This is a blog not a work of fiction. So I'm going to tell you exactly what happened today, how it happened. No embellishment, no murmur of a lie.

Today, being the plucky Brit that I am, I turned down the pleasures of taking high tea at the (dead posh) "Old Barracks" in Sydney National Park. Instead of two lumps please and a crumpet, I opted to explore the Taronga-to-Manly coastal path. Navigating my way through dense bush undergrowth, in considerable heat & humidity, with no guide apart from the map Tim had helpfully found on the web, and ultimately meeting up with Tim and mum at the said tea house. Just in time for 'more tea, Vicar?'

As the pictures show, this was no picnic. For the simple reason I hadn't taken any food with me. The other thing the pictures show that is the stunning view across Sydney harbour to the opera house and the harbour bridge.

Without more ado, I plunged into the bush, confident of finding wildlife and exotic flora all around me. And after an hour I hadn't found a living thing. Not that my upper lip had softened one iota.

I had holstered my camera when, rounding a corner, a lizard about the size of a labrador loomed up out of the undergrowth, in a subtle not moving a muscle sort of way. But pretty much right in front of me. He looked mildly taken aback, as did I. Mr lizard didn't say very much, but fixed me with his beady-eyed. I beady-eyed him right back. His look seemed to say "what you doing here, mate? Tea and buns too god for ya, yer Pommy b*****." Children may read this so I have toned down the lizard's bogan-esque (look it up) language.

Regaining my sang-foid (the mot juste, as what is about to happen will show…) I was about to 'capture him' (digitally), switched off the safety on the camera, and got into shooting position. And that was when the peace of the afternoon was shattered by a woman's scream. A scream with a distinct French accent (difficult to convey this in the blogosphere, so just trust me on this…). Screaming in any language is not the best way to put a dog-sized lizard at its ease when trying to pose it for a photo shoot.

A tall, blonde middle-aged and visibly French lady and her stubby monsieur had just stumbled on the lizard scene, and she had, it has to be said, overreacted at the sight of the brave Brit getting ready to take it on 'mano a mano'. "Nom d'un chien, merde, fichez nous la paix, va t'en ****" and a host of other common expletives that you won't find in school level French-to-English dictionaries filled the air. My ears blushed (and the lizard seemed to redden just under his chin…)

As a chameleon catches a fly with its tongue, my tongue came to the rescue (do you see what I did there?). It was time to parler francais to get the French visitors to pipe down. "Calmez vous, madame. Tout va bien, je suis en train de lui rendre en objet d'art. Je vous assure qu'il n'est point dangereux. Je crois meme qu'il s'agit d'un lizard comestible" (Or as the late Mike Winner would have said, "Calm down dear. It's all fine, it's just a photo opp. It's not poisonous - And you're French - you might even be able to eat it…").

Luckily (or 'heueusement') that did the trick, madame did indeed zip it, and studied monsieur lezard from a safe distance. I took my shots, the lizard got bored by too many Europeans for one day, and he 'took French leave'. Which left moi, madame and the stubby one discussing the fact that lizards in the Dordogne are considerably smaller than the monsters on Ozzie coastal paths. And that the weather here is definitely more humid than in the Loire Valley. Mais zut alors, you get the picture.

The froggies and I went our separate ways. From that point, I headed on into what can only be described as a bit of a "lizard lounge" with more or less chunky reptiles all around me. Probably they'd heard from their mate and wanted to get themselves onto my facebook page… Anyway, the photographic evidence is there for all to see.

From there, I hacked on for at least 45 minutes through bush and beach (yes, quite a nice beach with posh Mosman mums walking posh Mosman dogs) and eventually - tired sweaty but triumphant - our lizard conquering hero made it to the teahouse, Where he got told off by his mum for being late.

THE END