G'Day From Downunder

If you haven't unplugged the kettle since last time you might as well give it a top up and we can get on our way with a nice cuppa tea.

There's not a lot happening in Australia this week apart from the usual political crap and it feels like a half holiday. Remember when some used to get Wednesday afternoon off? So let's be in a holiday mood today.

I suppose as you're at it why not kick off your old shoes put on a pair of slippers and chill out for a little while. There's nothing too strenuous to talk about this week, if you exclude the final conclusion to my adoption proposal that I first flagged a month ago. I know, I know, you are all waiting with baited breath to hear the final outcome.

Well let me go through the sequence of events from start to finish. Some months ago in one of my more inspirational moments at the ripe age of 60-ish and just coming into the prime of my life I thought it would be a good idea (hold on a minute what am I saying, a good idea... how about a genius of an idea?) that I would put myself up for adoption.

Okay, laugh if you will, but before you do, hear me out. As I said at the time how good would it be for some wealthy couple to adopt someone like me.

They wouldn't have to send me to school, I've been through all that and some people tell me I'm reasonably bright, be it not all the time.

I do have a clean, unblemished driving licence, so the new proud parents wouldn't have to worry about me while I'm out and about in Manhattan at night driving the new Mercedes Coupé that they would have bought for me.

I just wanted a new set of parents who I could make proud of me and what better way to make them proud and happy than for them to be reading about me in the social magazines and tabloids such as this tabloid? The Crème de la crème.

There would be headlines about a most grateful adopted son who entertains his flock of friends with expensive fine wines and haut cuisine dining in Eammon's Bar and Grill, while telling wonderful stories of his most generous new found adopted parents.

Yeah, I thought of all the good things that I could add to a lonely couple's life. Being a forward thinker I even thought about the sad time of their passing away.

I would not wish them to die worrying about their money, considering there are no banks in heaven, or hell for that matter. I didn't want to burden them with what might happen to their multi-millions in such circumstances, so I wrote up a full and comprehensive list as to how I might best enjoy their considerable large sum.

I don't think it would be appropriate for me to disclose that list to you today as that would be confidential between the new parents and me; however, I suppose I could give you a little hint of some of the more economical items of the list.

I'm only doing this because I know most of the nosey (sometimes called the inquisitive) among you will hound our poor editor and send his nerves shattering and then the poor bugger will have to spend a week on the beer to settle himself down again (not that I need an excuse... Ed.).

Being the modest and humble person that I am, I should tell you what is on the top of the second half of the list.

It is a week-long wake for the generous departed and, of course, you are all invited.

Then I have plans to build an extra two-storey apartment over Eammon's Bar and Grill. That would be very handy and economical for me, as I wouldn't have to travel too far for a drink in my favourite bar.

Tell me, how smart is that? I bet you now, you wouldn't have thought of that. I could go on and on about all the wonderful ways that I would be the perfect son for some mega-rich lonely couple but that would be only blowing my own trumpet and even I'm too modest to do that!

So let me tell you, you wouldn't believe the number of offers I received. I was inundated with offers varying from the ridiculous to the sublime. My calculator didn't have enough digits in it to add them all up.

Let me share with you a few of the offers. I already told you of the 10,000,000 Dong offer from Vietnam so let us give that a miss.

Then there was the New Zealand sheep farmer who had 250,000 sheep whose wife passed away last year. Yes he wrote me a lovely letter with a neatly folded $50 note with lipstick on it as a deposit. That also got a quick flick. As the saying in Australia goes, "what do you call a New Zealander with a harem? - A Shepherd".

Then there was the strange couple who wanted to know would I be prepared to wear John Wayne cowboy boots and hat and would it be okay for me to wear nappies on the weekends. There was also a reference to smearing baby cream on my bum.

My thoughts were "Not at any price". I wrote back to them and told them if they were prepared to wait another four or five years I would more than likely be reverting back to nappies naturally anyway but in the meantime I really wanted a somewhat more normal kind of life. Spoiled, yes, and preferably with lots of money but no baby cream.

I received a letter from a couple who described themselves as high flyers. They were trapeze artists, husband and wife. He described his sad life as a one-legged trapeze flyer who sometimes uses his wife as a crutch. He said something about them having a donkey and with me being Irish we would make a great act as a pair of asses. He reckoned the donkey was very talented. I texted him back and told him if the donkey couldn't write I wasn't interested.

It never ceases to amaze me the kind of people who get their hands on the Irish Examiner and that's only an example of a few.

Every time I see an undertaker I get a shiver up my spine so, as you can imagine, getting an email from one freaked me out. First I thought "surely he's not soliciting for a bit of business? I don't know anyone who I could recommend to him immediately". Yeah sure, I know a lot of my friends are on the wrong side of fifty but that's no reason to be making appointments for them to see an undertaker.

His email said "Dear Mike, I have spent most of my life burying people and made a lot of money". I have to admit the "money" part perked my ears and eyebrows no end, but the burying people bit evoked images of The Grim Reaper in my little mind.

The email went on to say "I buried some good people and I buried some bad people, If my wife and I adopt you and the time comes for me to bury you which one will you be?" I didn't care if this undertaker owned Fort Knox, this didn't sound like a cosy family thing to me so he got deleted.

I continued to work my way through the countless offers, mostly weird, some strange. I even received one from a Clergyman who said he was financially burdened down from syphoning from the Sunday collection plates, said he never had a housekeeper but always wanted a son. Boy, oh boy, did he write to the wrong guy or what? I couldn't offer myself to someone less than honest with money.

After my days and days of scrutiny I finally came to the conclusion that there are a lot of strange people out there who are willing to adopt me but for the wrong reasons.

So I decided to delist myself and wait for the right rich loving couple to come along one day. I am patient. I can afford to wait.

No I'm not disappointed with the outcome and along with being a patient person I am also an optimistic person. That's why I'm keeping my bags packed just in case there is someone out there holding back waiting to make a last minute bid.

Now that the tension of all this is out of the way I might be back on my soapbox next time probably putting some columnist's nose out of joint by mentioning the word 'Holocaust' again. Who cares as long as it's only a columnist so, until I talk to you again, be good to those who love you and slainte from Downunder.

Continue to write to mike.globefins@westnet.com.au