I feel sorry for Carlo; he’s the dark handsome, half Spanish/half Italian (but born in Germany), forty-one year old singleton who has arrived at Lorelle’s place for a one night stay (she does Airbnb). Carlo would have liked to stay longer for a weekend of “relaxation and sunshine” on the Sunshine Coast but, truth to tell, we didn’t even want him here for one night – the inn is full! Earlier in the day the “bnb” website made an error and allowed the jet-setter, over in Brisbane for work, to make a reservation without Lorelle’s knowledge.

“Thank you for accepting me – see you later!” Carlo had emailed before getting into his hire-car and heading for the Sunshine Coast.

“Sorry, no availability until Monday,” wrote my friend.

“But I’ve paid already and have a reservation receipt number,” Carlo insisted (he writes exceptionally well in English).

Any number of emails were exchanged between Lorelle and Carlo throughout the day. Nothing was resolved but he was coming, rain or shine.

I’m spending the night with Lorelle (good job we’re like sisters) – hope she doesn’t snore. Carlo doesn’t know that I gave up my bed for him. He turned up in the rain and kissed both Lorelle and I on both cheeks (nice Spanish/Italian/German custom…but only when the giver is gorgeous).

Carlo went out for a Mexican dinner while Lorelle and I had garlic chicken at home (luckily we each had the same thing, considering the close proximity later on!). I hope Carlo, too, had some garlic in his meal because we girls have promised to play a dice game (that Lorelle always wins at) with him, that is if he hasn’t met the girl of his dreams in the Mexican restaurant. I assured him that the situation couldn’t be any worse and any nice thing would be a bonus. He raised a smile and showed his marvellous white teeth.

Oh, I hear Carlo has returned…alone. Poor Carlo. Looks like we’ll be playing that dice game I don’t quite understand. But maybe the rain will stop and the sun will shine tomorrow – I certainly hope so. In the morning I’m off for a spot of dog, cat and house-sitting at Maroochy River.

I wonder… if Carlo lost his hire car would he be called Carlos? No, he’d be called careless.