The Northern Territory in Australia is also known as The Top End and is well into sub-tropical zones where the weather is topsy-turvy – it rains all “Summer” despite being sweat-soaking hot and gives glorious sunny and cloud-free days all “Winter” despite the cooler (not much) conditions – and because that makes a mockery of what seasons are supposed to be like, the four seasons are tossed out, and three (not four) new ones sit firmly in their place. These new seasons are the Wet, the Dry and the Build-up. It’s a place of cyclones, of torrential rains, high humidity, mold and prickly heat. It’s where you get crocodiles – big ones.

On our wilderness block, in our dug out room with the tin tent over it, on top of the second largest hill on our land, flooding was not considered a potential problem. It was not considered at all. So why was it that one morning, in the early hours, I rolled over in bed, and my hand flopped over the side and splashed into water already up to the top of the bed and at height of the mattress? It was confusing, to say the least, but there was no time to ponder on it.

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