The end of a rough week

Poor S went outside to feed the possums that call by in the evening looking for a snack, and not wearing shoes or socks when she went outside inadvertently stood on a ‘killer ant’ and of course it bit her. Apparently, after walking on it with all her weight, the thing was still walking about and rearing up at her looking for a fight. We named these things after we were both bitten by them. They don’t really kill; though at the time it feels like you might die. In Tasmania, where we first encountered them they are called jack jumpers which seems rather an innocuous name for something so vicious. It’s not only the nasty pinchers but the venom that causes the pain.

There is a variety of these ants in Melbourne. I doubt their bites are as painful as the Tasmanian ants, or perhaps we just got used to them. If it’s at all possible to get used to such a sting. I don’t know, but I declared war on them. At every opportunity, whenever I encountered any of them rearing up at me on their hind legs, whenever I was out walking, I’d crush the little bastards. I had to build a retaining wall in Warrandyte several years ago, and there was a nest of them right in the middle of where my wall was going. There was only one solution. I killed as many as I could by crushing their little bodies with a pair of long nosed pliers. One by one. There were bodies everywhere. I think they packed up and went elsewhere to live. I thought of all the pain and suffering they have caused everyone on each crack of the pliers. It was immensely satisfying.

S went to pick up the fluoro tube that had been ordered at the local lighting shop. They had ordered the wrong size, which will probably mean another week without a light in the kitchen. The kitchen benches looked great with the down lights on them. Why do things like this go wrong when you least need troubles. I’ll have a look around in Canberra, and perhaps bring one down with me next time I go down. S is running out of money, which is awkward because she’s got her eye on a couple of cushions that I gather would look good in the lounge.

The washing machine finally gives up the ghost. It had been on its last legs for months, with slipping drive belts that I’d occasionally tighten, but I couldn’t do much about the leaking water pump. I guess some water must have got into the motor, and with sparks, smoke, and a blown fuse at last it died.

The last branch on the big tree out the front is dying. This property is telling us to move on.

The real estate agent wants to have a meeting, but S doesn’t seem interested. I can guess why and it can only be bad news.