It is sunny again. I am giving Summer a gold star for persistence. It is as if my diary, now on its 150th day, is dreaming the Aussie weather to me, like a a corroboree, from somewhere deep in the furnace of the Outback.

Two weeks ago, I started playing tennis on a Wednesday morning with a new group of pheasants, with a smattering of internationals, at the Hurlingham Club. I wanted to join the group, because of the stellar coach, Paul, who has been number one on the world seniors’ tour, many times.

To my astonishment, the pheasants, plus others, have taken me into their nye (flock of pheasants), like I am one of them. This was confirmed, when Anna invited me to join them for a Bridget Jones Baby Shower at her home in Richmond last night, before we trotted off to see the latest film at the local Odeon cinema.

I didn’t know what to expect. I was just grateful to be included.

It is ages since I’d been to Richmond, and I had forgotten how striking it is, perched on the banks of the Thames, on the border of Surrey. As I wound through the town centre and into the residential part, I was reminded of Bath, and Clifton in Bristol, and Paddington in Sydney: elegant and refined.

Anna is elegant; she is also refined, like her pretty terraced house, with its black wrought iron detail. But she also has a great deal of oomph – the X-factor. They all do.

They are not strictly the Barbour donning, welly wearing, labrador walking, braying speaking type of pheasant. I discovered that they all appear to share a love of foreign beauty – a number of them have homes scattered around the continent.

I knocked on the door. Do you remember the scene in the first Bridget Jones film where Bridget turns up to a country ‘tarts and vicars’ party; she is dressed like a Playboy Bunny, whilst everyone else has chickened out and turned up as per usual, apart from her Dad, who is a vicar? Anna opened the door as a Bunny, with a capital B. She was a knockout: a previous model and ballerina can wear pretty well anything and look fabulous. I was handed a white bunny key fob to stick somewhere on my body.

 

 

It was as if I had been transported, on a magic carpet, to the New Year’s  fireworks party in  Sydney – with tinsel like plumes erupting from the Sydney Harbour Bridge to the sky. Life was suddenly in technicolour.

The pace was fast and raucous for the next hour and a half. We played pin the Spanx on the Bridget sketch (rustled up artistically by Anna), sang karaoke to the soundtrack of the film and drank Cristal champagne, compliments of Erin, with stew and mash (perfect pheasant grub). Then we rushed down the hill to the cinema and took our seats and companionably laughed our heels off together.

 

Sometimes, when you least expect it, and you think nothing new will happen, life surprises you with a genie out of a bottle. Your wish is my command!

If a genie did magic out of a bottle, I would command, “Please take me forthwith to the beach at Austinmer, on the Illawarra coastline, south of Sydney, and plonk me hook line and sinker into the champagne froth of the surf, and then make the sun shine on my face and shoulders, and let my limbs feel the force of the swell, and let me taste the salt of the sea on my tongue, and let me hear the squawk of the seagulls overhead, and let all the people I love be there with me enjoying the beauty of my favourite place in the world. And I’d like to have a barbie at sunset. I am Australian!”

You can take the sheila out of Australia, but you can’t take Australia out of the sheila!

But last night, it was like a swim in the surf, refreshing and life affirming.

Today, I am going to Paris.