Tarpeena Tales 4


This is the friendly season, the flies are very friendly- driving people mad- and every one seems to be waving at you but I think they are flapping at flies.

This seems to be a bad year for them, or really a good season for them and a bad one for us, and the little perishers cling to you wherever they can escape your clawing and beating hands. The only one not bothered is the dog as they seem to ignore her bad breath and smelly coat in preference for our aftershaves, perfumes and deodorants.

There is a fortune to be made for someone if they could invent a deodorant that attracts the opposite sex and repels flies. Except for the gay community which would have to use the same sex flavour to be attractive I suppose.

And the dog’s breath was particularly bad after John and mine fishing trip to Southend this week.

On an aside I wonder how many Southend’s there are on the world’s coasts. I know of two but I bet there are more.

Anyway back to the fishing trip which broke the normal mould for us of actually being productive. We had a good time in fine weather catching and releasing most of the juvenile fish stock of the area but nonetheless managed to hook some larger ones intent it seemed on being our dinner.

The cool change came through at the right time for us to head home and proudly display our catch to Nuran who was suitably pleased and very surprised


The task of gutting and heading the catch fell to me as John had managed to make himself scarce but he volunteered to bury the leftovers in the garden.

He chose a good spot and Trixie was close by to make sure she knew where the goodies were going.

Now there is nothing better for a dog it seems than buried entrails covered in dirt and ants  so as soon as John had left the yard they were dug up and scoffed. He could have saved himself the effort of burying them.

 But fish heads in a dog’s diet need a bit of marinating so when I buried them again for her they were left undisturbed until the next day. 24 hours is the ideal marinating time and just after she was fed (it seemed the biscuits were to be disdained), the fish heads were dug up and crunched  down. This was witnessed by John and me whilst playing pool in the games room.

Trixie has fish breath most of the time and the next day she was particularly ripe but

still the flies were not bothering her but me.


 I have developed a swatting technique with her leash that keeps them away from my face and only leaves me with an occasional welt across my cheek.

Bloody flies.

The place is quiet again now that John has gone back to Adelaide quietly satisfied no doubt with his many victories at Knockout Whist and Pool.

I am comforted by the knowledge that I am still the family darts champion though.

Nuran had a good time too, cooking all the extra dishes. The Fish Soup she made from a couple of smaller fish (they were taken only because they had died before they could have been measured), was magnificent and there is now another recipe to go in her folder.

She was also busy on the sewing machine creating a rugby top and t shirt for John as a souvenir of his visit.

It’s a pity he had to go back before the maiden race of our greyhound Scottish Fling on Saturday. It seems she is a definite starter which is more than her owners one of which has to work and another of which will be asleep as he is on midnight shift.

So the kilts will be mothballed until we can all embarrass ourselves together. We had promised to celebrate our mutual Scottish heritage, remember my dad was born in Glasgow, by wearing kilts but I am not doing it by myself.

John Davies has resiled from the wilds of Goondiwindi and is going to work at Balmoral see- a Scottish name... might be an omen, so is available to cheer her on.

Further news on her fortunes in the next Tale.

The school next door is winding down for the end of the year and the kids are even friendlier than normal. But then again that could be because of the flies too.

The smaller ones are probably counting the sleeps to Christmas and making Christmas cards. Nothing changes. Even as I get older I am no wiser and certainly still unlucky at cards. As I told John just the other day.

 Mind you the only way I beat him at Pool is to be lucky, his words, so maybe it all evens out.

Someone once said “the harder I practice the luckier I get”. But I think he was an idiot because it hasn’t worked on my darts yet. Just because he was a good sportsman of some sort doesn’t make him a sage.

He was just lucky to be good. It’s in the genes.

Not mine though.

Keep smiling and have a nice day.