Heading up to Queensland

Despite saying that we must return to Sydney again, upon leaving, and having booked to go back the following year to explore New Zealand as well, we have not yet been back.

You will recall that during Covid those two locked themselves down far more than most. Thanks to their strategy we started to look at other destinations to get ourselves some winter sunshine.

So, was it to be au revoir or goodbye? What on earth does that mean, by the way? Although my French only got me, in modern terms, to the end of year 9, year 3 senior, I was relegated to the Religious Instruction class which, I would like to point out, was a gimme of an “O” level, remember those?

Anyway, and as it happens, I seem to have remembered more of the French than I did the RI. I think the latter was about a baby born in a stable, which appeared to house cows rather than horses, before being hanged on a cross, it is the bit in between I am a little hazy with!

Where were we? Ah, that’s it, back to the French.

Don’t au revoir and goodbye, in basic parlance, mean the same? No, they don’t. Call me stupid, but no they don’t. Sure, they both mean farewell but the French version suggests that you intend to see the person again. I hope, therefore, with Sydney that it is au revoir. In French, if you don’t like someone or you have no intention of ever seeing them again it is adieu, simply farewell.

The next few days would see us traversing the eastern coast of the state that was named for Queen Victoria. Yeah, I know, not exactly original is it? I wonder how long it was before they realised there was already a state in Australia called Victoria. Maybe they never noticed.

Once they learned of the other place you can picture the great panjandrums in Brisbane, or wherever, running around like crazy trying to come up with a new name. I am not sure they have decided yet, Queensland sounds like a lack of commitment, like getting married and you don’t actually know your bride’s name, so you just call her wife.

Another useless fact about Vicky’s new state is that the UK will fit inside it seven times over. Well, who knew? And, to be frank, who cares?

Before we touch land, next time, we will have a look at some of the dangerous wildlife lurking, or so it seems, around every corner.

One not so useless fact about Queensland, and you need to remember this, is that it has the highest concentration of wildlife in the world that can do you serious damage and, if not, kill you. There is no way that you can take a lovely Sunday afternoon stroll to work off your roast without being in serious danger of not making it back home. Even then your safety cannot be guaranteed.

Let’s go through some of these, and I have to give credit here to one of my literary heroes, Bill Bryson (more on him later). Fortunately, I read, or rather, listened to the audio book of “Down Under,” after visiting the state. If you get the chance have a look. I can’t quite work out why anyone with a grain of sense would ever want to visit. Leave it up to you because, to be honest, if you can ignore the everyday threats to life, it is a wonderful looking place. Tropical in the extreme.

Now, we all know about the everyday monsters lurking in the sea, or in the grass, or under abandoned sheets of plywood, or just around the bend in your dunny, toilet. There are, of course, sharks, saltwater crocodiles, barrel loads of snakes and heap loads of spiders.

In the chapter of his book where he has just arrived in Cairns with a friend from England, he starts to lecture said friend on the other dangers hiding within spitting distance of you at any time, 24 hours a day 365 days a year or 366 in a leap year, don’t think they go to sleep when the number of the year is divisible by four!

I think the best way to highlight these threats is to quote, verbatim, the passage in his book that deals with this. He is far more eloquent than I am or ever will be. It, sort of makes light of the danger and, even to this day, leaves me rocking with laughter.

To set the scene, the intrepid travellers are walking along the strand of a picturesque bay, and Bryson observes that the sea is empty of swimmers, surfers or paddlers. Here goes: “It was the height of the season for box jellyfish, also known in Queensland as marine stingers or just stingers.

“By whatever name they go, these little bubbles of woe are not to be trifled with. From October to May, when the jellyfish come inshore to breed, they render the tropics useless to humans.

“It is quite an extraordinary thought when you are standing there looking at it, before us stood a sweep of bay as serene and inviting as you would find anywhere, and yet there was no environment on Earth more likely to offer instant death.”

There then follows an exchange between Mr Bryson and his friend. The friend expresses surprise and astonishment that if he waded into the ocean there was a real possibility of dying.

He is informed, with absolute certainty and in the affirmative, that he would and in the most wretched and abject agony known to man.

I think it is safe to say that his friend is nonplussed by this as he utters a common blasphemy in response.

Bryson then continues. “And don’t pick up any seashells,” he said, stopping him from leaning over to pick up a shell. He went on to explain about cone shells that lurk inside some of the handsomest of shells just waiting for a human hand to come into sight before sinking their vile pincers into you. And to think that this is a type of snail?

With alarm, his friend, once again, expresses incredulity that even shells can kill you.

“There are more things that can kill you up here than anywhere else in Australia. And that’s saying a lot, believe me.”

Bryson told his pal about the cassowary, something we would learn more about during an excursion from Cairns; a flightless, human sized bird that lives in the rainforest with a razor claw on each foot that can slice you open in a deft and appallingly expansive manner.

Then there were the green tree snakes that dangle, inconspicuously as they blend in with the surrounding foliage, from branches just waiting to latch onto any part of one’s anatomy, mainly the face.

Things don’t get any better. He goes on to mention the small but fearsomely poisonous blue ringed octopus whose caress is instant death, and the elegant but irritable numbray that moves through the water like a flying carpet discharging 220 volts of electricity into anything that troubles its progress.

Then there is the loathsome, sluggish stonefish, so called because it is indistinguishable from a rock, but the only difference being is that it has twelve spikes on its back that are sharp enough to pierce the sole of a shoe, and inject the hapless victim with a myotoxin with a molecular weight of 150,000.

I am really glad that his friend asked what that meant as it was well beyond my limited biological knowledge.

Bryson then continues, “Pain beyond description, followed shortly by muscular paralysis, respiratory depression, cardiac palpitations and a severe disinclination to boogie. You might be similarly discommoded by fire fish, which are easier to spot but no less hurtful. There’s even a jellyfish called the snotty.”

I must admit, that when listening to his tale, I was beginning to wonder if he was making it up to freak his friend out. I was glad when his friend stated that he thought Bryson was making it all up.

He assured him that he wasn’t before going on to describe the fearsome saltwater crocs that hide just below the surface of pretty much any salty waterway just waiting to leap out on any unsuspecting passerby before carting them off to their underwater larder for later consumption.

As we go further north the threats of crocodiles become more and more real. Apparently, thanks to our old friend, climate change, they can now be spotted as far south as Brisbane. Crocs do the same things for Jane as snakes do for me. That’s not to say that I relish the thought of meeting one of these prehistoric looking creatures anytime soon.

Having checked out his claims I have discovered that the numbray, also known, rather menacingly, as the coffin ray, will try and electrocute anything in its path. It isn’t usually fatal to humans but will definitely pack a punch.

Neither is the snotty a killer but, like all jellyfish, it sounds hideous. It can actually sting you without touching you. Strings of mucous, hence its name, trail through the water like tentacles, and can impart a rather painful sting. I found an article about them washing up on a Gold Coast beach. You would not believe the excitement that they caused within the marine biology sector.

I had read, when I could see, Mr Bryson’s book, but I am glad I didn’t listen to the audio version until after we came back from our Queensland sojourn. I would surely have not left the ship. Frightening. I hope this doesn’t put you off visiting this marvellous country, full, as it is, of wonderful sights, cosmopolitan cities and people more friendly than almost anywhere.

On that note... have you ever tried a talking book?

No running to report on this week so I thought I would introduce something new. Many of you sighted folk out there will not, ever, have considered purchasing a talking book.

I would say, however, why not give it a go? I understand that people often use them to help car journeys pass quicker. If that’s what works for you, that’s fine. To me, though, they are a line into a world that would be otherwise denied me.

It gives me the chance to enjoy the same works of fact and fiction that the rest of you do. I do veer toward fiction for most of my reading but, every now and again, I will add a factual tome to my digital library. The good thing is, I don’t need stacks of shelves to store my tapes or CDs as they are all either on my phone or in the cloud.

Sticking to today's theme of Bill Bryson, I have always loved his work ever since his “Notes from a Small Island,” about his encounters with things and matters British.

Then, a few years ago, he brought out a new book, “The Road to Little Dribbling.” It is the funniest book I have ever read, although it does touch on pathos and tragedy, everything a good read should be. This got me back into Bryson so I have started to download some of his earlier works.

“Down Under” is, as with all of his books, superbly witty. Given the size of Australia there is no book that can touch on everything in the country within twelve hours.

Some of it, of course, is very personal to him but is no less funny because of it. I particularly like an episode where he is bodyboarding in the water of one of the northern beaches of Sydney, an area that Jane and I know well, when he chances across a jellyfish. The way he describes it you would have thought he had just come across a nuclear bomb with the clock ticking.

He hires a car and takes himself off on adventures that are hilarious, like the time he and the same travelling companion as mentioned above, stopped in at a remote bar on a drive from Darwin to Alice Springs.

They both take full advantage of Australian hospitality and end up inviting every Bruce and Sheila to stay with them at their homes. I would love to know if anyone ever took them up on that.

It’s something we all do, isn’t it? You strike up some great friendships when you are away, a bit like holiday romances from when you were younger, although I am not sure that romance is really the right word? Some people take you up on an offer to visit and, from our experience only, they have always worked out well. I wonder if any holiday “romances” have ever worked out?

Bryson visits all the major cities: Adelaide, Brisbane, Darwin, Melbourne, Perth and Sydney, he even finds time to take in Canberra. Therefore, by default, he visits all the states as well. There are many smaller towns and cities that he calls in on during his trip. He doesn’t, however, get as far as Cooktown, in the north of Queensland. We did.

If I was going to start with any of his books I think it would be “Dribbling” just because it is so hilariously funny and, if you live in the UK, you will, most definitely, identify with it. “Down Under” would not be a bad place to start either.

I should mention the reader, I suppose. It is well read by William Roberts, although his Australian accents aren’t quite there, but not bad for an American. Roberts’s voice did take a little getting used to as “Dribbling” had been read by a different actor, whom, in my own mind, I had made the voice of Bill Bryson.

So, when you next visit your physical or virtual bookshop why don’t you give this a go? You won’t regret it.