Being croc savvy

It's been bitingly cold and wet here in Undercliffe so the manny decided we should all be whisked away for a tropical holiday.

When I say "all" there was someone who couldn't join us but she really doesn't like flying.

The highlight of the holiday came somewhat early for me, what with the fine furnishings, free croissants,

and mesmerising views at the Qantas lounge.

The flight too was a breeze

so it was easy to slip straight into holiday mode.

Until the manny pointed out the many dangers of our destination.

And decided to follow in the footsteps of the late great Steve Irwin and teach his son to be croc savvy.

I hastily dug myself a pit for my protection

and only dared come out when fully armed.

Luckily I soon realised that the manny would find no outlet for his foolish ambitions as there wasn't a croc in sight. The rest of my time was spent confidently enjoying the beach.

Grannie was as shocked as I when I told her of the manny's foolishness.

Little did he realise that crocs are far more prevalent in Undercliffe.

Hard yakka

Ninni and Babar have a lovely garden, at least when they're in residence.

But when they're off holidaying, someone else has to pick up the slack.

I guess that someone has to be me.

It's not as easy as it looks.

I felt I'd really earned my bath that night.

And some elbow kissing.

Only later was I informed that you're not supposed to mow the paving. Oh well.