The Morning After!

Wow! That was the wildest dinner party I've held for a while!

My two extra guests only stayed for champagne, margaritas and 'pickies', having to head off back to Brisbane to share farewell drinks with a friend who is leaving for Christchurch, New Zealand.

The party kicked off with a huge bang right from the beginning...5.30pm...everyone was in party mode. This morning my cabin looks like Cyclone Larry or Hurricane Katrina went through it! And I'm sure my appearance matches it! By midnight everyone, fearful of turning into pumpkins, departed the scene of destruction! I took one brief look at the debris and repeating the words of Scarlet O'Hara..."Tomorrow is another day", I threw myself into bed, pulling the covers over my head.

What a crazy, fun-filled evening it was! A noisy, boisterous bunch of revelers were we. The laughter, rowdy debates and general mayhem continued from drinks outside on the deck to around the dinner table. At one stage, I put on the soundtrack music from Michael Flatley's original "Riverdance". Lyndall and I performed a "Kath & Kim's" version of Irish dancing! I wish someone had filmed it. We could make a career out of this....not!

My landlords can't complain about the pandemonium as they were amongst the rowdiest! Fortunately, they could walk/stagger home. I think they made it back to their house, but as I've not yet checked, they may be floating in the pond between me and "The Manor"! My other guests live just around the corner not far from me and if they got into strife, Peter, the husband of Lyndall, is a barrister so he can bail himself out of prison! As for me, the cats aren't talking to me. They're an anti-social pair! They hate it when I have visitors and high-tail it to the nearest hiding spot, only to re-appear again when everyone has left.

So we celebrated St. Paddy's Day in flying colours! He would have been proud! It was a great evening and a wonderful time was had by all.

First, I'm going to read the Sunday paper, check to see if I won the Lotto and if I did, I'm going to hire a maid to come and clean up all this mess! Needless to say, it will be me who will being tackling the battlefield. By the look of the dishevelment, it may take me a week!

I've been to Bedlam and back again and can even spell its name!

On The Couch...

In the colour magazine that comes with the Saturday "Courier Mail" is a questionaire given to somebody of note. Well, I'm not of "note", only within my own household, but I thought I would do similar here in my blog. As you know, this evening I'm hosting a dinner party. It will be a table of five. Over the years, I've often dreamed up guests with whom I liked to share my table. Part of the questionaire in the magazine is the question of whom one would like to share a dining experience with. So, here goes. I will try to be as honest as possible! UPDATE: It now appears my "table of five" will be increased to a table of seven! Not my doing, but I kinda got cornered and couldn't say "No"! It's just as well I always cater enough to feed an army! AND....I'll still be the "odd-man" out...well, odd-woman out. I sure would make an odd man (even that doesn't sound too great!)

If there were ten people, living or dead, I would invite to dinner, they would be:

Ayn Rand, David Bowie, a Long, Tall Texan, Jamie Oliver, Billy Connolly, Orson Welles, Anais Nin, Gregory Peck, Salvador Dali, Maria Callas....Abraham Lincoln.....I'll set an extra place!

A book that means a lot to me: Atlas Shrugged

A movie that resonates with me: The Horse Whisperer

A song that speaks to me: A Bridge Over Troubled Waters

Someone who makes me laugh: Me!

My worst fashion moment: I guess when I went to the service station on Wednesday!

The best thing about living: Being alive

My worst habit is: Impatience

The weirdest place I've been recognised is: Way out in a pub I was temporarily managing in Normanton, in far north-west Queensland in the Gulf Country

The last time I cried was: Watching "The Horse Whisperer" again, on DVD, last Sunday afternoon. Oh! I welled up with tears when I was chatting with a friend yesterday, too, but didn't actually "cry".

My first job was: As a legal secretary in Gympie

If my house caught fire, the first thing I'd grab would be: Three things, actually...my two cats and my computer

Five years from now, I will be: Still happily writing this blog, I hope!

My favourite toy as a child was: My dolls...all of them

My secret skill is: Sorry...I don't know if I have a secret skill...this one needs more thought...perhaps I don't have one! And if I told you what it was if I did have one, it would no longer be a secret!

You wouldn't know it but I'm no good at: What a silly question!

My biggest regret is: I leave regrets behind...I've had a few but I try to move on from them

I wish I had: Lots of things...but I don't dwell on them...or at least, I try my utmost not to do so. I try to face reality. On the material side of things, I wish I had a new car and well-equipped, well-laid out kitchen with a large walk-in pantry!

I wish I hadn't: Stayed up so late last night!

More Bits and Pieces...Of the More Personal, Private Kind!

I’m about to shower, dress and go out to do some shopping at the supermarket. Yes, I will be clean, tidy, made-up with hair shampooed and carefully in place. No more surprise visits to the outside world for me today! I can’t keep scaring the natives like that! I should buy some masking tape when I’m at the supermarket! Me and my big mouth…yesterday, in a moment of weakness, I invited a couple of friends to dinner on Saturday night for St. Patrick’s Day! I need the masking tape to tape up my mouth! It seemed like a great idea at the time, but that ‘time’ swiftly passed and now I’ve been polishing glasses, planning a menu, washing a dark green tablecloth, dusting and generally, grumbling at my loose lips!

Writing of St. Patrick Day reminds me of Hinchinbrook Island celebrations of the day. I instructed the kitchen and bar that everything, and I mean everything had to be green! One poor little kid during lunch became overjoyed at his high pile of ‘green ice-cream’ on his plate. That is, until he dug into it. Taking a huge mouthful, he let out a green scream. “This is mashed potato!”

Green food colouring adorned the bar, not only were we serving green beer, but green scotch and wine. Well, it was different, I must admit!

Green prawns cooked in a verde sauce! You name it…nothing escaped the bottles of green food colouring!

Next morning, Bronnie tentatively approached me in my office.

“Lee,” she stammered. “I think we have a problem. I think the island water supply might be contaminated! What are we going to tell the guests?”

“Why do you say that, Bronnie?” I asked, looking up from my paper-work.

“Well…umm,” hesitantly she began, shifting from foot to foot. “Umm…well…when I went to the toilet this morning…I…I…ahh…it was black!” She finally blurted out.

I laughed my head off.

“Bronnie…there is no island disease! It’s from all the green food colouring!” I couldn’t stop laughing.

Poor guests! I wonder by which despicable, deadly disease they thought they were afflicted!

I never did ask!

I Won't Do That Again!

There I was, racing to the service station, trying to beat my fuel gauge before it reached zero, hoping I’d not see anyone I knew. No time for a shower, feet covered in grass clippings, streaks of red soil on my clothes, arms and legs, hair windblown. Remnants of branches, leaves and cobwebs clinging to my back in a complete camouflage, I thought. I thought wrong! I ran into, not literally, someone I know not too well. Of course, she was dressed up to the nines. Looking down her well-made up nose, she fluttered her eye lashes, raised her eyebrows, I’m sure I heard her utter, “Tsk! Tsk!”. Brushing off the leaves and branches, I smiled, “Lovely morning isn’t it?” She performed a graceful side-step, removing herself from the vision of absolute disaster standing beside her as she mumbled something unintelligible in return. Hurriedly, she paid for her fuel purchase before exiting the premises with not a backward glance. Next time, I must remember to put a protea bloom behind my ear perhaps that will complete my appearance. On second thoughts, next time I should shower and change into clean clothes before racing off to fill up my car! But I’m still in the middle of cutting flowers and I’m only going to get filthy again. You see, I load up my car with the blooms before driving down to the front of the property to the roadside where I sell the flowers. To some that may seem a lazy way to do it, and I guess, it is, but the bundles of proteas are very heavy and I’m very lazy! Also it's about 800 or so metres to the roadside end of the property. The reason I made the mad, unprepared-for dash to fill my fuel tank was a flashing light warning me that the tank was near barren. So, casting pride and dignity to the wind, showing no shame, I fleet-footed it or fleet-wheeled it to the servo!

Why is it that this sort of thing happens, I wonder? Every time my cabin is untidy or every time I make a similar dash into the outside world, someone arrives unexpectedly or I’ll run into someone I really don’t need or wish to see! From now on I’m going to keep an immaculate house and only make outside appearances when I’m groomed to knock-out proportions! This way, I’ll never again have unexpected visitors and I won’t cross paths with “Tsk! Tsking” folk!

To be totally honest with you, I really don’t care! Well, maybe I do, just a little! I'm off to make my bed....

Balmy Days of Noosa and Sunshine Beach

Noosa Heads and Sunshine Beach still hold a special place in my heart. These areas were my playgrounds as a child and teenager. I spent seven years living and working in the area before my move to Hinchinbrook Island and my thirteen adventure-filled years in tropical North Queensland. There was a time I believed I would never leave the Noosa area, but life took a sudden turn. I hit a crossroad and turned my sights northward. I don't regret the decision I made at the time and probably would do it all over again, given the chance.

Included in the pictures above is Hastings Street, Noosa Heads, wherein I had my little greengrocery/healthfood store. I made the shop fun, and even though I worked hard in it...it was my 'baby'...there were many hilarious moments.

The other shopkeepers in the open arcade where my store was situated were a friendly lot. I had a huge store-room at the rear of my store, which included a large cold room to hold my precious produce. This 'precious produce' included cartons of beer and bottles and casks of wine. From around 4pm each afternoon, the other shop-holders visited me for 'cocktail hour'. From that time onwards there was a lot of coming and going as they snuck out the back for a cleansing ale or a refreshing glass of grape juice! I think our little shopping centre became the first 'late-night' traders in Noosa, as there were many evenings a spontaneous arcade party erupted during which we all remained open to the public! I'm sure such behaviour wouldn't be allowed today and more's the pity.

I remember one particular day when it had been raining non-stop for a day or so. Hastings Street was deserted because the tourists remained indoors watching television or doing other more enjoyable holiday indoor activities. I decided to have a picnic on the floor of my store! The floor covering was green indoor/outdoor carpet tiles that is reminiscent of grass. I put down a checkered gingham tablecloth, set out various foods, including dips and salads and soon the other shopkeepers wandered in to join me. Those tourists brave enough to battle the weather threw us some strange, bemused looks as they passed by. Some even joined us!

One doesn't have to be insane but it certainly does help!

I had an on-going argument with Mum and Dad Swallow who decided my back room was an excellent 'housing estate' for them to set up home and raise their family. They would commence building their nest and I would knock the nest down before they managed to get it underway, instructing them that there was a far better spot for them outside in a protected nook. Our war lasted over many days, but in the end, I had a victory. Mr and Mrs Swallow relented and saw the wisdom of my choice for their accommodation. I left them to their busy chore of setting up home in the nook. I watched with interest as they studiously erected their nest. Very soon after completion Mrs Swallow laid her eggs. I became intrigued watching the family grow. I learned how the parent birds taught their young to fly. Each day it would be a little further and a little higher until, sadly, the day arrived for the young birds to leave their sanctuary forever.

Through my shop, I met many interesting people. It was difficult for me to sell it, emotionally, but life moves on and one must move along with it.

By George! I Think She's Got It!

I've been out climbing around protea trees again this morning, cutting the blooms and setting up my stall on the roadside. I think I've become the metamorphosis of Eliza Doolittle!

While swinging from fragile tree branches, my mind turned to mud crabs. Perhaps I've mentioned previously that my mind works in mysterious ways, therefore, I am unable to explain why I would be thinking about mud crabs while cutting protea blooms. But, there I was, covered in leaves, hoping I wouldn't stumble upon wasps' nests and all I could think of was mud crabs!

It's best to keep out of a mud crab's way once you've caught him (you must throw back the 'Jennies' aka the female...it is illegal to keep the female...she's breeding stock), because he's never too happy. An unhappy 'buck' aka male crab is not something you should shake hands with. Those two front claws of his can give you a nasty nip! I think it's because of his majestic arrogance that I love him so much. The mud crab does not go down without a fight!

When I was a child...I've written previously about our frequent jaunts to Tin Can Bay, mud crabs were frequently on the menu in our home. Of course, living on Hinchinbrook and Newry Islands sated my appetite (almost) for fresh mud crabs. My appetite for freshly cooked crabs will never be entirely satisfied. As with all fresh seafood, simple is the best to my way of thinking. My favourite way of presenting and eating mud crab is by just boiling a whole crab for 12-14 minutes in boiling salted water, to which a small amount of sugar has been added. Remove cooked crabs (they turn orange when cooked), run cold water over them to stop them from further cooking. Cool, crack open and devour! There is no lady-like way to eat mud crabs, so don't even try. Just get in there and savour every succulent piece of its tender, sweet flesh.

Before you cook your catch, be humane and kill the crabs first. This can be done by putting the crabs in the freezer for half an hour while you get the pot on the boil or the wok heated. Another reason to put them under is that when live crabs are immersed in boiling water or hot oil, they thrash about and tend to discard legs and claws (and make a mess of the kitchen).

The mud crab is a large dark brownish-green crab that grows up to 25 cm (about 10 in) and weigh up to 3.5 kg (almost 8 lb). Mud crabs use their large claws to catch prey and defend themselves from attackers. Mud crabs hide in the muddy bottoms of estuaries and mangrove forests during the day and come out to hunt at night. They do, however, migrate from estauries, mangrove forests and salt-water lakes such as Lake Weyba at Noosa, further out to sea. The mud crab's back legs are flattened to help them swim. As they travel along the open coast, that's is what is seen above the water, just a flurry of their flattened back legs propelling them along. Mud crabs can be found in a large area ranging from the northern half of Australia, the Philippines, the east coast of Africa and Pacific islands including Samoa and Fiji. They eat molluscs, small crabs, snails and worms. Don't be fooled into thinking their flesh tastes muddy because of their time spent in the estuaries and mangrove areas. The flesh of a mud crab is very sweet and juicy.

I've mentioned I prefer eating mud crabs simply prepared, served with freshly-baked bread, butter, salt, pepper and vinegar, but I will share with you a couple of recipes in case you feel like something more exotic.

BAKED MUD CRAB: By cooking in an oven bag,you retain all the flavour and moisture.
1 cleaned fresh mud crab cut down the middle, legs separated and claws cracked.2 to 4 tablespoons of olive oil or you can use butter or margarine if you wish. Flavouring of your choice i.e. Garlic, chilli, coriander etc. Place into an oven bag and try to coat the crab all over with the marinade. Seal with a twist tie, puncture bag in 2 to 3 places with a small knife and place on a small baking tray either on top of the grill or hot plate. Cook on LOW to MEDIUMfor approximately 20-30 minutes, or until crab changes colour and looks cooked. Serve with fresh crusty bread to soak up juices.

Chilli Mud Crab: Drop the crab into a pot of boiling water for 5 minutes. This will give some colour and start the cooking process. Take the crab out and place in a bowl of cold water to stop it cooking further. Using a sharp knife, cleaver or chicken shears, chop the crab into pieces, cracking the claws with a mallet or pestle. Remove the "head sac" and feathery gills.
Ingredients:
Cooking oil - 3 teaspoons (peanut oil with a touch of sesame oil is best)
Ginger slices - quantiy to taste
Garlic crushed or finely chopped - 2 cloves
Spring onion - slice up a couple of stalks
Sliced Chilli - 2 to 3 chillis but vary to your taste
Fermented black beans
Chopped crab pieces
1 cup Stock - chicken OR water with a dash of soy OR coconut milk - your choice
1 Egg
Fresh herbs e.g. coriander, parsley, etc.

Get the ingredients ready BEFORE you start cooking as this doesn't take long! Heat the wok and get the oil really hot. Cook the ginger and garlic for about 30 seconds, stirring constantly. Add the crab, spring onions, chilli and fermented black beans and toss together until the crab shell turns bright red. Add stock, cover and simmer on a low heat for 10 minutes.To finish, crack the egg into the stock and stir forming shreds. Add the herbs and serve.

I'm drooling here as I type this! What have I started? I think I'll run away and become a pirate!

Andrei's Story....Chapter Two

Honey! I’m home! I’m baaack! It’s time I completed “The Story of Andrei”.

The morning of Andrei’s arrival in Collinsville after we unloaded the provisions’ truck, I took him to my home so he could deposit his luggage. My brother, Graham, had been staying with me the couple of days prior and he was leaving that day. I introduced Andrei to my brother and they chatted for a brief moment before I took him back to the Mess with me. Shortly after our visit, Graham left for his home in Mackay, approximately two hours’ drive south of Collinsville.

Thursday and Friday, Andrei spent his days in the Mess with me. I had him peeling and chopping vegetables and other mundane chores such as those. Our evenings were spent quietly watching movies, talking and not depleting further bottles of Bundaberg rum. Saturday morning approached. I loaded up the company Suzuki four-wheel drive with an overnight bag for me, Andrei and his luggage. On the Sunday, my plan was to drive him on to Mackay for him to catch a flight back to Brisbane.

We headed off along the road from Collinsville into Bowen on the coast. I took him on a scenic tour of the Bowen beaches, which are quite magnificent. He had never seen anything like these areas before, nor the type of homes. He was quite enthralled, taking everything in with the enthusiasm of a child. It was impossible not to catch his excitement. It was contagious. We ambled on down to Airlie Beach. The entrance into Airlie Beach through the northern end, via Cannonvale is very picturesque. A tall tree-covered headland falls directly into a turquoise sea below. As I drove around a bend, I heard Andrei gasp at the sight of the beauty before him. Dotted over the crystal water were many boats of all sizes, styles and colours. The scene before us was like something out of a tourism brochure. It was as if the day had been tailor-made just for him. Not a cloud blotted the clear blue sky. A gentle breeze hardly causing a ripple on the surface of the water nor stirring the leaves on the lush green trees as we drove along.

Entering Airlie, I said to Andrei, “We’ll book into our room immediately. We’ll drop of our luggage and head into town, if that’s okay with you. Once I’ve parked the car, that’s where it will stay until it’s time for us to leave tomorrow. There will be no chance of finding a parking spot in town. And we won't be back to our room until much later tonight!”

Whitsunday Resort is at the top of a steep hill. I found a suitable parking spot. We booked in and we made haste to our room. It was a quick turn-around, bidding farewell to our room, knowing we wouldn’t see it again until we knew not when. Susie and I had agreed to catch up with each other at the Whitsunday Yacht Club. She and her boyfriend were amongst the organizers of the yacht race. I knew she would be very busy and I had no intentions of taking up much of her time.

Just as we approached the main street of Airlie, a parade was in progress with colorfully decorated floats, clowns, jugglers and all forms of entertainment dancing and prancing along the street. People were milling about everywhere. All was motion. I couldn’t have chosen a better weekend to show Andrei a bit of our lifestyle than that weekend, even if I’d planned it well in advance. The small township was alive with happy people, all in the mood to celebrate. The air was alive. Andrei couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. We strolled leisurely through the street. My guest was in awe of all that he saw. He had never seen anything like it before. We arrived at the Yacht Club and found a vacant table outside over-looking the water. We’d not been there long when Susie arrived, bubbling as much as the champagne she had been enjoying since mid-morning! She invited us to a party at her apartment, but after conferring with Andrei, I declined on behalf of the two of us. I figured it would be far more interesting for him to partake in the afternoon and evening’s events at the Yacht Club, than being cooped up in an apartment amongst strangers. Fair enough that he was going to be amongst strangers at the Yacht Club, but a band was due to commence playing and I thought he would enjoy that much better.

Night fell. We ordered our dinner and settled in for an evening of fun. The band played excellent music and soon we were up rocking the night away. In between music breaks, some of the band members joined our table, much to the delight of Andrei. He found he had a lot in common with them because of his own small band back home. The conversation and laughter flowed easily and freely. The time came for the last bracket and the band played some rocking good music. We kicked up our heels. For a moment, my attention was elsewhere, then to my surprise, I noticed I didn’t have a partner. Andrei had fallen to the floor! Purposely, I discovered amongst my shock and hilarity. He had perfectly performed the splits...down and up again as quick as a flash! Everyone cheered and clapped, even the band members! We said our farewells and headed off to join the merry group of revelers out in the streets.

Walking past the Airlie Beach Hotel, we popped in for one last drink, just as the hotel was closing. Turning into the main street, we came upon a park wherein a crowd was gathering. A band was setting up to play on the tray of a large truck. Not ready to call the evening 'quits', we settled ourselves down on the grass. By now it was just after midnight. The party was still in full swing. I can’t remember the name of the band, but to our surprised joy, they played Pink Floyd music. Soon, the crowd numbers increased and the band played for another ninety minutes or so. It was one of the best bands I’ve heard. Somebody sitting next to us informed me that they were from Mackay, which was surprising, to say the least. I always thought the only good thing to come out of Mackay was sugar!

We ambled back up the hill to our accommodation, arriving around 2am. For a while, both Andrei and I sat out on the balcony, looking at the stars and the cloud formations, rehashing the day and evening’s events, while we sipped on coffee.

It was difficult to bring the day to an end, but I knew we had to rise early in the morning to continue our trip on to Mackay and the airport.

An friendly argument ensured as to who was going to have the bed and who was going to sleep on the sofa. I won! I insisted Andrei have the bed. He was my guest. I wanted him to enjoy the whole ambience of his stay in north Queensland. I told him the sofa was better as I could look at the stars as I fell to sleep.

He perched himself up in bed and said, “Lee…I thank you. This has been the most wonderful day of my life. To spend the time with you these past couple of days will be something I will never forget. I don’t want this day to end.”

I thanked him and agreed that we had had a wonderful time, but we must get some sleep!

Like a mischievous child, he said, “Okay…but I’m going to have one more cigarette…just one more!”

How could I deny him? It had been a special time for me, as well.

In the morning, we continued our adventure onto Mackay, arriving a little after 8am. We decided we would breakfast at “Hungry Jacks” before heading out to the airport. Another debate arose. Andrei insisted on paying for our breakfasts. I tried to put forth an argument, but he wouldn’t let me win that one. He wanted to do it, so I gave in and let him. He looked across the table at me. With sincerity, he said, “As long as I live, I will always remember the special time I spent with a woman called ‘Lee’…I thank you.” Of course, being who I am, tears flooded my eyes. And for once, I was without words.

We arrived at Mackay Airport. I waited as Andrei checked in his luggage. I turned around and came face to face with Graham, my brother. He had decided to come out to the airport to bid farewell to Andrei. He had told me on the telephone he might do so, but I had said nothing about his tentative plan to Andrei, in case it didn’t come into fruition. When Andrei returned to where I was standing, the look of surprised happiness on his face at seeing Graham standing there alongside me is one I will never forget. He was overcome that someone he had only met for a brief few minutes in time would do something like that for him.

By the time, Andrei was called for his flight the three of us had tears in our eyes. Andrei shook Graham’s hand and then he turned to me. He gave me the biggest bear hug I’ve ever had in my life. Eventually, I pushed him away gently, saying, “Go! Go! Before I turn into a blubbering mess!”

With tear-filled eyes, my brother and I watched as Andrei walked towards the ‘Exit” door. At the door, Andrei spun around, stopping all who were behind him. He swung his arms out and then down as his body bent in a wide, sweeping, low bow as a salute. He turned and walked across the tarmac to where his plane waited. Another moment in time, I shall not forget.

Graham instructed me to follow his car. This I did and we pulled alongside a grassy verge at the rear of the run-way. There we alighted from our vehicles to watch as Andrei’s plane lifted and turned on its way south to Brisbane. It was a beautiful thing my brother did that day. It had meant very much to Andrei. And it meant a lot to me.

After saying our ‘Good-Byes’, Graham went home and I turned my car north to Collinsville.

Andrei rang me from Brisbane a couple of times before he left for Melbourne. He stayed in Melbourne for a few weeks, during which time he, again, telephoned me. Andrei laughingly told me he wasn’t like the rest of the group who had come to Australia the same time he did. They, he said, saved the money they received during their visit. Andrei bought himself a spanking-new stereo system! He left Melbourne after his time in Australia, to head back to Yakutsk, via Moscow.

We corresponded for a while upon his return home. He had gained employment at the Gold Bank in Yakutsk, earning $300US a month, which was classed as very good money as the average wage at that time was around $100US a month. His older brother Vladimir also worked in the Gold Bank and at one stage was based in Melbourne.

During my next visit to Airlie Beach after the trip Andrei, I found a t-shirt in one of the menswear stores. It was a “Bundaberg Rum” t-shirt and had a plastic sealed pocket on the front of it, filled with Bundaberg Rum. I bought it and sent it to Andrei in memory of a great time shared. He rang me from Yakutsk upon its receipt to thank me. I asked him had he drunk the rum and he told me he would wait until winter. It only gets around 40 degrees below there in Yakutsk. I think he would need a ship-load of rum!

During our wander down the main street of Airlie Beach that sunny Saturday afternoon, we bought raffle tickets in a wheelbarrow full of Bundaberg Rum. We didn’t win it, but we did discuss how we could make money from exporting Bundaberg Rum into Russia. We never did anything about our grandiose ideas, of course. I wonder if anyone has!

I often think of Andrei, of how his life has turned out. Those few days will always remain very special to me.

I feel honoured to have met such a fine young man.

Wondering What To Write About Next...The Story of Andrei.

I've written quite a few tales about my life on the islands, but I have lived life on the mainland, too, just in case you were wondering! So, for something completely different, here is a little story about one of my escapades on the mainland...it's one of many, I can assure you!

When I left Newry Island to return to the mainland, I secured a position as chef with a catering company. The company concerned held the catering rights at the single-mens' canteen/mess in a newly-built town to service a new coal mine in the coal-rich Bowen Basin in north Queensland. The mining company requested the catering company to build a first-class motel, to include a first-rate restaurant, to service visiting mining clientele...i.e. financiers, bankers, company hierachy, top union officials (Yuck!), company representatives etc. The catering company by whom I was employed secured contracts in Cambodia, Somalia and are now under contract in Iraq. They had major dealings with the UN through their various contracts. Actually, the guy who originally set up the catering company and one of his sons, were murdered in Somalia a few years ago.

"Lorikeets" Restaurant, part of the Glenden Country Motor Inn was a modern, expensively-fitted out restaurant and the menu was in line with its opulence. I catered for many overseas coal buyers and prospective coal purchasers. Some of these stories I will relate at a later date. The story I want to tell today is about when I transferred within the company to another coal-mining town nearby, to become chef/manager of the single-mens' mess and quarters. Collinsville is a very old mining town in Queensland, north-west of Mackay, eighty-five kilometres inland from Bowen on the coast.

I was the first female manager to run the Collinsville Mess, the first in the company, actually. It was a very interesting time for me, to say the least, and probably as interesting for the men for whom I catered! I took no nonsense and they soon learned this fact.

Because of the company's involvement with the UN, after 'Glastnot', a select group of young people were selected from Russia to visit the free Western World to learn about capitalism and our way of business etc. Australia was one country amongst their selections.

A young man named Andrei Anisimov was one these young people. Only 20 were selected out of the thousands and thousands who had been nominated. So, from that, it meant he was special.

Andrei was allocated to the Brisbane office of "my" catering company. They didn't know what to do with him so they put him on the provisions' truck that visited Glenden and Collinsville weekly with our foodstocks etc. Andrei spent three days alone in Glenden. Nobody there bothered about him. Nobody had bothered about him in Brisbane, either.

Wednesday morning arrived and so did the truck to the back entrance of the Collinsville Mess. I was there, as usual, to greet it. From the passenger side of the cabin, a young man gingerly stepped down. I could see the confusion in his eyes. He'd just come across from Glenden, through the back "roads" to Collinsville. The 'back road' between the two towns is just a narrow, winding dirt track. It was very obvious to me that everything he would have experienced so far in his short time in Australia was totally remote and strange to what he was used to in his home country. I knew from the information I had been receiving by telephone from both Brisbane and Glenden, he had not been made to feel at home or at ease by anyone.

As his feet hit the ground, I immediately extended my hand in a warm greeting. His face lit up and his black eyes flashed. Andrei was from Eastern Siberia. I looked him straight in the eyes, and said.

"You have two options, Andrei...you can stay in one of the 'dongers' where there is only a single bed, an empty bar fridge and little else...or you can come and stay at my house. I have three bedrooms, a full-sized, stocked refrigerator, a brilliant stereo system, plus as much music as you like to choose from, a stocked pantry and a large television set. I have two cats and a cocker spaniel. I've a barbecue out the back and lots of room for you to move. They are your choices!"

His face opened up with a broad smile. He chose the latter option.

I finished up earlier than usual that day, organising for one of my staff to take over for me. My 'normal' day at the mess began around 5.30am and didn't finish until after 8.30pm.

After settling Andrei in to my home, showing him where everything was that he needed to know about, I grabbed some ice, a bottle of Bundaberg Rum, some coke, pumped up the stereo system and we went downstairs to my backyard where I had a shade-cloth erected over my barbecue area, table and chairs. There we sat for hours and hours, talking, laughing, enjoying the music. He loved music and told me he played the drums in a little band back home that he had formed with a couple of his friends. He told me so much about his life in Yakutsk, about his family and the lifestyle. His mother taught English at the university and he had studied English at school and university. His command of the language, therefore, was excellent. We had 'struck it off' immediately. Andrei had a wonderful sense of humour. We talked well into the night and into the wee small hours of the morning. The last vision I had of him before he went to bed was his chin resting on my kitchen counter, tears rolling down his face from laughter, while he told me he had fallen in love with Bundaberg Rum!

When I rose early next morning to go into work, he was still sleeping soundly in his bed. I left a note for him to ring me when he was ready to come into the Mess and that I would pick him up. This he did around 10.30am. I took him for a "tour" of Collinsville, which takes all of about five minutes and then I drove out to the mine. I'd organised for one of the foremen out at the mine to take us over the area. Andrei was interested in all that he saw. On the way back from the mine, I stopped off at the small supermarket and Andrei's eyes grew larger. He had never seen so many products on the shelves of a supermarket. And, as I said, Collinsville's supermarket was a relatively small supermarket as you can imagine. Everything was new and wonderful to him and I caught his enthusiasm. It all began to look new to me, too, as I saw things through his eyes.

I gave him a couple of small jobs to do when we arrived back at the mess but mainly I just continued talking with him. Sitting with me in my office, I said to him, "How about I take you to the coast for the weekend. There's nothing for you to do here in Collinsville and I'd like to show you more of the area...would you like to do that?"

Andrei readily agreed. Before I knew he was coming to Collinsville and he would be under my care, I had planned and booked my usual little cabin on the beachfront at Rose Bay, Bowen. I knew that this wouldn't be suitable for him as all I did when I went to the cabin was to sit out on the deck and savour the magnificent view of the ocean across to Gloucester Island. I wanted to show him more of the countryside so I decided to telephone a friend of mine in Airlie Beach to see if she could find us accommodation down there. Susie worked in the front office of the Coral Sea Resort at the time and I knew if anyone could find accommodation for me, she could.

I had excellent timing, not...it was the weekend of the Whitsunday Yacht Race and everyone and his dog and boat would be in town. There was not a room to be found, other than one single room.

I turned to young Andrei and said, "What do you think about sharing one room with an old, decrepit woman? There is a sofa, so I will take that and you can have the bed."

Andrei was receptive to anything I threw at him and once again, he readily agreed. So I promptly asked Susie to book the room, the one and only room left in the Whitsunday Resort and in Airlie Beach, for that matter.

This is turning into a lengthy tale, so I will call this the end of Chapter One. I will return for Chapter Two, later...probably tomorrow. Do come back!

Sweet Buds of March

The above picture is of the blooms of the protea trees that flourish on this property. I spent yesterday morning picking the blossoms for sale on a stall. This time of the year the trees are in full bloom and the flowers are very popular with the passing traffic, both local and tourists. My landlords sell them and while they are away in New Zealand for the next ten days, they gave me permission to do the same. The coffers are looking healthy.

I hope you all visit the new blog that you see in my links...just beneath "Wino's Blog". Don and I have set it up and expect to have lots of fun with it, mingled with some very astute observations.

I made what I thought was going to be a brief visit to friends' home this morning to pick up some bananas from their banana "tree"...you are aware, of course, that banana plants are a herb. So, in reality, it is incorrect to call the plant a "tree". Arriving at around 10am, I've only now just arrived home, at 2.15pm. We ended up having an early lunch accompanied by a couple of bottles of wine. Total decadence on a Monday morning, but I'm not complaining...the unplanned interlude was a lot of fun. The friends being my usual partners in crime, Paul and Fia. We have another wicked day planned this coming Thursday, when we, 'three musketeers' head off down to the coast for lunch at the Casino. On the way down and back our intentions are to raid a couple of stores, including "Dan Murphy's", a discount liquor barn. Whooohoo!

I do have far more interesting tales to relate other than my day to day activities, which I am sure are pretty boring to others. However, at this particular moment, this will have to do as I think a nap is in order. It's as hot and humid as Hades here today. We've had a couple of showers of rain, which have only enhanced the mugginess. The cyclone that was forming off the coast, unfortunately, is moving away east and the catchment areas in south-east Queensland that desperately need rain, once again, will miss out on a much-needed deluge. The 'low' out there in the Coral Sea is sucking all the air from us still, and that is the reason why we are now experiencing these humid conditions.

I just love the 'news'. This time last week we were being told that all the flooding rains received in North Queensland a couple of weeks ago were going to affect the Great Barrier Reef. Just this moment, a snippet of news has flashed on the television informing us that the flooding rains received in North Queensland a couple of weeks ago will be a great help to the Great Barrier Reef! I wish "they", that magical, invisible "they" would make up their minds.

It is a known fact, and I'm sure I've mentioned it previously in my posts, when there is a drought on the land, there is a drought in the ocean. Heavy run-off, such as they experienced up north over the past few weeks is needed. The ocean thrives on it. When the coastal waters are without fresh run-offs for an extended period of time, fish move further out to the deeper waters, because the waters closer in become very salty. After all the rain they had up in the north, the fishing and prawning industries will be jumping up and down for joy.

This is just another lesson in 'not believing everything you hear on the media". Truth seems to be scarce. I'm sure the media make up their stories as they go along, just to fill in the gaps.

This is a bit out of line, which is obvious to the eye...the reason being I wrote it through "Picasa' programme and I don't know how to bring everything into line. I'm sure you will forgive me my ignorance!

A New Day...A New Menu

Every thing old is new again. All the fanciest dishes in the world can't beat a good steak cooked to your personal preference, whether it be rare, medium-rare, medium, or God forbid...well-done! Okay! Okay! We all have our individual ways. Mine choice is medium-rare. Invariably, I would cringe when an order was presented to me in a restaurant kitchen, in which a diner had requested 'well-done'. To me, it always seems such a waste of a good steak. However, as I mentioned, it is the individual's choice..so be it. Either which way, there's nothing worse than being presented with your steak, which you've been drooling over just at the thought of it and it's not cooked the way you desire. You've been thinking about it all day long and wham! In a couple of minutes...or in the case of 'over-cooked', lots of minutes...there in front of you, smack dab in the middle of your plate, is something that doesn't at all resemble what you had in mind! A moment like that can be very distressing! One day I'll tell you about a meal I received once when I was "on the road" traveling for the island. I shed tears over it! I'll keep that story for another day....just to keep you interested! Here are a couple of "oldies, but goodies" for you to chew over on the weekend.

Moules A La Mariniere: Heat about 50ml olive oil in a large saucepan and sweat 1 chopped onion and 1 (or more) cloves of garlic, crushed over low heat for 10 minutes or until transparent but not brown. Add 1 teaspoon freshly chopped thyme and 1kg (2lb) mussels, de-bearded and cleaned. Cook over high heat, uncovered, for 1 minute. Add 125ml dry white wine and 200ml cream. Cover and boil rapidly for 2-3 minutes, or until the mussels open, discarding any that don't open. Stir in 2 tablespoons chopped mixed herbs, including parsley, chives and basil. Season to taste with salt and freshly ground black pepper. To serve, divide mussels among individual serving dishes...or in one large bowl in the centre of the table. Spoon sauce over the mussels and serve immediately with crusty bread for the luscious juices. Don't forget the finger bowls!

Pepper Steak: Grab hold of 4 beef fillets (if you're serving four or if you have a massive appetite!), about 200g each. Season beef with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Heat a little olive oil in heavy-based frying pan/skillet until it just begins to smoke and sear the steaks quickly over medium to high heat. Reduce heat and cook to your liking. Remove from pan and rest on a wire rack in a warm place for 10 minutes. Meanwhile, for the sauce, melt butter in a frying pan and cook 1 onion, finely diced, 1 clove of garlic, crushed (me...I would add two...but that's me...I love garlic!), and 4 tablespoons green peppercorns over medium heat for 2-3 minutes. Add 1-1/2 tablespoons brandy (or cognac, if you're feeling extravagant or your bank balance is!). Allow the alcohol to get a little warm and then flame. Add 1/2 cup of beef stock (not too strong) and 1 cup cream. Reduce to desired consistency by simmering. Stir in parsley. To serve, spoon sauce on warm serving plates and top with steaks, cut in half if you like...or you can leave the steak whole...your choice. Also, if you don't like cream in your sauce, don't add any cream. Again, it's personal choice.

Pear and Mascarpone Tart: Sweet-crust pastry: Combine 185g sifted plain flour with 90g sugar in a bowl. Using fingertips (your own, of course), rub in 125 unsalted butter, chilled and roughly chopped, until mixture resembles fine breadcrumbs. Stir in enough iced water to mix to a soft dough. Turn out on a floured surface and knead lightly until smooth. Wrap in plastic wrap and chill for 30 minutes (the pastry, that is...not you!). Roll out pastry and line a dep, 22cm, buttered flan tin with removable base. Line with greaseproof paper, weight with dried beans or rice and bake blind at 180C (375F) for 10 minutes. Remove beans and paper and cook for 10 minutes longer.

Filling: Core and peel 3 firm pears. Cut into thick slices. Melt 30g butter in a large frying pan and stir in 2 tablespoons brown sugar. Add the pears and cook over medium to high heat for 4-5 minutes, or until golden. Arrange over base of the prepared tart shell. Whisk 375g mascarpone with 5 lightly beaten eggs, 110g caster sugar, 3 tablespoons dark rum and 1/2 teaspoon vanilla essence until well combined. Pour over pears and bake at 160C (300-320F) for 1 hour, or until firm, covering the top with foil during cooking if surface browns too quickly. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Oh...I nearly forgot the Rosemary Roasted Potatoes! Out to your garden you go...dig up 1 large thin-skinned potato per person plus one for the pan. Cut the potatoes into large chunks. You, of course, have pre-heated the oven to 425F/220C. In a large bowl, combine 2-3 tablespoons fresh rosemary leaves, chopped coarsely, 1-3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, salt and freshly ground pepper and as much crushed garlic as you like. Toss in the potatoes until they are well-coated. Spread out the potatoes in one layer on a lipped oven tray and roast for 10 minutes or so. Using a spatula, turn the potatoes over so they crisp on both sides, and continue cooking for another 10 minutes or until they are soft in the centre (a bit like me!) when tested with a fork or skewer. Season to taste and serve with the pepper steak.
I think the above should, at least, suffice for one meal over the weekend.

Don't forget to open a bottle or two of a good Cabernet Sauvignon to go with that steak!

Enjoy!

(If you can't partake this weekend, perhaps next weekend...it will give you something to look forward to!)

I'm Really Not In the Mood!

It's been a very upsetting morning. My landlords informed me yesterday their little kitten, Ollie, that they only got about three weeks ago, was missing. It was the second kitten of theirs that had gone missing over the past few weeks. The first one, Polly, they had only picked up from the RSPCA centre back in October. She was a lively, lovely little thing, full of adventure. She disappeared. They then got Ollie, a beautiful little fluffy grey neutered male kitten. He was a real little pet. I looked after him for a couple of days early in the week when my landlords went away to the coast. Ollie was a darling little sweetie and very affectionate. He didn't wander far at all, preferring to stay inside.

My landlord just emailed me to say he found an eight-foot carpet snake/python amongst plants near and under his verandah. It had the tell-tale bulge in its belly. I ran up to 'The Manor' immediately upon receiving his email, tears flowing down my face. He had immediately killed the snake, more in anger he said. I'm glad he had done so, because I wouldn't have been held responsible if I'd seen it still alive! I know there are some of you out there that are against such actions, and I know it's illegal to kill the damn things, but I'm not afraid to admit when it comes to my pets or a bloody carpet snake, or any snake for that matter, my pets come first! If they venture into my territory, they do it at their own peril!

I'm very upset about poor little Ollie. I know...I'm a big "sook"...always have been...that's who I am. I think I'll jump into the car and go for a drive...after locking my two cats inside...they're already here with me. I need to clear my head and lift this sadness from my heart.

I'll return later as I have a couple of recipes I want to share with you for the weekend. I was sorting them out when I received the sad news about Ollie.
The drawing is by me...

At The Sunset....

Today, 28th February is/was my late brother’s birthday. He just made it in before landing on a Leap Year. Naturally, my thoughts have turned to him today. My brother Graham who, through most of his life, ‘lorded’ over me, me being his ‘little’ sister, caused me both happiness and much heartache. It’s nine years this coming June since his passing. I really can’t believe it has been nine years since his death. Finally, I am able to look back in openness, honesty, and without emotion at our sometimes, oft times, tempestuous relationship. My brother thought in ‘black and white’. He called a ‘spade a spade’ and suffered fools not at all. He was complex, moody, angry, unpredictable, while at the same time he was sensitive, intelligent and caring. He was a paradox. However, I won’t go into all of his complexities. Today, his birthday, I want to share with you some moments he and I shared when working together on Hinchinbrook Island.

After Cyclone Winifred had ripped a path through the area from Mission Beach, Dunk Island and surrounding areas south to Hinchinbrook Island much repair work needed to be carried out, not only on the island, but on the mainland. I knew that the mainland towns, surrounding farms and areas north of Hinchinbrook required more urgent assistance than we, on the island did, as we had received the ‘tail-end’ of the cyclone. Also, I knew because of this fact, we would be last on the list in getting building materials. I understood and accepted the situation. The island had lost its jetty during the ‘big blow’. The only other damages caused were fallen trees and broken tree limbs etc.

Q (the owner whom I mentioned in my previous story “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly” Parts 1-3) decided to dispatch a couple of his workmen to help me on the island with the re-building and renovations. At this point in time, the resort was closed, not to be re-opened until 8th March. During the resort’s closure it would a perfect opportunity to carry out, not only the re-building of the jetty, but the construction of the elevated timber deck around the pool and the many other renovations and maintenance jobs that desperately needing doing.

A working plan was put into place of what needed to be done and the materials were ordered to enable the work to be carried out once the necessary timber, roofing etc., arrived. As I mentioned above, I realized I would be on the end of the list of the hardware stores and timber suppliers, but the sooner the materials were ordered, the sooner I would creep up the list.

There was enough work to be done around the resort while waiting for the new material to arrive, so everyone was kept busying doing one thing or the other. I donned my cook/chef’s hat and volunteered myself as chief cook for all us ‘workers’, preparing breakfast, lunch and dinner each day for about 10 of us. I was never sure how many mouths I had to feed as people seemed to be coming and going all over the place. At one stage, I had the Pioneer Group from the Army, a fact I think I mentioned in one of my earlier stories. They had been sent to me to assist in the clearing of the walking tracks of fallen trees, branches etc., and whatever other jobs I could find for them during their few days stay. So, when the Army was in residence the island population grew. Without fail, I always set a spare setting at the dinner table and I always plated an extra meal, never intentionally. It just happened that way, day after day, night after night. This habit of mine became a bit of a joke amongst us island dwellers. We named our invisible guest, “Mr. Walker – The Ghost Who Walks…aka The Phantom”. Much to our surprise and delight, we found a large boulder at the end of Orchid Beach, the main beach of the resort. We reckoned it was the “Skull Cave” as there was a huge, deep indent in the boulder, reminiscent of a cave. One’s imagination does tend to run wild when living on a tropical island!

Over pre-dinner drinks late one afternoon, the two workers who Q had sent me and who I had grown to dislike immensely, announced that the very next day they were going to take the roofs off all of the cabins!

To explain my growing dislike of these two men…they never once thanked me for a meal. They would finish eating, push their plates aside and immediately leave the table without a word. I didn’t expect them, or anyone else for that matter, to get down on their hands and knees in gratitude or servitude, but a simple “Thanks for dinner, breakfast, lunch or whatever” would have been nice, and it’s simple good manners. Everyone else helped with the washing up at night, but they never once offered or pitched in. I learned from the others that they sat up on the verandah of the staff quarters and threw their empty glass beer ‘stubbies’ down over the rocks below, which bordered the waters of Mission Bay. Upon learning this, I promptly put a stop to their thoughtless, ignorant practice. Do I need to explain any further? No…I thought not.

When they announced their grand plan to de-roof the accommodation cabins during the tropical north Queensland “wet season”….the monsoonal trough was still skirting across the top of Queensland bringing regular nocturnal heavy downpours, I saw ‘red’. There was no sign of the new roofing material arriving. I had no idea when it would arrive. It could have been weeks away, for all I knew. These two men had already failed to follow my instructions over the first load of timber that had arrived to the island. After all, you must bear in mind, I am a woman…what would a woman know about such things?

They went against my instructions about the timber and because they did what they believed was right and what I instructed them not to do, the timber ended up on the ocean floor! I was highly amused at that outcome, as you can imagine! So there they both were, informing me of their latest brain-wave.

“Let’s un-roof the cabins, even though we haven’t got the new roofing material,” they brazenly announced. “We’ve got nothing else to do, so we will take off the roofs.”

I exploded. I went ballistic! I could not fathom their reasoning. Calmly, at first, I pointed out to them the foolishness of such an idea. I suggested they do some painting around the resort accommodation and restaurant. There were cans and cans of paint in the island work-shed and there were many areas that needed fresh coats of paint. They suffered from selective hearing and continued with the discussion of their plans to de-roof. One thing I cannot stand is ignorance. Their obvious dislike of having a woman instruct them was palatable. I spoke. They didn’t hear. I sat in front of them. They didn’t see me. It was at such a moment, I exploded. The full force of my wrath burst forth. I’d kept a lid on it for quite some time, as is my way, but when the pressure builds up to a point of no return there is nothing I can do to stop the fury. I fired them on the spot, ordering them to pack up their gear and be off the island first light in the morning. They had their own boat, so this was achievable. I rang the office in Brisbane to organize their final pays. I could have ordered them off the island there and then, but dusk had fallen and I wasn’t going to put myself in the position of being responsible for their drowning at sea, even though I felt like drowning them myself, physically!

Early the following morning, I was woken by the sound of their boat motor starting up. That was the last I heard of them.

Upon reaching my office, I immediately rang Graham, my brother, who lived in Mackay and offered him a couple of months work. At the time, he was employed by one of the sugar mills in the Mackay area as a ‘loco-driver’ and the sugar season was temporarily closed down as it does every year, so he wasn’t working. I knew that I could rely on him to do whatever job was necessary. He was a perfectionist in everything he did. He was very capable and could turn his hands to just about anything. So, in a flash, he was on the next coach to Cardwell on the mainland across from Hinchinbrook Isand. He became an ‘islander’ the following day, quickly falling under Hinchinbrook’s spell.

His arrival to the island happened a couple of weeks before his birthday. My brother hated a fuss being made over him. I knew if I told him I was planning a party for him there would not be chance in Hell that he would come down to the restaurant that evening. I swore everyone to secrecy. My threat was to dispatch anyone who opened his or her big mouth off the island on a ‘log with a teaspoon as a paddle’. That was the punishment if anyone let on to Graham what I had planned.

Life went on as usual on the 28th February. Graham came down to breakfast with the others. Nothing was mentioned. Normal breakfast conversation or non-conversation progressed or didn't progress in some instances with those who were a bit slow in wakening. I gave everyone their work-sheets for the day. I must point out here, those work-sheets were not worth the paper they were scribbled on as nothing ever went to plan on Hinchinbrook Island, ever...and the life expectancy of the work-sheets was something like five minutes, and that’s a slight exaggeration!

Once everyone was out and about doing whatever they were supposed to be doing, I raced to the kitchen to make a boiled fruit cake, a cake I knew Graham loved. I quadrupled the quantities. When it was cooked, I quickly hid it in the pantry to cool. The aroma filled the kitchen and its surrounds, but there was little I could do about that. I disguised its scent with whatever I prepared for lunch that day. Sneakily, I’d ordered from the mainland a couple of days earlier, a two-litre flagon of Bundaberg Rum as a birthday gift. My brother liked his rum chasers with his beer (or is it the other way around?) in winter, but I thought I’d get in early and give him a flagon in February. Well, it was, after all, almost March!

The day progressed into late afternoon. Everyone had showered after their labours of the day and had wandered down to the bar to have a couple of drinks before dinner. Still tight-lipped, the general conversation went on as usual about the day’s events. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Not a word of birthday cheer was directed to Graham, who had joined the throng around the bar. I placed some country music on the stereo, Graham’s favourite music genre. Very subtly the over-all mood kept lifting higher and higher. The crew got louder and louder. The atmosphere filled with laughter and good-will. I purposely delayed dinner. Actually, I had purposely prepared snacks only, rather than a ‘sit-down’ meal. I didn’t want to interfere with the spirit of the evening. It flowed just as I had had in mind for it to do. After a certain time, everyone opened up and wished Graham a “Happy Birthday”. By that time, he was in such a happy mood, it mattered not to him that he was the centre of attention. He enjoyed every moment of the evening and lapped up all the accolades and good wishes. My God! At one stage he was even doing the ‘Can-Can’ with Bronnie! I had never seen him dance, let alone a wild version of the ‘Can-Can’! I had never seen my brother in such a free-spirited mood and I never did again. It was wonderful evening. Graham had a terrific time. Bronnie thought the sun shone out of my brother. She idolized him.

Again, it proved spontaneity is the best. Maybe it wasn’t spontaneous for me, because I’d put a lot of sneaky planning into place. I really had no idea which way the evening would go. It could have turned out to have been a total disaster. Fortunately, because Graham was totally unaware of the evening unfolding around him and that the frivolity was on his behalf, he got sucked into the mood of the evening, unwittingly. By the time he was engulfed by the night’s fun, it was too late…he was trapped and had become one of ‘us’! He really let his hair down that evening…and that’s saying something, because he had a “Number One-blade hair-cut”!

Graham thoroughly enjoyed his "Island Birthday".

Acrylic painting by me

I'm posting here, as well, a copy of a short letter I received from one of my staff members upon his leaving the island and its employ. I found it a few moments ago as I was rifling through some papers. I'd like to share it with you.

"Dearest Lee

This is a letter of thanks to you. During the time I have spent on this Island, you have showed me great kindness and respect. I return this to you.

These last six months I have learnt (sic) a great many things. These I attribute to you and one other person...being yourself and Graham.

May all the things in life abound for you. My heart goes out to you young lady. My time has come to improve myself in the sense, Lee. That it is time to get myself established in Melbourne to do more study into environmental research plus my companion, Lyn who shares with me. (sic) Thank you Lee for sticking with me as it is truely (sic) a nice and pleasant feeling.

May all that you do so be it and succeed and good health and well being be with you always my dear friend. (sic)

Shep"

You Talkin' To Me? You Talkin' To Me?

The above picture is for you, Don aka “Wino”. Your convincing display the other day begging me for more kookaburra pictures put so much pressure upon me, my heart crumbled. There was nothing else left for me to do. I folded and succumbed.

On the subject of kookaburras...when I was living at the coast…Sunshine Beach, around the corner from Noosa Heads, on the southern side of the Noosa National Park...excuse me please, I must digress for a moment or three…

Sunshine Beach has a great Surf Life Saving Club perched on the dunes high above the surfing beach below. If you ever get a chance to get up that way, it’s worth a visit for a beer or two. A tremendous ocean view is on offer. All the surf clubs along the coast are worth visiting. Built on prime beachfront land, they offer magnificent views out over the Pacific Ocean, while one can kick back, allowing the troubles of the world float on by over a beer or your beverage of choice.

I was still married when I lived on the coast. Our home was a two-storey dwelling built on the line of secondary dunes, about 500-600 metres from the main beach. The house had been erected on the highest section of the land, set back from the street. We renovated much of the house, knocking down the existing narrow, short deck and replacing it with a much wider deck that then ran the whole width of the house. It extended out to the edge of the dune into the tree-tops as far as safety would allow. When sitting out on the new timber deck, we were in line with the tree-tops, thereby placing ourselves in the flight path of the many varieties of birds that inhabited the area. The ocean was clearly visible from the deck, the kitchen and dining/living area. The view, however, didn’t extend to the broad, golden beach below, not that that mattered, because the privacy provided by the deck being so high up nestled amongst the trees, was worth more than a billion or so grains of sand.

As has been my habit for many years, I encouraged the birds to recognize the household as a bird-friendly household and, of course, it didn’t take them very long to discover ours was a ‘safe house’. Even Ruska, my ginger cat at the time (the one taken by the python on Hinchinbrook Island), ignored the birds. They, in turn, turned their beaks up in disdain when he appeared.

Every day, most days more than once, Mum and Dad Kookaburra paid their visits by either sitting on the thick log railings of the deck or the outdoor table. Frequently, they would perch on the kitchen window sill, peering across the sink into the kitchen wondering what they could scrounge from my soft-hearted self. Then their little family multiplied in number. “Mumma” and “Poppa” brought their two kids with them and introduced them to me.

The house next door was rented out to a couple of very nice young surfer lads. Their life was filled with board surfing, girls, music, board surfing and more board surfing. In the back yard they set up an old bath-tub, which they would fill with cold water. After a morning of catching waves, they would then sit in it and play chess.

All was quiet next door. The boys were off surfing somewhere. I was on the upstairs’ telephone looking out my dining room window into the next door yard as I talked. I noticed one of the ‘Kookie-kids’ splashing around in a little bit of water left in the bottom of the bath-tub.

For a while, I thought, “How great! He’s having so much fun splashing around in the cool water.” Suddenly, much to my horror, I realized he was stuck in the pool. Each time he tried to escape, his little claws slid back down the enamel coating of the old bath. He couldn’t get out and he was distressing.

I quickly ended my telephone conversation. Tossed the phone aside, ran down the stairs and leapt the dividing fence between the two properties with the skill of the best Olympic hurdlers.

My poor little feathered mate wasn’t in a very good shape. He had water pouring out of every orifice. I cradled him in my hands and returned home with him. I thought twice about giving him ‘mouth-to-mouth’, but I laid him on his side, switching sides regularly, and then I held him upside down as the water kept pouring out of the poor little guy. To the best of my ability, I dried his drenched feathers with a towel. Placing him in a sunny corner of the deck, I left him on the towel in the sun to recover from his frightening ordeal. And recover he did, much to my delight.

Thereafter, that little fellow came to visit me every day. He would sit on the kitchen window sill watching my every move. Sometimes, he would venture further into the kitchen. I caught him a few times perched on the back of one of the kitchen chairs or on the table. I didn’t mind. I think he thought I was his second mother, or at least his personal Sunshine Beach Lifesaver!

Monday Musings

Don't you just love the plethora of surveys that are continually pouring out totally useless information? I wonder who brainstorms what's to be surveyed! I might keep my eyes on the "Wanted" ads., in the classifieds. It could be a good job to apply for..."brainstorming ideas for surveys".

The British seem to be very proficient in such surveys. Perhaps it's all of that drizzly, bleak weather that has caused this phenomenon. Ummm...maybe I'll conduct a survey to see if my belief is factual. I'm going to poll myself.

The results of the latest British survey (well, the latest as of yesterday morning, that is...there probably have been more results of further surveys since yesterday...I'll check them out later!)...tell us to forget the "coffee break". 10.30am is the time to get creative. The poll found that was the best time of the day to think up your next big idea. Well, the big idea I came up with at 10.30am yesterday, while I was reading the survey results, was to have a nap as I'd had a late evening and had risen very early. My creative juices were flowing telling me to shut my eye-lids. I heeded them.

How do the young stand a chance when they're surrounded by incorrect spelling and grammar? It is reported a job advertisement last week (I have no idea where the advertisement appeared, whether it was in a newspaper or on a notice board) sought applications for the position of "barrister" for 25-30-hour week in an inner-city coffee shop. "Barrister"..."Barista"...take your pick of the cheaper option!

World! We have a problem! Global Warming...sorry, Climate Change...hang on! It's this week now, isn't it? Well, whatever it's called this week, it is so severe it will continue for centuries!

I think we should send Al Gore up to Mars, Saturn and the moons of Saturn, as soon as possible. He could take Mike Moore along as his co-pilot and Bob Brown* as navigator. Apparently, our entire solar system is warming, which is clearly not man's fault. How is it that the masses aren't kept informed of such events?

"Selective reporting", that's what it is. Who are these "experts" that keep spewing out data to us, the lowly rabble? I want to see their credentials. How come there were vineyards in the north of England in the 8th century, but by the 14th century the climate had become too wet, cloudy and cool to produce wine? Was that man's fault?

(*Bob Brown, for anyone who is not aware, is the "leader" of the Green Party here in Australia. He is a deep thinker. The week before last he announced that the coal-mining industry in this country should be shut down.
Coal-mining in the state of Queensland, alone, is just a minor, teeny-little industry worth a measly $20 billion and more a year.) Good idea, Brownie! And he gets well-paid for such ideas! /sarcasm off.

Dick Cheney has come and gone, not before getting stuck in Singapore for a few hours because Air Force 11 had a minor electrical fault. (I hope it wasn't caused by him joining the "Mile High Club"...like British actor Ralph Fiennes and the Aussie hostess did...the mind boggles...there's little enough room in airline toilets for one, let alone two!)

Mr. Cheney's visit disrupted our professional protesters of a hundred or so from their meditations in that they had to dust off their placards, touch up some of the faded paintwork thereon, dress in their scruffiest, dirtiest clothing, exercise their lungs that have only been exercised lately inhaling the smoke produced from bongs, and get out there in the street to shout slogans that nobody understands or takes notice of, while abusing the police in the meantime. I guess they figured they may as well get it all over and done with while they were out and about. As the saying goes, "One must get dressed up for every game!"

The 'protesters' time would be far better spent in support of our brave troops, instead of running around the streets acting like a pack of disrespectful idiots.

As for David Hicks...who? He can stay in Guantanamo Bay as far as I'm concerned, or send him back over to Afghanistan. I don't care about him one iota!

I'll step down off my soap-box. Like the protesters, I will dust it off and put it away until next time!

I think it's going to be a good week.

Well, You Did Ask!

It is not my fault I'm trigger-happy all the time! Blame this wonderful camera. It's the reason that you are now being inundated with photographic evidence of my extra-curricular activity. This stunningly handsome camera is a whizz. It is the master. I'm completely under its spell, a mere puppet in its hands. Mr. Minolta to you who've not yet been formally introduced, (Kon to his nearest and dearest) has captured my heart. Smitten, I am. His sheer brilliance takes my breath away. I never want him to leave my side. Around my neck in repose he waits patiently, until I gently stroke him into action. This is no 'ships passing in the night' dalliance. This is an enduring, never-ending love affair. I just know this is so. It's Kismet that we met, and one can not deny Kismet!

Now on to the photographs...more of the excellent work by Mr. Minolta. My friendly kookaburras knew film-making was on the agenda as swiftly they appeared to star in the feature. The water-lily is self-explanatory. The white flowers, (I have no idea what they are other than 'white flowers) are nestled away in a shaded corner on the banks the pond, towered over by conifers of silver, green and gold. (Again, as with my previous two posts, double-click on the photos for enlargement)

Excuse me for a while, I'm going to re-charge Mr. Minolta's battery......

Something Old....Is New Again...

I took these photographs of this dilapidated old shed today, also. No doubt, one day soon it will remain no longer. If you listen closely, it has many tales to tell, I'm sure. (Double-click on pics in this post and my previous post to enlarge the pics, if you desire.)