Sure. Sydney ain’t no Europe. But at the Haus ov Duum, we’ll be bonne chance to have her back.
And don’t worry Oafie, we’ll move to Paris one day.
There we will soak ourselves daily, lying down flat, and frolic in fields with buttercups, and sleep in till 3pm, and have ultra cute babies that never grow old and wear tiny stripy scarves round their necks that flag in the wind as they sail sail sail down paved paths throwing small baguettes into the hands of wizened crones leaning out of dusty windows.
This will be our soundtrack.
Our commune will front up a little something like this.
Buttercups like so.
Our daily diet? Melted butter, of course. (or margarine in a pinch) (hell, why not go the whole hog and say condensed milk).
And the piece de resistance? (see how well I’m gonna fit in in France?). Our tiny babies with satorial aplomb. And they can ride bicycles! And throw baguettes! With those kinda mad skillz, surely they can cook, clean, pluck our eyebrows and earn the cash-o-la.
Plus, they come with their own snow domes! (I can just tell Lucy’s gonna wanna steal this one’s outfit).
So, Oafie, hurry back! Cos we’ll go back to our future some day!