No place like home…

So, I’m back home in Brizzie. I got off the plane and a wave of humidity hit me and I thought – home. Melbourne was fine but Dorothy was right – not about the gingham dress – that’s just plain wrong - but when she said “there’s no place like home.” Damn straight D. I missed the casual speech, manner, style and general quirkiness we have up north. There is nothing wrong with our southern cousins but I just missed the madness of home. A big thanks to Virgin Blue who flew the Melbourne to Briz route – and an even bigger thanks to the Novotel on Collins for patiently answering all my questions and not slapping their heads when I lost my hotel key at various times – well, it’s not really a key is it? It’s a lump of plastic that you throw in your handbag that you never see again. I need solid, real people keys, not Ken and Barbie pseudo play keys …still wondering if anyone has the Amarinda show bag of books and stuff with the hotel key cards in them…hmmm..

All in all, the whole Melbourne gig was good – I met my editor - after two plus years of driving her insane and I collected many receipts to claim against my tax – Ha! And bugger off Mr Tax Man. I talked to readers who did not piss around with half truths – they said what they liked without fear or favor. I respected that. I saw the famous who were most gracious and the not so famous who were too busy trying to be famous to be real. We would call ‘em legends in their own lunchtime – but I guess some people need to feel famous or recognized or something.

That’s it – I have a mountain of washing to do and the domestic pixies are not answering my call to magically appear to do stuff…bloody pixies. Til’ tomorrow….

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Go Ahead : Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?