Back in 1983, Australian actress (as they were then known) Rebecca Gilling starred as the frumpy daughter and heiress of a mining magnate who was fed to a crocodile by evil husband James Reyne.
Plucky Bec survived, and thanks to the miracle of cosmetic surgery returned as a vengeful supermodel to wrest back her empire.
This is mostly irrelevant to our last day in Noosa, except for the title I purloined (Return from Eden versus Return to Eden — see what I did there?) and boobs.
Rebecca Gilling had great boobs in 1983, and so did the woman in 26F on our return flight. 26F by seat and cup-size, I was an involuntary witness to 90 minutes of her nursing one hungry baby!
Little mofo couldn’t get enough boob. I got more than enough.
There was quite a lot of unexpected boob on this trip. An old chook at the pool suffered a bikini mishap; the woman on the balcony across from ours put on a show; two sunbathers gave away some substantial side-boobage, and then the whole 26F thing on the flight home.
I want more boob like I want another frigging serve of fish ‘n’ chips!
Only kidding. What’s not to love about fish ‘n’ chips. But I am definitely done with babies! (also kidding).
I became an accidental voyeur because my wife values her hand luggage more than my legroom. She objected to exit-row seats so we got stuck at the back of the plane across the aisle from each other, both with caterwauling infants front and back.
Punished for being fickle.
Amidst the screaming and suckling I had time to ponder — this is our third trip to Noosa, how about somewhere different next time? We’ve eaten at 90% of the fooderies on Hastings Street, and I have enough shoes.
That only leaves the Mangroves Kayaking Adventure and I’m not sure my wife is keen.
How about Port Douglas or the Whitsundays? Qualia or Lizard Island? A leafy resort in the Daintree maybe? Our third and final wedding — Child Number Two — is in October 2023, and the plan is to segue from event > airport > paradise.
But paradise where?
My wife busts her ass all year, so she deserves the best holiday we can afford. Also, the accountant advised us to live it up for a few years before we start squirreling nuts for the long winter of retirement.
So this is our time in the sun, both figuratively and financially. We’re finally living the DINK lifestyle so why not? And while it’s much to early to commit to any place in particular, I’m definitely liking the look of this:
