What's a girl to do? Christmas is over for another year. The lunatics are back in the asylum, well, at least the diagnosed ones are. The others are roaming the streets under a full moon and in high humidity, charging various Boxing Day Sales like the Nazi invasion of Poland. Note to self: stay inside, lock the doors, turn on the airconditioning and crack open the champagne. Mother Nature is doing her best to render the country uninhabitable in tracts the size of European countries. Last year it was fires, this year it's floods. Oh joy, the locusts will be next. This heat is doing its best to ruin my hair, my complexion and my formerly charming and delightful sunny disposition. All I can say is thank goodness for gun laws, lest there be a massacre at Westfield Chermside courtesy of mine self. Footy season seems so very, very far away. Vox is on summer hiatus. Art Deco Weekend in Napier isn't until February and I haven't a thing to wear. George Clooney still hasn't called. No singing, no Collingwood, no flapper girl dancing on tables, no George, and it's just too frightful to watch one's cricket team being rogered by the Empire on our own hallowed turf. To make it worse, the Empire's pasty inhabitants have taken up residence in various Australian cities, terrorising the locals with warm beer, ridiculous unintelligible songs and questionable hygiene. No! This will not do at all. Time to escape somewhere civilised, where there are neither bogans nor the barmy army to infect agreeable social company.
For a girl whose underlying motivation in life is 'luxury living for the underfinanced', there is only one choice to be made. Vietnam - where European style meets Asian prices, and where one becomes a millionaire immediately upon arrival in Saigon. I feel better already!