One small step for man, one giant leap . . .
So my small steps were slightly smaller than I anticipated, barely outside at all in fact.
I am sorry I let you all down. . . . But let me explain.
It wasn’t through any form of agoraphobia before anyone starts worrying, no no it was the fact that I have clearly not done enough weightlifting before I arrived!
I spent a good 20 minutes outside the house attempting to lock the front door behind us so that we could go off exploring our new neighbourhood, but no, as I pulled and jiggled and pushed and willed the key to turn, it stayed resolutely unlocked and mocked me further by opening wide inviting me back into my empty cavernous house every time I let go to rest my aching red raw fingers.
It wasn’t a good start.
Still I wasn’t to be beaten, I dealt with this minor setback in a forthright and practical manner as any independent woman of my age would, I called my husb.
Well it was all his fault obviously!
Once husb was dually dealt with, I gave up on the front door and made my way to the back of the house to try my luck with the back door, all the while my usually angelic! child screeching like a banshee at such a high pitch I am sure all the dogs from the neighbourhood came sniffing round to see who their new friend was.
I managed to open the back door no probs, made my way with said screaming child to garage to begin our adventure, an adventure that I just knew he was as keen on as me, you see his screeching was simply his little way of telling me how much he loved me and how happy he was to be spending the day with me and that he really didn’t mind that he was clamped into a borrowed pushchair from circa 1975.
To the untrained ear the screeching was so high and loud it would make your ears bleed, but not to me – it a mother/son bond thing, so strong no-one else understands the language. Like telepathy but just a touch louder.
Once I got to the garage, I realised that in fact the house was booby trapped, as once again I made my way back to the house unlocked the back door, went and got the car keys, came back, opened the car, got the garage remote out, unlocked the garage, put it back, relocked the garage all to the sounds of the Bear telling me just how ecstatic he was to be joining me!
Our first trip was to Medicare, Rock on!
That was pleasant.
Call me paranoid but I don’t think the Aussies have taken to us, to the glares and tuts of every person there, the bear decided at that point that he really needed to make me aware of his feelings of contentment and tried to struggle his way out of his victorian harness, while attempting to bite my leg like it was a chicken drumstick, to really make sure I got the point.
We shall be without medical cover for the duration of our stay.