Well, it wasn’t exactly the middle of nowhere, but it seemed like it because I was on my bike and it was getting dark. Of course you can’t take a bike on the motorway so I was looking for the road I had taken earlier, going in the opposite direction (when it was light and I could see), which would have led me to the red bridge from where I would have recognised where I was. As it happened, I didn’t have a clue and night was falling fast.

I had taken a wrong turn at one of the roundabouts, went two miles in the wrong direction (and back again), had the wrong directions given to me by four different people (people will tell you anything when you approach them in their cars stopped at red lights!) and from then on I had been cycling hither and thither, hoping to meet someone who could give me the right directions. There weren’t many folk walking around, or at all actually – I wasn’t in a very popular spot. At last I had noticed three teenage Maori boys but, just as I was about to ask them the way, a car pulled up on the opposite side of the road and the lads rushed over to it and piled in. I followed them. It is amazing how they fitted into the car as it was filled already with similar lads; and the driver, who was older, looked at me daggers as I approached. Maybe at first he thought I was an undercover policewoman posing as a cyclist but I disarmed him with my smile and an innocent plea for help:

“Excuse me,” I said in my best English accent (to let him know that I wasn’t an undercover policewoman), “but I wonder if you can help me, I’m looking for the non-motorway way to Drew’s Road at Loganholme?”

The swarthy driver, who reminded me of a Maori version of “Huggy Bear” from the American cop show “Starsky and Hutch”, visibly let down his guard – he even smiled back at me and tried to assist.

” Yeah well, you see that graveyard over there,” he pointed, “you gotta get past that.”

“To the red bridge?”

“Yeah, that’s right. It’s past there somewhere. Just go there and follow the graveyard. That’s right isn’t it?” he turned to the many big lads in the back seat and they all nodded.

I thanked them all and headed for the graveyard with high hopes although the light was fading…

Perhaps, after all, it had not been such a good idea to decide to take a very long cycle ride into unknown territory in the mid-afternoon, but I had been in all day long and I had thought that a good ride would help me to get slim before the sixth of April (when my son and his fiancée are going to be married). Certainly, upon reflection, I should have accepted Roland’s offer of a lift back home, which I refused because I was sure I could make it back before dark, and because I wanted to use up more calories. In fact, after a cold drink and half an hour’s rest I had felt quite recovered and ready for the long journey homeward bound.

“What about that really big hill?” Roland queried.

I laughed and said I would be fine.

It is funny how I hadn’t noticed that long steep hill as I was coming down it!

So it was nearly dark and I was three-quarters the way home, outside Beenleigh Ambulance Station (somewhere near the Pacific Highway and not actually in Beenleigh); and the mosquitoes were having a feeding frenzy on my bare arms and legs; and a white ute had stopped ominously and his warning lights flashed so I crossed over and stood under the street lamp; and another car pulled up and flashed his warning lights too and I had a memory of the creepy Australian film “Wolf Creek”, about a murderer who befriended travellers in distress…

I reached for my mobile phone.

“Roland, I’m sorry but I’m lost…” I exhorted.

He must have come to the rescue because today, in spite of all the heat, I made him loads of cakes as a thank you. None for me, I’m dieting. And if you’re wondering… yes, I lost over a kilo. Incidentally, I went cycling again today, this time just locally and – would you believe it? – I got lost again!

A young Ontario woman was so depressed that she decided to end her life by throwing herself into the lake, but just before she could throw herself from the docks, a handsome young man stopped her.

“You have so much to live for,” said the man. “I’m a sailor, and we are off to Italy tomorrow. I can stow you away on my ship. I’ll take care of you, bring you food every day, and keep you happy.”

With nothing to lose, combined with the fact that she had always wanted to go to Italy, the woman accepted. That night the sailor brought her aboard and hid her in a small but comfortable compartment in the hold. From then on, every night he would bring her three sandwiches, a bottle of red wine, and make love to her until dawn. Three weeks later she was discovered by the captain during a routine inspection.

“What are you doing here?” asked the captain.

“I have an arrangement with one of the sailors,” she replied. “He brings me food and I get a free trip to Italy .”

“I see,” the captain says.

Her conscience got the best of her and she added, “Plus, I have to admit, he’s been screwing me.”

“He certainly has,” replied the captain, “this is the Toronto Island Ferry!

With thanks to Cheryl for sending this to me…

What better way to spend a Sunday afternoon than going for a drive in my brother Bill’s 1957 FC Holden? The engine purred in that wonderful way that modern cars can’t manage because they are all so refined these days; and occasionally it roared as we sped up on the straight sections of Wynnum’s wide roads – Bill thought it would give Lita and me a thrill, which it did (we whooped with delight!). I sat in the back on the turquoise bench seat without the horrid restriction of a seat belt because the regular rules do not apply to vintage cars (what joy!). Pedestrians and other vintage car drivers waved their appreciation and we waved back through the open windows. I felt like a queen. And my orange spotty sun dress complimented the turquoise interior very well…. if you don’t mind me saying so myself.

Sadly,we had the news recently that Holdens will no longer be made in Australia. What a shame…

“Do you want to hear about our snake?” asked Jade, the handsome pilot’s daughter from across the road (from where I am house sitting at present).

I was just returning on my bike from swimming at Joanne’s followed by shopping at the Hyperdome this afternoon (fourteen kilometres all told – desperately dieting and exercising) and I had stopped to speak to the children who were roller-skating at the end of the road near the turning circle. Jade’s six year old brother called Drew (the one with the spiky hair) had already told me that I ought to “get back and guard Sue and Glenn’s house” (I knew from previous experience I could count on Drew for some humour!). Danielle and Bella (their mum accompanied by the family dog) soon came out and joined us.

I nodded with interest and Jade told her tale of the two metre long tree snake that had appeared last week when the family were having a barbecue – her heroic father, in the style of an expert, caught the snake and picked it up by the back of the head before depositing it on wasteland.

“I don’t know why it chose us, out of all the people who live here…” ten year old Jade finished with a wistful ponder.

“How funny that we should both have had snake experiences recently,” I got in quickly because I had my own snake story to tell.

And I told them about my unforgettable trip to Redcliffe last Saturday and my visit to friends who have snakes (as well as dogs) for pets. How could I refuse when asked if I would like to hold a large yellow constrictor named Bonnie? What an excellent opportunity for unusual photographs for my blog! My initial response was purely instinctive – I froze and held my breath – as Bonnie wended her way over and around my head; her tongue licked my face and I felt like Tarzan’s Jane in the jungle. A green snake called Clyde was placed around my neck and the dynamic duo pretended to strangle me, just a little pressure here and there to remind me of their raison d’être (they were not to be tangled with although, indeed, they were tangled around me). Sid, the yellow snake, was a sweetie; he gave me a nice massage on my shoulders.

“Do they get to know you and like you?” I asked.

“No, they just think you’re a warm spot,” said Kendall, the beautiful snake charmer in one of the photo’s, “and don’t hold him like that or he’ll bite you…”

And the following snake photographs are for Jade, Drew and Danielle, so I can show off how brave I am (not, as you can see by my face). The dog is there on the basis of his cuteness, likewise, Kendall is there for her cuteness and the Bee Gees Statue is for fans who may be interested to know that the Bee Gees lived in Redcliffe when the Gibb family moved to Australia.

These came in from Chris (reporting on the spot) yesterday.

“What’s that?” I wondered.

Was I imagining a dark shape moving hurriedly across the floor in the dimness after the lights went out?

That was four nights ago.

Since then I have seen him regularly, here there and everywhere, sometimes running under the fridge, the sofa, in the bathroom, in the passage, on the carpet in the study…but mostly, he liked the white tiled floors, which was rather difficult for him because he was in hiding. He was a stowaway.

To tell the truth, I started to worry about him yesterday – not that I am in favour of illegal immigrants (except in special circumstances) – you see, as you know I am a “Stepford Wife”, which means there is not a single crumb or scrap left on work-tops or floors… And what does his kind eat anyway? Cockroaches are unheard of here, we don’t even have any mosquitoes in Stepford; we do have determined flies, but they get zapped and are probably poisonous by the time they reach the white tiles… if there are any left after I have been around with my incredible house-hoover with the amazing suction.No, I doubt the poor little fellow has had anything to eat in his three days spent with me in modern luxury. If he had yearned to know to know how the other half lives, he now knows – on very little – especially when you stow away with a Stepford dieter.

I fancy he has been looking for an escape route. Certainly for at least a day… since he lost his tail. That was yesterday… when I tried to save him. Oh dear! Then he went all nervous on me and ran under the television. I wonder if he found the air-conditioning a bit cold? Reptiles like it hot – don’t they? Oh dear, and he had lost a little blood…

But do not fear, all is well. Luckily, as I came out of the bathroom a short while ago we chanced to meet again (well, I nearly stepped on him coming out of the linen cupboard) and… I think the photographs say what happened next.

Now don’t get too excited, it wasn’t a Friday devoted entirely to men. I might just as well have entitled my post Little Man Friday or, and more accurately, Little Man on Friday, but I like the romantic connotation of my original choice because I’m fond of the idea of desert islands.

Anyway, I had a lovely day not only with my “Little Man on Friday” Mason, but also with my childhood friend, Lorelle, and her son, Xavier (another gorgeous man – of eighteen). Lorelle had arrived on Thursday and stayed overnight; Mason arrived at eight in the morning (in time for a breakfast of egg and bacon); and we met Xavier in the city where we had a delicious lunch out – Lorelle’s special treat.

Later on Lorelle tried her hand at a spot of cloud shooting at Roland’s and found she was a natural like me. Nobody landed an arrow in the bucket but there was a great deal of discussion, if not argument, about whose arrow landed closest.

Now everyone has gone home and I am all alone. I have looked through the photographs, relived in memory some pleasurable moments and chosen some pictures for my blog to illustrate the highlights of my day. It has been a good day, not least because Mason and I are now firm friends, in fact I love the dear little chap.

Sat here at my computer, I have just noticed an email has come in from Chris – it is headed with the words, “Goodnight Sweet Sally” – isn’t that nice? It almost makes me like my name. I think I’ll phone my man now, while it’s still his Friday (if not mine).

Thanks Rob!
*A pastor’s wife was expecting a baby, so he stood before the congregation *
*and asked for a raise. *
*After much discussion, they passed a rule that whenever the pastor’s *
*family expanded; so would his paycheck. *
*After 6 children, this started to get expensive and the congregation
decided *
*to hold another meeting to discuss the pastor’s expanding salary.*
*A great deal of bickering ensued, as to how much the pastor’s additional
children *
*were costing the church, and how much more it could potentially cost.*
*After listening to them for about an hour, the pastor rose from his chair
and spoke, *
*”Children are a gift from God and we will take as many gifts as He gives
us.” *
*Silence fell over the congregation.*
*In the back pew, a little old lady struggled to stand, and finally said in
her frail voice, *
*”Rain is also a gift from God, but when we get too much of it, we wear
rubbers.”*
*The entire congregation said, “Amen.” *
—————————

Over to Chris for an update on the freakish weather conditions (and our breach in the sea wall) in the sleepy little South West of England which I call home…

You wouldn’t believe it, especially after all the weather troubles we’ve been having here in the West Country over the past couple of weeks, but at noon or thereabouts today, North Devon and West Somerset were subjected to a…….guess what?….an earthquake!!  Okay, it wasn’t exactly earth-shattering (as they say!), but it measured 4.5 on the Richter Scale, and was felt as far south as Exeter, apparently.  Fancy that!  What next, I wonder?  Waterspouts up the Teign Estuary, or maybe a tsunami or three; or was it a Satsuma?

I’ve been looking at the works going on down below, and it’s encouraging to see that, at the points where there have been actual breaches in the sea wall, they have been installing a giant triple line of deep concrete slabs between the railway line and the parapet wall, and, I think, filling the gaps between these slabs with liquid concrete – all mighty stuff, and a great new line of defence if the wall breaks again at these points.  Of course, it doesn’t cater for the scenario (love that word!) of the sea wall breaking at a different point where there aren’t these slabs, but at least it’s something.  I’ll send you some photo’s if you like, but I haven’t taken any yet so far.

(I hope our man sends more photographs.)