Australia notebook

I went to Australia with my constant companion Hilary, the only woman in England I’m not paying alimony to. She is also my spirit guide, and can get me through airports by simply waving her phone at various machines. I’m ashamed to say I still expect my ticket to be punched by a ticket collector, and my suitcase marked with a chalk cross by a cheerful customs officer. ‘No smutty arts books from Paris I hope, sir?’

We start the day (I have no idea what day it is, owing to jet lag) having breakfast at the Bathers’ Pavilion on Balmoral beach. It could be California in 1935, so charming is it. Opposite us is a tranny dressed as a second world war nurse: white everything, stocking, shoes, uniform and cap. Australia is very gender-friendly. You can be whatever you like here, which is just great.

Australia has many wonderful beaches but the humdinger of them all is Bondi. I had quite a scuffle on Bondi beach, being mistaken for David Hasselhoff, with the lifeguards demanding I sign their surfboards. To calm them down, I had to explain that I was in fact a clapped-out British cartoonist, here to promote my book of Battle for Britain strips.

Barry Humphries tells me that being funny is now a dangerous business. I was asked to talk to some students about being a cartoonist. Little did I know that they thought my cartoons ‘confrontational’. I sometimes take the mickey out of women, and as a man this was not my prerogative, they told me. Thinking on my feet, I recanted, saying that I was not quite myself and had recently had a sex change. Oddly, they were happy with this answer. They seemed to take it quite seriously and allowed me to carry on talking about how trying to be funny tears your guts out.