When journalist Debbie Delaney receives an invitation to afternoon tea with the town’s crazy lady and a centenarian with a secret, her curiosity gets the better of her. What is the secret Debbie alone has been chosen to hear and why does she feel so at home in Amberley Lane?

Afternoon Tea in Amberley Lane

The letter, handwritten on scented paper in near perfect script, arrived on Monday morning.  Debbie had read it a dozen times since. Eileen Patrick was a recluse, politely referred to as eccentric, but a little bit crazy in a ‘no harm to anybody’ sort of way.  It was rare for her to venture out of her house and no one could remember an invitation to visit having been extended. As a young girl, Debbie had been warned to stay well clear of the strange old lady in Amberley Lane and so was both curious and apprehensive.  As mysterious as the invitation itself, was the identity of ‘House’ and the secret to be told by the centenarian.

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What is going on at Mason Brick and Tile? Are they having a party or going postal? Fifteen years is a long time to spend in one job, even longer to be put upon. Can recompense be made in time or will Henderson be pushed to take drastic action.

Mason Brick and Tile

Fourteen years and fifty-one weeks.  That’s how long Henderson has been with Mason Brick and Tile.  For the last three weeks he’s been counting the days.  Before that he was counting the weeks, before that the months and before that, year after tedious year.

George Mason has that auspicious day, one week away, marked and highlighted in his diary.  Henderson will be the first to reach the fifteen years of service.  No-one else has stayed with Mason Brick and Tile for ten years, nor even five.  George Mason knows this to be so; he’s checked the records several times.  Through some unfortunate circumstance, he isn’t sure what; the occasion of Henderson’s ten years of service had passed unnoticed.  So determined is he that this will not happen again, he has drawn up a project plan.

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A snake in the back yard is a frightful thing, made worse by neighborhood horror stories. A bunch of blokes from the pub in pursuit of it is a comedy. An unlikely happy ending is a possibility.

The Foot Snake Story

It was one of those blisteringly hot Aussie bush afternoons. The air on my face felt like the warmth from embers of a dying fire. If I stopped long enough to listen, I could hear the wheat in the paddock crackling dry in the wind. My brother Neil and his annoying friend John were playing in the cubby, a tiny wooden hut between the shed and veggie garden, with openings cut for a window and doorway. The oppressive heat inside was making the boys cantankerous. Niggling at each other turned into arguing and it would only be a matter of time before there was shoving and the inevitable tears.

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A young boy up to no good and another in pursuit – is it a recipe for disaster or the adventure of a lifetime? Navigate a course of thorny bushes, and snappy dogs and find out how yellow paint binds these boys together forever.

The Pursuit

He didn’t notice me following him.  I was extraordinarily proud of the fact at the time, for it was rumoured that Neil was sharper of eye and ear than any other boy at Wumberidgee State School.  It would have been for the better if he had turned and discovered me; if the course of time had been changed by something as seemingly insignificant as he spying me.  Perhaps then Roger Harris’s champion sheep dog, Red, would have remained red and Stan Simpson’s chook shed would not have burned down, prematurely roasting his prize eating hens, feathers on.

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If you’ve ever left a shopping trolley abandoned in a car park, denied its right to the safety of the trolley return bay, you’ll think twice after you’ve read this tale.

Trolleys International

You may decide that I, not being human, flesh and blood, as it were, am not important enough to hold your attention. But I am here. I exist. A type P7 Shopping Trolley.  Real metal and plastic, expertly arranged.

You might not wish to spend a moment of your time wondering how it came to be, that I am here alone in the middle of the parking lot, basking in the sunshine. Have you forgotten what it is like to bask in the sunshine? You would not have if it were you destined to spend so much time chained in a trolley return bay.

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