"Just promise me one thing," begged the Dreamboat as we drove along some road in the Northern Territory back in September. "Promise me that this time round in Karratha, we won't ever go to Trawlers."

The establishment known as Trawlers is what passes in Karratha for a nightclub, in the same way that the establishment known as Port of Call is what passes in Karratha for a brothel ... I've been told.

Given that I've been to Trawlers and seen what goes on there, I'm not really sure how it differs all that much from Port Of Call. It does have its own website, though. Port of Call, unsurprisingly, doesn't.

"Most assuredly do I promise thee, O Master of Mine Heart Who Doth Proudly Bear the Scars of Thine Own Stapled-Together Intestinal Wall," I told my husband in a quaint archaic fashion that very quickly annoyed us both and was subsequently dropped. "I have no desire whatsoever to go to Trawlers, believe me."

And that, me darlin's, would've been the end of it ... had we not inexplicably ended up in that very place on our very first night back in town.

I woke up the next morning with sciatica. Of course.

Here's what's been happening since:

Saturday 30 September and Sunday 1 October
We can't move into our house until Monday, so we spend the weekend checking out old haunts and being very bored.

Week Beginning Monday 2 October
I unpack. And unpack. And unpack. Then I put things away. And put more things away. And put other more things away.

Meanwhile, the Dreamboat starts work. Most nights, he comes home grumpy. He doesn't like the whole I'm-new-and-I'm-not-sure-what-I'm-meant-to-be-doing-and-no-one's-being-particularly-helpful thing. That's why it's very fortunate he doesn't do casual work for the media.

Week Beginning Monday 9 October
Your Correspondent relaxes by spending vast amounts of money on indoor and outdoor plants. Most of these proceed to die -- not very relaxing to watch -- so I buy a water feature for the living room instead. It's only after I lug the thing inside, start to unpack it and discover that most of it's smashed to pieces, that I remember how common such things are in Karratha. Because everything travels such huge distances to get here, you can never be sure what shape it's in when it finally arrives. You buy something, you bring it home, you unwrap it, you wrap it up again, you take it back and you get something else. Or ask for your money back.

Buffy the cat arrives by Lear jet on the Friday. The bit about the jet is, of course, a lie ... but from the way she flounced out of her cage and appraised me with utter scorn in her eyes when I got her home, you'd've thought she was Madonna. She's not the sharpest kitty in the litter but the fluffy little bitch sure has 'tude.

Week Beginning 16 October
I start work at a local radio station as a casual producer on the Mornings show. I then work my butt off for the next six weeks to prove I deserve the permanent job they've invited me to apply for ... and which I subsequently don't get.

I'm still working there as a casual, though. It's fun. Last week we bought a fish.

Other Stuff I've Been Doing That's Prevented Me From Updating My Blog:
1. Making a round trip to Port Hedland (250km each way) for a friend's going-away party.

2. Camping at a favourite spot in the Millstream-Chichester National Park. We arrived late afternoon; the temperature would've still been in the early 40s. It was so hot I hardly slept and the flies were spectacular, both in numbers and in their determination to make our every waking moment a living hell. We were packed up and on the road home before 6 o'clock the following morning.

3. Buying chicken manure for the garden at home. (It smelt foul -- no pun intended.) I got an inordinate amount of joy from doing this. It's frightening.

4. Pushing a trolley through a supermarket and feeling my will to live visibly evaporate while listening to Neil Diamond perform Hark the Herald Angels Sing.

5. Re-visiting Deepdale, hallowed camping spot and place where the Dreamboat popped the question. Huge bushfires were burning out of control all along the highway. It looked all post-apocalyptic and creepy. Deepdale itself is as beautiful as ever, though. We had a swim and a picnic and listened to thunder rolling in the enormous clouds overhead. Meanwhile, the fires obligingly jumped the road and gave me something different to look at on the way home.

6. Buying a DVD of yoga and Pilates workouts and fucking up my back all over again.

7. Catching up with old friends and then waving goodbye as they leave town one by one.

8. Printing out a photo of water, placing it in a frame and putting it by the fish at work so he's got something to look at.

9. Taking a minidisk recorder to the local Carols By Candlelight in the hopes of interviewing witty and incisive little kids about Santa Claus. I'm thinking poignant, I'm thinking funny, I'm thinking great little package for our Christmas show. All the kids I approached either ran away crying or grabbed the microphone and yelled obscenities into it. The one kid who actually did co-operate couldn't be heard over the howling wind. Some things just aren't meant to be.

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