What a week! Grab a coffee, tea or G&T and settle down for a laugh . . . .

George is back so the activity (and laughs!) are fast and furious . . . he slashed the ‘House Ground’ (river flat in front of the house) and spotted that our resident plover female was firmly ensconced on her nest, and conducted a battle of wills to see who would yield first. George lost! Mrs Plover stuck fast until George and the slasher were within millimetres. Brave girl! I don’t sail so close to the wind with George! Needless to say, he slashed around the nest and later took me over to see it and FOUR lovely brown and black eggs (I know, I must take a picture).

Then, as if that wasn’t enough excitement for one day, the Jehovah’s Witnesses turned up. It was a gloriously sunny day, and after all those weeks of grey and unrelenting drizzle, I was determined to make the most of it, so I had decided to clean the accumulated months of mud off my car which turned into a mammoth session with the power washer and hoover and so I was bent over, hoovering the boot, in my skimpy running shorts and tee shirt when approached from behind by two suited and booted men clutching a bible and copies of ‘Watchtower’. They admitted that my lovely sawmill man, Chris Latimore, had suggested they came a-calling so I couldn’t be rude, I had to be charming and so we read bits of the bible together as we discussed their antipathy to blood and chatted generally about the state of the world, the community and the beauty of the day. Who knew that I could be SO diplomatic!!!

George came back from lunch while they had me mataphorically pinned against the wall and I saw him sniggering as he fired up the tractor and continued his linear progress up and down the flat. Once they were gone I decided to belatedly go for my run, and donned my baseball cap and fly veil. George stopped me in my tracks ‘I didn’t know you kept bees’. ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me, George.’ ‘Got any honey to sell then?’. ‘Not yet, George’ He’s so sharp he’ll cut himself one of these days . . .

Then he decided that he had had enough of the piles of timber and old bricks STILL desecrating the House ground and enlisted me to help him move them. And he rolled one of the stay posts (one foot diameter for the uninitiated, and seven foot of hardwood) onto my right foot so I was literally hopping mad! It was a very short run . . .

On Tuesday night we hared out of Comboyne down to Laurieton to go and see ‘Death at a Funeral’ which had come highly recommended by Ged’s parents. Of course, we were late, but the movie really was hilarious. The ultimate in British family dysfunctionality, exposing all those wonderful family undercurrents and all the skeletons tumbling out of the closets (or coffin!). Highly recommended. Laugh out loud funny. Of course, when we got back to the car I said ‘I don’t know why you’re laughing, Ged, that’s just like MY family, you know!’

Once we had decided to get married, I had a clear picture in my mind of how I wanted the invitation to look. I wanted a sign made and a picture taken at our river-crossing entrance. It has taken months to get Ged to make the sign (so far down the list of priorities) but finally it was done, and beautiful. And I told George to slash the area when it transpired he was finally coming back to work after the wet and working for Frances next door (all the neighbours are so impressed with the progress at Avalon, they are all convincing George to do the same for them. ‘As long as I am still your number one priority, George . . . ‘). So the grass was cut, the sign made and Ged and I had a dusk session there, measuring the height I wanted it at and the distance from the gate post, and pulling out some tobacco trees which would ruin the perfection of the shot . . . I was due to take the photos the following day after Ged had chopped the sign down to exactly the right height. He came home that afternoon and said ‘did you take the photo this morning?’ ‘No’, I replied ‘I haven’t had time.’ So he broke the bad news ‘George dropped a match along the fence line’. So my beautifully cultivated oasis is a desecrated, darkened wasteland, and I guess I have to find another location for the photo shoot . . . .

A large number of you have asked about the ‘Giraffe Shed’ so here goes . . . the guy who owned the property before me was clearly an idiot. Not only did he build the cattle yards right next to the house; leave the land to go to rack and ruin; light a fire which burnt out half of the neighbouring national park; etc., but he built what we now call ‘The Giraffe Shed’. A roof on stilts – 6 metres off the ground – which means that even in the dead centre, you are still at the mercy of sun, wind and rain. And the roof is angled FORWARD so when it is raining you have to run through a wall of water to get to the car! Apparently he was going to build a boat in it . . . a tall ship? And sail it down the river like Noah when the flood came? Because how else would he have been able to get it out? Needless to say, making the shed shorter is yet one more thing to do on Ged’s list . . .

It was really hot at the weekend and so we didn’t seem to get so much done on Saturday. We filled up all the water bottles at Angle Creek and planted an Acer at ‘The Triangle’ and another Robinia along the ridge running down to the ‘House Ground’. I pulled down a fence and Ged cut down more She-Oaks along the river and piled them up ready for another big fire. And I had a big cook-in to re-stock the freezer which was cleaned out to feed Ged on his NT adventure. On Sunday morning I had booked George to go up to Ged’s and bring down his two horses so they turned up about 10 ish. His horse, Gypsy, is a GIANT. 17.5 or 18 hands of sparkly white. I swear you can see her from space! The other horse, Rocky, is a gorgeous buckskin gelding about 13 or 14 hands. I thought Tinkerbell would be thrilled to have such a good looking boy friend and Baby pleased to have someone other than Tinkerbell to talk to, but Tinkerbell put her ears back and charged and even Baby was bucking, rearing and running as if the world was ending (‘the sky is falling, the sky is falling . . . ‘)

So we left Ged’s horses in the yards and let mine have a good sniff and snort and then ignore them. So we put mine in the adjoining yards and they carried on like a couple of galahs (sorry, Aussie expression, no real English translation – closest is ‘idiots’) and then after they seemed to have settled down a bit, we tried putting them in together. Well, that looked like it was going to turn into a major kicking contest so I let go of the gate and let them free. My two streaked away as if the hounds of hell were after them and Gypsy and Rocky bolted after them. After one full circuit of this side (up the sheer banks of the gully, along the ridge, down the hill to the ribbon river flat) we followed them and when the ghostly Gypsy caught up, Tinkerbell again decided to take on the phantom who let fly with both barrels. No contact, but what a reach, what extension, what power! No wonder my two little girls took off again and this time ran right to the end of the river paddock. When I caught up with them they were wading, then swimming, downstream, unsure of anything except escape. I drove back for the camera as they looked so stunning swimming away. But when I returned with Ged they were long gone and I decided I’d better go and round them up and send them back before they swam down to the sea! I wasn’t suitable attired for river wading, shorts and girly slip-ons but I quietly tracked the horses through the she-oaks and snuck out in front of them to wave them back whence they had come. But they weren’t having any of it. They were going forward, not back, regardless of any obstacles in their way. So I grabbed Baby and decided to escort them over the river where Angle Creek joins it and up the steep ravine to the road and then back through the Angle Creek gate. We were almost at the other side when Baby planted her two tonne Tessie weight firmly on my left foot which was insecurely planted on a rock in the riverbed and there we stayed for what seemed like hours but probably wasn’t. I got her off and out and up the narrow, steep, pass and then had to let go such was the pain. She and Tinkerbell trotted up the cattle track to go and find their cow friends on the hitherto nexplored ‘other side’ of the property. And I hobbled to the bridge shouting at Ged to ‘get the car and meet me at the Angle Creek bridge’. My hero came roaring over the hill and took one look at me sitting huddled on the log bridge and scooped me up into his arms and into the car and home. He nursed me all day and waited on me hand and foot while I sat and lay with it elevated, iced and rested while it swelled ever bigger. He had to carry me to the loo and back and lift me into the bath and out and was so kind and sweet and concerned. Twice we got in the car to go to hospital to have it x-rayed and then twice I changed my mind, so he was absolutely the handsome romantic hero of my longings, carrying me hither and yon at my behest. By midnight I was hobbling and today I am almost walking so reiki and arnica have done their job well and hopefully tomorrow I can catch those recalcitrant children and teach them that sharing is just a part of life . . . thank God we don’t each have children and are starting a step-family – I couldn’t stand the strain!

As if that weren’t enough drama for one week, Phoenix was sulking on Saturday night for no apparent reason but on Sunday his silence and deep depression became obvious. His nose was swollen to about eight times its normal size! Obviously he has been stung by a bee or a wasp or something and she is still a very sad and swollen little soldier. We have been in the wars this week! There’s nothing quiet about living in the country . . . !

THE RUNAWAY CHILDREN . . .