Sometimes my brain is fast to react and other times it is slow.

An example of when it is fast to react is when there is a spider on my arm.

My family witnessed my lightning-like response to such an encounter when I was chopping wood for the barbecue recently and a huntsman the size of a Frisbee jumped on me.

Prior to that instant, my head was in a completely different place.

I was enjoying the warm sunshine on my shoulders, swinging the blade to provide for my kin and connecting dreamily to my pioneering past, unencumbered by the fact that I didn’t actually have a pioneering past.

In reality it was a comfortable past on the Gold Coast where my father was a school teacher, my mother worked in the wages department at the Coolangatta Tweed Heads Golf Club and we watched Disney on Sunday nights in warm pyjamas sharing a family block of Caramello chocolate….but that’s not really the issue here.

When the crazed attack-spider leapt, the scene changed from an Australian impressionistic painting of a hard-working settler that you might see on the lid of a fancy biscuit tin to a freaked out dad doing a silly dance in the backyard, knocking over terracotta pots.

I dropped the axe and spun round and round in circles flicking my arm wildly to free myself of the beast.

I have been informed that I also made ridiculous high-pitched noises - the exact types which were foreign to the early pioneers even when confronted by genuinely scary things such as escaped convicts, bushrangers and catching the reflection of their own mutton chops when drinking from a stream.

My wife and kids, watching from the deck, demonstrated their compassion for the predicament I was in with uninhibited laughter.

Despite their lack of support, it was my quick actions that resulted in the removal of the creature from my body, as well as a scorching case of what the medical fraternity refer to as Huntsman’s Elbow, from which I have not fully recovered.

Sure, huntsman spiders are completely harmless, a point my children are quick to remind me of at every opportunity. But they don’t appreciate what it’s like to be out in the wilderness – or the leafy backyard or wherever – living on your wits.

Where I came from you had to trust your instincts and act fast – especially if you wanted the last piece of Caramello.

An example of when my brain is slow to react – and there’s a much bigger list to choose from here - came last week when I was listening to morning radio on the way home from an early surf.

I was having a bit of a chuckle in the car at the talkback session going on with Nugget, Todd and Sami, where listeners were dobbing in their spouses about daggy anniversary presents given and received.

A new caller was introduced and, lo and behold, it was a Tracy Waddington ….the exact same name as my wife, back home getting ready for work, and who has never rung up a radio station in the 15 years I have known her.

My first thought was: “Wow, I hope Trace is listening to this, this is an amazing coincidence.’’

Slowly as the segment went on, however, I realised that this may not be a coincidence at all. Subtle little clues began to add up.

The fact that this woman sounded uncannily similar to my Tracy Waddington and that my name was also mentioned were becoming hard to ignore. I grew nervous.

Perhaps I was about to be exposed as a dodgy gift-giver to a hungry breakfast audience.

And it was to be. Eventually the penny dropped and I had to concede that this was the actual Tracy Waddington I had married as she went on to tell the story of how on our tenth anniversary, while our house was being rebuilt, I gave the gift of turf.

It was just as the pioneers would have done to express love to their wives, if Wintergreen Couch had been invented and things like jewelry stores and wellness retreats were still a little way off.

If you’re reading this, don’t feel bad about embarrassing me, Honey. I still love you.

You will see just how much on our next anniversary when you unwrap the leaf blower.