I was comfortably reclined in my armchair, watching yet another series on the box. What else is there to do? Perhaps write a story? Play a jigsaw puzzle. Read a book? I am up to a four piece jigsaw puzzle now, and doing well. (If anyone DARES to give me a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle I will cross them off my Christmas card list!)

So I picked up the remote, switched to the usual Netflix channel, and settled down for the evening. Again. Suddenly though, everything went black. No lights, no TV, no radio. Nothing. Yes, a power outage.

When I was a kid, we often had these outages, but we called them blackouts. It was an echo of World War 2 in Britain, when all windows and doors had to be painted black, or had heavy black curtains over them. It was the same here in Australia when the Japanese entered the war in late 1942. Nowadays we refer to it as a power outage, just to be more respectful of our indigenous brothers.

I opened my curtains. No streetlights on either. In fact, the only light came from the moon and a few passing cars. There was a yellow flickering light in the window of a house opposite; clearly a candle had been lit.

Candle! I had one! But where?

By the light of my mobile phone, I navigated my way to the kitchen and eventually found a candle, half burnt, in a jar high up in a cupboard. Next problem: how to light it. I am a non-smoker, so no lighter, no matches in the house.

Then I remembered that the gas cooktop would automatically light and I could light the candle from the gas flame. But the cooktop also needs power to ignite the gas. What to do? Rub two sticks together? Phone the Boy Scouts?

Then an idea struck…the gas gun from the barbecue on the back patio. Hallelujah! It was there! I lit the candle, placed it carefully on a saucer and nursed the flame back into the lounge room where our far-too-large TV lived. I placed the candle on the nest of tables beside my comfy armchair. Surely this outage won’t last too long!

Whilst waiting, I began to look around the lounge room. Almost for the first time I noticed the framed prints and the family photos. There was even a photo of me. Gosh I looked good. Was it 20 years ago?

It was then that my gaze fell upon a fascinating woman sitting on a similar armchair to mine. She looked similar to a younger woman in some of the photos I mentioned.

I was totally surprised. I decided to speak to her. But she spoke at the same time and our words tumbled over each other like a Mathias Cormann interview with Leigh Sales.

Fairly soon we worked out a procedure. I would speak, and she would listen. Then she would speak while I would listen. She had some amazing things to say and I was getting quite enthused about the whole process.

Just as I was about to ask what her name was, the lights came back on, and the TV resumed its total control again. I never did find out who that lovely lady was, or why she was there.

Later, I actually Googled what happened that evening. Apparently it’s called CONVERSATION. I can hardly wait for another power outage so we can conversate once more!