Sir was reading a bit from the paper over the weekend about how he could take me to New York City (yes please), and organize a fabulous event (yes please), where we would be in the company of Derek Jeter and two apparent other baseball type people and get all sorts of goodies for a mere $2,250 a pop (no thanks).

Sir was reading a bit from the paper over the weekend about how he could take me to New York City (yes please), and organize a fabulous event (yes please), where we would be in the company of Derek Jeter and two apparent other baseball type people and get all sorts of goodies for a mere $2,250 a pop (no thanks).

Apart from the fact my combined interest in and knowledge of baseball wouldn't even begin to cover the pointy end of a pin, the thought of spending $2,250 to spend a night talking to – well, anyone really – is quite beyond my ken. Just knowing that they were a captive audience – well, more hostage actually – would give me a dose of the heebie jeebies and I would be rendered a blithering idiot, so embarrassed would I be for them.

And then, further on down that same page, Sir mentioned we could couple this with seats at a Yankees game, and receive all sorts of useful pieces of Yankee type dross for a mere $1,400 a pop more. The souvenirs would include – now hold onto your seats and don’t get jealous -– a Yankee key chain full of Yankee Stadium Dirt, and a set of Yankee coasters filled with other Yankee Stadium Dirt. I think I’ll pass on that one too, gee thanks all the same.

Actually, come to think of it, if they’re overrun with orders I suppose they will have to rename it Yankee Crater Stadium, as so large will be the demand for aforementioned Dirt there will be a bloody great hole, now won’t there?

The spending of $7,300 for that type of entertainment is just a trifle rich, don’t you think? Add to that two airfares and New York City accommodation for a couple of nights, we would be approaching a pretty decent college fund for a future grandkid.

But, why not jump on the bandwagon, I say. If you can’t beat ’em, join’em.

So I’m coming up with a bit of an entrepreneurial idea. Oh, and I while I think of it, it is entra-pranerrrr, not entra-pranoooer, rhyming with manure. Just a little irritation of mine, but I digress.

I think I’m onto something. I could open up La Casa de Annie y Sir for a select number of guests per evening. I would charge a modest sum for a decent bit of nosh and a glass or two of wine – let’s say $200 a head for that, and then I could add another menu inside the menu.

Like to hear about my growing up as a young girl at a Methodist School for Gels in Sydney? That’ll bring a good $100, I’d reckon. And you could hear of Sir’s misspent youth at his Kansas City high school and various local pool halls. There’s another $100 into the kitty. His time in Vietnam, without his mother ever knowing, or his playing with the Los Angeles Angels has to be worth something.

Surely it’s worth a couple of hundred more to hear the romantic tale of our meeting playing bridge on the Internet, of his gallant geographically challenging coming down to Sydney to meet me, of his tangle with the law upon leaving Down Under to go back Up Over when he was sternly told he had outstayed his three-month visa-of-welcome by a good five months?

Another hundred for a retelling of our arriving in the States, driving to Vegas – stopping in Barstow, as one does of course, to buy summer clothing, having left Sydney in winter. Of our romantic Vegas wedding and drive back to L.A. to fly back to Kansas City. The possibilities are endless, I’m telling you.

Alrighty then. That earns us a tidy $700 a head, and we could host six people, so that brings us to $4,200 a night. Not bad. If we worked at it we could gross twenty thou or so a week.

But what souvenirs could we give? Well, let’s see. A small sample bag of our various critter droppings would be quite useful for the garden, now wouldn’t it? Ducks and doves, deer and rabbits – I’m not quite sure how I would collect hummingbird poop, so small would be their diapers, but I could find a way.

And Dirt. Oh I could do Dirt. Well, clay really, but it would still be something nice to take away, now wouldn’t it?

Other forms of entertainment, perhaps? You could watch Sir and me play bridge on the Internet and listen to him bellow like a wounded bull when I make a slip up, now couldn’t you? Or sit riveted while I try to elicit some help from him when it comes to composing a shopping list. Oh, and I could do the shopping lists in duplicate, and Sir and I could autograph them. That’d be worth a few bucks.

Sir could take you for an illicit hole of golf, just a mere stroll from our back door. I could have samplings of good Aussie food for you – a little Vegemite would be a sure fire hit, I feel. Maybe the hint of a trip to Sydney to sweeten the pot?

I’m telling you, Steve Jobs and Bill Gates started with a whole lot less, now didn’t they?