It’s no secret to those who truly know me, that my fantasy career has always been that of foreign correspondent.
Not because I’m into high-risk, mind you, I’m quite the opposite which is probably why this career move would never take off. But I would love the excitement of snatching the milliseconds of great moments in the world with my camera – flak-jacket on, the pockets filled with rolls of film – then sitting in some colonial outpost journalist’s bar while the fans slowly circle above my head, composing the tale to tell the world. The polished bar running the length of the room, large floor-tiles, once white, laid in a diamond pattern with small black tiles at their corners, stretch across to meet white walls and huge open-shuttered, glassless windows. Parlour palms sit in the corners of the room in huge, glazed pots leading the gaze outside to the heavy-columned verandah, and beyond that, the warm street buzzing with bikes and mopeds overloaded with families and livestock. The soft whirring sound of the brass and cane fans is only broken by the occasional tinkle of ice in a glass, and the tap, tap, tap on my old typewriter keyboard. A slight man dressed in a jacketless suit bows gently to place my tall gin glass on top of a folded napkin on my low, heavy wooden table. As the day draws to a close, more journos, ex-pats, and hangers-on file in, milling and murmuring as stories of the day are exchanged.
Playing second fiddle to that career dream are the rather less ‘career’ choices of Artist’s Muse – holed up in some Parisian garret, drinking absinthe and draping myself on various chaise lounges while someone reveres me enough to create art from me,
or Ambassador’s Wife – in a ball-gown and satin gloves at a fabulous party, the humid, tropical air carrying the soft sounds of violins over the perfumed garden and into the ballroom of some well-heeled local monarch or dictator. We sip Krug and nibble on local delicacies.
Interesting to note that in my fantasy lifestyles, the only drink I like is that of the Ambassador’s Wife.
Anyway, the other night, I got to try on a role, of sorts.
Sonny (damn, is this another bloody post about him!) has been asked to be a “Friend of Australia”. This is a Tourism Australia initiative – about 80 ‘friends’ have been selected to spread the word about how good Australia is to people overseas. As an ambassador to this program, Sonny was invited to the Shangri-La hotel for a welcome event, and given a room to stay in for the night, and I was invited to join him as ‘ambassador’s wife’. Yay!
I started by giving the kids the day off school. Sonny was working all day, and I figured if I was going to the city anyway, may as well give them a fun day.
I had vouchers. They would have expired.
I had never been to the top of Centrepoint Tower, and only once on the Monorail, the kids had done neither. But we changed that, and had a great day of it, with me again being dubbed the best Mum ever.
Cool view from the tower!
They just ran around the circumference.
I checked into the hotel in the afternoon, in time for this nice view.
and peak-hour
Such a nice room, with THE comfiest bed I have ever tried to (dreadful sleep waiting for early alarm to get to work the next day) sleep in. The mattress felt like it was made of down. It was as close to lying on a cloud as I think I could get. Totally fitting for an ambassador’s wife.
Upstairs we had a really nice evening chatting with a few of the other ‘friends of Australia’ and enjoying champagne (though, not Krug), and snacking on some yummy local delicacies, and the view was pretty awesome from there, as well.
Bit of a running joke that Sonny can’t take a decent photo of me, which is silly, since everyone else seems to manage it, so we make a few attempts here.
hmmm. Too much shoulder, poor posture, face and elbow wrinkles
would have been better to stand straighter, but the darkness obscures most faults
accentuates the hip a bit more than I’d like. This one’s for Sweden – check out how brown I am, Kerstin!
Can’t complain about the backdrop. Maybe, if I’d just had that ballgown…
I like days like that. Can I do it again, honey? Please. I’ll be your best buddy….
*The term ‘wife’ here, is used loosely. In reality, it should be “The Ambassador’s Girlfriend”, but that just sounds too much like “The Ambassador’s Mistress” which is something I would not want to be.
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