...and all through the house, nothing much was moving, mainly due to the large quantities of industrial strength bug spray that we've used liberally both inside and out earlier this afternoon.
Four cans of the stuff we've gone through, and it's mighty powerful. The indoor spray is to be used around the edges of walls, windows and doors and certainly has a pretty impressive effect on the cockroaches. Out they shoot from whichever nook or cranny they're hiding in, desperate to get away from the relentless campaign of gassing. Little do they know that it's already too late, and they seldom get more than two or three yards before they feel honour-bound to flip themselves onto their back and die slow, agonising and wiggly-legged deaths. Serves 'em right, little bastards.
They've been driving Mrs V to distraction, and whilst we spent most of the day out-and-about, her mood has suggested that the roaches have never been far from her mind. The outdoor spray - which I was in charge of, being the man of the house - is sprayed in a perimeter around the property. A proverbial line in the sand, so the instructions on the tin suggest, that will ne'er be crossed by any creepy-crawly - unless it's a particularly suicidal one. And it really seems to work too. A bug came tootling across my 'ring of steel' (as I'm now calling it), made it about a foot over, then quietly pitched over on it's back and died. Result.
You also need to spray around doors, windows and under window sills. This is fun. One sweep of the spray beneath the sill and all manner of wildlife falls out; roaches, beetles and some pretty sinister looking spiders (having referred back to our landlord's copy of 'The Ladybird Book of Spiders That Can Make You Poorly' I feel I may have taken out one or two funnel-webs, which is scary).
Now, don't get me wrong - I'm very much the animal lover and find the diverse wildlife out here fascinating - but it's just not all that pleasant sharing your 'home' with a bunch of roaches. Perhaps there's a bug spray out there that only targets cockroaches, but if there is, this one ain't it. It decimates entirely, and whilst I feel genuinely bad for the spiders and ladybirds, if it can put a smile on Mrs V's face in time for Chirstmas morning then it's a price worth paying. Sorry.
We went on a shopping trip into town this morning, not just to buy several gallons of industrial strength roach spray, but also to pick up everything for our Chirstmas lunch tomorrow. Months back, when we first started planning this trip, we had pretty grand aspirations of doing the whole 'Christmas-on-the-beach' thing so beloved of ex-pats, but as the big day has got closer - and after speaking to quite a few locals on the subject - most people still seem to opt for turkey with all the trimmings. We've turned our back on most things 'Xmas' this year, so we decided we'd go for it - on the condition that we could actually find a turkey in Australia on Christmas Eve.
Which we did; big bugger of a thing from a cracking family butchers on the main street of Avalon. We also treated ourselves to a couple of steaks the size of toilet seats to chuck on the barbie later in the week. Then onward to a couple of different green grocers (more of those gigantic, fresh veggies) and a rather nice deli. All sorted, we dropped our perishables off, launched an attack on the indigenous wildlife that Chemical Ali would have been proud of, then, having rendered our home-away-from-home uninhabitable for the next few hours, headed on up the peninsula for a drive.
I say peninsula, for that's exactly what it is. The Barrenjoey Peninsula to be precise, with the South Pacific to the east and a calm patch of water called Pittwater to the west. We had our hearts set on a pint or two, but having passed a couple of pubs that actually had queues outside - the likes of which I haven't seen since the opening weekend of 'Star Wars' - we realised that the Aussies take Christmas Eve way too seriously and decided to carry on driving up to the end of the peninsula, which culminates in a little town called Palm Beach. Otherwise known - to retired widows, students and the terminally unemployed - as Summer Bay, setting of the soap 'Home and Away'.
Unlike it's alternate soap opera persona, Palm Beach is swish, with luxurious looking villas climbing up the wooded hillsides all staring out across the turquoise sea. This is Serious Money territory, appparetly, with the likes of Nicole Kidman et al having holiday homes here. Very beautiful it is too. We happened across a rather attractive bar/restaurant called Barrenjoey House and, remembering the queues coming out of the pubs further down the coast, decided that this was a much better spot to stop for a drink and - perhaps - a bite to eat.
I ordered what turned out to be, quite frankly, an absolutely outstanding mojito, a few sips of which convinced me that we should check out the food to see if it was anywhere near as good. And it was. We all had fish goujons (made out of a fish I've never heard of and can't remember the name of) with chips and home-made tartare sauce. Bloody marvellous it was, so I had another mojito to celebrate. Not a bad way to spend Christmas Eve, when you consider the mayhem of cramming oneself into an overly busy, overheated pub back home.
After dinner we took a wander on the beach, then headed back home to put Tizer to bed, sweep up the cockroach carcasses, open a bottle of wine and play a few games of pool. All terribly civilised.
Right - must be off. Santa is due and, apparently, he knows if you're sleeping and he knows if you're awake. So, I've decided I better be good, for goodness sake. G'night...
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