WUK-WUK / HUMAN HEADLINE / MIDSOMER MURDERS / CHEEKY CHICKY

 It is  hard to know where to start, doctor . I’ll just  get comfy on  your  leather couch   and  start to  tell you  how badly I have  deteriorated   since  my  previous  expensive  session , due  to  the  ordeal  of  trying  to  prevent  the  murderous  Barking  Owl  from  killing  our  cute  young   Curlew, Chicky, above, who  could  be  a  girl, going  on the  Hibiscus  adornment.

Night  after   night  I   have  tossed  and  turned, listening  to  the numerous  strange  outside  sounds , attempting to detect  the onslaught of   the  owl , with its distinctive  wuk-wuk  bark. On   numerous occasions I  have rushed out  with a  torch  when  the Curlews sounded  upset.  The  outside  light  blowing  did  not  help . 

Nodding off  to sleep on  the lounge  watching  a  repeat of   a  Midsomer   Murders  episode in which  a villain  was   done  in with  a   pitchfork, I  became aware  the Curlews were  being disturbed . I knew  it was not  an owl and  on investigating  with    the  torch    discovered  there were no  less than  three multi –coloured   Cane  Toads  near  the curlew  pad, one   sitting  in  their  water bowl. Two were captured , above ,and placed  in an archive  container  for examination in the  morning  because of  their  strange   colour.  Wildlife  rangers confirmed  they  were  toads  later  on and   they  were  done  in a la Midsomer  Murders , with the  garden fork, and buried.

 

That   night, before going to bed, in   the distance could  be  heard  the spine- tingling   wuk-wuk.On  red alert, I  hardly slept  all night , possums holding a jamboree on the roof   adding  to the  tension. Again  the curlews sounded   upset. Running   out  , I   find another  toad  in their drinking water  and  it  became  another  victim  inspired by   the  numerous  crime  shows  on  the  box. 

 

DERRYN  HINCH  GETS  PHYSICAL

 Finally  fall  a  sleep and  have this  strange dream  about  the long  gone  Sydney  daily tabloid newspaper,The Sun,  on  which  I  worked  more  than   50 years  ago, about to close down at  4pm that day. To  prevent  this  happening , I  go looking for, of  all people , " The  Human  Headline " aka " The  Human Armpit" , journalist , broadcaster, author ,  Derryn  Hinch,  to  stage a  protest  demo.  Desperately  seeking  Derryn  in  my  dream , I am  directed  down   a dark alley  in  Melbourne  and  come to a  gymnasium said to be  run by him.... I notice you are shaking your head doctor, but  there  is more to come.
 

I  knock on  the door of  the  gym , a  small  peep- hole,  like  those  seen  in  speakeasies  in  prohibition days,  opens ,  a  gruff  guy demands to  know what I  want .When I tell  him I urgently need to  speak to Hinch, he abruptly says  he  is  not  there  and  bangs   the  door  shut.  The Sun sinks a  burning  bloody ball in the  mighty  Pacific Ocean,  to   parody  a  travelogue of  yesteryear .  At   this  stage , doctor,   I  should   point out  that in real life  Hinch  actually was the  editor of The  Sun  after a stint  in New York . ( Since  writing  the Hinch  episode , I  heard  that  he is likely to go to prison  again  for refusing  to pay a   court  fine ; perhaps  they  could  put  him  in  charge of  the  gymnasium  in  the  slammer ?) 
 

 FOOD ADDITIVES  BLAMED

 I  suspect   all  the  Chevy  Chase  food additives  in  the  Festive Season  tucker  and the  57  slices of  left over  ham  caused   the  nightmare .   Meanwhile , on  a  happier note,  Chicky   is   growing  rapidly.  Its  fluff-covered ,    tiny  finger- like wings  have  developed  into  near  real  lift  off  gear,  At   times  the  wonderful  bird dances  about  like a Sugar Plum Fairy, on  the  verge of  becoming  a  flighty  flapper .

Long-legged  Chicky, left,  with parent,  on   back verandah against  backdrop of  old bottles and  cobbler's  kit  ; straw broom  used  to  dong  galloping   possums  on  roof ,  fence . 

 

Shortly  after  midnight one  hot  night  , I  wake with a dry  throat ,  get a glass of  water,  put  it on the  dressing table  by my bed. Can’t  get  back  to  sleep, toss  and turn.  Sounds  of  the  night  intrude...heavy breathing (possums) ,the mating  call of  a passing  Patagonian Trotting  Duck,  a  low flying Bunyip. Then  something strange and  loud. Reach for  the  torch- and knock over  the  glass  of water . Jump up , switch on  the light and  with  the  bath  mat dry  my  hearing aids (now capable of  picking  up  the  mating call of  Humpback Whales ),  note  pad,  watch.  No wonder  I  get  the feeling   that  my  life  is fast  going  down the gurgler . Wife   is  disturbed by me  clattering  about   and   asks  what  the  hell  is  going  on.

Then  the  computer loses   about  300 pages  of  drafts , background information, hints , downloads , etc . Thankfully, a smart  $20  Kiwi-Australian computer nerd  is able to  recover all but  100 pages.  Still trembling  at  the loss  , I  have a  secret   weep into my pillow each night   as  I toss about  ready to  spring into action - now armed  with a samurai sword -so that when I hear  wuk-wuk  in the backyard  during  the  witching hours I will rush out and end  the  strain  once  and for all.  When  do you suggest  I  should  start my shock  treatment , doctor?