A bite at the cherry.
North Queensland, when I knew it in the early 1990’s was still fairly sparsely populated, especially north of Townsville. The population seemed to be made up of either locals who’d never moved more than 10k’s from their home; farmers who drove at half the speed limit, a hat pulled firmly down over their ears never checking any mirrors for anyone else on the road; and the odd balls, drifters, loners, quasi hippies without the commune, people looking for a place to drop out of the populated mainstream that was, and still is, the cities of the south. I’d found a nice little house to purchase, one road back from the sea itself. It was brick, unusual in that country of wooden houses on stilts, the so called “Queenslanders”,, or concrete hollow blocks that in England we had called clinkers. It had been built as a show home to try and encourage the sale of the other blocks developed around a country club sort of affair, not then existent. It was to