Nature

Comparisons between Australia and England are inevitable but none are so obvious as the discrepancy between the two when it comes to nature. Where the English countryside is a softly muted palette of grey, green and brown, with gentle overtones of weak sunshine filtering through, the Australian landscape is clear-cut and harshly defined, every colour standing out boldly and brilliantly against a seemingly endless sky. 

Everything is bigger and brasher, including the birds. Innocuous-looking rainbow-coloured lorikeets and bright rosellas utter harsh screeches, while ugly magpies are relatively melodious. There are no soft English songbirds or gentle twittering. 

Insects are aplenty too. Yesterday evening, while sitting outside in the garden having supper, we heard one persistently loud and shrill cicada which, when tracked down and gently flicked from it's bush to the grass in the name of a peaceful meal, turned out to be a monster, capable of bringing traffic to a standstill with a mere brush of its legs.

Charlie carefully scrutinises each insect he discovers and has an irresistible urge to manhandle them all - he visibly fights with his conscious knowing it may retaliate, but in the end curiousity wins and the poor creatures (usually hapless beetles) are upended or pursued around the house until I take mercy on them and throw them in to the garden.