I recall reading somewhere* that the ultimate test of those super-fit, SAS types is to be parachuted naked into the wilds and live off the land for a set time.
If I was parachuted naked into the wilds of Melbourne, I’d probably be attested for indecent exposure.
If, however, I was parachuted fully clothed with $150 in my kick into the wilds of Melbourne, I’m pretty confident I could find my way to the Italian Waiters Club and organise a slap-up feast and a couple of bottles of red.
There’s something in that for us all.
Also – can we just accept we’re shit at soccer and move on?
It really will save a lot of time.
*And if people would hurry up and fix my fucking glasses, I could look it up.