Dinner with the DAWG people

As has been the way in Oz, a pleasing spin-off from our passion for dawgs has been that we have made lots of two-legged friends as well.

It may have sounded from previous blogs as if we've been puppy-rearing and dog-feeding on our lonesome, but in fact this burden has been shared with Deb, a no-nonsense, forty-something from the back of beyond North QLD, and her husband Hamza, a mad Sri Lankan animal lover. They live in a block of flats on the other side of the car park and are our closest neighbours.

So to celebrate the success of re-homing the pups they invited us round to dinner last week. We arrived on time (always), much to Deb's surprise as that is almost rude in SL. We walked into this palatial apartment decorated in an Asian theme, which as it turns out is in a block that Hamza's father built and is still managed by their family. The apartment looks as if it should be in Vogue living - Deb has worked in Indonesia and done a lot of travelling, and Hamza it seems lived in Switzerland for 20 years - so they've got a fairly eclectic collection of 'bits'. At the end of the 40 ft dining cum living area is the piece de la resistance, the bar. Complete with golf trophies and Oz paraphernalia it is a truly masculine domain in what is otherwise a tastefully decorated apartment!

We meet a lovely German couple (architects) who have been living and working in Colombo for 12 years - (I can only begin to imagine how hard it would be to get building projects off the ground here), and an interesting English couple - the wife runs the Next factory which is based near the airport.

True to form in SL we sit down for dinner just after 9pm (early) and DY and I stagger out of there at about 2am. I know things are going seriously downhill when Hamza brings out the grappa, and Liz (the English girl) tearfully starts to tell me that she know's she's being selfish not having children.

Making polite apologies we exit stage left and saunter home, to be greeted by our dawgs in the flesh, standing around the hotel fishpond, staring into it. From behind you can imagine the conversation bubble coming over their heads saying: "But you said you'd go in first" "no, after you". I call them over and after cuddles send them all off to bed - the hotel would be less than amused to find a fishless pond ....

Postscript: Wake up with a hangover from hell which is only alleviated by the prospect of brunch and not having to think or cook for myself. It was a great night, and surprisingly we didn't talk 'shop' all night!