CUP OF TEA CALLING!

In Sydney, the only people who knock on the front door without telephoning first are Jehovah's Witnesses, aspiring politicians and delivery people. In the village, a knock on the door replaces a phone call - and takes much longer, as usually there's a cup of tea involved as well. So there are some days when one is brimful of tea by the end. Even going to the village shop to pick up three tomatoes and an apple can involve a cup of tea, turning a five-minute expedition into a one-hour gossip.

Paul knocked on the door while I was having a cup of tea with Jeanette to ask if I would like to play a game of golf tomorrow. It was just as well I said yes because he had already booked the tee time. Paul is apparently very competitive, has a low handicap, and does not suffer a loss well. He is going to love playing with me, his ego will come away from the experience entirely in tact.

Gordon knocked on the front door accompanied by the meter man. On seeing I was already having a cup of tea with his wife, he declined to come and join us. Later he collared me to find out whether I was interested in learning the fiddle because he gives lessons. I explained that a short-lived flirtation with the violin in the Lower Third had decided me - and my long-suffering parents who had to listen to me practising - that I wasn't one whit musical. Gordon was not to be deterred and offered lessons instead in guitar or mandolin. I agreed to try the mandolin but only if he promises to fire me as his student once I prove I am completely useless. Gordon reckons anyone can learn. We will see.

As I was leaving, Gordon reminded me that I had expressed an interest in fly-fishing. Ah yes - but that was before I realised the weather would be too cold, I said. Och, nay, said Gordon - apparently if I dress up warm enough it will lovely out on the loch in the wee boat for THREE or FOUR HOURS!! Jeanette later told me that he is planning to organise a few people - there will be no escape from this outing, it seems. I checked the barometer - 2.5 celsius and dropping. I can feel my face, fingers and toes freezing over already and I don't think my wardrobe is up to the challenge although I did purchase a Sherpa hat the other day (a sheepskin affair with a rather fetching double-cuffed brim for extra warmth over ones ears).

After a few more knocks from the postman and two delivery men, Jenny, the only other Australian in the village, telephoned to arrange to come and knock on my door for a cup of tea. Jenny is from Queensland and she married the local bee-keeper. I am fascinated to know more.

This is the door of my cottage on which she will knock tomorrow afternoon. If you look closely enough you can see my laptop in the window; above is my bedroom and to the left is the living room with second bedroom above: