Last week

was quite the adventure for me.

Manila first, with pat downs and bag inspections at every door, boot inspections and under-car examinations at every driveway entrance. The Australian Dept. of Defence required us to cheque into executive suites, as part of their security policy and it turns out that that means a four room apartment with an enormous bed, three desks, a lounge suite, two TVs and a big marble bathroom in which I managed to get lost in the middle of the night! All that because it gave us access to the executive desk so that we did not ever have to use the lobby.

I had my shoes inspected, my packet of mints fingered through, my tissues rummaged through and my iPod examined at Manila airport on my way out to Palau.

Then came Palau. An incredibly beautiful spot. Warm, sunny, isolated, picturesque. I'm told it figures in scuba divers' top five before dying. Shame about the bitching and moaning that came out of the expats' wives' mouths and splattered all over my poor dept. of defence escort. He had a bit of trouble relaxing and enjoying the place. But I managed.

I even got to plant a baby clam!

I came home with sunburn and washing and probably an extra 2kg to fit into my jeans thanks to the insane Philippino habit of adding copious amounts of sugar and lard to EVERYTHING, and the very bad influence of my escort, Les, who could not bare to see a buffet opportunity to go waste.

Next week? Tahiti.

And I have to stay at the Sheraton.

Go on, Good Nick. Hate me.