The sound of crickets

Shirley Hotchkiss's poem, Living in the Bush, (Peninsula News, January 10) reminds me of a friend who stayed with us briefly, very briefly as it turned out.

He couldn't stand the cricket concerto.

The soothing sound of the crickets vibrating after rain was more than he could stand.

He tried ear plugs, pillows and music, but to no avail.

He couldn't shut them out.

So Ollie caught the next train to Sydney to savour the smell of petrol, the roar of traffic and the touch of concrete.

Woy Woy, I never want to stay again, he said.

Keith Whitfield Woy Woy