Confessions of a Bondi Blonde

Bjoergulfur Thor Bjoergulfsson.

Now there’s a name you don’t see every day.

Bjoergulfur (BTB) is an Icelandic multimillionaire who recently hit the headlines by offering to save a bear who had travelled to Iceland from Greenland on an ice floe.

Poor polar arrived with no MasterCard and, as it was considered a domestic Jetstar economy journey, he hadn’t had any food. Pissed off polar soon followed. Then in waltzed BTB, my Reykjavik warrior offering to save the polar, returning it to the wilds of Greenland or a nice comfy cage at the local zoo.

The waiting media were on the scent of a happy story. Save A Bear! How great for the last story of the day – uplifting and kind of environmental. But the bear got tired of the polar paparazzi and Britney-like lashed out.  A shot rang out into the below-freezing day. The snow stained red. One dead bear later and the camera shutters still clattered away. New story: emphasize global warming and animal rights.

BTB piqued my interest. Iceland’s knight in shining armour, almost coming to a bear’s rescue. Is he single?

You see, it’s not as silly as it may appear. Iceland would be a great place to live. It is the most developed country in the world, according to the International Humanitarian Index. It’s full of beautiful people who treat each other nicely. Iceland has been assessed as the most egalitarian country on earth. So if I hitched up with an Icelandic multimillionaire, I’d likely get a guy who’d cook dinner, talk about women in a wonderful way, hire a hoard of nannies and help for around the house (treating them all immaculately) and replace my salt rusted Volvo with a new seven seater one or a nice Toyota Prius.

It’s a long swim from Bondi, granted, but maybe we could spend six months here in my two bedroom redbrick flat and six months in his Reykjavik mansion.  An Icelandic summer hits the balmy heights of 13 degrees and the winters average around zero. Hey, I like a white Christmas.

BTB works for the investment manager Novator, which also has offices in Mayfair. So we could fly via London, allowing for a little time for a quick TopShop stop and a chance to show off BTB to my London friends. Ha-Ha, suckers! Look what the Bondi blonde has bagged the second time around.

But I don’t like international flying with kids. Economy is just hell. Business Class has more room, but the kids don’t appreciate people have paid just to get away from other people’s kids – it can get a little tense, needing an Air Marshall or two. A thirty hour flight a few times a year could place a little too much pressure on our nascent love.

Is there a version of BTB closer to home? 

 Hmm, John Symonds is single, but I don’t think he shares the same world view as darling BTB. If I recall correctly, Aussie John had around five taut and terrific girlfriends at his 60^th birthday party. Chuck in a bit of jelly, and there’s the evening’s entertainment for you. And his house is the size of my apartment building. I don’t think he’s an Icelandic style environmentalist, somehow. Aussie won’t save me.

What about Mark Bouris? Single. Rich. Gorgeous. He’s too rich for my blood. Sometimes the Bondi blonde knows where to draw the line. Anyway, he’s got FOUR BOYS. Add my tribe and it wouldn’t be pleasant. Seven a side every morning, noon and night.

Dick Pratt? He’s married but that hasn’t stopped him putting it about. He likes to play away in Sydney and I’m a faster, younger, stronger version of the last mistress. And I guarantee that I’ll use contraception – maybe a Visy condom. So no more Pratt-falls for him. But the cardboard King’s new home might be the big house, given his alleged propensity for price fixing.  Do they do conjugal visits for girlfriends?

Hmmm. Not looking good. A one way to Rekjavik is $2,500. I could sell the Volvo and go when the kids’ dad has my darlings on the school holidays. That will give me a week to woo BTB. How could he resist?

So the Bondi blonde is off. Wish me luck, while singing along:

I’m packing up my cares and woe,
Here I go, on ice floe
Bye-bye Bondi

Where somebody waits for me
And his name’s BTB
Bye-bye Bondi

Where somebody loves and understands me
And no more hard luck stories I will hand thee

Pack my bags and go on flight
I’ll arrive late at night
Bondi, bye-bye.

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