Letter from Oz

Apologies for the long silence. We are in Brisbane and I have been preoccupied with the annual family catch-up. This week we've been on the beautiful North Stradbroke Island, one of several sand islands just off the Brisbane coast, with spectacular beaches, great surf, dolphins, whales and the odd shark.

A woman was taken by a shark here in recent years swimming with her dog at dusk in murky water. All the rules broken at once: don't swim at dusk (feeding time) with a dog (lots of splashing) in water where you can't see the bloody great shark coming at you. If attacked, Ian assures me, the thing to do is biff the blighter in the snout with all your might. Uncertain as to whether I would have the presence of mind to do anything other than wait to be swallowed, I avoid the surf and what lies beneath, to the amusement of my more gung-ho Aussie relatives.

Frankly, I think it's quite healthy to have a fear of all things deadly. As well as sharks, I am also terrified of encountering poisonous spiders and venomous snakes - and let's face it, Australia has more than its fair share of these nasties. When I lived here, I spent the first few weeks religiously shaking out my shoes each morning to dislodge any lurking scorpions. Ian nearly split his sides laughing at me when he found out and I suppose he was right to point out that any scorpions were unlikely to scale three stories of an inner city apartment building and end up in my work shoes. But you can never be too careful...

So it felt rather brave to suggest a bush walk the other day - five kilometres or so to the freshwater Blue Lake in the middle of the island. "We may even spot a koala or two," I told the girls, although my eyes were firmly on the ground searching for snakes. I should have been checking out the tree trunks as we rounded a corner and spotted this staring at us:

Now I know it's not deadly, but it had a steely prehistoric glare that was quite unnerving all the same. Undaunted, we trudged on through the bush, forded the odd stream

passed some very odd looking plants

until we reached the lake.

We found a spot by the shore to eat, our only companions two council workers and a group of overly-amorous German backpackers.

As we were tucking into our lunch and I was pondering why sarnies Downunder always have to include a giant slab of beetroot, the council workers came over shaking a large, half-full plastic bag.

"Youse eat prawns?" they inquired. "Goddem off a mate's boat in Amity this mornin'. We can't eat 'em all. Youse can 'ave 'em if you want."

Ian did want and as the workers ambled off, I reflected life must be pretty good for them on Straddie - fresh prawns for lunch, surfing after work before heading to their house with a sea-view (now worth squillions thanks to the influx of townies wanting second homes) and just time for a quick stubbie and some footie-watching with their mates before their Sheila tells them grub's up. No wonder Ian's looking wistful. It might be time to come home.