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But no. Oh no.
Any thoughts I had of Col standing there and smiling like a normal person while I take a few photos evaporate the second I raise the phone and aim it his way. Because from out of nowhere, he goes into full-on, tourist-on-steroids mode, adopting a corny new pose every few seconds.
Despite being aghast at the cringeworthy display, I dutifully snap away through the double thumbs-up pose, the thoughtful beard-stroking pose, the side-on randomly lifting one leg and one arm in the air pose.
But all of that cheesy posturing pales in comparison to the granddaddy of oh-no-he-didn't moves when Col leaps into the air and starfishes his arms and legs.
And he doesn't just do it once.
Because one time, I could maybe tolerate.
No no.
Ol' Col here does it over and over and over again.
Once he's satisfied—I stopped counting after the eighth jump—he sprints back to me.
Smiling.
Beaming, actually.
"Man, that was terrific."
"It…was?"
He nods enthusiastically. "I feel so alive. I'm in freaking Australia!" he shouts, even though he's standing right next to me.
A passing tourist raises his fist. "Aussie! Aussie! Aussie!"
"Oi, oi, oi!" Col fist pumps back, and I am officially dead.
"I've got an idea." He thwacks my chest with the back of his hand. "What do you say we go for a swim?"
"Mate, it'sfreezing."
"It's not. It's seventy-five degrees."
"I don't know what your crazy Fahrenheit numbers mean, but I repeat, it's freezing, and frankly, I'm very happy with the size of my balls."
He gets up nice and close right in front of me. "Didn't you say you'd dowhateverI wanted back at the hotel?"
"Errr." I scratch the back of my neck. "I've talked a lot of shit today. Every day of my life, really. It's kinda my thing. Who's keeping track of every single little detail that comes out of my mouth?"
"Fine." Col picks up his backpack and heads for the sand. "If you're a chickenshit who's more concerned about testicular shrinkage than keeping your word that's fine. I'll go in by mysel?—"
I bolt like my arse is on fire to catch up with him. "Stop talking. No one calls Wilby Linfox a chickenshit."
"I'm reserving judgment until I see you get in the water."
And that's how I end up in the freezing cold Pacific Ocean on a freezing cold winter's day in June in nothing but my white undies. My balls are going to hate me for this.
It's a bit choppy, but Col does an impressive job diving headfirst into the breaking waves, not stopping until we'vereached a calmer stretch of water. Maybe watching all thatBondi Rescuehas taught him a thing or two apart from Aussie slang.
"Aren't you afraid of sharks?" I ask Col, who's floating on his back, while I'm treading water to get warm.
"Nope. I trust my life to the good men and women watching over us from that tower right over there." He lifts a hand and points towards the lifeguard tower.
"What about jellyfish? You're not worried about getting stung?"
