After a brilliant lunch at Savage Garden, we perused the markets, set on a higher calibre of G-trash. En route to sunset point, we passed a sketchy tailors, outside of which stood a photo of one of their "happy" customers, looking drunk and minorly violated. We entered.
If ever there's a moment when you realise a joke is running out of your control, contorting into a terrible reality, I experienced it within that shop: stood, literally surrounded by furls of material that the proprietor had excitedly taken out for my choosing, I saw Lissy watching on in horror, quite unable to help. The man was hell bent on making me an awful suit, and my excuses became increasingly strained: "my dad may not want me to... I'll go talk to him... No he can't come here ... he has no legs" etc etc. Liss was also pounced upon, and had a tablecloth/skirt "tailor made".
The man's persistence was infuriating, and I soon fled the shop as he pursued, yelling "I visit your father with yooouuu".
We walked up a hill to Sunset Point, pursued by an excited troop of Boy Scouts who stuck their camera phones in our sweaty faces at bad moments, seeking their "annoying foreigners" badge.
The view down over the city was fantastic, all the more so at sunset - we descended into town (again pestered by the tailor) for a dinner at Ambrai, a smart restaurant where my wearing a polo shirt landed us with a sweet table, and a massive bill.
With love
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