It's that moment we'd been waiting for.

The Envelope.
No, scratch that. I know it's rude to shout, but...

THE ENVELOPE IS HERE.

The one that says Australian High Commission on the postmark.
The postmark that says "2nd Class".
That pretty much sums up their view of me, I think:
"Mr Toofatfrozz".

With a mixture of excitement and lower abdominal grumbling, I open the envelope. Or try to. My most anticipated letter of recent times and they seal it with sticky tape [(C) Blue Peter 1963].

It's open!

Mutter mutter mumble... "application (Temporary) Partner (Provisional) (Class UF)..." U Fat what? Am I getting just a wee bit paranoid here? "...Visa ...sponsorship by..." blah blah... "you have been granted a subclass 309 Provisional Spouse Visa."

Klunk!!

Ian slumps to the floor. Either from sheer relief or the effects of earthly gravity on his enormous planet-like body. Or possibly the decreased bloodflow to the brain caused by his hardening-by-the-minute arteries.

We're... going!

Lower abdominal grumbling increases. Cue exit.