KEY POINTS:
I am fortunate to have interesting friends. One is trying to cross the border of Jordan into Syria for her summer holidays. She'll come back even more knowledgeable about Middle East politics, which will make our next conversation more challenging than the last.
Another has just returned from
Hollywood, where I like to think his life is one long episode of Californication, and another lives in Brisbane, which isn't at all interesting but is having cyclonic weather conditions which leads to fascinating daily updates.
Which makes my past four weeks at the caravan look exceptionally dull.
"So what have you been up to?" inquired Mr Hollywood, eventually.
"I just finished a jigsaw," I volunteered, hastily eliminating alternative activities such as gathering pipi, floating in the water and gathering pipi.
"Umm, we're not going to tell anyone about that, okay," came his hasty reply.
"Why not?"
"Remember what happened with the caravan?"
Indeed I do. A few years back I bought an old caravan, restored it to its sparkly lino, then spent a lot of time there alone with the dog. Rumour spread that my marriage was over and all I got was the caravan in the settlement, and when the dust settled my reputation as an interesting person was over. I was eccentric but in a boring way.
Recently I was saved from being an eccentric bore by the plethora of silly-season newspapers screaming at me that caravans are cool! Caravaning is back! Interesting people with arts degrees have caravans!
One of the pieces was even written by my husband, who regarded the caravan as an eccentricity at the time but rode the wave and on the way back down agreed to spend some time there and got it.
So now the fact that I spend a lot of time in my 1968 Lightweight caravan is no longer evidence that I am uninteresting, I am suddenly cool.
Which is disappointing. I like being stationary and solitary and staying up to midnight without realising it to finish the sea part of my jigsaw. I didn't even stay up to midnight on New Year's Eve.
In fact getting me to see the two hands on the number 12 requires vast amounts of persuasion these days. But when you're halfway through completing a picture of boats in a port, you have to finish the sea.
I have so far finished three jigsaws and discovered there are two provisos. They have to be vintage because the pictures are crazy, and I prefer them to have a seaside theme.
The one I stayed up for has the most astounding array of blues and greens. I am anticipating getting to work on the one of Venice during a gondola regatta in the 1960s.
I have five more and I doubt I'll ever run out because op shops keep me in constant supply for the average price of $1, stretching to $3 if there are no pieces missing.
I am deeply indebted to the volunteer staff at the various op shops who sit in the back room completing the puzzles then write on a sticker "one piece missing".
I don't really care if it isn't complete, it just makes it more challenging when you have no pieces left and three holes. And that's okay because it's not like you get them framed or anything.
I told Mr Hollywood that he might need to remind himself that I am the antithesis of his new life. I am peace and quiet and smell nice.
I've just bought a jigsaw mat which you roll up and it magically keeps all the pieces in place. I'm not looking forward to a future silly season when my husband and other journalists write moving pieces about the return of the jigsaw.
