On the morrow, I jet off to Bangkok, Thailand, where I will be rendezvousing with a mysterious beast of a man notoriously referred to as simply Gunst. The behemoth 6'1, devilishly handsome blonde, and indeed a dear personal friend of mine, has been exerting his rugged efforts on his uncle's pig farm up in Queensland for the last week. And although our respective airplane flights out of the country are at different times and from different states (his being from Brisbane and mine Melbourne), somehow we will arrive within five minutes of each other. A development as convenient as it is surprising.
As I think of Gunst's preparation for the trip, which I presume involves grubby pig-farming related activities, only hardened by terrible XXXX Queensland beer (what passes for beer in that State anyway), I reflect
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