Tomorrow is going to be a big day.
I'll need to dust off my 1960's Ilya Kuryakin black supersleuthing skivvy, and give it a quick once-over with deodorant to mask the residual stench of my stale teenage spy sweat, then mosey on out west in a potentially dangerous exercise of chivalry.
This is a humanitarian project for which I might have to rope in a couple of my trustworthy male Vox friends to lend a hand.
At least one website visitor tracking program records my whereabouts as "Innot Hot Springs".
Now I wish all my enemies great success in finding me there, but the last time I checked, the tiny settlement of Innot Hot Springs, out in Queensland's savannah country, had a total population of seven, none of whom looked remotely like GOF.
(except for the unshaven drunk sitting in the gutter outside the pub)
Sinister things however seem to be happening at Innot Hot Springs.
I am regularly receiving urgent popup pleas on my computer from distressed young women who are probably being held there against their will.
"Gina, 24, from Innot Hot Springs, needs YOU, GOF."
"Annika, 26, from Innot Hot Springs, needs YOU, GOF."
"Marie-clare, 22, from Innot Hot Springs, needs YOU, GOF."
There seem to be at least 50 of these innocent young women who are asking me to release them from their apparently miserable lives of enslavement at Innot Hot Springs.
I must be their last resort.
(no correspondence on the previous sentence will be entered into.)
They all seem to be putting on brave smiling faces in spite of their deprivations, as I imagine that they most likely have to labour all day in the fields under a fierce tropical sun.
It is possible, judging from the names, and blonde Nordic features of many of these young women, that I have stumbled upon an illegal Scandinavian immigration racket.
Hopefully by late tomorrow night I will have everything uncovered and fully exposed.
As you can see from the picture of the virtuous young Heidi, the girls are all living in appalling circumstances with only the bare necessities of clothing which is tattered, dishevelled and poorly fitting with broken straps and fasteners.
There are two things I need to do today in preparation.
1. Hire a very large bus to accommodate all the released hostages, then cover it with camouflage paint.
2. Go down to the Salvation Army shop and pickup some proper bras, blouses and skirts so that I may immediately fit these innocent nymphs with correctly sized garments to ease the shame and embarrassment which they must now be suffering at the hands of their captors.
This will be one huge heroic rescue mission.
My social duty and obligation.
One way or another I may not be back for a while.