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‘Tahiti looks nice.’

‘Simon, Tahiti!’

Admittedly, you have to be of a certain age and from Australia to recognise that little ditty from the world of advertising of days long gone, but if you do you’ll recall that ridiculously wealthy pair who could luxuriate in bubbles flying high on their private jet (bar of Cussons Imperial Leather beautifully placed and framed in more bubbles), and wing their way on a whim to whatever glorious spot in the world they so desired, Pilot Simon at their beckoning.

Who’d have thought all those years ago when we watched those pretentious wankers that one day I’d too jet off to this fabulously beautiful place of blue lagoons and volcanic islands. Only I was on a plane with a couple of hundreds of others, way up the back, with an entertainment system that was having a rest, and rather than relaxing in a full length porcelain bath I was actually a bit panicky and clutching at Mr T’s hand viciously at the end there as we battled a bit of turbulence. And I might have done just a small amount of subdued whimpering.

Still, the destination was the same.

And it was rather lovely.

Here’s just a snippet in pics while I get some more words on paper screen.

There were beaches, of course, with white sand

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and black sand

and boats

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and islands

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and colourful flowers

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and Polynesian dancing girls with leis and wild hips

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and I think I might have had just a little bit of this.

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Spoiler alert: I feel there may be a degree of French Polynesian blogging spam approaching, with more words.

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