Another aspect of Australia that I miss is all the birdlife. Over here all we have are pigeons, crows, and a few feral parrots.

Back in Australia, I was surrounded by the most exquisite feathered creatures. I could wake to the melodious warble of a magpie or the cacophony of one hundred shrill sulphur-crested cockatoos. Walking past some bushes, I would smile at the antics of the promiscuous fairywrens, while pairs of plovers called to each other as they watched over their young. Perhaps a Kokaburra’s echo would sound from above. I would look up from my work to find two rainbow lorikeets in the tree outside, merrily nibbling of the tender shoots at the top.

One bird that I don’t miss is the Emu. Whenever we went to a nature reserve they would run up to me with their beady eyes and sharp beaks. They would stare straight into my eye, and terrorise me until I surrendered my picnic lunch. At least that is a threat that is less common over this side of the world.

I do not like small boats. After various misadventures in the past, I have vowed never to set foot in one ever again. However, this trip promised a unique opportunity to visit an island inhabited by thousands of puffins and other birds. So I tried to be brave, and stepped into the small old boat. Our captain was 77 years old, with white hair and piercing blue eyes. We pulled out of the harbour, and I tried not to think about the arctic water that surrounded us. The boat rocked chaotically from side to side, the undulations increasing as we went further out to sea. I kept my eyes firmly on the horizon, keeping track of the increasing size of our destination. Finally we arrived, and somehow managed to clamber from boat to shore in between ocean surges.

However, the saga was not over. We were then scramble the near sheer cliffs, with only the occasional ladder placed over the dirt for assistance. About one quarter of the way up, I had had enough. I sat down and refused to go on. Adrian sat by me and comforted me until I was calm enough to appreciate our surroundings. I later learned that Rob had captured this moment of my anxiety:

We decided to slowly return to the shore. I would feel happier away from the cliffs, and Adrian would be closer to the puffins for photography. John also joined us, although he constantly lifted his eyes and scanned for the return of Jay. The island that we were standing on was formed from the magma core of a volcano 700 000 years ago, slowly eroded by the seas. As we were the only three people around, I was able to sit quietly and watch the birds in detail.

There were hundreds of kittiwakes, puffins, and guillemots roosting in the cliffs. The puffins were very skittish, as this island is used for hunting during various times during the year. They always looked worried and sad, as if they were contemplating global warming or their impending arrival on a dining table. It was very odd to see them suddenly take off into flight on their stubby little wings. They look so similar to penguins that I almost expected them to be flightless. I sat in the sun, amongst the birds, and watched them ferrying food to their new hatchlings hidden in small rock burrows. By the time the boat returned, I was so relaxed I slept all the way back to the mainland.

Six weeks ago, Adrian bought me a lovely African violet plant, bursting with purple flowers, to celebrate my first day at work. Now, under my supervision, it looks like this:

In an attempt to brighten up my first ever cubicle, I bought myself a plant at Central Station. It is a lush combination of four different plants, one of which may or may not be a lily. I tried explaining to the shop keeper that I need something very resilient and impossible to kill. She merely looked at me curiously and replied in French. I pointed to this plant, and she nodded. She probably said something like “yes, this plant is very sensitive and will soon die without extreme care and vigilance”. But I prefer to think that she said “this plant couldn’t be any more resilient if it had an adamantium skeleton. It is the perfect companion for someone as botanically inept as yourself”. I tried to mime out a request for watering instructions, and she wrote me out a receipt instead. So it will be interesting to watch my feeble attempts at keeping this plant thriving on my desk.