Alien landing

Originally, I was only going to spend a month in Australia. Luckily my round-the-world ticket was flexible, so no problems there. And according to the Australian Government website, the conditions of my electronic visa are:

"It is valid for visits to Australia for tourism or to visit friends or relatives
It is valid for multiple visits within 12 months from date of issue
The maximum length of each visit is three months
You may not work while in Australia"

Which all sounded fine and dandy. Wanting to do everything by the book, I flew to New Zealand shortly before my first three months in Oz was up.

Had a lovely time - spent a few days in Auckland with my friend Mark who was, as ever, a most entertaining host. Then nipped down to Wellington to hang out with my cousins and their family for a few more days. After a thoroughly enjoyable time, I boarded the plane back to Melbourne last week.

The guy at the immigration desk called his boss over. "Shall I let him through?" he asked, his stamp poised an inch above the page, his arm muscles taut in readiness to descend. The boss studied my details on the screen and thought about it. "No, I'll just ask him a few questions."

He pulled me out of the queue and started asking. He then suggested that as there were so many people about, we might be better off somewhere a little quieter. We went through a door, down a corridor and into a little room containing a table with a chair on either side. A second door contained a window with mirrored stripes. It looked like something out of The Bill (or Blue Heelers, depending on your hemisphere).

He questioned me for over an hour. We went over the same areas again and again, what I'd been doing in the last three months, what I was going to do for the next three months, when I'd last worked and so on. It was not a pleasant experience. He wasn't exactly rude, but he certainly pushed brusqueness to new levels. I didn't go into my relationship with Steven at first as a) I didn't see it was any of his business and b) I thought it might have a negative impact, but eventually he said, "You must have a really good reason to keep coming back to Melbourne." To which I replied, "Yes, to spend more time with Steven."

Once he was aware of our relationship, he actually became a lot nicer. There were still loads of questions to get through - how I was going to support myself etc. - but the general atmosphere was much more pleasant. I think he must have suspected I was coming back to Melbourne for work, and was relieved to find out I was only coming back for a man.

And I guess I should be thankful that we live in a time when coming back for a man is considered a valid reason. I can't imagine that would have got such a good reception 20 years ago. There's even a special "interdependency" visa for men in relationships. (Though you have to have lived together for a year first - the words "catch" and "twenty-two" spring to mind.)

So still some question-marks for the future, but the main feeling was a huge relief that I'm here for another three months now. When I'd recovered enough to leave the flat, me and Steven went out to the local grotty Irish pub. I'd forgotten how so much draught beer here tastes like the smell of sweaty socks. But that night, the taste was sweet.