Exile's Return

Storm clouds gathering, thunderheads piling into a darkly vicious fortress on the horizon. Lightning illuminating the bowels of the beasts as they race west across the firmament. Was that a head in the clouds? Were those teeth? Gods, what was that thing grinning down from the sky, smirking at the twinkling lights below? A dull rumble passes through the underbelly of the clouds, followed by a swift silence that is shattered by an enormous CRAAAAAAAAAAACK-

Tomn sat bolt upright in his bed, sweat pouring down his face. The mark on his forehead throbbed with pain (he’d slammed it against the bedhead not one night previously, after waking from the same dream), and his nightclothes stuck to his sweating body. He sat panting, willing his heart rate down, willing that terrible face to leave his memory…

“You had the dream again, didn’t you?”

Tomn’s eyes darted to the shadowed corner of the room, where his friend stood, perhaps a little creepily. He rolled his eyes and then gasped with pain. Even a sarcastic eye roll was painful. “The same. But it’s just a dream”.

Wenddel, Tomn’s friend, slammed his hand against the wall. “It’s not just a dream! You have the sight! We must warn him".

Tomn was indignant, not to mention overtired. He’d not been sleeping properly after all. “But I don’t wannaaaaaaaaa”, he whined.

“Come,” said Wenddel. “We need to see him. How else can we progress the plot?”

The two young boys left their chambers and raced through the castle/keep/military facility/school/generic location where stories such as these take place. They stopped at the bottom of a winding staircase.

“You have to go up there alone”, said Wenddel, almost mournfully.

“But why?” asked Tomn, who as the hero, always asks why.

Wenddel placed a hand on Tomn’s pubescent chest. “Because this is your story”.

And with that dramatically vague/nonsensical explanation, Tomn began to climb.

At the top of the staircase was an office of sorts, full of things indicating the inhabitant was incredibly learned. And he was. For the man who sat behind the large dusty desk was none other than Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius, the most powerful wizard/scientist/wise person of the age. A sallow man stood at his shoulder.

Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius spoke: “a little late to be wandering the corridors, isn’t it, young Tomn?”

Tomn had the good nature to look abashed, then realised why he was there. “Wenddel made me do it, sir! He told me to come here, I didn’t want to. It was just a stupid dream”.

The man standing only slightly lecherously behind the J-man leaned forward. “A dream? What dream? Speak, boy, for your father’s sake!”

“Who are you?” Tomn asked rather bluntly, purely for the sake of the narrative.

The sallow man sighed, and flourished his robes. “I am Grinadafalukinteraneabapol, second most powerful wizard/scientist/wise person of the age. It’s obvious, because my name has one less syllable than Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius’s”.

An awkward silence followed as Tomn counted the syllables. It took longer than one would expect the potential saviour of the world to do maths. He looked up, puzzled.

“There is power in words, young Tomn”, Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius said, then rolled his eyes behind half-moon spectacles when Tomn continued looking confused. “Literally. There’s literally power in words. The longer a person’s name, the more powerful they are”.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh” breathed Tomn. He’ll think ‘I only have a one syllable name, how can I be the saviour of the world?’ only after leaving the office and facing his destiny. It usually works like that.

“The dream, boy! Describe the dream!”

Slowly at first, to build tension, Tomn began to retell his dream of dark clouds and scary faces. He rubbed his forehead to build further emotion into the scene. The two long-syllabled men stared at each other as Tomn completed his tale. It was obvious they knew exactly what the dream meant.

“We must wake the Guardians. Tell them the Exile is returning and to make the barriers solid”, Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius commanded Grinadafalukinteraneabapolbanius. G-man nodded and left the room swiftly, robes billowing, motes of dust skirling in his wake. “Tomn, we must palaver. Sit with me”. Tomn nodded and sat at the desk, J-man looking over his spectacles into Tomn’s eyes.

“Your dream is a prophecy Tomn. It has foretold a great power which will come to this land once more. Only it’s too soon….we exiled him only three months ago to the lands beyond the sea. For him to have grown in power so quickly, well, it just doesn’t usually happen that way. Generally speaking, a generation or two passes, giving ample time for heroes to die and people to forget the blight which has been removed. Even eleven or twelve years can do the trick, allowing a new hero to grow up and avenge his parents’ deaths. But this, this is most unfortunate.

“Three months ago, a group of Guardians of old were resurrected from legend to deal with this threat, which has known many names – Fran, Sven, Wack, just to name a few – and cast him into the ocean. But it is clear from your dream that he has fed his power, and is even now returning to lay waste to this place. Our worst fears have been realised. He has most likely consumed complex and starchy carbohydrates and offensively cheap bananas to revive himself. It is even possible he has used the native people’s innate ability to stay dry in torrential rain to construct some sort of water-repellent vessel in which to travel across the sea”.

Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius reached across the table and grasped Tomn’s shoulders, his eyes wide. “The one called Sitiveni comes! And according to your dream, he is hungry. For real food. Red meat cooked to perfection, vegetables that aren’t eggplant, fresh milk, cheese! He wants to consume burritos and kebabs and roast dinners and eggs benedict. And heat. He will bring heat from the east! But it will not last, it will be nothing more than a false spring. Offering people false hope. Like the villain he is”.

“But sir,” Tomn whimpered, “how am I supposed to stop such a monstrosity?” At this, the great J-man laughed a hearty laugh, his breath rattling in his small chest.

“My dear boy, this is not your responsibility! The Guardians are all still alive and well, and will push him back into the sea once more. Your story ends here, I’m happy to say. There will be a battle of blazing magicks, depending on the budget of course, but you will play no part in it. No, Tomn, you will go back to your room and sleep once more. Perhaps you’ll dream of Sitiveni again, perhaps not. But your role as the weird dream guy is now over. We might use you again in a sequel or something, but to be honest, you’re quite the dullard. Now get some sleep. Pip pip”.

That was weird. Sorry. Let me provide some all-important context: when I first left Australia it was joked that I was being exiled. Sophisticated, I know. Seriously though, apart from not dealing with the temperature differences at all well, I had a great time back home. Thanks to all those who took me in, bought me food, lent me vehicles, and let me be a part of their special occasions. You all rock, and on a scale of burritos to eggs benno (eggs benno being the ultimate food, but of course you already knew that), you all come in slightly higher than eggs benno . It’s a compliment. Enjoy warm, with a side of bacon and a refreshing beverage.

Official Apology

Well, despite the warning I placed at the beginning of one of my earlier posts (you know, the one with all the pictures of hammocks and paradise), some foolish people apparently ignored it, thinking they were strong enough to look at the pictures I posted. Absolute folly. I’ve received a fair amount of hate mail in recent weeks, and if the postal system were any good over here, I’m confident I would have found a few disgusting/possibly fatal surprises in my letterbox. Not cool people. Always one to look for a silver lining, I see this as an opportunity to tell you all that I told you so. You’ll think twice before ignoring me again, won’t you? Who am I kidding? Of course you won’t.

In order to appease all you angry and jealous readers, and to inform you that yes, things aren’t always gravy (gravy! I miss gravy) here, I thought it would be a good idea to show you the more sordid side of Fiji. The underbelly, if you will. Kind readers, I present to you: Suva (and surrounds).

Caution (likely to be ignored by you chumps): some viewers may find the following images distressing. They include grey skies, dirty streets, and dilapidated buildings. If you look closely enough, you may even see people – shock horror – not smiling. Effects of viewing should include mild revulsion and disgust, and most importantly, an overwhelming feeling of sympathy towards me, in addition to a severe bout of self-loathing at being jealous of me in the first place. Shame on you.

The cleverer of my readers may have noted that nowhere in this post was an actual apology. You can choose to find the apology within the images, or more correctly assume that I am in no way apologising for having an awesome time. As my friend Captain Planet used to say, the power is yours. And quit it already, I’m NOT the Heart guy.

The Mass Effect

“In the year 2148, explorers on Mars discovered the remains of an ancient spacefaring civilisation. In the decades that followed, these mysterious artefacts revealed startling new technologies, enabling travel to the furthest stars. The basis for the incredible technology was a force that controlled the very fabric of space and time.

They called it the greatest discovery in human history.

The civilisations of the galaxy call it….

 

OK, that was the second videogame reference currently on this blog, and I can’t promise it’ll be the last. But stop your groaning! This will be exciting, I promise. If you’re into hardcore science fiction.

That was another joke. I’m a barrel of laughs. LAUGHS, not lard. Although this seques quite nicely to the topic at hand. If you’ve forgotten, just read the intro again (sans groans please, a little respect goes a long way).

Ready? Let’s embark on a scintillating journey, involving the usual stunning beaches and palm trees, with an added dash of lush rainforests, waterfalls, and lessons in mass. Before we begin, please be aware that I know nothing about mass apart from what I learnt in the above videogame. And I’m pretty sure they bent the rules laid out by – I wanna say Isaac Newton? – so you’ll forgive me if this isn’t scientifically accurate.

Taveuni. Pause for effect. An emerald island set within a sea of sapphires, Taveuni (known as the Tav to the cool kids) is a paradise in the truest sense, tucked away on the edge of the Fiji Islands. It is also the location of several lessons on the Mass Effect. Sort of like the Chinese mountainous countryside where young useless losers go to be taught kung fu and how to get the girl by mysteriously patient masters in a series of lamely awesome montages.

Montage #1 – Planes Have Little Mass

Have you ever wondered how planes fly? They seem like pretty heavy pieces of complex equipment. As it turns out, not so much. This became apparent while we were waiting in the airport lounge (the airport outside of Suva has one lounge, and one gate (Number 3 for some odd reason), but it serves as both the international and domestic point of departure. It’s quite exciting. After being given a hand-written boarding pass, I witnessed our plane – a 15 or so seater with two turbo props – being manhandled onto the tarmac. Manhandled by men. Three of them. Pushing a plane.

3 men + pushing 1 plane = 1 ‘oh dear’ moment.

Fortunately in this instance the Mass Effect was negated by one of the most stunning flights I’ve ever been on.

Montage #2 – I’m Heavy

Roads (or any major infrastructure) are not Taveuni’s strong suit. A sealed road connects maybe a quarter of the island. Another quarter has no roads to speak of. And the remaining half could be classed generously as ‘a gravelly track’ or more accurately as ‘an elongated deathtrap with nice views to distract’. The taxi ride south from the airport took us along this road, and Sikeli our driver was clearly proud as we drove past several areas where road works were about to commence in a potential future. It was somewhere between a flat bit and a steep decline (read: a really steep upwards section) that the van lost traction and all forward momentum.  It was only when Sikeli asked me to shift my person to the back of the van that the wheels properly bit into the loose surface and propelled us onwards.

Me + weight shift = Saved Bacon (parenthetical equation: me = fat).

Again, all negative impacts of the Mass Effect were minimalized by our arrival at Vuna, which boasted a sickeningly quaint seaside cottage and Treka, Fiji’s most awesome (albeit racist) dog. Clean, friendly, with a penchant for loving foreigners but attacking Fijians. I’m not even kidding.

Montage #3 – Added Mass Makes Things Break

The Sunday morning bus from Vuna back up the coast ended up coming earlier than normal (meaning we missed it), so we watched Treka attempt to bite a baby’s face off (see above) while our host rustled up some transport. The ute only took us 15 minutes up the road in a failed attempt to catch the bus, but broke down several times along the way. Probably because me, Amanda, and a complete stranger were kicking back in the tray watching the weirdly coloured palm trees flash by.

Ute + extra people = broken ute (possible parenthetical equation: me =  fat?).

Montage #4 – One Person’s Mass Can Be In Two Places At Once

True story. The International Date Line (capitalised because a) it’s awesome and b) it’s what Word told me to do) runs through Taveuni, making it possible for people to be in two whens (which is infinitely cooler than two wheres) at once.

Person + two timezones = cheesy/cool pictures.

Montage #5 – Heavy People Go Slow Down Waterslides

Which is weird, right? I was always under the impression the heavier you were, the faster gravity took you down a slide. I’m sure I learnt something to that effect in school. But it’s not the case, not in the Tav, anyway. Being a Jurassic Park-esque location, Taveuni has several waterfalls. One of them has been harnessed by the locals and turned into a natural waterslide. It’s basically just a steep creek, but the rocky bed is smooth and it’s possible to slide down with the water about 30 or so metres and get dumped unceremoniously into a gorgeous pool at the end. We shared it with a family, who, between cleaning their teeth and bathing, helped us along by stopping up the flow of water with their bodies and then unleashing a torrent of water to make us slide faster. It’s not a completely smooth slide however, and even a high volume of water wasn’t enough to propel me all the way down to the pool without getting snagged on a rock or two. I had better luck in Lavena the next day, after swimming to a secluded waterfall and climbing up a fairly precarious rockface. The slide was shorter, the fall to the water bigger, and the thrill much more fun.

Subject of mass + self-deprecating humour = many fat jokes.

Montage #6 – Kids are light. And cute.

Our arrival in the sleepy yet beautiful village of Lavena coincided with lunch time, and after grabbing a room at the lodge, we sat on the beach (which had surf! I’m sure the moon’s mass has something to do with that too, but it’s clearly beyond my knowledge) and had a bite to eat. Six or seven kids were playing on the beach nearby, yet as soon as they heard the crinkle of a packet of Tymos (Tim Tam equivalents) being opened, they’d formed a semi-circle around me. After being denied treats by the cruel overweight kai valagi, they went back to playing with a large piece of driftwood.

Six children + large piece of driftwood = something very cute to watch as the spindly little tykes attempt to roll it back into the ocean, then stand on it, then push each other of it.

Well I'm not going to put pictures of kids up on the internet am I? Just look at this and be jealous instead.

Montage #7 – Many Foreigners ‘Working’ Is Fun To Watch

Our arrival at Lavena coincided with a largish group of American high school students doing a sort of homestay thing and doing bits and pieces around the village. Their task while we were there was to paint the lodge. They spent the afternoon and much of the evening painting a large mural, whilst almost the entire village stood there and watched.

Combined mass of kai valagi > the old adage that insinuates watching paint dry is boring.

I didn't take any pictures of teenagers painting either. So no one will sue me.

I can hear you all whispering behind my back. Yes, I’ve put on weight while I’ve been here, OK? I also just got asked if I smoked because I apparently have brown teeth. Haven’t been asked that question since I was 15.

Goodbye, Hello

Saying goodbye to good friends is never an easy task. It’s not like I’ve just come in through the bathroom window: I know how this sort of thing works. I’ve made some truly fantastic friends in my time in both Brisbane and Canberra, and had to say goodbye to all of them at some stage. It’s hard. Despite being told ‘don’t let me down’, or ‘don’t pass me by’ by close friends, I’ve done exactly that. Heck, one friend even screamed ‘get back!’ at me while I ran helter skelter to a plane I was about to miss. Of course I didn’t miss it: I had a ticket to ride.

Fiji is a little different in some respects because complete strangers have been thrown together in a volunteer program and told to play nice whilst saving the world. In some ways it's good: you have an instant community of similarly-aged expats to hang with. But there's also a danger of being trapped with people you'd rather not connect with on, well, any level. The people in the program could easily have been a march of the meanies, and led to lonesome tears in my eyes. Fortunately, the opposite is true. The people here are, on the whole, fantastic, and I would never dream of setting fire to this lot. I know, without a doubt, that any and all of them would lend me their comb if I really needed it, and if that’s not a true sign of friendship, I don’t know what is.

We’ve come together as mates, a motley assortment of personalities that just seem to gel. There’s Lucy (who’s tricky to hang with because she’s in the sky, but she does have diamonds); Carol; the ever-depressed Eleanor Rigby; lovely Rita; Clarabella; the dizzy Miss Lizzy; Lady Madonna; sexy Sadie; Julia; long tall Sally; Maggie May; and of course my Bonnie. And Polythene Pam (my personal favourite). And that’s just the girls. Yesterday we had a BBQ in the Octopus’s Garden with the blokes: Sargeant Pepper; Teddy Boy; Maxwell (who always brings a ridiculous silver hammer everywhere he goes); Johnny B. Goode; and some other guy. Hey, Jude just walked by. I can’t believe I forgot about him. And before you say anything, yes, we do have some weird nicknames for each other over here. Even me. In Fiji, I am the Walrus.

If Canberra taught me anything (apart from learning to twist and shout to prevent hypothermia), it’s that all you need is love saying goodbye is a normal part of life. In a transient population like Canberra’s, friendships are always fluid and you generally meet new people as often as old people leave for greener/warmer/better pastures. Living in Fiji as a volunteer is much the same. Except of course for the fact that the mailman brings me no more blues. Or much of anything, really. The fact is, a new group of volunteers arrive every three to six months, and existing groups leave with the same frequency. Sometimes I wish it would all just slow down: I’ve been here just on two months now and already individual members of an older intake have begun to run for their life back to Australia. It’s more than a little sad to see these friends go. Even my guitar gently weeps (mostly because in a couple of weeks we’ll be two band members down) at the thought of our little community slowly disappearing. Then again, soon we’ll have brand new volunteers arriving from across the sea of monsters. Thus the long and winding road continues.

Like being a paperback writer, it can often be a hard day’s night persevering with friendships when those friends no longer inhabit the same city or country as you. Like anything worthwhile, it takes effort from all parties. I’d like to think I will remain friends with most of the people I’ve met here even if they moved across the universe. And anyway, the fact that these new-found friends live all around Australia and can thus provide free accommodation is quite a nice sweetener. Of course, this doesn’t always work, and sometimes you just have to let it be. Especially if they won’t leave your kitten alone.

The person who finds the correct number of Beatles song titles (you didn’t just realise did you? Oh! Darling….well, you’re not guilty of anything but needing help!) in this post wins my respect and admiration. If you would please please me by letting me know said number, I’d appreciate it. You know me, I get by with a little help from my friends.

Oh, and Yellow Submarine.

Wild West

Partners, prepare to draw. Your gun, not a picture. Geez. To help you get in the mood, hit play on the below video and listen whilst you read.

The carriage creaked its way over the dusty road, horses lathered and straining in the hot air. Wheels lazily flung up thick clots of mud as the carriage slowly made its way along the pockmarked track. Hooves sucked in and out of the slurry of muddy water, a result of the sudden downpour which had occurred during the ferry crossing not an hour previously. A small village appeared around a bend in the road, and the horses whickered at the smell of livestock and civilisation. The seven inhabitants (known in these parts as the Magnificent Seven, which is a pleasant coincidence) of the carriage dozed, confident in their ability to handle any trouble in these parts with their eyes closed.

People stopped to stare as the carriage moved slowly on through the ramshackle town. This was not the Seven’s destination. Children stared wide-eyed at the silhouettes of the carriage’s inhabitants. Several young ones burst into tears and were shushed quickly by the adults. The ancient phrase ‘Kai Valagi’ was whispered between the townsfolk with a mixture of fear and awe. An uneasy quiet descended, punctuated only by the irregular clucking of hens, and the even clop of the horses’ steel shod hooves. Cookfires smoked unattended, and a sudden gust of wind sent a small (and unlikely) tumbleweed barrelling down the road. As the carriage reached the far edge of the village without slowing, tension trickled out of the shoulders of the locals, and life resumed with naught but a shadow of the carriage’s passage remaining.

The road narrowed now, as mountains reared up into sharp crags of fantastically formed rock on one side and the ocean lapped hungrily on the other. Following the contours of the land, the road led the Seven inexorably forward. They were drawing near. Light began to fade from the sky, colour bleeding into the heavens above the mountains whilst the ocean grew darker and more malicious, hurling itself violently against the crumbling sea wall. A stiff breeze flew from the ocean, whistling and wheezing through the cracks in the carriage, ruffling the horses’ manes as they pulled the Seven ever onwards.

As pink streaks of dusky cloud ran across the sky, masking the first stars as they appeared, the carriage entered Levuka. A dilapidated factory cast a baleful shadow across the road, but the Seven (and their horses) ignored it, their eyes fixed firmly on the goal ahead. A dog, nothing more than skin and bone and fleas, yapped ineffectually as the carriage rolled past.

The track widened into a proper road, lined on one side by weatherbeaten clapboard buildings and a rotting seawall on the other. In daylight the buildings were brightly coloured, but in the dim of evening they may as well have been decaying husks from a long-forgotten civilisation. The town was dead. The buildings were dark, shut up tight, and nothing but the wind could be heard as it whistled and whispered through buildings and trees alike. It was obvious that the magnificence of the Seven would not be questioned this night.

The Magnificent Seven (minus one)

The carriage came to a halt outside a sprawling homestead, an island of light and sound in a sea of near darkness. The Seven disembarked. As one, they made their way towards the entrance, their equipment clinking menacingly against their persons. Inside, lights burned warmly and conversation hovered quietly around lace-clothed tablecloths. Then, like the buzz of a fly whose life is cut short by the flick and the crack of the flyswat, everything ceased as the batwing doors were flung open. Seven Magnificent silhouettes flung lengthy shadows behind them, and silence hemorrhaged  out of them and into the saloon. The leader dropped coin on the counter sharply, eyes glinting dangerously, and the troupe of gunslingers were led to a simple but clean room reminiscent of the dormitory in Madeleine. A massacre of bedevilled mosquitoes ensued, leaving townsfolk trembling in fear and insect carcasses littering the floor.

After a quiet (and menacing, always menacing) night of food and drink, the best in these parts, the Magnificent Seven woke with the town and left their lodging. Word of the Seven’s presence in Levuka had clearly spread, for even in daylight hours, the town remained deserted. Several individuals scurried past, heads bowed, as the Seven walked the town, fingers hovering over their holsters, eyes roaming and hungry. Whilst their bloodlust was not satiated, their appetites were, with a simple lunch of breakfast crackers, tomato and cheese. As they sheltered from the noonday sun under the eaves of the first ever MH store, fondness for this town grew in their hearts. They vowed to return someday to take more sustenance from Whales Tales Saloon, annihilate more mosquitoes at New Mavida Lodge, and duel any and all who would threaten Levuka’s peace. It is, after all, a Crime Free Town.

There were no horses.

Crossover Episode

Every mediocre show has one: an episode where two TV shows produced by the same people collide in an attempt to reignite tepid storylines and weak characters. Some examples include NCIS and NCIS: LA (I make no apologies, those shows are fairly dreadful, and let’s not forget when they tried to add a bit of JAG into the mix early on), and of course all those CSI super episodes.

Just like TV shows, blogs too can suffer from recycled material and overused plot devices. Fortunately, I was recently given the perfect opportunity to vent the stale air that’s been building around my cyberspace fortress through my very own crossover. Did you just get goosebumps? You can almost taste the high quality production values, can’t you?

"Production Value!"

 

My old supervisor, referred to henceforth as Filet (myself and another co-worker were affectionately known as her minions) from the Company Which Shall Not Be Named was in Suva doing a bit of scoping for some future development projects, and I was fortunate enough to catch up with her over the course of a weekend. It was pretty exciting having my very first visitor come to Suva almost within a month of me moving here. This was further compounded by the fact that because Filet was here for work, she had an allowance (and a generous spirit), which allowed me to eat like a king for a couple of days at no personal expense. And what food! Eggs Benedict for breakfast (reunited at last!), a mouthwatering burger with one of the most delicious ground beef patties I’ve ever consumed, and let’s not forget the cubes of deep fried cheddar cheese.

It wasn’t all take though. I gave my time, my energy, and my knowledge of Suva, and bundled it into quite an entertaining and refreshingly humourous package. And come on, I even went to Pure Fiji, some factory that makes soap and all manner of smelly stuff. If that’s not a sacrifice, I don’t know what is. But now that I’ve brought you up to speed with what’s going on this week on Steveinfeej, we can move on now to the Western edge of the Pacific, where a second blog exists and will shortly intrude upon life here in Fiji.

Introducing www.frogsfordarcy.blogspot.com. The blog was created by Filet with the truly admirable goal of entertaining a very ill kid living in Sydney. Darcy is the son of my and Filet’s old boss from the Company Which Shall Not Be Named, and has been seriously sick for well over a year now. He’s been in and out of hospital frequently during that time (more in than out in recent months), and there isn’t much for him to do other than be poked at and prodded by doctors. Filet, ever the philanthropist, began the above blog to entertain Darcy during his quarantined hospital stays, and attempts to post pictures and stories of origami frogs, one of Darcy’s favourite things, as frequently as possible.

Like NCIS and NCIS: LA, you can probably guess where this is going. Also like NCIS, you’re probably disappointed that this isn’t shaping up to be as exciting as the ads made it out to be.

That’s right, Filet brought an origami frog with her, and what followed was a very exciting weekend for said frog. It’s a little sad to think that thanks to Filet, that frog is almost as well-travelled as I am. However, in a shocking plot twist, that was not the only companion Filet brought with her to the Feej. Our old team’s mascot, known affectionately as Wooden Rob despite the fact she is very clearly a woman (with a tattoo no less, shocking), also joined our adventures. Given the fact that she has only one leg (one of many unforeseen consequences of the Company Which Shall Not Be Named downsizing my section), Wooden Rob’s visit was very timely, considering my current work in the disability sector.

As with all crossovers, the episode must end and the two blogs will go their separate ways. Viewers will have learnt something new about the characters, but not so much that that they won’t tune in next week to learn some more, and hopefully see one or two well-timed explosions used solely to keep the stale plot interesting. Unlike NCIS, this crossover episode does have a message. Several, actually. One: my old supervisor is a little crazy. Two: I apparently enjoy posing with wooden dolls. And Three: there is a very brave boy living in Sydney who, despite experiencing a heck of a lot of pain over the last year, is able to remain positive and hopeful thanks to a wonderful support network of family and friends. Darcy, it’s not often that young people inspire old fogeys like me, but your bravery and stoicism in light of what you’re going through is nothing short of amazing. You have many people thinking of you, and now some of those people live in Fiji. We're sending sunshine and well wishes your way!

Disclaimer: yes, I actually did work whilst employed by the Company That Shall Not Be Named. Our antics with Wooden Rob in no way affected management’s decision to downsize a vibrant and incredibly competent team of passionate individuals. No matter what my Dad says.