Mr Woog has not only had a bromance while in Bali, now he is leaving me.

The jig is up for Mr Woog. He needs to go back to work. And I sensibly decided to stay on at Villa Speranza so I could avoid an extra week of school holidays in Sydney, where the beaches are packed and , according to reports, the humidity is unbearable. Mr Woog has neglected his mowing for far too long. He needs to hit up the Victa and relieve out own cat sitter.

To make sure I have some adult conversation, My Dad and Wicked Step Mother (WSM - who gave herself that name and is actually not wicked at all) arrived two nights ago. They are both Bali virgins and landed straight into bliss. I have not seen two people take to a country like them before. They came prepared with a bottle of Gin and a bottle of Vodka. Dad handed them over, declaring that Feb Fast was coming up and he had not intention of joining. He solemnly told me he felt it was bad for the economy. Then he cracked a beer and donned a traditional Balinese sarong, staking his claim in the cabana next to the pool.

But not everything is wonderful in Bali. Last night I trod on a frog. I screamed as I felt it squish up between my toes. My skin has gone totally troppo and is reminiscent of a 15 year old grease monkey at McDonalds. My hair feels like it has been nuked in the microwave, hit with a blow torch and then run over by a combine harvester. My daily wardrobe is based around a kaftan and my use of deodorant could only be described as sporadic. Oh and my eyebrows? Let's not even start on my eyebrow (there is only one of them now - they have joined up).

So as long as I avoid walking on the grass in the dark at night and all mirrors, all continues to buzz along nicely in Bali.