My Trip To Port Moresby....Chapter Three

Like well-behaved children, the nine of us “experts” in tourism met in the lobby at seven o’clock as instructed. We were duly herded into the main function room of “The Islander” by our self-appointed leader, the one with the bellowing voice and an air of arrogance, Graeme. In a rare moment of quietude, he told us our marketing programme would have to be squashed into one day as he had just found out that our last day was a public holiday in Papua New Guinea. The 23^rd July is their “Remembrance Day”, similar to Australia’s Anzac Day. We arrived on the afternoon of 21^st July and were to leave late afternoon of the 23^rd after almost a full day’s business. No one bothered to mention this minor fact to the organizers of our expedition/exposition. If someone had thought to advise the organizers, the dates for our visit could have been changed. Now it was too late to do anything other than have a quiet complain amongst ourselves, move on and “grin and bear it”.

A special function was planned for us on our first evening in Moresby. A head table on a slightly raised dais held I had no idea who, but Graeme, our “leader of the pack” was centre stage, a position he obviously relished. To his left and to right were other “dignitaries”. I never did discover who they were, but throughout the evening each gave a “talk”, welcoming our little band of troupers. The remaining eight of us were placed at the same table, so we didn’t get to meet anyone else at the other tables spread throughout the room. However, we were treated royally. The “red carpet” definitely had been shaken, beaten and vacuumed for our appearance. Our wine glasses remained topped up magically throughout the dinner. We were looked after extremely well by the doting, courteous staff of the hotel.

Once seated at table covered by a starched white tablecloth with the rest of my traveling companions, our conversation flowed freely. We were old friends after our time spent together at Cairns airport while we’d waited for our delayed flight. Drink orders were taken. A little while after, dinner began being served. We talked among ourselves. I think we all felt a little out of place as we knew no one else at the other tables, and there were quite a number of other tables filled with Aussie ex-pats. Waiting staffed buzzed around the room, never still, it seemed, busily getting on with the jobs allocated to them.

The time arrived for the “head table” to begin the formal proceedings of the reason for the evening. At moments of seriousness, during meetings etc., I have the weird tendency to recognize, or find, (no matter how minute!) the humour in such situations, which, at times, can be little disconcerting and disastrous!

I couldn’t take my eyes off one of the waiters. In your minds, picture the image of “Manuel”, the Spanish waiter out of “Fawlty Towers”, but picture him as a Papua New Guinea National. This “Manuel” was also short in stature. His eyes darted from here to there, never still. His body moved in nervous accord. Scanning down his frame, he was dressed for his part in the night’s performance. White shirt, black bow tie, red cummerbund, black trousers were all correct dress, until one’s eyes reached where his slightly short long trousers met his ankles, then the shock was almost too much to contain…white socks under beige suede desert boots!

Fascinated and entertained I watched as “Manuel” whizzed up and down the head table, filling and refilling wine glasses. He didn’t miss a beat. He had been instructed well. “Manuel” was following his instructions to the letter!

Sitting opposite me at our table was the North Queensland Manager of one of the major bus/coach companies. We had been making small talk throughout our meal, nothing more, and nothing less. Our small talk ceased, when those at the main table began their welcome speeches. Unfortunately, as it turned out, my mate across the table had a similar sense of the ridiculous as I had or, should I say, still have! His eyes and mine met. Immediately, it was obvious to both of us we were “on the same page”. It was fatal. We were on the brink of saving our decorum. Both of us fell into a fit of the giggles, recognizing what each of us was thinking. Vainly, we attempted to, and did succeed, though with much difficulty, to hide our lack of control. It was very difficult and made even more difficult because we were both not of any help to the other in containing our respective, individual and combined hysteria! He was kicking me under the table and I, naturally retaliated! We tried not to look at each other because that only made us worse. The rest at our table seemed totally oblivious to our reasons for squirming. The crescendo reached unreachable, unbearable heights when it came time for Graeme to stand and deliver his speech, something he took very seriously. After all, he was our leader!

Graeme stood up. At the exact moment he began to speak, “Manuel” noticed that Graeme’s wine glass was empty. In a flurry, “Manuel” grabbed a bottle of white wine from the free-standing chrome ice bucket. He had, after all, been instructed to make sure that the guests’ wine glasses at all times were filled. “Manuel” scurried to Graeme’s side, wine bottle at the ready. He started to pour the amber liquid. Gruffly, Graeme shook his head, throwing “Manuel” a filthy look. “Manuel’s” eyes grew even larger, the whites stood out brilliantly. He halted mid-way, wine bottle still at half-mast. He didn’t know what to do next, or which way to turn. No one had instructed him what to do if somebody said, “No.”

Poor “Manuel”…his head spun around on his neck. He searched for the ice bucket. It had only been “there” a moment ago! Finally, he spotted it. With two quick steps to his left, he was beside the ice bucket, hoping to God, I think, that it wouldn’t move. With a flourish, he placed the wicked wine bottle in the bucket and then, throughout the rest of the speeches, he remained frozen to the spot, guarding that wine bottle and ice bucket with his life, not game to even move a finger. His eyes never flickered. It was so funny, but I did feel sorry for him, too, because he was only doing what he had been told to do by his superiors. He didn’t deserve the rude rebuff from Graeme. After all, we really were on a “goodwill” mission.

Once the speeches were completed, the atmosphere relaxed and so did “Manuel”, who once again commenced his frenetic pace, buzzing up, down and around the table. With the formalities at an end, my partner in mirth across the table and I were able to lift the lids off our laughter, much to our relief. Friendly conversations spread amicably around our table as we got to know each other further, discussing the respective roles each of us played in tourism. Towards the end of the evening, Graeme deemed to join our motley group to tell us he would be flying further up the coast and then to the Highlands the following morning and wouldn’t return until it was time for our flight back home. We were “on our own”, but I heard no complaints from any of my fellow conspirators!

The following day it was all business. With or without Graeme the show went on!

We were each allocated our own special section in which to handle our pre-set appointments. After lunch, each one of us had to make a solo presentation of our particular “product/s”, standing behind a podium, to the whole congregation of ex-pat business people. I was always thankful when a podium was supplied at such events, as I felt the podium hid my shaking knee. Yes, that’s right, “knee”. Only my right knee used to get the shakes! Once I got underway with my spiel after the initial couple of moments of sheer terror, I was fine. My knee behaved itself and no one was the wiser. I believed in the “product” I was marketing, and when that is the case, it’s easy to “sell” or educate others on the product. A full day of business had been planned for us all, plus I imagined, a bit extra was fitted in because we had lost a whole day of business because of the public holiday.

Lunchtime arrived. We were grateful for the break. The business of the day had kicked off at 8am and we broke for lunch at 12.30pm. It’d been an intense morning filled with non-stop talking. A long queue lined up in front of the small temporary bar that had been set up in the function room, the same room we’d occupied the previous evening. I realized then why the outside bar had so many staff manning it. Service was a bit like “manyana”. The barman that day was very methodical, and very slow. I was dying for a scotch, ice and soda. The person in front of me ordered a scotch and soda…and that was the beginning of an epic as long as “Gone with the Wind”!

“Manuel” was running around somewhere that day, but he wasn’t behind the bar. I saw him run into a swinging door at one stage. Nothing had changed for the poor guy!

I waited patiently for the person in front of me at the bar to get his scotch and soda The waiter, of the same persuasion as “Manuel”, stood his ground firmly behind the small counter. Looking about him, to his surprise, he discovered a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red. Reaching for it, he plonked it down in front of him staring at it as if daring it to move. Casting his eyes about, he located a glass. The next problem he faced was finding the ice. Ahh…there it was! Two cubes, no, three were placed gingerly into the glass. Now, where did that bottle of scotch get to? Okay…he found it. Off came the top, which became used as the nip measurer. Into the glass over the ice went the nip of scotch. Carefully, he screwed the cap back onto the bottle, and he carefully placed the bottle back in its spot. Now, we had a problem. Where the hell was the soda? His eyes, too, grew larger like “Manuel’s” had the previous night, until finally he found the soda, which, by the way, was right in front of him. Another problem raised its head. Where was the glass with the ice and the nip of scotch? Whew! It was still where he had placed it to his surprise. He unscrewed the top off the bottle of soda, not taking his eyes off the glass. Eventually, he proudly beamed the largest smile and handed his success to the gentleman in front of me. Then, it was my turn.

“Could I have a beer, please?” I asked with a smile. There was no way I was going to go through that performance again!

To Be Continued.....

My Trip To Port Moresby....Chapter Two

Soon, the islands of the Strait were in the distance. The Torres Strait Island group, approximately 274 in total, lying between Cape York Peninsula and Papua New Guinea, are part of Queensland. They are administered by the Torres Strait Regional Authority, a special authority fitting the native, Melanesian, land rights. Some of the islands lie just off the coast of New Guinea. Because of drastic depletion of their cultural artifacts in 1888-1880 by the visiting Cambridge Anthropological Expedition, in 1904, the islanders became subject to the Aboriginal Protection and Restriction of the Sale of Opium Act (1897-Qld).

Papua New Guinea is about the size of California. Approximately 96% of its population of approximately 5.8million is Christian. Papua New Guinea gained independence from Australia in 1975. The Torres Strait Islands and Islanders remained Australian. The New Guinea government objected to Australia having complete control over the waters of the strait. Both governments came to an agreement that suited both countries. The islands and islanders remained Australian, but the maritime border between Australia and Papua New Guinea runs through the centre of the strait, so both countries manage the resources of the area. From the tip of Cape York to New Guinea the distance is approximately 150kms at the narrowest point. The islands scatter over some 200-300kms, east to west.

It would please Al Gore to hear that at the termination of the last Ice Age, approximately 12,000 years ago, the rising sea submerged what was formerly a land-bridge between our two countries. (Definite signals of “Global Warming”, Mr. Gore!) Many of the western Torres Strait Islands are the remaining peaks of the former land-bridge that weren’t completely submerged when the ocean levels rose.

Torres Strait Islanders are Melanesians, distinct from the Australian Aboriginal. The population of the islands is approximately 8,000.

Seated next to me on the flight to Port Moresby was the North Queensland Area Manager for Avis Car Rental. He had made many previous business trips to New Guinea. I was interested in hearing from him what to expect upon arrival in Moresby. Time was limited on the flight, however, one barely had time to buckle up, unbuckle, have one beer, then buckle up again before we began our descent into Port Moresby airport! My flight companion told me to expect to see the New Guinea Nationals walking everywhere.

“What do you mean?” I asked. My curiosity aroused.

“Just that…they walk every where…coming and going, coming and going…never in a hurry…just walking. I don’t know if they ever get to where they’re going or if where they started from…but, you’ll see…they just…walk. You’ll see what I mean when we get there.”

The airport overflowed with people. A crowd milled around inside and outside of terminal building. Some sat on the floor, with their backs resting against the walls or whatever other support they could find. Some didn’t bother with any support. Security guards and police, with sniffing German Shepherds at their sides, created an ominous presence.

“Anyone trying to smuggle drugs into this country, would be a fool!” I mumbled softly out of the corner of my mouth to my flight companion, to whose side I’d become glued!

Finally, we collected our luggage, eagerly exiting the airport terminal to our waiting Avis cars. Outside, everywhere I looked, the Nationals (Papua New Guineans) were crouched under trees, palm trees, on lawns, on the footpaths, anywhere they could find a spot on which to sit. En route to our hotel, “The Islander”, I began to understand what Tony, my well-informed flight companion, had tried to explain to me. All along the way, on both sides of the road leading into Moresby, people were walking, some that way, some this way. Nobody seemed to be in a hurry to get to where they were going or vice versa. They “just walked”!

The trip from the airport to our hotel didn’t take long. Driving into the grounds of the hotel, once again I noticed New Guinea Nationals sitting along the fence line, under the decorative palm trees, next to shrubs, in the hotel gardens, everywhere. Alighting from our respective vehicles at the hotel, we gathered together in a cluster. Standing on the stairs leading to the foyer and reception desk, were three or four well-built, serious-looking New Guinea policemen with large black batons attached to their belts. Their hands frequently strayed to finger the threatening-looking, thick truncheons. To me, it appeared, the police needed little provocation in using their trusty cudgels. From the look of the weapons worn proudly on their hips, they had the capacity to do much harm.

The government elections had been held just prior to our visit and while the votes were being collected and counted, a prohibition on alcohol had been in force. A prolonged wave of violent crime in Port Moresby had started in 1985, culminating in a “state of emergency” in June, 1985. Left, right and centre there were government party splits going on in parliament. The unrest continued with serious riots erupting the Highlands in 1986. Leading up to the election, the vote-collection and counting, the prohibition had been in force for a lengthy period and had been lifted only a couple of days before our arrival. It was quite obvious to us that the police were expecting trouble now that it was lifted, were prepared for trouble and wished to quell it as quickly as possible.

Again, quietly, I mumbled to my companions. “From this moment on, there is an imaginary chain linking all of us together. Where each one of us goes, the other goes! It’s all for one and one for all!” Agreement to my plan came from all quarters!

After depositing my luggage to my room and freshening up, by pre-arrangement, I met Tony, my-flight-companion-Avis-man in the hotel lobby. With another couple of partners-in-crime, he took us on a guided tour around the Port Moresby City centre and yacht club. I was amazed by the dryness of the area.

I’d never been to Papua New Guinea. I had assumed it was all lush, green rainforest jungle, but Tony, during our flight, had corrected my false assumption. Port Moresby and its close surrounds were part of the red savannah, not dissimilar to the landscape of Normanton. The city was dusty, old and fairly ramshackle in spots. I’d never seen so much barbed wire and security bars as I did in Port Moresby. Every building, home, store was not without some form of barricade material. We all commented we couldn’t live under those conditions, being so used to the freedoms of living in Australia. I guess we do take so much for granted and at times need our eyes opened to the world outside. Leaving the city limits, we drove a few miles out further into the countryside. Tony hadn’t lied. On either side of the roads we covered, were the New Guinea Nationals, walking. Dotted along the roads, were high-set flimsy shacks. The lower sections of the houses with their pristine dirt floors housed the cooking and eating area. The dirt floors are continuously swept with hand-made brooms, to the point they appear to be highly polished. Strangely, those flimsy shacks were extremely clean and tidy, much tidier than some areas of Port Moresby, itself.

Arriving back at our hotel a while later, the four of us, three men and me, decided we’d go into the bar for a drink before showering and changing for the evening’s event that was to commence around 7pm. The bar wasn’t much bigger than mine on Hinchinbrook, but where I had only one bar person in attendance at my bar, the bar in “The Islander” Hotel, had six barmen, that I could see, working it, in the short time we were there!

We stayed only a couple of minutes. I looked around the room and the bar. I quickly realized the three men I was with were the only white men in the bar. I was the only white woman.

Quietly, I said to my companions, “I don’t feel very comfortable in here. I’m going back to my room and if anyone wants to join me for a drink there or maybe in one of your rooms, please feel free.”

Everyone nodded in agreement and we retired to someone’s room…I can’t remember whose now, where we shared a couple of cold beers before going our separate ways, with plans to meet up a little while later at the special dinner that was being held in honour of us traveling, tourism troubadours.

The fun was about to commence!

To Be Continued.....

My Excursion To Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea.. Chapter One...

In July 1987, the Queensland Tourism & Travel Corporation, informally known as the “QTTC”, in their infinite wisdom, decided to send a tourism delegation to Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea. This venture into the unchartered territory of our northern neighbours across the aquamarine waters of the Torres Strait, would be the first of such tourism marketing strategies into New Guinea (and probably the last as far as I know!).

Nine illustrious, notorious representatives were chosen by methods unknown to any of them, to represent chosen areas of Tropical North Queensland. Seven of these reputable representatives were male; two were female. I was one of the elected, honoured few, one half of the celebrated, seraphic feminine duo! We were to cut a swath through the savannah dust of Port Moresby and the emerald, dense vegetation of the Highlands, spreading the word on the benefits of holidaying in North Queensland, just a hop, skip, jump and swim away to the south! My part in the adventure was to represent the Hinchinbrook, Cardwell and Johnstone Shires.

Heading north from Townsville, the shire of Hinchinbrook incorporates the sugar towns and areas of Ingham, Lucinda, Forrest and Taylors Beach and, of course, Orpheus Island in the Coral Sea. Orpheus Island lays just to the south of Hinchinbrook Island. Ingham, located about forty-five minutes south of Cardwell, has a rich history of sugar-farming, where over 60% of its population is of Italian descent. The region from Ingham north is well-known for its natural attractions and diverse environments. Of course, Hinchinbrook and Orpheus Islands being amongst its best known destinations, both are accessible by sea plane or boat and both service a limited number of guests.

Cardwell, gracing the shores of the Coral Sea and the Hinchinbrook Channel, is a perfect, relaxed fishing spot. As I’ve described in some of my previous posts, Cardwell services Hinchinbrook Island, the world’s largest national park island. Further north from Cardwell, is another sugar cane and banana-producing area, with its town centre being Tully. The Cardwell Shire is in the heart of the wet tropics. The town of Cardwell, itself is in a rain shadow, but Tully, less than thirty minutes north, boasts of being one of the wettest areas in Australia. Tully is a very small town, again rich in Italian heritage. The waters of the Tully River have become world-renowned for white-water rafting. Enthusiasts from all over the globe flock to the area.

Across the highway from Tully, a few kilometres to the east through lush, thick rainforest to the coastal fore-shores, which it fringes, hides beautiful Mission Beach with Dunk Island 4kms away. Easy access to the Great Barrier Reef from both the island and mainland is on offer to the adventurous tourists. Dunk Island is part of the Family Group of islands, which also includes Bedarra, Bowden, Wheeler, Hudson Islands, amongst others. Dunk is the largest and the most northern island in the group.

There is so much to see and explore in Tropical North Queensland, like the state’s two highest mountain peaks, Bartle Frere and Bellenden Ker, (the state’s third highest mountain is Mount Bowen, on Hinchinbrook Island). Australia’s longest single-drop waterfall is Wallaman Falls not far from Cardwell.

Further north along the highway from Tully, one enters into the Johnstone Shire, immediately one become immersed in and awed by its stunningly beautiful vistas of lush, thick green pastures, sugar cane fields and dense vegetation.

In the early 1900’s, a Spaniard, José Paronella arrived in Australia from Catalonia. He headed to north Queensland where he worked as a cane cutter for more than a decade before returning to Spain and marrying the love of his life. Paronella came across 13 acres of virgin scrub at Mena Creek the year after he had arrived in north Queensland, and it too, stole his heart. Eventually, in 1929, he purchased the land for a sum of one hundred and twenty pounds. Immediately, he started to build beautiful gardens and a reception centre for public enjoyment. He built a house for he and his bride to live in, then he commenced work on a castle, part of which still stands today. It is said he built the castle in dedication to his love, his wife. Throughout the years the castle has been restored and maintained. The house was made of stone, but all the other structures were constructed of poured, reinforced concrete, the reinforcing being old railway tracks. Finally in 1935, the park was officially opened to the public. Within the castle walls was a movie theatre which showed movies every Saturday night. Other times, with the canvas chairs removed, the hall became a popular venue for dances and parties. Even way back then, Paronella had a “disco ball”. A myriad reflector, a large ball covered with 1270 tiny mirrors, was suspended from the ceiling. Spotlights of pink and blue shone on the reflector from the corners of the hall, creating a coloured snowflake effect around the room.

In the grounds, Paronella built Tea Gardens and a swimming pool, both of which still operate today. Romantic avenues and paths meander throughout the rich, tropical vegetation. Two tennis courts and a playground for children are situated near the banks of Mena Creek. A Hydro-electric generating plant was commissioned in 1933. It was the earliest in North Queensland. The plant supplied power to the whole of the park. A rope bridge is strung across the top of the falls where those brave at heart can pretend they're Indiana Jones

Disasters have struck the Park many times over the years, but like the Phoenix, Paronella Park rises from the ashes. Floods and fires have almost destroyed it at oft times, but with the spirit and strength of José Paronella guiding and protecting it, Paronella Park will remain for many years to come.

José died of cancer in 1948. Paronella Park and his dream continue. The Park was purchased by new owners intent on bringing it back to its former glory, in 1993. In 1997, Paronella Park gained National Trust listing. The Park remains alive and has won many Tourism Awards over the past number of years. José’s dream is never-ending.

I packed my suitcase and headed off to Cairns where I was to board a flight to Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea, armed with all this information and much more. Arrangements to meet up with my fellow partners in crime at the airport had been made prior to my departure from the island. I knew only two of my fellow conspirators, meeting them previously at various tourism conferences and expositions. Each time I’d met one of the two known to me, he hadn’t impressed me very much. Loud of voice, he was quite an arrogant fellow, I felt. Rather than speak in a normal manner, he had a tendency to bellow. He was one not open to the opinions of others, not that I ever bothered offering mine to him. I was a novice, an apprentice to all this tourism marketing and mainly kept my own counsel in such social conversations, mingling and merging when in his presence. He annoyed me, so I could see no useful purpose in cultivating a friendship.

However, everyone was in high-spirits as we waited for our flight to be announced and our boarding call to echo through the loud-speakers. The flight from Cairns to Port Moresby is only about forty-five minutes in flight duration, so we’d be there in no time at all. Well, that is if our flight had been on time! Two hours later, we were still waiting and wasting time at Cairns Airport. Our feet hadn’t left the ground!

Finally, after we’d answered the calls of our thirsts in the bar to while away the time, our flight was announced. Shortly thereafter, we were ascending the sky above Cairns heading northwards to Papua New Guinea. The crystal-clear waters of the Torres Strait smiled up at us as we flew low over the Strait and its islands.

To Be Continued....

Back To The Serious Business

I've recovered from my blast-out of Easter Sunday, yesterday being spent in self-inflicted rehabilitation! I must remember though...I've made a mental note...never again to post when I'm floating in wine and liqueurs! I'm a threat to society and all who live in it!

Today I have to put on my serious cap (as well as my earphones) and start working on these cassettes I have to transcribe. No more celebrations for me for a while! I've already walked outside and realised there is a world out there! I didn't venture past my door yesterday. It remained closed. Was I in hiding...most definitely!

It does one good to blow away the cobwebs, I believe. I have none left, for now. They will reappear, this I know, but until then I will behave myself. I think I heard a lot of sighs! Everyone can relax again!

In my previous post I mentioned I would never crawl into my shell...and "Puss-in-Boots" made reference to a "hermit crab"...I'm going back on my word, I think I'll become a hermit crab for a while! Thanks for reminding me, "Puss-In-Boots"!

I Will Never Crawl Into My Shell!

I don't even own one, let alone know where it is! And if I did, I would refuse! I will never go into a shell!

Lunch today went of with a "bang!" It was great! Lunch commenced around about 11.30am, with glasses of champagne and an antipasti. From there we wandered on freely to red and white wine...depending on who liked what! I like red...Paul likes red, but drinks white because red gives him gout...Fia enjoys red because it gives her a good feeling! We worked our way through four courses...My God! Antipasti....seafood fritters with sweet chilli sauce...followed by chicken with cherry and golden tomatoes, mushrooms in balsamic vinegar and olive oil, topped with crumbled feta cheese and a tossed green salad with garlic croutons and crisp, crumbled pancetta on the side. And, of course, golden roasted potatoes! Then...Oh! Dear! Forgive me....the berry mousse I wrote about earlier! And there is more...coffee, liqueur...and of course, dark chocolate mini-Easter Eggs! I should be shot!

But before putting myself in front of the firing line...moments after Paul and Fia left...I was still in party mode. I can tell you here and now....that is danger zone as far as I am concerned! (More for those nearby or afar...no one is safe from my evil clutches!)

I take no prisoners when I am in this or that mood! I am an enemy to the world! The Taliban and Bin Laden have no idea! Boy! Do I wish they would dare to confront me when I am in this mood!

Feeling no pain...I rang my landlords...who, I should remind you only live about 800 metres up the pass, beyond the pond, from me. After all, it was and still is, Easter Sunday...I said "Hey! Can I come up and have a drink with you for Easter?"

And they replied...."Of course you can! But we do have friends coming over for dinner."

Firmly, I replied, "That's okay...I won't stay long...I only want to have a couple of wines with you, then I'll shoot through! Are you ashamed of me...the serf from the cabin?"

"Of course not! Come on up...you don't have to shoot anything!" Was the answer. Where is my hunky gardener when I want him. I keep thinking I'm "Lady Chatterley!"

So, with a bottle of red wine under my arm...up I went! En route I didn't fall into the arms of the gardener!

My landlord's brother was there! His first name is my last name...poor guy! And he is terrified of me...I am sure. (I think he is terrified of any woman!) I have met him before...and his manner has never altered. He is terrified of me! But I, not of him!

(His fear of me is like placing a red flag in front of a bull! Not that I'm saying I am a "bull"! Of that species, I am the female...probably...okay...if you must...a "cow"!)

Anyway, the other guests arrived soon after I made my crashing appearance! I still had a bottle of red to finish. Robert, Bob, the other half of Anne, the guests who were the invited ones, turned up. And, as it happened, we had met at the Christmas party last year. I didn't recall, but they did. Bob sat next to me and soon we were engrossed in animated conversation.

Funny how things turn out...it is a small world after all...he and Anne, his wife, spent a week on Hinchinbrook Island... a couple of years or so after my time there, but we, Bob and I, had lots to talk about. My few moments with my landlords, to share an Easter drink, turned into much longer...but it was great. Bob, who is a true "English Gentleman", living here in Aus...he wore a striped jacket over tailored slacks and perfectly ironed shirt...epitomising someone from the "old school" (speaking, I must add, with a very "South Yarra" accent!) and I chatted, sharing something in common. I think he was a bit amazed by the stories I told him, stories that are true. It was interesting to meet someone who had been a guest on Hinchinbrook Island...at a time when I wasn't there. I think he found it interesting, too, learning about how it was at the resort when I was there...to hear stories from me, from the "other side".

I live, I believe, a secular life, but that is okay...I am so grateful for having the guts to have done some of the things I have done. I don't ask for or need any medals for doing what I have chosen to do. I chose to do certain things because I wanted and needed to do them. They were of my own choosing. I would do them all again...and more. I will be dead a long time. I never thought I could do some of the things I have done, but I guess, deep down inside, I believed I could, when no one else around me thought I could...or would!

What it all boils down to is this...believe in yourself. Never listen to whatever anyone else has to say about you. Look within...that is what is most important. To hell with the rest of them!

PS....tonight, because of the happy mood I'm in....I telephoned three very good friends of mine....one I've known for many years...she and I go back a long way....another I've known not as long as the first, but equally as special to me...and the other...well, he and I go back about nine years...and he is very special to me. It is Easter, after all....a time to share with those you love. Life is good!

Grab Your Easter Bonnets

I’ll tell you here and now, one frolic I won’t be frolicking this Easter is an Easter Egg Hunt, not after seeing a large carpet snake sun-baking on my roof the other day! I swear I saw a pair of sunglasses on his nose! I was very annoyed he’d not asked my permission to use my roof! So annoyed was I, I didn’t bother to warn him about skin cancer! He was a big fellow, too

To be totally honest with you, I’m not at all partial to snakes, and particularly when they infringe on my space. I think you know this already. In other words, I don’t like them at all, not even a teensy-weensy bit! The only snakes I like are “Snake” in the cartoon and snakes, the colourful lollies!

I rang the very efficient snake-catchers, Tom and Heidi, but my cowardly, uninvited visitor had slithered off to a hiding place before they arrived. He didn’t have the guts to hang around to meet them!

As soon as I spotted the snake, I quickly gathered up my two cats, tossing them into the house. After all the mayhem had died down, but not my heart from pounding, I walked into my lounge room to find both cats sitting side by side on the coffee table, looking at each other as if to say, “What did you do?” “Me? I didn’t do anything! What’d you do?” “Nothing! I thought it was you!” “Not Me!” "She must be having one of her 'turns'!"

Now you understand why I won’t be going on an Easter Egg Hunt this Easter unless I hide all my Easter eggs in the house somewhere. I wonder if I’ll find them! Damnit! I remember where I put them!

I've been kicking myself ever since I spotted the snake, though. I regret very much what I did. Acting out of sheer panic and thoughtlessness, I dragged out something to stand upon and whacked the snake as hard as I could. It, of course, slithered along the guttering, in the guttering. I shouldn't have disturbed it. It was my fault the snake-catchers couldn't find the damn thing when they arrived. I've been reprimanding myself ever since for my hasty action. I just hope the snake has decided to find green pastures away, away from my roof-top or anywhere near me. There is thick, protective bushland across the road. I'm sure he would like it much better over there, not hanging around this wild woman brandishing a fourteen-inch bladed knife and tomahawk in the other hand! Who mentioned "anger management?" It's more like "panic management" in my case. The anger came later, directed at myself.

I've not seen my unwelcome, unwanted sun-baker since and I hope I don't. Every time I wander outside my eyes are cast upwards towards my roof! He won't escape next time...take that as a definite warning and threat, Mr. Carpet Snake. (What a silly first name, anyway!)

Now, back to these chocolate Easter eggs....

A friend popped in to see me yesterday afternoon, so I just had to open a bottle of wine, didn't I? I twisted my own arm, quickly succumbing to the pressure! He was dropping off a Raclette he'd picked up for me down the coast. It was too good a deal to miss. $40.00 at Aldi, the German-owned supermarket chain.

A Raclette (pronounced - "Rah-Klett") for those who've never heard of them is a Swiss speciality. Think 'fondue', then wipe that image from your mind! It is a type of grill, placed in the centre of the table, like you would with a fondue and diners cook for themselves. Up to 8 people can do so at the same time, but I think 4 people would be enough otherwise it could get a little out of hand. If catering for 8 or more people I would suggest having two Raclettes operating. It is powered by electricity and is thermostatically-controlled, which ensures that constant temperature is maintained. It has a large metal grill-plate on top and below this plate are individual pan-holder sections into which small flat pans fit. The element is between these two cooking areas. In these flat pans, one places the ingredients to be cooked. Wooden spatulas are provided with the appliance for the release of any sticking food without scratching the non-stick pan surface. My Raclette is oval in shape, not rectangle as pictured. I've been busily gathering together ideas for when I christen it. I won't be using it for my Easter Sunday lunch, but I know I'll be organising another lunch soon after, as I'm eager to use it. In the meantime, I'll share with you a couple of Raclette recipe ideas.

In Australia two cheeses which are ideal for raclette are available from the gourmet cheese section at any supermarkets. A German-made cheese called "Alpsberg" is highly recommended. It is a delicious cheese with excellent melting qualities with a great flavour. The other is Australian-made Swiss-style cheese called "Aussie Swiss Gold" which has a great sweet nutty flavour. Other Swiss cheeses such as Emmenthal or Gruyere are also perfectly suitable are available from large delicatessens etc. Mozzarella mixed with grated Parmesan and Romano cheese is also good. It is recommended that you mix some mozzarella (grated or fresh) with the Alpsberg cheese to balance the moisture content.

Traditional Swiss Raclette: Boil 1kg (2lb) even-sized baby potatoes (Chats) in their jackets. Line a basket or bowl with a napkin and wrap the hot potatoes in it to keep them warm. Cut 800gm cheese in pan-sized slices and set them out on a dish. Put bowls of trimmings, a pepper mill and paprika on the table.

Side Dishes: A selection of dried meats, proscuitto, parma ham, pancetta, Chorizo sausages or any spicy, flavoursome Continental sausages etc. Baguettes, gherkins, preferably dill-pickled cucumbers, pickled onions.

Place a slice of cheese into raclette pan and place under the grill to melt. When the cheese has melted, scrape onto potatoes, gherkins and pickled onions. Grind fresh pepper on top with a piece of dried meat and baguette. A light white wine such as a Sauvignon Blanc or Semillon Blanc is ideal with this treat.

Prawns and Creamy Mascarpone Sauce: Peel and de-vein large prawns/shrimp and marinate in extra-virgin olive oil and crushed garlic. Cover and refrigerate for several hours. Place 250g Mascarpone into serving bown and add finely chopped Italian parsley (curly-leaf if you don't have Italian parsley, will suffice). Bring ingredients to table. At the grill: take a prawn, place in pan, add a spoonful of cream cheese and a small piece of suitable cheese (perhaps, mozzarella) over the top and grill till cheese has melted. Serve over bread. Sprinkle with freshly-ground pepper.

Prawns in Garlic Butter: Using peeled green (raw) prawns/shrimp, place a prawn or three in an individual raclette pan, add some garlic butter (lots of garlic!) and place the pan in its section under the grill. Serve with crusty bread and/or rice which you can keep warm on top of the grill. Bog in....let the juices flow down your chin!

Cherry Tomatoes and Mozzarella: Cut cherry tomatoes in halves and place in serving bowl. Slice 100g fresh mozzarella (if you can get it) and sprinkle on both sides with some freshly chopped basil, stems removed, and place on a serving plate. Finely chop 3 bacon rashes, fat and rind removed (or you can use pancetta or proscuitto). Place in a serving bowl. Place ready-made croutons in another serving bowl. At the raclette grill: In a raclette pan, take a few cherry tomato halves and some croutons, cover with a slice or two of mozzarella and top with diced bacon. Allow to grill under raclette until the cheese has melted and the bacon becomes crispy.

Stuffed Mushrooms With Feta: Clean the outside of 12 large, firm mushrooms with a damp paper towel (do NOT peel mushrooms any time for any recipe!) and remove stems. In a bowl, add 75g Feta cheese, 75g ricotta cheese, 1/2 a red/Spanish onion, finely chopped, 1 tablespoon dried oregano and 1/2 teaspoon black pepper and mix together. Fill mushrooms with this filling. Then mix 2 tablespoons of bread crumbs with 3 tablespoons grated Romano or Parmesan cheese. Sprinkle on top of the filled mushrooms. At the raclette grill: Place a filled mushroom in a pan and place the pan under the grill. Cook until the tops are crispy.

I can see myself having a lot of fun with my new Raclette! I hope I've tempted you, too!

Easter On Newry Island

It was love at first sight. My heart pounded. A wide smile spread across my face the first time I set eyes on Newry Island. As the boat slowed and eased its way to the water’s edge, languidly rocking from side to side, I stood transfixed. The sight in front of me took me back to the days of my childhood, to the “seaside”. To me the “seaside” depicts naturalness, no fancy trimmings, tall buildings or “bells and whistles”. The main building was old, somewhat dilapidated, in need of a coat of paint some would say. To me, it was beautiful. A few cream fibro cabins dotted the foreshore to the left of the main building. A stone’s throw away from the central building, its foundations desperately clinging to terra firma was an ancient galvanized iron shed. It housed the two island generators. To the right of the main building stood a stone cabin, which I was to learn, once housed the famous Australian swimmer, Annette Kellerman. Kellerman was the first woman to conquer the English Channel back in the early part of the last century, the first woman to wear a one piece bathing suit in public. The Esther Williams’ movie “The Million-Dollar Baby” was loosely based on the life of Annette Kellerman. (See the URL at the end of this post) Further along on the eastern point, a lone cabin, its paint faded and peeling from the elements, obstinately faced the eastern horizon. She-oaks and palm trees generously shared the foreshore where the verdant grasses verged and merged with the sand. How could I not be “hooked”?

After Christmas and New Year were washed out on Newry Island by Cyclone Joy, I was hoping Easter would bring with it good weather and loads of guests. It did. The weather for the four days put on a welcome display of clear blue skies, light sea breezes, warm days, cool nights, with the ocean, shimmering like diamonds under the golden sun, hardly stirring except for its gentle lapping on the shore.

Guests began arriving on the Thursday before Good Friday. Earlier in the day, I made two trips to the mainland to pick up my visitors. Some arrived by their own boats. A couple of trawlers anchored out in the channel between my island and Outer Newry Island. One of the skipper’s wife and daughter booked into a cabin, while he and his son stayed on board the trawler.

On Good Friday morning, Geoff, the skipper of the prawn trawler asked if I would like some fresh sand crabs.

“Sure! I’d love some, Geoff,” I answered. “How much do you want for them or what do you want for them?”

I never bought seafood when I lived on Newry Island. My transactions with the trawler-men were conducted by barter system. Cases of beer, bottles of bourbon, scotch or rum exchanged for bucketfuls of freshly caught and cooked prawns etc. It was a good deal and one in which I always came out on the “plus” side. I always had more than enough supplies of fresh fish, prawns and crabs on hand, much to the delight of my guests.

“I don’t want anything for them,” Geoff said. “I won’t be going into Mackay until next Tuesday, so they will be no good to anyone by then. They are yours to do with what you want, otherwise I’ll toss them overboard.”

Expecting maybe a bucket-load of sand crabs, to my surprise Geoff arrived ashore with a very large, heavy-duty plastic container full to overflowing with fresh crabs. I rounded up my wide-eyed guests and handed out crabs to them, free of charge. I figured they had cost me nothing, so my guests should enjoy them. I didn’t feel it right to charge for the crabs.

It was a wonderful sight watching the stunned guests, sitting on the beach with containers filled with crabs as they cracked them open, savouring every last morsel of the delectable things. One guy was really in his element. I’d filled up a supermarket plastic shopping bag with sandies for him and, alone, he ventured out to the point where he sat at the very edge on the rocks, looking out to sea with his bag of goodies between his legs. His wife, who didn’t eat seafood, and I watched from afar laughing as he obviously was enjoying his piece of “heaven”.

Newry Island may have been a run-down, “past its use-by date island resort”, but it had many things to offer that the fancier resorts couldn’t or wouldn’t! Because of my regular, abundant supply of seafood, island guests were catered to with large feasts of fresh fish, prawns and crabs at a very low cost. Sometimes, when yachts were anchored in the channel, the “yachties collected oysters from the rocks on Outer Newry Island and brought them across to me. I would lay-out shucked oysters on large trays, sprinkle Worcestershire Sauce and diced bacon over the top, then place the laden tray under the salamander (grill). It was worth every oyster just to see the looks on my guests’ faces when I presented them with the large, metal tray filled with Oysters Kilpatrick. Not only would I present oysters in this manner, but I would cook some on the barbecue in their shells and also serve others natural. It was an “eat as much and as many as you like” attitude/barbecue with cold beer or wine to wash them down.

Just outside from the bar area on the concrete deck looking out to the ocean and surrounding islands was the area where I cooked most evenings when I had guests on the island. A large six burner gas barbecue held pride of position, together with outdoor tables and chairs. The moment I fired up the barbecue my two cats, Pushkin and Rimsky, were right there, salivating, eagerly awaiting the evening’s fare. They knew what was to follow. They weren’t silly. Their diet was mainly seafood, with some fresh meat thrown in for good measure. Pushkin and Rimsky didn’t even have to get their paws dirty as the guests willingly peeled prawns for them. What a life!

During the day, the guests swam in the calm waters of the Coral Sea, relaxed with a book, some fished, others laid under the palm trees fringing the beach contemplating their lives or whatever, or went for walks across the island through the forest. The children played freely and safely on the beach.

A koala decided to join in the weekend festivities by sitting in a low tree all throughout the weekend at the start of the trail across to the other side of the island The guests, particularly the children were delighted by its appearance. I asked everyone to look but not disturb, and this request they adhered to, happy just to look. The koala remained in his spot until the Tuesday, when the winds changed direction to south-easterly. Once the winds arrived, he moved further inland.

Even though I was busy most of the time, running the bar, catering and doing my other daily chores, I relaxed too, as my guests weren’t demanding. Each afternoon, with the children helping, I built a fire on the beach for the evening. After the evening barbecue, the fire was lit, a guitar or two magically appeared and a sing-a-long inevitably started, mingled with lots of conversation and laughter.

The beach in front of the bar and dining area was relatively safe for swimming. When the tide went out, it went out a long, long way leaving mud flats to battle. However, when the tide was in, the water flowed gently over clean sand, caressing the shoreline, making it an ideal swimming spot. Because of the position of the bay and the distance from the warmer waters of the mainland, the island didn’t have a box-jellyfish problem. The stingers are more prevalent in the warmer, coastal and estuary waters. Similar conditions applied at the main beach at Hinchinbrook Island Resort. Pulling into the boat ramp at Victor Creek on the mainland one day, as I jumped out of the boat I spotted a large box-jellyfish languishing in the shallow water at the bank of the creek. I stayed well clear of it.

I hated having to take the De Havilland out when it was low tide, as I would have to plough through the mud to reach it, not being able to row my little boat out to where it was moored. The De Havilland was always moored a couple of feet out from the bank of the deep channel between Newry Island and Outer Newry to make it permanently sea-worthy, particularly if, God forbid, an emergency arose. Naturally, I tried to organize all my boat trips to the mainlnd around the high tides. This was not always possible, of course.

A few day-trippers arrived each day over the Easter weekend, setting up their own picnics along the beach or at the tables under the trees. Fishermen came and went after a couple of cleansing, refreshing cold ales at the bar. The island was alive with happy, trouble-free holidaymakers. That is, until Easter Sunday night when a “tinnie” bearing four, drunken, young fishermen arrived. I’d never set eyes on them before, or after, for that matter.

They staggered noisily up to the bar around 9pm demanding drinks and food. In no uncertain terms, I told them I thought they had had enough to drink by the looks and sounds of them. I wasn’t happy about having to feed them. There was no way I was going to cook them a meal at that hour of the night. By this time, my island guests had eaten at the barbecue and were now up along the beach enjoying the fire.

The rowdy infiltrators demanded something to eat.

“All I have left are meat pies. I will heat some up for you,” I told them, reluctantly. “But, I’m telling you this…if I see the pies again…you guys will be cleaning up the mess, not me!”

I didn’t need a crystal ball to know I would “see” the pies again! Of course, I was right in my assumption! I handed the young fellows the hose and made them clean down the deck where the regurgitated pies covered the concrete. When they finished cleaning up their mess, I asked them to leave.

Upon noticing the fire up the beach, the renegades informed me they were going to join the guests.

“No, you’re not!” I said firmly. “They’re my paying guests enjoying time with their children. They’re entitled to their privacy. You will not go up there. You’ll get into your boat and go back to wherever you came from! You will leave them alone! Now, get going!”

They mumbled as they staggered down the beach towards their boat. I watched from the deck as they maneuvered the she-oaks and palm trees. Hitting the centre of the beach, they veered right in the direction of the fire and my guests.

Letting out a growl, I headed off after the pests, catching up with them just as they were approaching the guests. Steering them about face, I marched them back along the beach. They didn’t notice that I was walking at an angle, forcing them closer and closer to the water’s edge. They were too busy cursing me. Far too busy calling me every name they could muster to notice with each step they were getting into ankle-deep water. My feet were still dry.

“I’ve heard it all before.” Was my non-interested reaction to their abuse . “Say what you wish, but you are not staying here!”

Continuing with their diatribe, one of them blurted out for me to take care of a particular portion of his anatomy that is akin to poultry. As quick as a flash, without thought, I retaliated with a very apt reply, which embarrassed him in front of his mates. Without another word from any of them, like little lambs they stumbled into their boat. Without a backward glance, they headed back out to sea. I had no idea where they came from and I’m sure they had no idea where they were headed! It was not my worry. If they were stupid enough to travel at night in their little “tinnie” in the state they were in, I wasn’t going to be their keeper. Their bravado was restored the further they traveled from the shore. Their infantile abuse re-commenced. Around and around like the idiots they were, they circled one of the trawlers anchored out in the bay, shouting and yahooing. By this time, the men guests joined me. Geoff, who had donated the crabs, agreed with me in that we hoped “Rollo”, a trawler-man who never set foot on the island, but always anchored out in the channel before heading to Mackay, would wake up. “Rollo”, like all trawlers, carried shot-guns on board! How we wished “Rollo” would wake up! I reckon those four fellows shouting abuse would have sobered up pretty damn quickly and high-tailed it out of there before they could call out for their mothers!

I joined my guests around the fire after the unwanted disruption. The women informed me they’d told their husbands to give me a hand. Their husbands all said, “Naah…Lee’ll be okay…she’ll be right! She’ll take care of them!”

“Thanks, guys!” I laughed.

They would have been there for me if I had needed them, but I preferred to handle situations like that myself, where possible when they arose.

From the direction my inebriated, bad-mannered visitors had headed out to sea, I think they are now just motoring into the west coast waters of South America!

By Tuesday, everyone had departed. Once more I was alone on the island except for Pushkin and Rimsky, and of course, the koala! It had been a wonderful Easter, unwelcome visitors notwithstanding. I settled into a peaceful few days until the next boat arrived or my next trip to the mainland to meet new guests. I was grateful for the respite as the south-easterly winds arrived on the Tuesday morning. The winds always made it difficult for me to row my little boat out to my island boat, the 21-foot Trojan De Havilland, which was moored out in the channel. It was a sight to behold, me trying to “marry” my little row boat up to the bigger motor boat with strong south-easterlies blowing!

The link below gives you a bit of the history of Newry Island.

http://www.abc.net.au/tropic/stories/s1128222.htm

The picture above of the Trojan De Havilland isn't the island boat. Mine was painted brick red and cream. It was a little more battered than the one in the picture, but mostly it went like a dream...mostly. It had a 175hp Johnson outboard motor on board that sometimes liked to cause me grief.

Hippity-Hop! Eh! What's New Doc?

I wanted to have my rabbit drawing finished before posting, but I ran out of time, so decided to post it with a "few hares short of a rabbit"! Actually, to be honest, I ran out of time ages ago, as I started this drawing either last year or the year before! I must get back to it one of these fine days...or even a rainy day would do! I've got a couple of drawings I need to finish, including a couple of paintings. A kick up the proverbial might stir me into moving onwards and upwards with them, but they will all have to wait for a while now as I've other things on my plate at the moment and those new additions have moved up in the order of my priorities!

My Normanton story took over the past few days. It seems so long since I've posted recipes, that with Easter only a couple of days away, I thought I would tempt your taste buds with a couple of ideas.

Me and my big mouth invited a couple of friends to lunch Easter Sunday. I did try my utmost to button my lip in an endeavour to sneak through Easter quietly and alone, but an invitation flew from my lips faster than I could retrieve and bury it! All sorts of excuses had flown around in my mind of how I could get away with not socialising over the weekend. I'd even thought of a "white lie", saying I had a huge transcribing/word-processing job on and I just had to get it finished, but my conscience got the better of me. I wouldn't allow my fantasy folly. It's turned out to be a bit like "be careful what you wish for".

This morning, a couple of hours ago, a knock sounded upon my door. Over the past couple of years or more, every so often, I do transcription work for a university lecturer. There, standing on my doorstep...or, should I say, on the grass outside as there is no 'doorstep', was Janice, my university lecturer with an arm full of cassettes for me to transcribe! I'd placed the hex upon myself. That will teach me to have devious thoughts! I'm not complaining. It is paying work and all donations are eagerly accepted!

Ummmm.....I wonder if I can still get out of putting on Easter Sunday lunch.......

Seafood Fritters With Sweet Chilli Sauce: Place 1/2 cup s.r. flour in a bow. Add 3 eggs, lightly beaten and whisk until smooth. Add whatever mix of seafood you feel like, (you can use seafood extender in this recipe of prawn, crab, bug prices are restrictive) and 1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese. . Heat a large non-stick frying pan over medium heat. Add a little oil . When hot, add 2 tablespoons of fritter mixture. Flatten the mixture and cook for 2-3 minutes each side or until golden. Repeat with the remaining mixture. Sandwich the fritters together with soft goat's cheese or ricotta and serve on rocket leaves and Sweet Chilli Sauce on the side.

Cucumber & Radish Salad: Combine 2 sliced, peeled Lebanese cucumbers, cut into slices and 1 bunch red radishes, trimmed and quartered in a bowl. Heat a little vegetable oil in frying pan over medium heat, add 1/2 teaspoon each cumin seeds and mustard seeds. Cook for 1 minute or until seeds begin to pop. Add 1 green chilli, halved lengthwise and widthwise. Cook for 30 seconds. Cool, then pour seed mixture over cucumber and radishes. Add 2 tablespoons lime juice, 75g raw cashews, roasted and 1/4 cup coriander leaves. Add salt to taste and toss to combine.

Honey-Chicken Breast: The quantities in this chicken breast recipe are good for 2 servings.

Clean the chicken breast of any skin or sinews. After you've washed it thoroughly and drained it well cut it in large pieces. Sprinkle the chicken breast pieces with salt and pepper. Put them in a pan over moderate heat, using butter to brown them instead of oil. Flip them on the other side when one side is brown. When all the pieces are browned evenly, take them out and place them on a plate.

Scald two tomatoes, and then peel them. Also make sure to remove all the seeds. Cut them into small cubes. Put the tomato cubes in the pan where you browned the chicken. Temper them in the same butter that remained after the chicken browning. After 3 - 4 minutes add clove of garlic, grated lemon skin and the juice from half of a lemon. Temper everything until there's little to none juices remaining in the pan.

Coat the browned chicken breast pieces with honey. Put them in a butter-greased griddle, aligning them horizontally and add the tomato mixture. Put the griddle inside a pre-heated oven and cook on high heat for 4-5 minutes. Serve garnished with basil sprigs.

Berry Mousse: Place 250g fresh strawberries (halved) or blueberries in a medium-sized saucepan. Add 1 cup sugar and 1 tablespoon water. Cook over low heat. Stir gentle until sugar has dissolved. Simmer for 10 minutes or until berries are soft and the liquid syrupy. Process the berry mixture and 1 teaspoon gelatine in processor until smooth. Set aside to cool. Fold through 2 cups whipped cream. Pour into individual serving glasses and refrigerate for 30 minutes or until set. This can be made the day before serving. Decorate with fresh berries.

Bon appetite while I squirm and squeal trying to get out of putting on Easter Sunday lunch!