Playing Hard To Get (ePub)

I grew up in Badgery's Creek on a CSIRO field station. I was the subject of numerous experiments. Mine was a life devoted to science.

My brother wanted to test the hypothesis that rotund, never-shorn lambs were a viable mode of transport for three-year-old female humans.

They were not.

My father wanted to see whether the wild Chinese cabbage he had 'cultivated' was indeed digestible by humans. It was not.

My mother specialised in cultivating hair-and-dust balls that blew along the lino like the tumbleweeds of the wild, wild west. Fortunately these were eminently digestible'so my brother proved.

Yes, I was the only normal one.

And so today. I live with an eleven-week-old kitten who speaks five languages. All unintelligible to the thrity-three-year-old female human ear. Ping-Pong is black and white - very nice markings. I am still the only normal one in the household.

Ah yes. It is so hard to be the only normal one. I feel like an alien in my own land.

And so here, in the wastelands of the HarperCollins website, (Why is there no space between Harper and Collins? Just my mum wants to know, that's all.) I wander, a philistine amongst literati, a cogito-nihil amongst cognoscenti. Feels like old times.

The book? The book! The book! I wrote one. It's red and black - very nice markings. The markings inside are all unintelligible (except to thirty-three-year-old female humans'Chinese'named Cindy Pan or near on.) But you can try!

As my father would say, 'Giving it a go! What's to be lose?'

It's about sex, drugs and relationships. All of which I have baulked at. Hence the kitten.

But reading the book, you'd hardly know.

'Giving it a go! What's to be lose?'