Diplomatic Notebook

I am an elder statesman, but I’m a versatile old bugger. In about a month’s time I’m hitting the boards in Austin, Texas as a support act for Dame Edna. She’s not a happy lady about it because we’ve never hit it off, or got it off for that matter, and she’s got this bee in her bonnet that the Seppos (Septic Tanks — Yanks) might find me a bit too forthright in the language department and I could end up as popular as a bastard on Father’s Day. I beg to differ. She can stick her opinions as far as I’m concerned, and I’ve got a gut feeling I’m going to turn up in America when they need a man with my positive outlook more than at any other time in their history.

I’ve just been in San Francisco on a recce and boy, did I cop a strong whiff of the déjà-vus! That’s where I wanted to be when I was a kid, hanging out at Woodstock with Dylan Thomas and Billy Hendrix. Back in the Sixties in Sydney I was a flower child, believe it or not, and so was my yet-to-be bride, Gwen Dolan. She never went the whole way in the lifestyle department, or in any other department for that matter, being a well-brought-up Mick, but she wore a tie-dyed kaftan which I found the other day in the glove compartment of the family vehicle. A bit the worse for wear. Somewhat like Gwen herself, the Lord bless her.

I guess Gwen’s hippy period gave her a taste for mood-altering substances and she’s still off with the fairies most of the time. Knocking back the Valium and bugling the vody miniatures that I bring back after my overseas flights, God love her! Between you and me, Gwenny also suffers from haemorrhoids and the doctor has given her pills that look like submarines, except you would never get anyone to pilot them unless you could find a midget with a death wish.