A few nights ago, I had a vivid dream that I was Casanova. When I awoke, my wife, stifling a guffaw, assured me I was no such personage, and ordered my pajamas be put back on without delay.
And so, with my tail between my legs, I fled to Hamilton Island to amuse a bunch of mortgage brokers with a hoax speech and comedy spot.
Also fleeing with me was my video camera, which has a mind of its own and decided to film a few of my observations about Hamilton Island, tourists and hotels. Here’s the result:
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