My heart started beating rapidly. I was now oblivious to everything around me. Thoughts of Jordan disappeared fast.
Malcolm Turnbull had smiled at me. He had said hello, hello to me. I could barely reply. It was happening so fast. I had heard on TV that he was in Western Australia to discuss GST, but why come so far north? Nobody in Broome would know anything about GST. Everyone was either a tourist, a backpacker or a retiree residing in one of the 84 caravan parks.
But then I realised. It wasn’t me Malcolm was interested in, despite my hair. We were just sharing a footpath. Clearly he was heading down to the beach to meet Jordan, my Jordan.
I know about Malcolm. He loves animals. He has two dogs, Mellie and JoJo. His son is named Alex – a perfect unisex name for a pet. His daughter is Daisy. You call a dog Daisy, not a daughter. Daisy’s son is Jack, also a name for a dog. And Lucy – he married a woman named Lucy. I once had a Kelpie called Lucy.
I could only assume, therefore, that Malcolm preferred animals to humans. And that’s why he was heading to the beach to see Jordan. After all Jordan is a good-looking celebrity-camel and only the best would do for our Prime Minister - and he lives in Point Piper, and that’s the best that anyone could do.
