It’s no secret that all the big shot edi- tors receive free trips to Australia. And it’s certainly no secret that I am a big shot editor. First class flights? Not bad. Five star accommodation? I’ll take it. Time of my life? Just a bit.
Day 1
The concierge at the five star hotel susses me as a big shot editor, embar- rassing. He gives me a bottle of Austral- ian Baileys as a gift, how embarrassing. I neck the lot and fall asleep on the stairs outside my room. There’s nothing wrong with that.
Day 2
My driver, Andy, takes me out to Ayers Rock. Andy, who is somewhat Aborigi- nal, says “it is known as Uluru and is very sacred to my people. What are you do- ing with that skate board?” “A kick flip, Andy” I reply as I zoom off the edge. I almost lose control as I bounce off a tree, but I turn it into a routine 900. Phew, I’ve landed it and Andy hands me a celebra- tory can of Foster’s.
Day 3
I awaken on the stairs outside my ho- tel room. “Crikey Andy, how many tin- nies did I drink last night?” I quip, whilst smoothing the creases out of my cork hat. Andy and I are off to the Great Bar- rier Reef for a bit of a swim. Andy tries to tell me that the Reef is the world’s biggest loofah or something, but I am too busy saving a lady on a lilo from a great white. A dolphin clocks that I am a big shot edi- tor and lets me ride about on its back for a bit. Legend!
Day 4
Last day in Oz and I find myself at a black-tie barbecue at the Embassy, chatting to some bigwig, possibly the King. He’s babbling on about what I, as a big shot edi- tor, could do to promote his country as a tourist destination, whilst I help myself to koala burgers and hot lager. A traditional Aboriginal band is wheeled out for some after dinner entertainment and I stun the other guests by belting out “that’s when good neighbours become good friends” before spewing into the didgeridoo. Andy carries me back to the hotel and I snuggle up on the stairs like a big shot.