Dearest Fop.

Some people will be tearing at their clothes today. And weeping. Rather a lot. As well they should. OH YES. Because Him, The Fop is leaving Australia. In mere hours. AND FOR QUITE A WHILE, BLOODY. Obviously, there is quite a hierarchy on the grief scale, and we should all know our place. Therefore we must all gulp down our feelings and give due deference and support to those with the greatest claim at the grief party. So, Principal Mourners, WE ARE HERE FOR YOU. Oh, go on. LET IT OUT. Quit trying to be brave, Young Divas.


Sure, they're pulling hideous smiley faces NOW. But already you can see the beginnings of significant emotional cripplage. Note how the dreaded knowledge that's presently knocking them sideways can't be contained for long. Pay special attention to the eyes. Are you registering the fear, the heartbreak? And can you blame them, these poor females. For the Young Divas are today losing their Champion, their staunchest supporter, their proselytising ambassador and all-round liaison between their cultural output and the hearts and minds of Australia. Honestly, they're probably finished in this country. I AM TELLING YOU NOW. For, who is going to take them seriously anymore if Fop is not here to wear down the Diva-sceptics by the force of his pure and unbending BELIEF. Suffice to say, THEY ARE GUTTED.

However, if I could muscle in on the wailing for just one moment RICKI-LEE (you at least will be fine), it would be to say that for the 9 days I've known him formally, I've felt only ease and conviviality (and for the 3 years prior to that, only unabashed thrilling devotion). It's his brains and hilarity and improvements to the language, you see. He's made this general area a much less shameful place with which to be associated. And then applied that skill to a real-life situation. GENIUS.