Some really good things have come out of New Zealand. Quite apart from my great uncle George, founder member of the NZ Compost Society, there are Lord Rutherford, Kiri te Kanawa and Jonathan Lemalu, votes for women, penny postage, the eight-hour day and the state pension. There are the mighty All Blacks.

And I remember my father (born 1896) talking about seeing Otago farmer Richard Pearse making a powered flight eight months before the Wright Brothers. There is Emma next door. And there is me, of course. Undeniably, some good things have come from New Zealand.

Elodea is not one of them. In fact, this attractive but invasive pond weed probably originated in Brazil rather than New Zealand, which is of some comfort, but as I first heard of it when it was declared a noxious weed in New Zealand, I have always felt just a bit responsible for it.

I got it some years ago from the pond of my friend David, up the hill and I always think fondly of him when I look at it. Not because I am grateful to him for pressing it on me, but because he practically begged me not to take it. I would be sorry, he assured me. But, never having been one for taking advice, I was quietly confident that this pretty green plant couldn’t possibly present me with a problem with which I would be unable to deal. Today, having spent a couple of hours in leaking welly boots, dredging its trailing stems from the pond, I have to say, as I do every year, that I was wrong.

Some good things have come from Australia, too: Dame Nellie Melba, the electric drill, the Ute, permanently pleated trousers, puncture-proof tyres, the black box, biological pesticides, the cute koala.

And then there is the eucalyptus. It is a delightful tree: graceful and shimmery. The one from over the fence looks rather lovely, leaning protectively over my house as it carelessly discards millions of tiny gum nuts, parched leaves, dead branches and peeling shards of rock-hard bark.

But leaning is the important word here, and neighbour Andy has commissioned ace tree surgeon Gary to despatch it.

I feel a bit sad about it as I listen to Gary’s chainsaw buzzing away out there, but in all honesty, I have to say that there are some Antipodeans that are best left where they belong.