A stroll in the suburbs of Perth.

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Arriving in Perth after a long haul flight is always a relief to see that by now familiar outline of the high rise city centre. In the past twenty years several new editions to the skyline have been made but they do nothing to entice me as I prefer to stay at a safe distance finding my first port of call with a friend in the suburbs of Victoria Park. The bus drops me off just east of the Swan River but rather than wait for a connection I amble the couple of miles in the scorching heat like those mad dogs and English men who revel to feel the sun on one back once again. Arriving hot at the house I find the key in the usual place, a convenient pot in the back yard and let myself in to familiar surroundings. Its not long before she arrives and we soon catch up on news as if it was just last week that we waved our goodbyes at the airport and not two years.

The dawn chorus of bird song alone tells me I'm in WA with the whistle of the magpies and the crows lamenting call. A mid morning stroll is in order to shake off the remaining jet lag seems in order. The heat of the day is already making its presence felt and the streets are deserted. White Ibis forage in the shade of a well planted garden, while next door an elderly gent waters his lawn by hose pipe. He seems in trouble as I venture a good day. With one knee strapped up he's shaking and unable to move. I ask can I help and he points to his walking frame alongside the house, "could you fetch that thing over", "sure thing" I reply and wheeling it over he sit down with obvious relief and we get talking. At eighty two he's buggered, had the knee replaced and the doctor sent me for an MRI scan. Apart from also having a pace maker there was no way they could do it. Bleeding doctor should have known that, the thing needs draining look at the size of it. I tell him I'm off on a wander but I'll call back this way to check he's OK.

My stroll takes me over towards the local school playing fields and I wonder at the riot of colour that Perth gardens display at this time of year and in particular the brilliant orange/red of the flame tree that requires no Christmas decorations. Houses with young children stand out, noteworthy for the back yard overspill of discarded plastic toys. Finding an empty overgrown plot I venture in through the overgrowth for a nose about. Picking a couple of lemons I imagine what fun it would be to build a Childs secret cubby house shack within the dense cool microclimate. On my return to the street the old man is no longer on his front lawn and to my relief and probably his he has made it back into the house. Two doors up a new house is going up. The 1920's bungalow has gone and the site totally cleared, nothing remains as the previewed building sprawls out to provide accomodation and shade but little space for planting, colour and bird life.

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