Spider fright

I’VE been told I probably shouldn’t write about my family in this column.

Well, bollocks to that.

They all had a good laugh at me over the weekend and there is nothing so therapeutic than impugning siblings via mass media.

That’ll learn ‘em.

You see, my sister currently lives in Caboolture. But very soon, she’ll be returning to her sunny home of Far North Queensland.

So, in lieu of her departure, my brother decided to light one very big fire and invite us all over to sit near it.

Now, for some peculiar reson, we all thought this sounded like a marvellous suggestion.

Regardless of the way certain memebers of our family can bicker and others couldn’t organise themselves out of a wet paper bag, we thought this would be a relaxing afternoon of fun and childhood memories.

(*Insert big sigh here.)

Travelling to Caboolture where I would hop in my sister’s van and complete the journey to Hervey Bay, I discovered she was missing in action.

A quick call confirmed her whereabouts. She was at the salon having a Brazilian.

While she was on the phone. To me.

There are just some places you shouldn’t be answering your phone.

Anyway, after many hours travelling and a tedious lecture from my sister on the difference between country music and country and western music, we arrived in Hervey Bay.

We pulled up our chairs to the fire, XXXX in hand and proceeded to swap tales of old.

I was engrossed in a story about my mother’s nightclubbing days as my brother threw another tree on the fire.

Something soft touched my leg, and in my semi-inebriated haze, I glanced down to see an enormous tarantula on my knee.

Okay, it was just a huntsman, but it was huge.

After all, it had grown up in the scrub, probably eating hares and such.

It was so enormous, it had my entire knee-cap wrapped up in it’s long, hairy… ew, I can’t even talk about it!

I screamed, threw my beer, whacked the woolly mammoth off my skirt and ran.

The girls squealed and jerked their legs off the ground in sympathetic fear while the boys roared laughing.

They eventually killed it.

I wasn’t much for conversation after that.

I kept flinching at blades of grass touching my ankle.

When we decided to call it a night, I found my sleeping quarters wedged between my sister and my niece on a slowly deflating air mattress.

The perfect place to recuperate before markets in the morning and a five-hour drive home, isn’t it?

However, on account of certain people being incapable of haste, we only spent 30 minutes at the markets before they closed.

There was some good salvaged from the weekend: my brother has educated me on turning my dustbowl yard into a blooming oasis of flowers and my sister told me she liked me.

After that country music lecture, I was so sure she didn’t.





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