I must admit that in the time when we I was up in NSW, that there were times during the nine weeks when I had to find ways of dealing with the unnerving quiet.
There would be the regular phone calls back to K and also some fastidious reading in bed, but most of all, I would rediscover my old friend the television.
Masterchef Australia was all the rage back then, and we were glued to our televisions every night cheering on our favourite amateur chefs. I had a soft spot for Poh, who was one of the final two contestants in what was one of Australian reality television's most viewed finals ever.
The night of the finals, K and I were furiously smsing each other while the show was going on to share the excitement and the roller-coaster ride of emotions with a whole nation.
I had selected Poh to win - she had shown much promise in the last few shows leading up to the finals, and more importantly, she was showcasing Malaysian cooking to the judges and to Australia. To spice things up, let's just say I entered into a little bet with K, who secretly wanted Poh to win, but had to choose Julie by default.
The wager, done half-jokingly, was that the other person had to do the YMCA publicly.
Well, you can guess who won now, and I guess, this is as public as I will get.
To my other Poh - the most reluctant YMCA you'll ever see.
In other good news, Poh has been given her own cooking show and is in the process of publishing her own cook books. So maybe K will take pity on me and make me something from Poh's cook book one day.
I wouldn't bet on it, though.