Waiting for Bobot

We’re counting down now to the final days before Cyclone Boston Bob hits the East coast of Orstralia.  And as with any hazardous natural event there are certain precautions to be taken and preparations to be made in order to ensure everyone’s comfort and safety.

At this point I feel it is important to remind anyone who may hold fears for Bob and her health, that earlier this year I hosted the Tremendous Tonia and all ten of her tree-hugging twinkle toes for a wonderful 24 hour period.  She survived, I survived, it was all very much a hoot of a time with much laughter, chinwagging and a few too many beers on my part.  In short, a glorious success.  However this time a US citizen  (again with an enormous bloody camera) is being entrusted to my care for the better part of a week and it’s up to me to ensure she not only survives but then makes it to our Western shores, from where Magi will take up the tag and introduce her to the other Apes at the Perth Zoo, the black swans, the wildflowers and their undrinkable Swan Lager.  If we had marines here, I’d be calling them for reinforcements.

Instead, I’ve made a list, and like a certain hardworking charitable elf we all know, I believe I will now check it twice.

1) Lose forty kilos and become physically fit in order to keep up with this whirlwind of a retired kindy teacher.

To be fair, I did actually start this one back in April soon after the trip was confirmed.  I walked for over an hour a day at a nice moderate pace for ten entire weeks.  I even gave up smoking, drinking and eating crap for many of those weeks too. It is now the end of August, so those of you with any kind of grasp of the intricacies of the Julian Calendar will have worked out that this regimen ended many, many weeks ago.  And you’d be right.  So while this was an excellent plan and fully worthy of an attempt, I’ve declared it merely a desirable outcome and not strictly essential.

Instead of keeping up with Bob I will merely issue us with walkie talkies so we can stay in touch as we take on the scenic trails, at vastly different velocities.

2)  Do something about the frightful mess amidst which I live so that an honoured international guest won’t feel totally inclined to run screaming to the nearest Marriott.

To be fair, I did actually start this one back in April soon after the trip was first confirmed.   No, no, I jest.  Of course I didn’t start in April because that would be just plain silly.  In fact there’s no point in starting any earlier than twelve hours before Bob’s arrival time because I have my own wee tropical storm right here in the house who can turn a neat and tidy home into a shitfight in world record time.  I therefore have a separate sub-list of things to do next Saturday.  It is long, it is detailed, it is scary and the most I can hope for is to live through it.

For anyone feeling prompted to say,  “Oh pshawww. Bob is so lovely and easy going, she won’t care about superficial things like a messy house.”  I would merely suggest that right now you go and look at the cupboard under your sink and consider whether you’d like someone, renowned for her accurate and detailed photo essays, to see it in its present condition.  I rest my case.  I also wish to suggest that nobody ever really says ‘pshawww’.

3)  Supply the larder with essential foodstuffs necessary for keeping a citizen of the United States alive for five days.

This is going to be much harder than one would think.  I am daily learning new and disgusting things about the diet consumed Stateside.  Why just yesterday, thanks to David Rochester,  I learned of fluffernutters.  After extensive research I found to my surprise that it is not just a term used in the pornographic film industry.  People actually eat them!  Here in Orstralia we have fluff in our lint filters, fluff in our belly buttons and a whole bunch of fluff on our television screens, but despite our heroic pioneering spirit we have NEVER thought to put fluff in jars and eat it.  I’m going to assume that as Bob is no longer seven years old, it’s likely she’ll survive a week without a fluffernutter sandwich, and I’ll try to forget I ever heard of them.

One thing that was proving difficult to organise was arranging for Bob’s daily coke habit.  I’d made several unsuccessful and slightly chilling trips to the seedier parts of town before it was made clear to me I can find cans of it in cartons of twelve in the soft drink aisle at the supermarket.  Phew!  Sure am glad we cleared that up.

In fact, instead of sourcing American Hot Dogs, the closest MacDonalds, or a pumpkin pie purveyor, I’ve sensibly realised that for Bob this will be a journey of discovery. It is traditional Orstralian fare that she’ll be after.  So I’ve decided I should chuck some bangers on the backyard barbie for her, even though this will first require me to actually build a barbecue in the backyard.  This part is even more traditional than the part where we turn some saussies into charcoal and eat them on thickly buttered bread with fried onions.  Finding old bricks behind the shed, stealing a hot plate from the neighbours, constructing from these a device under which we burn pinecones and newspapers soaked in kero, was the way we did a traditional backyard barbie when I was a kiddie, before the nice Weber people made all them fancy ones.

You know, I've just re-read items four through seventeen and have decided some revision is required:

Revised item 4)

Forget about list, relax and enjoy anticipating this visit from one of the dearest, most generous souls I’ve ever encountered.

Done!