I’ve been doing that country thing last couple of weeks, clearing up and burning off around my house, the dry stuff now on the ground before it becomes some kind of fire hazard.

My place, for the record, is way down south. The street is called Van Morey, and it’s in a place called Margate, like the English town Margate, but absolutely nothing like the English town Margate. 

Good thing, right, this clearing up all the forest litter? 

Yes, it is, except I keep seeing snakes everywhere. Everything I lift up, there’s another pair of beady little eyes watching me, tongue flicking, poison glands working overtime. 

Snakes. I’ve always hated them, cold slimy things -- primitive, dangerous.

Now, normally I call my wife so she can take care of the problem. 

She just strides in there, snapping a forked branch off a tree as she goes, ready to pin the little bastard to the ground. 

Barefooted, bare-armed. No matter to her. Next thing I know, that snake is in some kind of bag (could be my pillow case but I’m not arguing here) and is shoved into the fridge for a little while, so it gets real slow.

Then she takes it off somewhere to join its family, or the circus or something. I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. I’m just looking out to make sure she hasn’t got a forked stick anywhere near me, specially if we’re having an argument.   

Anyway…. On this particular day, my wife is not around. 

I have to call the these removalist guys. They call themselves Reptile Rescue. You know about these people? For 20 bucks a head — ten per fang -- they come take care of your problem.

So I’ve got the guy on the phone. I ask all the usual questions, tell him I’ve got a real issue, never seen so many snakes. 

Earliest I can get there is next week at the earliest, he says. I picked up 25 this week alone. 

Twenty five?!! Okay, okay, I say. That will have to do.

So now I’ve got you there on the phone, I ask the reptile rescue man, what do you do with the snakes? 

Well, they’re a very important part of the food chain around here, he says. 

I completely misunderstand this. Completely. 

You eat them? 

No, no, no. They’re a real important in nature, circle of life, all that stuff. So we relocate them, take them into the forest well away from where we find them. 

I’ve got a nice spot off the road, he continues. Bit of a creek there for water. It’s five kilometres up Van Morey Road in Margate, and that’s where I let them go.

Ah-ha… Good to know.

Now it’s his turn to ask me a question. 

He says, where are these little bastards? Where is this place of yours? Am I going to have problem finding it, because these places in the back blocks … 

No, no, no. I say. No, sir. You’ll have no problem at all. 

My place is a nice little spot there, right beside the road, five kilometres up Van Morey Road, in Margate.

You baaaaaaaaaaaaastard!