Even in the tropics I still cop a frosty reception

APOLOGIES for the lack of a Patter last Friday, but being marooned in North Queensland the only way I had to get a column back to Toowoomba was by way of homing pigeon and they were too soggy to fly.

Fair dinkum! They reckon Queen Elizabeth II has had a long rain (sic).

Some towns in North Queensland copped so much rain that they were measuring it in metres – I kid you not.

When the three of us planned our trek north some months ago, no-one mentioned that the Townsville drought would break and dump metres of water onto the place on the very weekend we flew into town.

We’re used to the odd cranky tourist on The Strand in Townsville but those three-metre-plus crocodiles really were something else.

I must commend the hospitality of our North Queensland hosts, though, who were all more than helpful when we found ourselves flooded in and having to stay at places longer than we had booked.

Sue and Eddie of the Waters Edge on the Strand were incredibly helpful and understanding as was Emma at the Lucinda Fishing Lodge where we were marooned by rising flood waters to the point she didn’t even charge us for the extra days we were hemmed in there.

However, while I must commend my younger colleagues who accompanied me on the trek for putting up with an old man’s eccentricities and personal habits, that’s not to say their patience wasn’t sorely tested at times.

Even something as simple as airconditioning proved a sticky point of contention among our trio.

It being North Queensland, despite the constant downpour, the temperature remained in the high 20s and low 30s the whole time so our air-conditioning was at a premium seeing as the weather had us spending more time indoors than we would normally have planned.

(A pause to thank God for comfortable accommodation, air-conditioning, a pack of cards and alcohol which got us through some testy times.)

However, I woke early one morning all a shiver which one could imagine is quite unusual in the tropics.

With steam coming from my mouth, I thought I was back in Toowoomba in July but a glance at the airconditioning settings found that the temperature had been set to minus 14 degrees, hence the Arctic-like atmosphere of the room.

“What the…?” I exclaimed with as much decorum as I could muster.

My young room-mate explained that she was indeed responsible for the frosty reception (nothing new there, I thought) but that there was reason to her methods.

Having known me for some time and privy to my proclivities including my mid-slumber practices, she had plunged the room into polar-like temperatures under the guise of ensuring that I kept the blankets well and truly on, thus muffling the effect of nocturnal flatulence.

(Apologies, but really, there is no other polite way of putting it.)

Being the tropics, I hadn’t even packed a beanie or gloves and I could hear my arteries freezing up as I sought explanation as to the Arctic conditions to which we were being subjected in the room.

Now, one should hardly be blamed for what goes on during one’s sleep, even bodily functions which are out of the control of an unconscious person, but she in charge of the room temperature was having none of it.

“Well, in the end it was only partially successful,” she complained during the morning briefing.

Really, a bloke has feelings, you know!

And, then there was the snoring. I couldn’t see what the problem was. I didn’t hear any snoring at all but by the force of the pillow regularly thrust into my face in the darkness, I gathered I was the culprit.

‘‘ I WOKE EARLY ONE MORNING ALL A SHIVER WHICH ONE COULD IMAGINE IS QUITE UNUSUAL IN THE TROPICS.