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Sunday, December 9, 2012

Rain, Hail or Whine

Hasn't the weather been funny lately? I know I've been getting the odd laugh from it.

I've been enjoying a number of chats with clients about how hot then stormy then hot it's been. Everything is so dry that looking over my balcony at the surrounding suburb, I'm hard pressed to find the colour green.

No doubt, come Monday, I'll be able to regale my customers with tales of my mowing (what I'll loosely term) my lawn today, which resulted in a cloud of dust and dry dog poo so thick I had a coughing fit.

A few weeks ago, after a storm gave us some brief relief from the heat, I was chatting to a bloke about the hail, explaining how a friend of mine ended up with big ding to their car from it.

"No," he exclaimed. "But the hail was tiny."

"It's true," I told him. "I saw the damage the storm caused myself."

My friend was at home with her two kids when the storm hit.

"MUM! HAIL!" her kids yelled from outside.

"I'm moving the car!" she called back. The car was still fairly new. The last thing she wanted was a dent on the duco.

She raced out. Sure enough there were little white stones pinging off the bonnet.

Rushing now, she jumped into the driver's seat and fumbled with the keys. The stones were coming a little faster now and making a deafening racket.

"Tell me when!" she called out the window, throwing the car into reverse and edging back.

And subsequently hit the side of the house.

"Just a little bit," she explained to her husband when she spoke to him.

So where were her kids? Inside. They hadn't heard her yelling.

So although my friend, like the rest of G-town, doesn't have any hail damage to her car, she does have an awfully big ding in her bumper caused, as I'm sure you'll agree, from the hail storm.

Meanwhile, here I am a couple of weeks later creating a toxic cloud with my mower because there isn't a hint of hail, rain or even light mist.

"Can you die from shit on the lungs?" I spluttered angrily at Tracey when I came in to flush my mouth out and grab a drink.

"Dunno," she said. "But you've clearly got shit on your liver."

Must be the weather: even her jokes are dry.

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About Me

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Bruce Devereaux is one of the nicest people he knows. When not at work he enjoys reading, writing, hiding from his children and not changing nappies.


His career, and if we used the term any more loosely an e might fall out, has included a gardener, a personal lender, a console operator, a stop/go man (not as big a bludge as you might think but great if you’re into sunburn, abuse and varicose veins), a cleaner of banks and pubs and, for a very brief period, a door to door salesman (until the last door he knocked on was answered by a very scary woman with tremendously hairy legs).


Bruce Devereaux currently works as a forty-five-year-old award winning customer service officer (glass statuette available upon request) for the Bank of Queensland and as a very casual employee for Corrective Services. He likes to believe he excels at both but then he has always been prone to exaggeration.


His favourite colour is green, with a picture of Dame Nellie Melba on one side and General Sir John Monash on the other. His favourite flower is self-raising.

 If you see him around town, call his wife immediately - he's probably snuck out and left her alone with all the kids.


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