French | English
My book
| Book's extracts : "A Frog in the Billabong" ….”The jewel of this little paradise is Wineglass Bay. The view has to be deserved, however, as the Bay is only accessible on foot. You have to scale a steep granite peak across the 'saddle', among the orchids, lichens and bottle-brush which takes about forty-five minutes, then go down the other side. The spectacle is amazing: a strip of fine white sand on one side and pink granite mountains on the other set off the blue water saphire in the middle with a backdrop of Cape Degerando, Schouten Island and Ile des Phoques (Seal Island) - all of this accompanied by the chattering of cockatoos and rosellas. A isthmus of bushland, composed of coastal banksia with its yellow flowers and saw-edged leaves, tea trees with their sweet-smelling lemon fragrance producing an oil with therapeutic properties sold all over the world, separates the bay from Hazards Beach, with Refuge Island and Fleurieu Point in the distance. Alain and I enjoyed a stroll along here before returning to Freycinet Lodge wearied by a five hour walk but full of the magic of it all. “ ….”Despite the relaxed happy-go-lucky atmosphere of Richmond our first visit to one of the town’s two groceries, almost as old as the village itself, and referred to by the locals as ‘Mrs Grice’s’, was not as warm and welcoming as we might have hoped. Having purchased a few small items, we offered a hundred dollar note to settle our bill. Surprisingly, Mrs Grice appeared in person, her greying hair in curlers set in a bouffant style, frowning, a suspicious look on her face, the very personification of the austere headmistress of a strict boarding school for girls. Seizing the green note she fingered it knowingly as though she were a highway bandit or perhaps an employee of the Reserve Bank. Still not satisfied, she then held the note up to the ceiling light to make sure it was genuine. Mrs Grice was a suspicious person, not one to be taken in easily. A pillar of the village, nothing escaped her. A sort of barometer or parish newsletter, she could give you the entire family tree of every family settled there. Tourists came and went, they turned up from who knows where, better be careful, one never knew. With time and no doubt after checking us out and ascertaining who we were and why we had come to Richmond, little by little Mrs Grice started to give us the welcome she reserved for locals, including weather reports and an update on local gossip. A sure sign. She even became one of my customers. And every time Alain pushed open her shop door he was greeted by ‘How are you mussels?’ At least that’s how he understood it at first - an expression she reserved for regular male customers. Somewhat intrigued and convinced that this was some sort of subtle slang, Alain did not react but none the less wondered why Mrs Grice regularly called him a mollusc. In the plural, what’s more! When he thought he was a frog ! It was only after several months pondering about it that Alain finally understood that she was actually saying ‘How are you, muscles? (obviously Mrs Grice needs glasses). The pronunciation is, of course, strictly identical. Ah, the mysteries of the English language !” |
Summary of the Book  |
||