitting on the fence taking shots of you – it’s only a mobile camera, Major. Will Major Don and Group Five stop eating and please come down to the runway… Can you hear me Major Don? Can you hear me Major Don? Is there nothing I can do?

Okey Dokey, you’re taking off in a most peculiar way…. There is nothing I can do.

And for those of you who are trying to remember the words of “Space Oddity”….

It was six-thirty, the end of a day of painting beaches on canvas (will show you tomorrow), and I felt desperate for a cycle ride.

“Where shall we ride?” Chris asked.

“Where else?” I answered.

The sun glowed red behind the fields at Dawlish Warren and I felt sure that if we rode on quickly to Cockwood Harbour we would catch the sunset on the water. As you can see, we weren’t disappointed. However we had to ride like the wind homewards before it became completely dark.

With thanks to Roland, the Bird-man of Brisbane, for this joke. Incidentally, for all you ornithologists out there, Roland thinks you should be aware that I made obvious errors in two posts last week by calling the Scaly-breasted Lorikeet  (poor thing!) a Rozella, and by omitting the word ‘Rainbow’ before Lorikeet (see photographs below). Now for the joke…

A barrister was addressing the jury of a murder trial with his summation:

“Members of the jury, we are relying upon your intelligence, discernment and fair-mindedness to come to the only reasonable conclusion – that the accused is innocent. Let’s look at the facts: the evidence is purely circumstantial; reports of the animosity between my client and the alleged victim is hearsay – and therefore not admissible as evidence; and, most importantly, there is no body. Why, at this very moment the alleged victim might walk through that door (he points to the door). What would you think if the alleged victim walked through that door right now? In fact, I ask you now to please spare one minute to look at the door.”

The jurors turned their heads and stared expectantly at the huge courtroom door. The court was so quiet that you could have heard a pin drop. Two minutes passed and, just as the court began to get fidgety, the barrister broke the silence.

“Thank you members of the jury,” the barrister looked pleased instead of crestfallen. “Can you tell me why, if you thought the alleged victim was murdered, you all turned your heads towards the door? I contend that the answer is simple – you don’t believe that he was murdered. I ask the jury, in all your wisdom, to acquit the accused of murder and throw the case out of court.”

Half an hour later the jury came back and the judge asked for the verdict. The foreman stood and said solemnly:

“Guilty my Lord.”

“I thought you said the jurors were intelligent,” the convicted man whispered, quite shocked, as he touched the sleeve of his counsel.

“They are,” said the barrister.

“But they all turned their heads and expected Al to walk through the door,” he argued, bemused.

“Yes they did,” the barrister agreed before adding, “but you didn’t!”