Misshapen by the southerly busters blasting around the headland, the wizened branches of the old callistemon provide a haven of hoppings for the raucous troupe of Rainbow Lorikeets,as they invade the camping ground. They hop. They squabble. They trapeze.
Their antics entrance jaded city-slickers, as they peg tents, unload eskies and pour coldies. Maureen scampers back out to the car, reefs a fat-stained baking tray out from behind the rear seat, and crumbles half of young Raymond’s loaf of white bread into the tray together with a drowning of water.
Over this, much to young Raymonds’ angst (‘Mum, that’s for me pancakes in the morning!’), she drizzles a tablespoon of Capilano 'Red gum' honey, and gives the entire mess a generous ploughing.
As Maureen picks her way gingerly down the eroding edge of the grassy knoll, the lorikeets swoop. Luckily, the National Park rangers are over at Racecourse Caravan park responding to a call. The lorikeets are messy and noisy eaters and will be dun’n’dusted before the ranger’s jeep breasts the dunes at the far end.
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