They said it couldn't be done, but here I am, safe in the bosom of Thursday morning. Yes, the removalists are removaling my worldly goods down south as we speak, my summer school lectures are almost over, and My Third Televised Game Show went off without so much as a single producer requesting that I shave my armpits. (Here I thank, respectively, the best darn housemates in the world, the passing of time, and the armpit concealing properties of my cardigan.) You can catch all the dramatic tension of my Third Televised Game Show and see just how many electronics I won by tuning into the Kerry Packer Memorial channel, at 7 pm, on Tuesday 6th March. Go on. You know you want to.
For now, the edited lowlights.
Edited Lowlight #1
I don't know quite how this happened, but I somehow managed to say, on what will become national television, "I rather fancy Bert Newton." What I meant to say - and I'll persist in this version of events until the day I die - was, "I rather fancy inert butane". It just so happens that Bert Newton's face was winking at me from across the set at the time. I am nonetheless confident that my apparent confession of Newtonphilia was no more than a slip of the spooner. Not to say that Bert Newton isn't a very nice chap. In his way. No, really. A fine figure of a Bert.
Edited Lowlight #2
Game Show Host: "What word rhyming with 'plan' describes a small cake?"
Me: [confidently] "Fran!"
Ah, yes. The benefits of a tertiary education.
Edited Lowlight #3
Let's just imagine for the purposes of this anecdote that I won a 1.8 metre-wide plasma TV with DVD recorder, and that in the process of chatting to the elderly gent sitting beside me on the plane trip back to Sydville, I happened to mention it. The elderly gent considers this revelation for a moment, and then turns to me with a sage look in his eye, pronouncing, "If you get Foxtel, and some decent beer, you can have any boyfriend you want with that TV." I inspect his delivery from all angles for traces of irony, and, finding none, start dreaming of Bert.