Kiana, Polynesian Princess Of Surf
The other day a mate sent me a funny video, on a secure and confidential channel reserved for things that cannot by rights see the light of day, and could, at a stretch, send ASIO sniffing at my door within a heartbeat. In faithful keeping with the unspeakable nature of the material habitually shared on this private line, it was interesting in a horrifyingly fascinating sort of a way. The video showed a scene set in a foreign town. From the medieval-ish background architecture it appeared to be a place of generically Central European extraction, and, judging from the clothes worn by the people walking around in it, it seemed to be a cold season. The general vibe was that of an outdoors festival or party of some description, with music and people milling around looking for entertainment, distraction, and, more than likely, ways to spend their hard-earned cash that they would later have opportunity to thoroughly regret. The overall Central European feeling of ...