Mudbilly is Back!

Mudbilly had popped out to buy some cheese and Moroccan spices. She left Sydney International Airport in fine form, with just a little bit of her bum hanging out of a largish hole in her jeans, after munching on Yum Cha in the well known Chinese in Chinatown. She was heading for Dublin, which wasn't particularly famous for its cheese, but she liked the accents and she had the long, red hair and ringlets which meant that she could walk amongst the inhabitants anonymously. She thought wrong. It wasn't long after she arrived that some cheeky little boys bopped her on the head with a two by four and threw a number of oldish eggs at her. Somewhat taken aback, she shook her curls and walked defiantly on as they ran away. She would have held one down and had a good talking to him, but he was quick on his feet and fast with his fists, as the Irish are known to be from a young age. It comes from poverty, cold and not quite enough to eat.
Mudbilly was a little disappointed in Ireland, and yet, she now knew that the Industrial Age had taken over the world and there was going to be similarities in cities all over the world. She vowed to go further afield.
First, she had some people to see. Others, who had also disappeared over the horizon in search of cheeses and spices. Ibrahim Itzac in London, the Gumtree Whizz. Lovely had nodded sagely and told all and sundry how big Gumtree was. Ibrahim welcomed Mudbilly with open arms and showed her London. They drank beer from plastic cups as they walked over London Bridges.
"That's the Thames," she said, proudly, displaying wonderful photographs later to his mother.
"Tems," said the mother.
"Oh." said Mudbilly. Now she knew.
Clothilde was another person on her list. Paris. They kicked up their heels, and Clothilde laughed and smiled like she hadn't for years. Clothilde loved Mudbilly. They ate snails and gathered lavender and drank French wine.
Mudbilly finished her exploration of the world in Morocco on a slightly miserable note. Some foods that hadn't agreed with her left her body with alacrity, without even digesting first, in liquid form. There was a slight problem of being on a train without water at the time. She understood persecution. She met a handsome, striking man who tamed cobras, whose entire family had died of snake bite and he was the last one. He looked into the camera with defiance.
Mudbilly had also met a man on a train in her travels who had pointed to a scripture about modesty and so she vowed that she would shave her legs as soon as she got home. Her mum would help her. Gone would be her lovely red hairs, but she would do anything not to bring reproach on the name.
The took her Moroccan spices from her in customs and she returned empty handed to her brother, Cheese.
"I don't even like cheese," he said. He didn't care. He was going to Viet Nam at the end of the year, and was about to play in the Grand Final. Life was good, and cheese wasn't necessary.