... here's the lowdown on what's been happening since that last delicious post in Spain:

August -- Early September
Spent cavorting around in the Land of the Thistle, where we ate too much, didn't exercise nearly enough and were almost killed by the kindness of the Dreamboat's family and friends.

A brief respite was gained with a weekend trip across the water to Belfast, where we ate too much, didn't exercise nearly enough, drank like Celts and sang very loudly in bars. (Interesting fact: the only -- and I mean only -- music you'll ever hear in Belfast is 80s British pop music. This may or may not be a good thing.) It was an interesting journey back on the ferry on Monday, what with Your Hungover Correspondent dashing away every five minutes to vomit.

I was sad to leave the Northern Hemisphere for many reasons, not least of which is that it's bloody refreshing to be in countries where people actually love your Kiwi-with-a-dollop-of-Aussie accent and think it's sexy.

Tuesday 5 September
After 38 hours of travel, we arrive home in Townsville to discover that the cat has gone semi-feral in our absence and won't let us near her. She runs away next door, prompting Your Correspondent to burst into tears and wail to the Dreamboat, "My house doesn't smell like my house any more, it smells like other people's curries ... and my cat doesn't fucking recognise me ... and I'm ... I'm jetlagged!"

Wednesday 6 and Thursday 7 September
A whirlwind of activity to arrange a property manager for our house, find a gardener, organise someone to maintain the pool, get quotes for a reticulation system and a new pool fence, get the cat's vaccinations up to date, and all the other stuff that goes with moving away. Because, lo, we might have only just touched down but very soon we'll be buggering off again. Oh yes we will.

On top of this, there's the unpacking of some stuff and the packing of other stuff and yep, assorted jetlag follies to contend with too. Like this:

Dear Niki

Why did you insist on buying those bright blue 'exfoliating gloves' from the supermarket when we both know that a) they're just plastic pot scourers with fingers and b) you'll never use them?

In perplexity

Your Common Sense

Friday 8 September
The Dreamboat goes into hospital for surgery on not one, not two, but three -- three! -- hernias.

Saturday 9 September
I bring the Dreamboat home again. He isn't allowed to lift anything heavy for three weeks. This is a very useful condition to be in when you're moving house and driving across a continent. Not.

Thursday 14 September
The packers arrrive and start packing our possessions in an impassioned flurry that's remarkable to behold. The guy crashing around in my kitchen is so very, very impassioned that I take his colleague off to one side.

Niki: Is he OK?
Packer: Yeah, he's fine.
Niki: Well, he doesn't sound fine. He sounds like he's in a very bad mood and if he is, I don't want him taking it out on my stuff.
Packer: No, he's fine, honestly. He's just very focused.

[To give our very focused friend full credit, when I unpacked it all at the other end, nothing was broken ... despite the racket at the point.]

In the middle of all this, some bloke arrives to take away the (by now, fully rehabilitated) cat. Ahead of her is a plane trip to Brisbane and at least three weeks in some swanky cat resort, where she can expect daily vet checks and specially dimmed lighting to minimise feline stress.

Ashamed though I am to admit it, I start crying when she goes. My packer friend sees this and pats my shoulder awkwardly.

"It's alright, love. She'll be fine. Look at her! You're more upset than she is!"

He's right. I harden my heart and press on, just like a real soldier.

Friday 15 September
The movers come and take away everything that's been packed. What a wonderful system!

The convalescing Dreamboat sits by the pool, talks on his mobile phone and hoses down the outside paving. Your Correspondent cleans the entire house. Top to bottom. Oven included. By herself.

All very good-naturedly and without a hint of resentment, of course.

Saturday 16 -- Friday 29 September
After bidding farewell to friends, house and the Townsville Experience, we hit the road and head due west across Queensland, the Northern Territory and Western Australia. Destination: Karratha.

The journey is not without its exciting moments. On more than one occasion, Ole Staples (as I've come to call him), wearing a pair of nifty white support stockings to prevent blood clot formation, must lean across from the passenger seat to tenderly soothe his wild-eyed wife, who's shaking uncontrollably after overtaking yet another road train.

The life of a traveller, eh. Oh how it sucks when you're the one who has to lug all the heavy bags in and out of motel rooms like some common beast of burden. Especially when the heaviest bag of the lot isn't even yours and yet it should be because you're the girl.

And, as ever, it's all done meekly, patiently, uncomplainingly and with the greatest of good will.

To be continued ...

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