Koh Samurai Sword

Last Thursday I received an email inviting me to Thailand for a press trip. I happened to be talking to my friend Mrs Woog at the time and I was all "Koh Samurai? Like the sword?" She did not even laugh, and told me it was Koh Samui.

I was so, so sad that I could not go and came home and told my husband I was so, so sad that I could not go.

You know I'm going, right?

It is called a "scent indulgent trip" for Ambi Pur. I'll be able to talk about more details as they come through ... I don't even know who else is coming. All I know is, I owe my husband BIG TIME.

This is coming off the back of the worst weekend I have had in a looooong time. If you have a semi-decent brain, I would swap my life with you in a second. Life is a tricky hard thing, man. I'm tempted to see if I can buy a Samurai Sword in Thailand just to prove myself goddamn right. Will I just chuck some dresses and a passport in my luggage and Bob's my uncle?

When the beautiful lovely ladies from the agaency I've been dealing with have been emailing me back and forth - I feel like they've made a big mistake. Like, neglected to read my blog. I'm obsessed with beautiful coiffed high achievers. How did they get to be where they are? Where's their dark? What propels them on? Surely life must SUCK SO BAD for them too, right?

It's a four day trip. I've never been to Thailand. I just want green chicken curry, and if I can eat it without wiping a stinky bum beforehand, then I'm winning.

My car gets here at 6.40am and I have not packed a bean. I will drive off the mountains with the biggest sense of relief but you mark my words ... by the time I reach Emu Plains I will be crying because I miss my boys. I love them but they kill me but I love them but they kill me. I lose myself every day. And not in the way Eminem means.

I would not be the person I am today without being in this family. This family makes me want to run far, far away.

Conundrum City.

I'll be packing my resin mustache, one-piece bathers because it's safe to say my stomach is ruined, and a list of questions about bloggers about to crash mainstream media. I found these guys on twitter, and will see if I can do anything while I'm over there. You know, in between eating and having crises in my head and being a white slob.

Dave is a *tad* concerned ... "Um, hon? Please be ok. I don't want to come and rescue you."

He rescues me every goddamn day and doesn't even know it - I just bluff and put a succession of differently coloured cowboy boots on and pretend I have my shit together but mostly don't.

So. Salamat Datang!