It was 3am. Micca had been poring over Nostrilsarmpit for some time.

"The two of Plaistow will have made a constitution
for their future wisdom, lovers underfoot"

A constitution? lovers underfoot? the two of Plaistow? It was only him n the cat here, and while Micca was an open, non-judgemental sort of bloke, the cat was just company, really. Micca knew that Nostrilsarmpit often disguised his meaning in heavy symbolism and word play, partly so that it would have more applicability in future centuries, when pedants and skeptics started demanding rules of evidence and such like. Micca concentrated, looking for the deeper mystical meaning behind the words... lovers underfoot... what the hell could that mean?

briiing brrring... who was ringing at this ungodly hour? Micca picked up the phone and recognised the deep booming drawl of his old aussie mate, Rhymin Simon.

"Hey, Micca, mate. How'd you like to drop by for a smoko? I need some help, man. Ive got some good weed, purple heads, got it up Mullumbimby way. I'll set you up with a few gigs, mate."

Suddenly Micca understood. "Goddess of the Moon" "Lovers underfoot" - underfoot, underneath, down, down under - Australia. Micca knew, from the tingling up his spine, that he would rescue the Goddess of the Moon, and in the process, would find his true love, in Australia.

"Sure, Simon, what's up? I'll be over in a day or two."