Chapter 9

Tuesday I went to SciTech with a box of dung beetles and talked about female ornamentation as opposed to the — far more frequent, except among humans — male colours, plumage, tusks, horns, etc. The remainder of the week was "normal." Not a peep from Canberra; not even an acknowledgement. I did talk to Sue on Wednesday, before taping another programme. She seemed to think that I should lie doggo until someone (anyone?) "wakes up" or "does something." That sounded fine to me.

I thought I'd avoid Australia this time. Maybe I wouldn't stir up more trouble. I talked about "Alien Invaders," mentioning the cane toad and the rabbit, the redfin perch and the fire ant. But then I mentioned knotweed.

Japanese knotweed was introduced to the UK by the Victorians as an ornamental plant, but it soon escaped from gardens and began its rampant spread throughout the UK.

It grows incredibly quickly - more than one metre a month - and rapidly swamps any other vegetation in its path.

It is so hardy that it can burst through tarmac and concrete, causing costly damage to pavements, roads and buildings.

But removal is difficult and expensive; new estimates suggest it costs the UK economy £150m a year.

However, in Japan, the plant is common but does not rage out of control like it does in the UK, thanks to the natural predators that keep it in check.

Scientists at Cabi [Commonwealth Agricultural Bureau International] - a not-for-profit agricultural research organization - used this as their starting point to track down a potential knotweed solution.

They looked at the superweed's natural predators - nearly 200 species of plant-eating insects and about 40 species of fungi - with the aim of finding one with an appetite for Japanese knotweed and little else.

After testing their candidates on 90 different UK plant species, including plants closely related to Japanese knotweed such as bindweeds and important crops and ornamental species, they discovered a psyllid called Aphalara itadori was the best control agent.

The little insect feeds on the sap of the superweed, stunting its growth.

Recently, following peer review by the Advisory Committee on Releases to the Environment and a public consultation, the UK government has now given the go-ahead for release of Aphalara itadori, under licence, in England.

The Welsh Assembly is expected to announce its decision on the psyllid soon.

The insects will initially be released on a handful of sites.

These will be isolated and, in addition to having the superweed present, will also have UK species that are closely related to Japanese knotweed planted there to check that the psyllid only targets the invasive species.

"However," I concluded, "some critics say that it is impossible to be certain that the Japanese insect will only target the superweed and could attack other species once in the wild. I hope this works. But we all know that the best of intentions can go awry."

Sue said she liked it. I told her I'd stolen most of it from the BBC.

Sarah seemed to be healing — she took her amoxicillin and was fretting less. Weena just stayed home when she wasn't ferrying Patrick about.

Friday evening I asked Patrick whether he'd like to go shopping with me.

"What kind of shopping?"

"Well, I thought we might see what looks interesting in a book store or two."

"Books?"

"Yes. You seem to enjoy the three books of tales."

"Okay. But you never told me why there were many stories about the same things."

"Hmm. Right. You know how big Australia is. How long it takes to fly there when we go to visit your Grandmum and Granddad?"

"And Jacky and the nungungi, too."

"Yes. Well, long ago. Before there were any airplanes or cars or phones, different groups of people didn't know about other groups' stories. They didn't know how people in the north explained things; nor people in the south; nor folks in the Red Centre. But each group worked out a different explanation for how things came to be. Because everybody asks 'how' or 'why' things are the way they are. So now, when we can travel around, we can see that different groups came up with different explanations. Does that make sense?"

"Sort of."

"What's the problem?"

"Well, it seems to me that the Dreamtime stories aren't true explanations. They're not real."

"True."

"So what's the real story?"

"Hmm."

"He's gotcha, Gordy!" Weena called from the kitchen.

"That's tough, Patrick. I'll try to explain. The real story is made up of what we call facts. And the story that ties the facts together is called science. A very long time ago a man named Aristotle set up a method of thinking that was called the deductive method. In the deductive method, logic rules: You take a few statements and work out other things based on them. But over time, there were more and more things that appeared logical, but weren't right. And around 400 years ago a few people in Italy, England and Denmark thought about something else. We call it the inductive or the scientific method. In the scientific method we start with a lot of observations of nature, with the goal of finding a few, good statements about how nature works. In the scientific method, observation of nature is the authority. If an idea conflicts with what happens in nature, the idea must be changed or abandoned. Now the stories are attempts a explaining things that the various bands saw. But do we really think that the magpies tried to lift heaven? Or that the goannas painted one another?"