Jep nes'

​

‘I have an announcement to make,’ says Oscar one morning.
‘Let me guess. You’re thinking of getting a sex-change operation.’
‘No Dick. Today is the day of the treasure hunt. The golf buggies are packed and ready to go.’
OK I think. Let’s get it over with. I’m halfway through Peter Carey’s new one. ‘Amnesia’. He writes well, and I’m learning a lot about Australian flora and fauna, but there’s not much plot.


Oscar’s made these little roads on his island so he can drive around a bit. The island is mostly rocky scrub. There isn’t much flat land at all and the vegetation consists of cactus and other prickly stuff. On the way up we get a good view over the lagoon and I notice the flamingos huddled together in a corner looking for brine shrimp.

“What got you interested in pink flamingos Oscar?” I ask by way of conversation.
“I trace it back to my upbringing Dick.” Says Oscar. They remind me of my roots. The place where I grew up.”
“Some languid lagoon somewhere was it Oscar? Some tropical paradise?”
“No Dick. It was a trailer park in Oklahoma. Pink flamingos have always held a strange attraction for me.

 As a child I was fascinated by the exotic creatures people put in front of their humble homes.

I was also most impressed with the John Waters motion picture of the same name.”
“Is that the one where Divine fucks a Hungarian sheepdog?”
“The same. Did you know Dick that film has been compared to ‘Un Chien Andalou’?”
“No, I didn’t know that Oscar. I heard it was compared to an exploding septic tank. Variety refused to review it.”
“Try to see past the petty, jealous critics Dick. It was ahead of its time that’s all.

If it hadn’t been for Pink Flamingos we probably would never have had Deep Throat.”
See what happens when I try to raise the conversation an intellectual notch or two? It always comes back to sex.

Looking for the place where the treasure is supposed to be, quickly turned into a nature walk.

 We go as far as we can go on the golf carts then starting walking, stumbling I should say,

through the undergrowth. I feel a sharp pain in my leg.
“Probably a Jack Spaniard.” Says Oscar, “ Polistes cinctus. Mean bastards.

 The locals call them Jep...it’s a wasp that usually builds its nest underneath leaves.

There’s an expression ‘Jep Nes’'. To stir up more trouble than you anticipated. I meant to warn you about them.”
“Bit late telling me now innit? Bloody hurts that does.”

“No pain, no gain Dick.”
​
He shows me a piece of earth, about a yard square and points out how the soil’s been disturbed.

It looks like all the rest to me but he gets excited.

“That’s where we dig.” Says Oscar.

We?