Where the bloody hell are you?

We've been here over a year now, I know, hard to believe, and while it's beginning to really feel like home, there's just one thing that's missing: company. Growing up in Florida there was always someone down from up north wanting to stay in your house and swim in your pool and take them to Disney World and we miss that (mostly because we always scored their leftover ride tickets and had a four-inch thick stack banded together ready for the next trip, but still...) Sure, people say they're coming to see you, and insist they've always wanted to go to Australia, and if they know us at all they'd know they better hurry up and take advantage of our hospitality before we up and move again, but so far, nobody. I'll admit, the airfare is a little pricey and the trip itself requires incredible endurance (like the poor perfectly poised supermodel and her escort who had to sit next to me, rumpled and smelly with grungy cranky kids crawling all over me during one particularly awful fourteen-hour stint -- she only moved to spritz water and apply moisturizer to her hands and face and somehow managed to arrive in her white linen suit without one stain or crease.) Break the cost down by the number of hours involved in traveling and you're probably getting a fairly good deal, but even with those economics, actually getting someone to commit to make the journey has been fruitless.



Until now!

My former boss, our real estate broker, is bringing his new companion and her three kids along for a two-week visit in August. He wants a real Aussie family experience, though staying with us is out of the question unless camping in the backyard appeals, so we are eagerly making arrangements to accommodate them. When he said to his friend, "If I know Jorge, he's probably living in some tiny little place..." he was absolutely spot on. Although in our defense, it is nearly twice the square footage of the island.


Every man is like the company he is wont to keep.

-- Euripides