Batwoman

This morning, my ex-fiance went for a 60km bike ride before breakfast (and herein ends the mystery of how he became a 40 year old man with a 20 year old's body). He kindly invited me to go with him, which gave me a good opportunity to polish up my acting skills as I pretended to look like I actually gave it serious consideration. Instead, I declined so that I could visit Sydney's Botanical Gardens.


Those of you who have been following this blog for some time will be likely wondering what I was heading for a garden, having never before mentioned any tendency to spend my Sundays with a lawn mower or having written any long flowing paragraphs about the splendour and beauty of begonias. You are quite right. I couldn't pick out a begonia in a line up. No, my main reason for visiting the gardens was to get the best view of the opera house and bridge, like the one above. 


My mission was almost aborted though, when I got to within range of the gardens and found that I couldn't park in the spot I needed to, because there was a triathlon in the city that morning and the gardens were part of their route. Over 1000 people participated in the triathlon causing me to ponder what people in Sydney had against lie-ins, closely followed by wondering where I could instead park. My only option was to stop some distance away and then walk through the gardens in order to get to the photographic spot. Lucky me.


No, really - lucky me. Because if I hadn't done so, I would never have got to see some of the most beautiful birds, which any other country would have in cages but here in Australia are just casually pottering about the city. This country really does have some astonishing wildlife, and I don't mean just the men.


I was as happy as a clam strolling around with my camera, until I realised that the very loud squawking in the trees above me wasn't the birds. I had unknowingly wandered into the batcave and was completely surrounded by a canopy of bats, or as they are called here, flying foxes, which gives you some idea of their size. As I legged it out of the area, while wondering how often a bat drops from a tree, I noticed that the garden officials had posted a sign asking visitors (I assume as some kind of ironic joke) not to touch the bats.


Who, in their right mind, would touch a bat? 


Then again who, in their right mind, would get up on a Sunday morning and do a triathlon? 




Note to ex-fiance: How long does it take to cycle 60km anyway? Me, I would still be pedalling by Thursday, but should I assume you will be making it home for dinner? 

The bats