( no comments please about invalid units of measurement)Daughter Globet lives and works at the opposite end of Australia, in Melbourne, population 3.7 million.Now I am uncertain how anyone ever counted this number.
My experience is that for sheep and cattle you funnel them into fenced yards and then run them through a narrow “race,” and even then if 6 people are counting there will be 6 completely different totals.
As far as I am aware, Melbourne does not have human yards, although I would consider it a very great honor to be given the task of converting the central railway station into one, and droving the whole 3.7 million through it with the assistance of my electric cattle prodder.
I am also professionally qualified to provide ancillary services such as oral-drenching to treat any gastro-intestinal worm infections, and I have a perfectly functional surgical quality stainless elastrator with which to apply emasculation rubber bands to ensure that next year there will not be an even greater population of Melbournians to run through my yards.
But I have digressed yet again.
Twice during the last 4 years I have attempted to spend a week or two visiting Globet. Each time I have failed to last the distance.
Firstly I have a reticence to travel because of the mind numbing boredom of sitting on my arse for 3 hours in an aeroplane breathing in recycled germs from all the coughers and splutterers.
Cabin staff should have the power to remove diseased passengers into the cargo hold, or, for those with more serious contagion infringing public health etiquette, into the wheel wells.
On both of my previous excursions to Melbourne, appalling weather, ( in Cairns, when the temperature drops below 20 degrees C, it is officially known as “bleak”) and the culture shock of 3.7 million people in one place has seen me on a return flight to GOF’s paradise after only 48 hours.
Some family and friends view my behaviour as a source of mirth.
On the last occasion Mrs GOF, who had been looking forward to at least a week without me, (why?) almost refused to let me back in my own house when I unexpectedly boomeranged home in the middle of the night after only 2 days away.
I have since entertained the prospect that perhaps I should simply make day visits. Globet could meet me at the airport terminal in Melbourne for a cup of coffee after which I could catch the return flight. But $300 per cup of coffee did seem a little over-indulgent in these testing economic times.
Tomorrow, early, at around a quarter past sparrow-fart, I am going to face my demons, and infectious fellow humans, for the third time.
As daughterly wisdom would have it, I am seriously leaving my comfort zone.
Globet is going to chauffeur me on a grande tour to all the places of my childhood in country Victoria, many of which I have not seen for 50 years. GOF and Globs excellent nostalgic adventure.
I am also going to relive my greatest sporting achievement.
GOF and his young-adolescent friend Alan were an unbeatable partnership in every three-legged race ever conducted during 1961- 64 at the annual Bendigo Combined Protestant Sunday School Picnics.
The price of this athletic fame and glory, and our preference to avoid media attention, meant that we have had no contact with each other for the last 45 years. We are going to rectify that sad state of affairs over some sort of beverage, which will hopefully not once again leave us with a deficiency in the leg department.
My Vox neighbors will be relieved to know that GOF will be absent for ten days, during which time their blogs will remain free of his unnecessary comment.
But then again, I might just be back in around 48 hours.