What sort of dickhead forgets their swimmers when they go away to the Whitsundays?

That would be me….

So I am up staying on the Whitsundays for a work trip when I realised, on my arrival, that my swimmers where tucked up at home. We spent the morning in a conference before we were to head out on a ferry to the World Famous, 3rd best beach in the world. Whitehaven Beach.

And I was without appropriate attire.

This was less than ideal. It was 31 degrees here today and I had spent the morning being befuddled about all things blogging that I am inept at, and so I needed to sooth my soul in the aqua waters and convince myself that I am not as useless as I think I am.

I have said this before and I will say it again.

Queenslanders are the friendliest people in the world. I am willing to arm wrestle over the fact. I excused myself just before the educational session ended only to find that I had 14 minutes to get a swimsuit before the ferry left for Whitehaven Beach.

Armed with this extraordinarily tight time frame, I ran to the front desk at the Blue Horizon Resort, where we are currently ensconced. Without drawing breath or offering any sort of explanation, I told the receptionist….

“We are about to leave on a ferry and I have no swimmers and I need to get some in the next 14 minutes so where do I go?”

She calmly called a taxi, wrote down the name of her preferred swimwear shop before telling me she would call the owner and let her know I was coming and to make a selection of a few garments that might suit a wobbly lady with large chesticals.

I could have kissed her.

The taxi turned up within 2 minutes. WHERE DOES THAT HAPPEN?

Airlie Beach is where….

The cabbie new exactly where we were going and drove their with much haste, as he knew about the time constraint we were under.

As we pulled up outside SWIM SWIM SWIM, I noticed a big sign on the door.


Holy Fuck.

I jumped back into the taxi and checked the time. 8 minutes until I missed the ferry.

Those in the know would now realise that trying to buy a swimming costume in under 8 minutes is akin to trying to push a snowball up a hill in hell. ZERO. It is the one true nightmare of most lady folk I know. I was wintery white, wobbly and had a nice prickly growth sprouting from every follicle in my body.

I asked the driver his name, because at this point I knew we would be bonded together forever in swimsuit panic.

7 Minutes.

His name was Trev and he has lived at Airlie Beach his entire life. We started driving blindly around the streets, with me asking him to seek out any retail establishment that might offer any sort of suitable attire.

He knew of none, so I asked him if I could borrow his bathers.

The interesting thing about Trev is that he has not swum in “public waters” in 16 years due to the fact that the last time he did, he got a chronic ear infection. So now, he does not swim in “public waters…” so no. He had no swimmers to lend me.

And then, like a beacon of hope, something appeared in front of our cab which took me a moment to realise, this is not a mirage…


A small boutique, standing there on the main road minding it’s own business. 

“There’s one!” Trev cried before pulling up onto the pavement like a NYC cop car might do in an Eddie Murphy movie.

I told Trev to wait before running into that shop. I went straight to the counter and blurted out…

“I have 3 minutes. I need a swimming costume to house my chesticals. I have no time to try anything on because a ferry is leaving in 5 minutes and if I am not on it, then I will miss out on swimming at the beach that Oprah and Curtis Stone went to.”

The assistant did not waste time blinking an eye. She ran to a rack and pulled out a basic black costume. I nodded and pulled out my credit card while she cut off the tags. 

After the financial transaction was approved, she shouted…


Trev had the cab purring like a kitten outside the shop, and with gleeful triumph we arrived back at the hotel within a bee’s dick of missing the shuttle bus.

I paid Trev his fare and handed over a lobster, instructing him to take himself out for a steak at the RSL Club.

Trev is a man that I will never forget.

And Whitehaven Beach was a spiritual awakening, and as close as I would get to any God that I have ever known.

Have you been here?
Have you ever known anything like it?
Have you ever bought something in a blind panic?

I am in the Whitsundays as a guest of
Tourism Queensland. A really disorganised guest.