She chose a quiet, secluded little forested area we sometimes go to which has an open field right in the middle.
It was into this environment she bravely strolled with George the Dog when the first attack came.
Without warning, she was struck on the side of the head by, she said, a "big, fat bird".
Somewhat surprised by this — I mean you don't really expect birds to fall out of the sky and hit you in the head do you (let alone large, fat ones) — Mrs P had bolted.
Unfortunately, she ran deeper into the forest rather than back to the car and safety. Now she was stuck and not keen on having to go back the way she'd come.
But worse was to come.
She'd found a body.
Well, that's what she said when she sensibly utilised the cellphone we carry for such emergencies and rang, interrupting my snooze.
Naturally, I had just scored the winning try for the All Blacks in the World Cup final and was picking up the trophy from Angelina Jolie who, incidentally, had given me a seductive look and slipped me a saucy note when we shook hands, when I heard a phone ring in the distance.
Anyway ...
A breathless Mrs P came on and quickly outlined the events thus far. The word "body" was still hanging in the air by the time I galloped into the clearing a short while later and hurried up to her.
There was indeed a "body". A woman's one. A quite impressive one, if the truth be told.
She was laying face down in the middle of the field basically naked as the day she was born with what looked to my uneducated eye (ahem) like a piece of string located strategically ... er, down there.
"She hasn't moved," said a concerned Mrs P as we stood 30 metres away, adding to the drama.
To be honest I was pretty sure she wasn't dead. There was a backpack close by so it looked like maybe a tourist had ventured into the clearing and thought she'd do a bit of sunbathing like they do back home.
Obviously I had to go check ... just in case. I am a journalist after all. This could be a big scoop.
As I got closer I could hear a noise. She was snoring.
I have to admit it was a little off-putting hearing a nasal snort emanating from such a pleasant sight but the good news was at least she wasnt dead.
But sleeping out in the open with your backpack nearby is never going to be safe is it, so I let out a little cough to wake her just as Mrs P came up to join me.
Thankfully (take that whichever way you want) the woman sat up to face us in all her unconcerned topless European tourist glory.
Naturally I fixed my gaze directly on her eyes (as you do) and explained — as best I could with a dry mouth — her semi-nude sunbathing probably wasn't safe or appropriate where she was.
Then we left. Or rather Mrs P pulled me away and back to the car.
As we walked — and I kid you not here — a large, fat bird fell out of the sky and hit Mrs P on the side of the head. For the second time that day.
Obviously I'm thinking it was a magpie or a tui, drunk on kowhai nectar or something.
But a part of me wonders whether it might have been the fact they were distracted by a topless sunbathing tourist and weren't watching where they were flying.
*Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales and a firm belief that laughter helps avoid frown lines. Your own tales and feedback are welcome on kevin.page@nzme.co.nz
