Death by mildew

Living in Brisbane is like living under a permanently dripping tap. Although our cat would be delighted with a permanent water supply, I am convinced that if I stood still I would start to be covered in ghastly black mildew.

I had forgotten just how damp living in sub-tropical Brisbane can be. After three days of almost constant showers we have mould appearing in the strangest of places. You get used to the dark spots appearing along the grouting in the shower but I wasn’t expecting the buttons in the toilet cistern to be jammed because of the light layer of mould. Yick! Actually I was hoping it wasn’t repairable so that I could justify a new toilet cistern but that was not the case. I can never understand why the women who feature in television ads for cleaning agents look so happy. Now every time I go in there I go armed with spray bottles of bleach ready to aim, fire and run for my life before the dank mouldy fingers strangle me and dump me as a symbol of the failed housekeeper that I am.

I don’t mind rainy days; in fact I like them and enjoy watching the clouds roll over the Taylor Range occluding the hillsides.

I took a photo yesterday as the cloud descended turning the landscape into a monochrome of greys.  It was a beautiful gentle light. When the sun came out it produced a spectacular contrast of heavy grey cloud against golden light.

I even managed to get into our soggy garden wearing my bright yellow wellies when it was lightly sprinkling, enjoying the slightly cooler air; all the while dreading the anticipated humidity that causes me to have a meltdown. This is when I disappear into the air-conditioning and refuse to come out almost like a whelk in its shell.

I reflect on the description of the rain we used to experience in London; there, we often had ‘sprinkles’ forecast, which is very apt but far more politically correct than the term Australians use of ‘spitting with rain’.

 

 

 

 

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