Feel pity for me. Here I am, on Australia's Gold Coast, a place I have not set foot on for a good dozen years: I may as well be an alien.
In fact, I have even tried to make that point by wearing my shorts on my head and making 'gareenk, gareenk, galosh' noises, but it seems that that is normal here as well, so something even stranger is in order.
I cannot for the life of me think what that might be, but stay tuned, as anything is possible in this deep, dark mind of mine.
But, truth be told, although this is technically my homeland - the place where I frolicked up to my late teens - it may as well be one of the last receding wisps of big-bang dust.
For the uninitiated, the Gold Coast is a tourist mecca on Australia's central eastern coast.
It is awash with golden beaches, holiday homes, people with skimpy clothing, sunscreen, cameras and - in certain parts - big signs warning me to keep away from the tanning bodies for fear of sunstroke.