It seems my safari suit is something of a fashion statement here. Lord knows it's useful in the heat. I'm hoping this new country will be able to provide me with more clues than I've found previously. It seems so full of promise.

The people are, however, very different. I'd been told they speak English, but I'm often confused by their words. They smile a great deal, and call me a "wog", which I assume is a term of endearment.

On my second day here I befriended a group of large men in blue singlets who took it upon themselves to show me the sights and get me very drunk. I must confess I've rarely been sober since.

It was only yesterday after five beers that I managed to confide my purpose for being here. They were all just as bewildered as I was, and became very keen to assist me in my search. They all had numerous theories as to what it could be. Davo, a burly man with a hairy back, said the clitoris may be a lesser-known sea dwelling marsupial, while Bevvo reckoned his missus cooked it for him the other night. Johnno suggested it could be an Aboriginal word for male pattern baldness, while Frank thought it was the latest virus that was even nastier than polio.

After ten beers, however, they lost interest. "Bugger it," said Frank. "Who cares what the clitoris is. It's not likely we'll ever need to know about it."

I don't remember much after that.

26th January, 1934
I attended the celebrations for Australia's national day and made an unexpected discovery. After the obligatory flag raising and sixteen beers, the head of the Botanic Gardens officially unveiled a new flower, named after the Governor General, Sir Reginald Klittor. I couldn't help but let out a sigh of disappointment as everyone else applauded the new plant - the Klittor Rose.

I am crestfallen.

27th January, 1934
Eureka! I think I have discovered a way to make the clitoris reveal itself! If I can make it bigger, I'll know where it is!

What follows are my experiments to this end.