Day 1 - Adelaide
The problem was that Patrick and Mark, in their first encounter with the Australian authorities, had no idea of the answer to the two following questions - (i) where does David live?, and (ii) what is the hotel he has booked us into? So this meant leaving an important part of the immigration form blank. They attracted further suspicion by making an abortive air-side phone call to David to find this out - a call which failed for the obscure and technical reason that David had given them the wrong bloody number. So the drugs section of customs smiled and rubbed their hands together as two suspiciously-sweaty guys with no forwarding address rolled through the barriers.....
Well, eventually after a few swabs and a lengthy grilling, they relented and decided that the botty-searching department need not be troubled. It seems that the clincher was Mark waving his business card and citing his job title in its full tedious length - they decided civil servants were too boring to be drug smugglers.
David picked us up in a car called Fred. (Why Fred? Oh, look at the
Strange are the ways of the Humble.Rupert, in the meantime, was on his way here from New Zealand. On the other hand, his luggage was on its way several thousand miles in the wrong direction, courtesy of Air New Zealand. Eventually Qantas found it in Brisbane.