After roughly a week of seriously hideous weather (think shoes floating away down the street when merely trying to cross the raging torrent that used to be a road) the sun has finally broken through. So, with a free day in hand, I decided to spend it in the garden, luxuriating in the fact I had the whole place to myself. Grab a cool drink, catch some rays, read a good book. What could go wrong?
Firstly, the family next door decided to have a major domestic. The incredibly nasal and whiny twang of the daughter floated over the hedge. She was resolute - the word 'northwards' did not exist. Woe betide her poor parents who were clearly trying to do her prep for her.
When she eventually stomped off inside (which surely would have been a better place to have the row, rather than out in the open, disturbing the peace of innocent eavesdroppers...) I returned to my pleasant pastimes. Reaching for my drink I saw a small patch of grey under my chair. It was a dead mouse. Unmarked, but very dead. And ruining the otherwise immaculate lawn. How thoughtless of it. Picking it up by the tail I carried it to the flowerbed. Only to see another one! And then a few inches away another - barely alive and drenched by the morning downpour it was trying to move but failing. I felt torn - should I put it out of its misery? But then I remembered a horrible story about a friend who found a baby rabbit that he was so sure was injured, because it wasn't moving, and he should therefore kill it in the interests of being 'humane'. While discussing with his brother whether it was better to hit it with a hammer, or, for some inexplicable reason, whether to drive a nail into its head, the poor baby rabbit lolloped off. Evidently it was either napping, or riveted by the conversation of these two crazy Danes. Similarly, another friend had found a bird that was on its last legs. She opted to kill it by bouncing a basketball on it. But missed somewhat, so had to do it again. And again. All observed by another member of the family, I think, who then reported her to her parents for animal cruelty. Or something along those lines. So much for trying to do a good deed. So I left the poor mouse, wondering somewhat what silent killer was murdering all these rodents. Only one thing came to mind but I dismissed that as ridiculous. This might be Australia, land of the deadly, but torrential rain does not kill. Right?
Having noticed the mice I found myself unable to concentrate on my book. The dangers of Australian nature kept creeping into my psyche. Suddenly I became aware of constant rustling, each disturbed plant hiding a potential killer. Although all I could see were millions of tiny lizards romping in the sun and chasing a large cockroach, I became convinced that something of the snake or spider variety was sure to be watching me, waiting for my guard to drop. And then a massive piece of the palm tree above decided to fall on my head. I retreated inside. Clearly sitting in the garden is far too dangerous for an innocent Pom.
Firstly, the family next door decided to have a major domestic. The incredibly nasal and whiny twang of the daughter floated over the hedge. She was resolute - the word 'northwards' did not exist. Woe betide her poor parents who were clearly trying to do her prep for her.
When she eventually stomped off inside (which surely would have been a better place to have the row, rather than out in the open, disturbing the peace of innocent eavesdroppers...) I returned to my pleasant pastimes. Reaching for my drink I saw a small patch of grey under my chair. It was a dead mouse. Unmarked, but very dead. And ruining the otherwise immaculate lawn. How thoughtless of it. Picking it up by the tail I carried it to the flowerbed. Only to see another one! And then a few inches away another - barely alive and drenched by the morning downpour it was trying to move but failing. I felt torn - should I put it out of its misery? But then I remembered a horrible story about a friend who found a baby rabbit that he was so sure was injured, because it wasn't moving, and he should therefore kill it in the interests of being 'humane'. While discussing with his brother whether it was better to hit it with a hammer, or, for some inexplicable reason, whether to drive a nail into its head, the poor baby rabbit lolloped off. Evidently it was either napping, or riveted by the conversation of these two crazy Danes. Similarly, another friend had found a bird that was on its last legs. She opted to kill it by bouncing a basketball on it. But missed somewhat, so had to do it again. And again. All observed by another member of the family, I think, who then reported her to her parents for animal cruelty. Or something along those lines. So much for trying to do a good deed. So I left the poor mouse, wondering somewhat what silent killer was murdering all these rodents. Only one thing came to mind but I dismissed that as ridiculous. This might be Australia, land of the deadly, but torrential rain does not kill. Right?
Having noticed the mice I found myself unable to concentrate on my book. The dangers of Australian nature kept creeping into my psyche. Suddenly I became aware of constant rustling, each disturbed plant hiding a potential killer. Although all I could see were millions of tiny lizards romping in the sun and chasing a large cockroach, I became convinced that something of the snake or spider variety was sure to be watching me, waiting for my guard to drop. And then a massive piece of the palm tree above decided to fall on my head. I retreated inside. Clearly sitting in the garden is far too dangerous for an innocent Pom.
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