Things To Do In Penrith

The morning rush is over. Nose blowing, milk, crunchy nut cornflakes, peanut butter toast, clean shorts, tee shirt, socks, shoes, sports uniform and trainers, lunch in lunchboxes, spare clothes, a sharing apple, show and tell toy, and today, for Butterfly, a complicated plait.

We are doing very well, Arthur, says Mrs Hume, when the children have been dropped off. Why don't you and I go for a pleasant stroll along the banks of the Nepean River until it's lunchtime?

Arthur would prefer to remain at home and swing disconsolately in the hammock, but Mrs Hume is firm.

It will do you good, Arthur, says Mrs Hume. You look a little pale.

Hard, you mean, says Arthur.

No, says Mrs Hume. Not hard. But let me see.

She pokes Arthur in several places.

Perfectly normal, says Mrs Hume. Come on, get in the car.

They drive down the winding road to Emu Plains and take the turnoff to the Penrith Regional Gallery.

Mrs Hume stops the car and they both get out and walk back the way they came beside the river.

It is hot and they are walking into the sun. The river is wide and there are small craft bobbing on it. Valuable houses sit and gloat on the other side. The path turns muddy. A man is sitting fishing. He ignores them.

It is cooler in the shade. Arthur and Mrs Hume sit down at a picnic table and gaze towards the river.

Mrs Hume sees before her an unattractive pine tree. A white bird flies overhead and a white moth flutters by. Castor oil plants, reeds, cowslips and dandelions and something that may be a tomato, or maybe not.

Arthur is fed up. He is reminded of the countryside of France. How many times has he walked beside a beautiful French river under shady trees like this, before things turned supernatural. Should he go home?
Should he get an exorcism? Should he ask Mrs Hume to drop him off at the Sacred Gardens Healing Centre in Penrith?

Shall we take the children to MacDonalds tonight, for a treat? says Mrs Hume.

Now there's an option.