The Mothership is in orbit! She's due to touch down here tomorrow. She'll come bearing Cherry Ripes, Cadbury Top Deck, John West Passionfruit in a tin and other Australian essentials. Not to mention her lovely company. That is, if she ever bloody arrives. She sent me a text Wednesday morning UK time, saying she was at Canberra Airport about to begin her journey. She was due in Glasgow just over 24 hours later, BUT I HAVE NOT HEARD FROM HER SINCE. Now that sentence is unnecessarily dramatic. You see, she is travelling with her fella. What do you call it when you're fifty years old and you have a man in your life? Your partner? Your companion? Your devoted love slave? Anyway, she has a fella and he lives around the corner from her in Goulburn, but he's actually originally from Scotland (Clearly we have some sort of genetic kilt fetish). Their overseas jaunt is to begin in Glasgow where they will visit her fella's family for a few days, then tomorrow they come here to Chez SHAG*, then they're off to London to see Rhiannon before nicking off to Europe for three weeks on some sort of Contiki For The Middle Aged tour. Since I've read no reports of major air disasters, I can safely assume they made it to Glasgow. But it's been over 48 hours and The Mothership has STILL not called nor texted to confirm her arrival. I have tried calling her mobile and her fella's mobile but they're switched off. This is most likely due to fears she'll be charged £450 just for switching it on in a foreign country. I am not so much concerned for her wellbeing but bloody pissed off at her infuriating double standards! If I'd not confirmed my presence as as we arrived in Australia, she would have had a herd of sniffer dogs and helicopters on the case within five minutes! MOTHERSHIP! You are so GROUNDED young lady! They're probably having a wild old time in Glasgow. But what I'm really wanting here is an ETA for tomorrow. How long do I have left to clean underneath the oven? How long do I have to polish the doorhandles, to comb the hairs of the carpets, to scrub every individual rung of the venetian blinds with a toothbrush, to make sure I am wearing a bra? I want to be ready for inspection, you know. UPDATE: All is well. Turns out their phone don't work in the UK and they had some trouble figuring out how to call my number without an international code. Hehe. The cleaning is also progressing nicely. * SHAG = the collective noun for SHauna And Gareth, as devised by Jane and Rory.