A few weeks ago I checked my employee records and then, in a state of muted excitement, I contacted my Tasmanian correspondent. She greeted my appearance on her screen with the traditional recoil of distaste followed by a wary demand to know what I wanted.
"Your birthday is coming up," I announced.
"Yeees," her look of distaste was rapidly being replaced with a look of suspicion.
"Are you having a birthday party?"
Distaste and suspicion both vanished from my correspondent's face as there wasn't room for both them and the sudden look of pure horror that overwhelmed them.
"I might be."
"Can I come?"
"Do you still have those photos of me?"
"I do."
"Then I guess you can come."
With my correspondent's enthusiastic invitation ringing in my ears I set about preparing for my journey to Australia's southern frontier. I was giddy with excitement. Face to face meetings between me and my correspondent are rare and not just because of the restraining order. My preparations consisted of finding the thicker of my two jumpers and buying some ugg boots. Now I was ready for a trip to Australia's icy south. I have traveled to Tasmania before of course. A few years ago I joined my correspondent for a road trip around Tasmania's west coast. This time I would be hanging out in the part of Tasmania with running water and electricity. My correspondent lived in Hobart, Tasmania's capital village and all the comforts of civilisation were available, if you were prepared to pay for them to be shipped in from Melbourne.
With more hope than expectation I booked tickets on one of our domestic airlines and informed my correspondent that I would be turning up sometime within twenty four hours of 9.20pm Friday. My correspondent had kindly agreed to pick me up from the airport once I had pointed out to her that "Visitor Freezes to Death in Airport Carpark" was not a headline that would help the state's tourist industry. I turned up at the airport in plenty of time and settled down for a six to twelve hour wait. Imagine my surprise when close to the scheduled time for departure I was directed to what looked like a Pringles tube with wings and was invited to take a seat. Since they have (deservedly) copped a lot of criticism lately I will happily reveal that it was Qantas who was responsible for the completely unexpected on time departure of my aircraft and its slightly early arrival in Hobart.
Once I found my correspondent we set out for a lengthy trek through the carpark (which is comfortably larger than the airport itself) until we found where she had abandoned her car. Pausing only for some takeaway chicken she deposited me at my hotel which I had selected largely on the basis of its proximity to her party venue and promised to collect me the next morning. My hotel room overlooked the docks and the light streamed into my room all night making it difficult to sleep. At 6am I accidentally discovered how to close the shutters and plunged my room into darkness just as I was thinking of getting up.
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