The Golden Boy Cometh

"I'm at the terminal about to go through the gate. Turning phone off. I'll call you if there's a delay" was the last message I received from my Arrogant American friend who is due to visit from 6am tomorrow. Seriously. We have a night curfew on flights here and so no flights land before 5:30am. So I'll be the bog-eyed woman who forgot to put on trousers and turned up in her Panda pyjama pants to welcome a weary traveller with a sore foot at sparrow's fart tomorrow.  He wanted me to dress as a chauffeur with a sign bearing his name. I think not baby puppy.


I had my reservations since he's been hot and cold about the visit and part of me still won't believe it until I see him walk through that arrival lounge, but I'm looking forward to meeting a man I know so well online, in the flesh so to speak - he's been a good but difficult friend. It's a nice distraction from the shit that's been happening and his own level of hygiene has seen me clean my house like a dervish, (Do you have any idea how much bug splodge gets caught in the sliding door channels?) The the pool is clear blue (swears he's going to swim but it's a bit chilly down under). I detailed my ancient car and planned a road trip in quest of, among other things, the elusive Gippsland worm.  I've even organised a nice St Andrew's Cross spider to dwell above the family room curtain rod. I'll photograph of course, although I've been given permission to blog just 4. Why 4? I have no idea, the little blossom's camera shy. Then I'm known about these parts as the "Paparazzi" and can be very sneaky if motivated, so we shall see.


Blogging might be furious, or, it might be intermittent. Either way, I love having visitors. I love hanging out with him online, but having someone here actually makes me visit places I appreciate but rarely go,  or even visit places I've never been. It can be rather nice being a tourist in your own state. Although I hasten to say, one thing I haven't booked is the mooted 'skydive'. Gonna keep quiet about that one.  Perhaps I'll get away without doing it.


Wish me luck punters. Impressing an American is a hard thing to do in the Antipodes. I have the impression that everything in the US is the same but better. I'll have a crack anyway.  He constantly tells me I live in an uncivilised country with a crappy version of English, that we're all drunkards (er might have a point there) and live a barbaric way of life because we don't know what a 'summer sausage' is. Apologies if visits are thin on the ground. And an appeal to those who would like to visit . . . what would you like to see given that we're a vast desert land and have a limited cashflow?

Oh and if you ever make the long haul . . .there's a very comfortable sofa bed with your name on it.