Things that go Bump in the Night

Things I Like About Sydney No. 57: Things That Go Bump In The Night

We had been left some scattered clues in the days before out-and-out warfare began - a ripped-open plastic bag here, odd scattered crumbs there, faint sounds of rustling behind the dish-washer as we turned in for bed. But it was only when things became obvious, when stealth turned to cheek, that we realised we needed to take action...

One morning Daniel groggily got out of bed to fetch his customary breakfast of cereal doused in lashings of milk. Padding barefoot across the corridor he felt something unusual beneath his feet. Readers of this blog might remember the time he trod on a Leaf-Tailed Gecko in similar circumstances and will hopefully sympathise with his subsequent wariness of coming across unidentified objects whilst barely awake. Looking down this time however he simply saw a discarded sunflower seed shell. Much less alarming, you'd think...But the plot immediately thickened as he discovered that this was not a single husk but the beginning of a trail of shells which he could follow, like poor old Hansel and Gretel, from the dish-washer in the kitchen right to the front door and its source - the bag of seeds lying there handy for feeding our daily visitors - the lorikeets, Thangam and Kevin, and our King Parrots, Simon and Rosie.

It seemed that during the night something had invited itself in for dinner, gorged itself on seeds whilst we slept the sleep of the ignorant and unwitting, and then disappeared leaving us to do the clearing up...

Those early scattered clues could no longer be ignored. Let us turn to the lyrics of UB40 for clarification because, bloody hell,

There's a rat in the kitchen, what are we gonna do?
There's a rat in the kitchen, what are we gonna do?

Obviously we're going to have to

Fix that rat, that's what we're gonna do, we're gonna fix that rat!


Or rather Daniel is, I'm not going anywhere near it...


We were not completely ignorant of the rat situation here in Glenview Street before this unwelcome guest. We've seen them scuttling along the balcony enough times, making daring foraging raids in broad daylight. And having seen them so clearly we know that we don't want then INSIDE the house for they are ENORMOUS and BLACK and PRETTY SCARY. They have long tails, scaly and sparsely-haired, which make them look  bigger and longer than your average British rat. And obviously they know their way around a kitchen, escape routes and all.

And, oh my, this particular rat was extremely clever. What followed felt like the Seven Years War, a battle between man and beast ("General Daniel and the Black Rat") that seemed to have no end. Until it did. A very abrupt one.

We firstly had to come up with a strategy. So we sat down with Sun Tzu's The Art of War, Plutarch's Life of Caesar and a History of the Borgias for some guidance. We soon decided against the poisoning route for two reasons - what if our furry friend feasted on the poison, crawled away and only made it to the back of the dish-washer where he or she would then die and lie there decomposing slowly for the roaches to feast on and for us to smell? And there was the Sniff issue. Poison that kills large Black Rats kills small, defenseless I'll-eat-anything dogs...

So, we had to get some traps. Daniel decided against anything nimby-pimby and, taking his inspiration from the leaders of the French Revolution, bought some steel-enforced guillotines from Bunnings that looked like they'd kill an elephant. And me, and Sniff...

And now began the elaborate plotting and subterfuge. The traps could only be laid when Sniff was absent because they'd certainly do him in. So each night, Sniff would be banished from the kitchen last thing, his water bowl removed and placed in the living room, and Daniel would lay out a series of traps on the kitchen floor in patterns which made it look like one of those intelligent tests for mice. He'd carefully put some peanut butter in the traps in order to entice Ratty in. And when that didn't work, he started to delicately balance sunflower seeds on top of the peanut butter.

But Ratty had been reading his own books for inspiration - Houdini's memoirs perhaps - for somehow he managed to snatch a few sunflower seeds from the jaws of death and wising up to the traps, avoided his fate for over a week. We fancied we could hear the faint echoes of rodent laughter as he dived for safety beneath the dish-washer each night, D'Artagnan of the underworld.

Every morning, the traps had to go back into the cupboard before Sniff could be let loose and Daniel could disconsolately go off to work. I never quite got the hang of how to disarm the traps myself, and before I could have a cup of tea would have to either make Daniel de-mine the kitchen or go in there myself and throw things at them until they sprung shut. And not being the best shot in the world this could be quite a business...

After two or three days of this, I was sitting having my own breakfast (sourdough toast and marmite, cereal's for rabbits and guinea-pigs) when out of the corner of my eye I saw a monstrous being sauntering across the kitchen floor. Ratty was out and about hunting for food, brazen as can be. I screamed, he fled and Sniff belatedly did what terriers are supposed to do and went ballistic, running around in circles, his fur raised all along his spine, barking, whining, seeking the RAT.

Who was long gone.

Several days of stalemate later, I came home from taking Sniff out for his lunch-time walk and on unlocking the front door found another trail of seed husks. This new trail led from the front door, across the carpet, over the hearth and behind the wood-burning stove where, lo and behold, there was a great pile of empty husks, evidence of quite how many days of leisurely feasting??? "THIS HAS TO STOP!!!" I cried.

Daniel steps up his game. He lays out more traps in ever-increasingly cunning patterns with tasty tidbits balanced just so. Our resources are fully mustered...Could we be on the verge of victory at last?

The traps are out, Sniff's in bed, the kitchen and living room lights are switched off. We're reading - Daniel The Guardian on his iphone, me Harrison Ainsworth's The Lancashire Witches - and suddenly, there is the loud thunk of a closing trap...We look at each other and simultaneously throw back the covers, leap out of bed and rush to the kitchen.

The end was quick and violent. We saw but a few twitches before Ratty breathed his last. Daniel's elephant traps proved efficient and, in their swift way, merciful. Our foe finally lay vanquished before us: a large, sleek, well-fed Black Rat.

We both looked down at our rat with a certain sadness, feeling somewhat less than triumphant. We had, after all, secretly admired our adversary and almost enjoyed his mischievous peregrinations into our world and the problems he caused us. We were both sad that a life had to come to an end but grateful that the Seven Years War was over.

Victory, as all Generals know, often has a bitter aftertaste...

The Sydney Aquarium

Things I like about Sydney No. 56: The Aquarium

There is only one reason that I can see to visit the tourist hell that is Sydney's Darling Harbour and that is for a trip to the Aquarium (unless that is you are interested in the history of ships in which case you can also pop along to the adjacent Maritime Museum or if you have a gambling problem in which case you'll walk through it to get to the Star City Casino). The Aquarium is housed in a long, low, unprepossessing building at the end of a parade of waterside restaurants. To reach it, having already walked a fair way from Town Hall Station, you will have to brave a line of waiters trying to entice you and your tourist dollars into their soulless brasseries, all touting for business like whores in a red light district, brandishing free coffee coupons instead of their breasts in your face. Refusing them is easy - you are on a mission to see some very crazy fish and some even crazier mammals, coffee can wait.

The Aquarium, above all things, is deceptive. It looks quite small on the outside but once inside it seems to go on for ever, twisting and turning down blue-painted corridors, vistas opening right and left, side-shows appearing constantly. And although it begins rather feebly wonders soon begin to pile on, ever better, building to a massive crescendo. You can only leave sated.

So, although you'll be rather miffed at the hefty entrance fee, don't fret as you start to meander past the first few tanks full of distinctly dull freshwater fish. As I (and once the Labour Party) said, things can only get better...

I do feel qualified to expound on the joys of the Aquarium - as soon as Daniel and I arrived in Sydney we paid a visit, I got a year's membership and came back regularly. So rule number one is this: unless you have ears of cloth, NEVER EVER COME DURING THE SCHOOL HOLIDAYS. Acres of glass tanks, those glistening, hard, unforgiving surfaces, are expert are reflecting back tenfold the million screams of overexcited children spotting a shark. Rule number two, unless you're particularly fond of queuing: avoid the weekend like the plague.

This recent visit must have been at least my sixth or seventh. It was a Monday and Rosie and I had to run the gauntlet of some school groups. How on earth primary school teachers bear a whole week of being around such high decibel levels I will never fathom (Rose told me to "hear the wonder and the excitement" but all I could hear was a bloody torturous great din, particularly near the animatronic shark which periodically opens its rapacious jaws and sends all kids into paroxysms of hysterical screaming). There was a group of kids in front of the platypus tank (which is one of the first things you come across near the Aquarium's entrance) which made watching the fantastical creature rather arduous and we decided to head off instead, via an octopus or two, to the jellyfish...

I was exceptionally feeble at taking photographs in the Aquarium - my Canon seemed to be stuck on a very long exposure which meant that each time I pressed the 'take-a-photo' button it took about three seconds to respond by which time my hand and brain had moved elsewhere and the resulting image was completely blurred. Not having memorised my Canon handbook (where is the damn thing?) I had to rely on Rosie instead. These pictures are all hers...

We ran past the dull freshwater fishes, the penguins (surely they should be outside having fun), and the afore-mentioned animatronic shark but slowed right down for the seahorses and, most miraculous of all, the sea-dragons.

I don't know much about sea-dragons -  I had never seen any before I came to Sydney. They are native to Australian waters, related to the commoner seahorse, and come in two versions: the wonderfully named Weedy Sea-Dragon and the aptly-named Leafy Sea-Dragon. Both are exceptionally curious wonders of evolution and, needless to say, endangered. Protected by the Australian government they are however often a danger unto themselves. Unlike seahorses they cannot cling onto things with their tails and are often swept ashore in stormy weather where they quickly perish.  Both camouflage themselves amongst seaweed, the Leafy Sea-Dragon being more expert than the Weedy Sea-Dragon which perhaps explains the latter's name...

We must move on. More amazing wonders to come in the shape of Pig and Wuru in the Mermaid Lagoon...

Pig and Wuru are two of only five captive dugongs in the whole world. Found separately, orphaned at a young age, they have only been put on display since we arrived in Sydney - quite rightly there was a great fanfare announcing the opening of their Lagoon. And dugongs are of course the creatures of legend which ancient sailors mistook for mermaids. And you can see why from the next photograph (not). Frankly, I think I look more like a mermaid than Pig (or was it Wuru?).

Rosie and I were lucky enough to arrive at feeding time and could watch the dugongs delicately pick out individual leaves of cos lettuce from a tray lowered into the depths. They have amazingly benign faces, sleek but scarred bodies, and an agility which was obviously the thing that conned all those sailors many moons ago. A plethora of other creatures share their lagoon and as you walk through the tunnels, rays and shoals of fish career past your head in exhilarating fashion.

Onwards, upwards. Literally. You have to climb out of the underwater world past some rather dismal mermaid murals, the staircases creaking ominously, supported by rusting chains.  But then it's back down again for another side-show - the one most people come to see - SHARK SYDNEY.

Again you can walk through tunnels underneath the water, through an enormous tank (presumably in the harbour itself) absolutely jam-packed with varieties of shark, rays, giant fish and two spectacularly large turtles. Obviously they all seem to be quite friendly - the only thing we saw being eaten was the squid being chucked in from the surface by a keeper.

There are some ferocious looking sharks in this tank. Indeed, most things in the tank would have you running screaming from the surf in seconds. The most dangerous-looking shark here - the Grey Nurse Shark - has been hunted almost to extinction because of its unfortunate teeth - they jut out from its mouth in fierce-looking rows, leading anyone coming across one to incorrectly assume they're lunch. Nurse Sharks are, in fact, fish-eating and harmless to humans. The big scary four - Great White, Tiger, Bull and Oceanic Whitetip - are thankfully not swimming around above your head, in this Aquarium at least. Head down to Bondi and it's a different matter...

There is also a shark nursery and a shark hatchery to visit because the Aquarium is one of the few places in the world that has a shark breeding program which successfully releases sharks back into the wild. Rosie and I saw some baby sharks which looked distinctly as if they had been fashioned from some mottled polystyrene. And a preposterous gaudy shark which gave the Weedy Sea-Dragon a run for its money in the decorative stakes.

Before you leave the Aquarium you pass through the Tropical section and an extraordinary final tank which teems with Great Barrier Reef fare and which has to be the biggest tank you're ever likely to see. Everywhere you look yet another species of ludicrously painted fish, closely followed by another and another, idles by. Just when you think you might have spotted everything, a new variant swims along with a preposterous nose or an unthinkable colour scheme or a permanently grinning face. Truly, a magnificent display of the wonders of the deep. And I'm more than happy to take you there and be your guide...