Papped at the airport.... again.

The meat in the Carrie and Tommy sandwich.

I get it, people are interested in what I’m doing. Not a night goes by when most people don’t ponder the question ‘What ever happened to that fat guy from The Nugget?’  Obviously this has resonated with the excellent editors of the Daily Mail (do they have editors? Probably a robot these days.) So they seek me out. They get the tip off. ‘That fat guy is going to the Gold Coast to do a gig for stock agents. Get to the airport and get a photo.’

And sure they’re disappointed when it’s not that Kenny bloke.

And Ok I was the meat in a Tommy Little and Carrie Bickmore sandwich. And sure maybe that’s who the Daily Mail were after. But I’m spinning it differently, I mean after all who was in such demand they were doing a gig on the Goldy for blokes who sold cows? Was it Tommy and Carrie? Don’t think so.

So here’s what happened. I’m wandering through Tullamarine airport, having just been to my favorite shop, The Chocolate Box, where sure I’m on first name terms with the Shop Manager (hello Roz!). My usual purchase is chocolate covered toffees, they’re like Fantales (RIP) but better.

I’m walking down the concourse, all of a sudden Tommy Little and Carrie approach me from behind. I see what’s happening here, they’re trying to get in on MY photo.  Anyway we have a very pleasant conversation, where they inform me they’re going to Sydney for a radio broadcast from a boat and I tell them about my gig on the Goldy. Tommy remarks that a corporate gig in QLD are unlike corporate gigs in say Sydney/Melb as QLD = hot weather + men from NSW/VIC not used to heat + drinking + away from partners = loose units.  This rang true with me, last gig I did in QLD was for Harvey Norman where men turned up to their corporate event in three quarter length pants and singlets.  Pissed, of course!

All of a sudden Tommy spots the photographer, who’s trying not to be obvious by standing behind a pole and holding the camera at his waste, like he’s using an old fashioned box brownie. ‘Get between us Dave!” Tommy yells. I do more than that. I put my arm around Carrie and yell out ‘Who’s the mystery man with Carrie??” I’m giving this idiot his byline. I go for the pash. No I don’t. But it could have made front cover of the Daily Mail, but pretty sure it’s not an actual newspaper. Just a website run by that robot who’s obsessed with me. I’m now feeling more like a security guard, I escort them to their plane and chase the photographer down and abuse him, no sorry I asked for a copy of the snaps and got him to write down the correct spelling of my name. I suggest some headlines ‘Carrie’s new fat funny fella’ or ‘Carrie’s new crush (literally)’ or ‘Little dumped for Large.’

I flew to the Gold Coast and immediately went for a swim at Burleigh Heads. I feel it’s my duty to show my white pasty Victorian body to the beautiful tanned people of Queensland. As I exit the water like a bond girl dripping with water or a whale that’s been beached, you be the judge, I see a man holding up his phone. Here we go again. Papped at the beach. And sure he had a great cover, he was standing with his girlfriend and they pretended to do a Selfie. But I saw you buddy. You were very fit looking, a bit too perfect. Probably one of those Daily Mail robots.  I gave him a headline ‘Carrie’s new babe’s bad beach bod.’

And the gig for the Stock Agents?  Well for a start I said no photos, I’m exclusive to the Daily Mail now. No it was fantastic and as Tommy predicted a little bit loose. The main topic of conversation was a boat cruise where Wanno from Mt Gambier showed everyone how to desex a rabbit?? And look if the Daily Mail are reading this, I’m going down the shops tomorrow, about 10 am. See you there

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