So last week I was in Perth and This week I am in Adelaide.

It started like this....

'Oh my Gawd. The miner pretended to leave for the mine. Put his shoes and his bag in his bedroom. I just opened the door and he's still in there. He's been laying silent as a snake listening to my phone calls. I'm scared now. I gotta get outta here!'

It was my facebook friends who rallied around me. I put out my SOS and they all came to the party with names, songs, advise and telephone numbers. 147 comments later I was sorted. I get by with a little help from my friends. But it was my real life friends who got me out of Perth and into Adelaide. Lovely Lina loaned me a plane fare and Lafferty gave me cab fare to get me to the airport and back and Lenny lined me up accommodation with Adonis.

That was very generous of Lenny. Very VERY Generous. To welcome me to Adelaide with a nice warm wholesome handsome God of a man! Mama Mia!! I nearly died when he opened the door.

He didn't even have to open his mouth. He had Love God written all over him. He moved like a ballet dancer crossed with a basketball player. He sorta bobs up an down a bit when he starts to get passionate about a subject. You know those Italian men...trying to keep it all down in a town full of Anglos. All that energy bounces around under his skin like a bag full of puppies. His Mama loves him. How could she not? How could any woman not love him. He teaches Salsa. A man who can teach Salsa has the world as his Oyster. Oyster being the operative word. He doesn't need to speak. He just needs to stand there. He could bark and we'd all applaud. He has gifts that can never be taught But the Anglos have got to him.

Bastards!

Somehow they have convinced him that to be the God he naturally is that he has to become a clinical Psychologist. So he's followed their lead and now taken to their books. I can see testosterone being leeched onto the page as he writes. I want to bleed all over his notes. Blot out all that nonsense he's filling his head with. It's a terrible urge because I've only just arrived and Lenny's already told him I was crazy. Naughty Lenny. I smacked him for that!

But Lenny didn't really mean crazy he meant DANGEROUS. He meant 'Don't tell her anything. She'll write down everything you say and spin it into a story. She'll steal your best lines, shine them up and pop them back into your mouth with another name and in another situation.'

I suppose they are friends so fair warning. And my readers are just dying for a love story. They've read tragedy enough. Bring on Adonis. Who is not one bit interested in me! He made that perfectly clear on the first night. He is grieving a lost lover. 'Oh let me wipe your tears Adonis!!' I don't smell any grief on him and grief is my specialty. He smells like hot widow to me! Plato said that Love is a type of madness but I think he was just talking about Sex.

I've never been so horny in my life and I don't know what it is? Maybe it's the desert heat? Maybe it's Adelaide? Maybe it's Adonis? I'm just the right amount of vibed up and weighed down at the same time. Once or twice I've lost my balance but generally my situation has 100% improved. All I need is Adonis to hammer it home and we'll have a happy ending.

Shhhh....don't tell him I said that.

I'm keeping it quiet. I'm being a very good house guest. I'm trying to be supportive of his Psychology Course. He also has a day job and he keeps a clean house. He is very responsable. I'm not paying rent it's the least I can do! But it's no small order. To watch him bury himself in those books, like a monk, is a torture! All that 'psychology' is dry cleaning him daily. He'll look like a loofah by the time he's finished that course. You could scrub your back with him. Psychology is just exfoliation. It's about as cathartic as a tupperwear party. He is the Therapy. He just doesn't know it! If you bottled his sweat you could sell it as rescue remedy! The medicine is being secreted from under his arm pits. It's divine. 100% organic. Wholesome. handsome. Balls in tact. Mother Nature's finest offering...

Sigh.

He called me 'dude' so I didn't get any ideas and I asked him not to call me that so he called me 'Mate' and I didn't like that either so now he calls me 'sweetheart'. It doesn't mean anything when he calls me 'Sweetheart' but it's all that he's left with now I've verbally cornered him. Poor darling! By the time he's finished that Psychology course he'll be calling me 'Sweetie' and the tone will be patronising. I'm enjoying 'sweetheart' while it still gurgles up from his belly. I love it! (You Tarzan. Me Jane!:) You can hear his heart beating from under his chest. He has a conscience. Psychology will teach him that his guilt is a bad thing.

Mama knows better.

He throws his arm over the side of his chair leans back and smiles and says 'Hi Sweetheart' in a wog aussie accent that ends with a question mark? 'Oh Let me throw panties! Adorable!' And they will get rid of that. They will strip him of his accent and his balls and his stink and leave him with their buttoned up manhood. It's a tragedy! We don't need a man like this to start thinking too much. Psychology!! He might as well have joined the Scientologists. They are going to corrupt him with their head fuckery. It's criminal. I want to rescue him from this sanity insanity. They are going to strip the italian stallion right outta him. He's like a statue that's breathing. I am in the presence of a man on the edge of extinction.

Adelaide I love you!

I weep.