Snap Shot #78 – The Bluebottle Blues

bluebottle

I’m running along Bondi Beach on a crowded summer Sunday. It’s over a decade before I’ll call this suburb home. This is a tourist stop for my visiting father, who’s freckled body is laying on a towel next to my girlfriend. My freckled body is enjoying a rare run, weaving around beach goers. I see two boys, brothers, using a stick to poke what looks like a blue bit of rubber about to get washed out to sea. Thinking they might be about to lose a pair of googles, I decide to help them out. I stop, bend down, pick up the blue thing, and hold it out towards them in my palm. They stare at me with a look I’ve never seen – aghast, bewildered and flummoxed, their small jaws hanging. My hand starts to tingle. I look down at the blue bit of rubber, which of course is not a blue bit of rubber. It’s a bluebottle – the local jelly fish whose tentacles unleash an especially nasty sting. Instinctively, I turn my hand over. Most of the blue bugger drops to the ground. But the rest sticks to my hand, which has graduated from a tingle to a throb. I thrust my palm into a wet patch of sand and rub. I rinse it off in a puddle. No more sticky blue bits. Still shocked by what they’re seeing, the oldest brother manages a question: “Does it hurt?” As nonchalantly as I can manage, I reply: “No”. I then calmly continue my jog, aware that the two stunned beach boys are watching the weirdo run off. What they don’t see is my face contorted in pain. My hand is on fire.

Snap Shot #61– Killer Cavoodle

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To look at him, Nitro the Two Toned Cavoodle doesn’t appear to be an overly fierce creature, with his woolly shag and goofy grin. But it turns out ferocity is in the eye of the beholder. It’s a mild sunny afternoon – the last day of winter. Nitro and I are walking along the Bondi Beach promenade. He’s off leash – always a slight risk as he enjoys greeting people by jumping onto his hind legs and placing his paws as high up as they’ll reach. With toddlers, this tends to be head height. While most people are happy enough to return his affection, others are not so keen (especially those attired in white pants). But he knows that if he becomes a nuisance it’ll mean being hooked back up to his leash. So lately he’s been suitably restrained, more interested in sniffing the latest piss stains than harassing people. We are walking past the set of steps that leads up to the grassy hill. Suddenly, a Muslim woman decked out in full hijab and a long dress spots Nitro and starts screaming. She scrambles up the steps, Nitro on her heels, thinking this game is great fun. The hysterical woman then starts running along the grass, shrieking. Nitro’s loving it. Then, about to lose her mind, the woman sprints to the edge of the grass and jumps off the wall, sailing through the air. The bizarre sight momentarily transports me back to my childhood when I used to watch Sally Field as ‘The Flying Nun’. Unlike Sally, this woman only flies for a few metres – a pretty impressive feat nonetheless – before rushing into the arms of her bemused and smiling husband. Once she feels safe, she too manages a nervous smile. I shake my head and laugh. Better beware the Killer Cavoodle.

Flying Nun