Walkabout Jeb

The Final Blog

2007-03-05T22:04:00.000+11:00

So this is it. The final blog entry for my year in Aus. A long winded and boring summary which goes against the hilarious comedy genius(!) of the rest of the blog, but I feel it necessary to sum it all up. What can I say? In the top year of primary school we were given a country and told to do a project on it. I had Australia and ever since then it's been a dream to come here. So, tick box. Before I landed here I had visions of finding a quick wife in order to get that pesky visa. Maybe a shot gun marriage. Maybe some dodgy website where you advertise for a bride. Nikki said he'd help me with where to look. Anything to get that visa. But why is that visa so prescious? ''Better standard of living,'' everybody cried. ''Like England but with nice weather... more chilled out... nobody's miserable... it barely rains... cheaper property... they have kangaroos.'' The list went on, meeting person after person who said they'd happily upsticks and jump onboard. Surely I'm definitely there then? What with my lack of English patriotism and hatred of the British winter, I may aswell just fill in the paperwork right now. Where do I sign?

After a year here I can tell you this won't be happening. Yes, Australia is undoubtedly a good place, containing all the traps that it's famous for. But I think the point has been mislaid somewhere. For my money, there's just too much missing. Let me try and explain. For one, it needs more people. The major cities, for me, aren't major enough, and there seems to be a distinct lack of things to do. At first I excused it believing that this is a new country and in 200 years time it will come good. Once she gets a bit of culture and defines herself properly then she's away, I thought. But there I hit a snag. The reason this country doesn't have a culture has nothing to do with it's age. It simply doesn't want one. And a whole host of other problems emerge. The main one being that Australia doesn't want to accept contributions from other cultures because it is, without doubt, the most racist place I've ever been to. This was a major problem for me, and apparently for every other traveller I've spoken to about it. I'm not just talking about their attitude toward the English. I didn't so much care about the 'Pom bashing' directed at me, for this was lame in comparison to the grief that any other race took. Aussies are unashamedly racist and often come out with comments that beggars belief, literally minutes after first meeting them. Their borderline neo-nazism (and I don't use the term lightly) annoyed me to the point where that alone would put me off wanting to live there. Talk about backward beliefs.

So the Aussies want to find their own little culture but don't want to be influenced by anybody else. Hard work to invent something new on that level in these modern times. Infact, I'd go as far as to say they've got two hopes. And one of them is Bob Hope and he's dead. From a personal level, to live in a country without culture is like reading a book with no words. Granted, they have the Aboriginies which they embrace with one arm, mainly for tourism purposes. However the other arm, the one that foreigners can't see, is stabbing it in the back. It doesn't stop there. A lot of Aussies would be racist to a person born in Aus with one foreign parent. To be a 'true' Aussie your heritage has to be English. Then, on the other hand, they absolutely hate us Brits. In the magazines, the newspapers, on the news, in the streets, you hear constant jibes at the English. Some FHM style magazines even have a Pom bashing stories and 'facts' as a monthly feature. You can't open a magazine without seeing a swipe at us. They've got a real complex. Think about the roles reversed, and how much you'd have to read in an English publication before you even heard a mention of Aus. Exactly. You don't see Manchester United bothering to take a stab at Accrington Stanley. Know what I mean? Get over yourself. It's true, Australia has a serious identity crisis. It would seem that it doesn't know what it wants to be.

I want to say at this point, before I go on, that I'm not putting Australia down in a malicious way. If you are an Australian and are reading this then the chances are that you are a good friend and were a distinguishable part of my year in Aus which I truely loved. And Kim before you get annoyed, Melbourne is different. It kind of has it's own style and culture. And it has Electric Dave and Monteh!

When I commented to a work colleague about the lack of newspapers in Aus he said it's because there's not much happens. "There's no wars, not much crime, no real struggles," he said, "we all just plod along." Great, I thought, but where's the fun in that? Don't we all need something a little, well, dangerous from time to time? So here's my next point. Aus is missing an attitude. A rock 'n' roll edge. Some pro's and con's, up's and down's, in's and out's and any other opposites you can think of. Laurel and Hardy, black and white, Jimmy Cranky and that guy who was 'his' wife? Ok, back to the point. It's lacking a bit of variety. If I was to really get into this I could apply it to all walks of life, but I'll use the weather as an example. The Aussies cream over their weather, and why not? *Clap hands* You can't deny it, a few more sunny days back home would definitely not go amiss. But the Aussies think that the sun is the bee all and end all. This became apparent to me on the build up to Christmas. It was largely just the same as the rest of the year with a bauble hung up somewhere. In Aus you have hot and hotter. Dry and slightly wetter. Dark by 6pm, dark by 7pm. Great. Compared to Europe, there is no seasonal change. Granted I hate the British winter with a passion, but it doesnt half make the summer more enjoyable. When it's light until 10.30pm. The spring when you know summer is round the corner, with it's cherry blossoms and pink skies. The autumn with its glorious colours. The winter with it's Grim Reaper like depression (granted). But variety is my point. Seasons, change, moods, feelings, traditions. Is variety not the spice of life? And this is the biggy for me, and I really mean no offence here, Im' just calling the shots as I see them: If it wasn't for the weather, England would be a great country; If it wasn't for the weather, Australia would be just OK. Who wants to be vanilla? Supersonic, simple as. Besides, these long bang on about the weather, but 1 in 3 of them get skin cancer and they've got a severe water shortage crisis. Know what I mean?

I have been a bit negative here. I don't mean to be. Not only will I miss my year in Aus, but I will miss my whole trip. I know in time to come there will be pangs of nostalgia for the people I met and the places I saw. I have lived some great days. I have walked on a beach with no footprints. I am looking forward to looking back. They say things are better when they stop. That how the 80's broke my heart. But there are qualities I miss. For one, Aussie TV is full of nnonsensical American drivvle with nothing to stimulate the brain whatsoever. It's no wonder the highest scoring word in Australian scrabble is XXXX. I miss how a song sounds different at home. 'Round Are Way' by Oasis or Pulp's 'Common People' seem eerily different in another country. Like they've all been taken out of the context they were meant for. It also seems there's not much here to push me. To push anyone infact. Scientists believe that the reason German and Austrian composers dominated the classical era was because their language didn't allow the expressionism needed, so they found an outlet via music. I think it's the same thing. It's hard to describe but I kind of now understand why we come out with so many inventions and culture and cool stuff. England, be it a small watery country, doesn't half churn out some world changing shit. What do the Aussies do? They are good at cricket and sports that the rest of the world don't care about. Brilliant! The Aussies truly believe that they have the greatest country on Earth. I like that. It's nice to see a bit of patriotism and these lot are riddled with it. But in my opinion, it's not the best country, and everyone I've met is of the same opinion. I'm not saying that England is the best country in the world, just that Australia isn't. It's not even close. For a kick off, I'm now in New Zealand and it's a better country by a Buzz light year.

It's easy to fall into a lull in Australia. But I need to be driven. God knows I cant drive myself. Theres nothing here to push me. I'm not having a go, I'm really not. Maybe it's just that it doesn't appeal to me. I've already mentioned my unfondness of beaches and that's most of what it seems to have. Maybe, in a way, I just missed the difficulties/adventures of travelling in Asia. Maybe, in a way, I'm just missing home. Maybe, in a way, I'm just missing the point. Australia is a great place if you want to do nothing. Again, I don’t mean this offensively. I mean, to just relax and chill out and to have an easy, slow paced life, this place is spot on. Probably unbeatable. And to be fair, that's what a lot of people are after. Just not me. Not yet anyway. I want speed. I want to be immersed in culture and the arts. I want to achieve. To all you virgins, thanks for nothing. I only threw that in 'cos it's a good line.

I have been away for almost 2 years now and there was a thought (albeit a small one) that I wouldn't return. As I said before, I'm not the most patriotic of people and feel like I'm always missing out on something by living in England. But the longer I'm away, the more countries I see, the more I realise that Enlgand is actually a quality place. For all it's downfalls, for all the cynicisms, the misery and shitty weather, you really can't beat it. I have enjoyed Australia but now I want to go home. I want proper fish and chips soaked in vinegar. I want a pint of decent lager in a proper pub culture instead of a 'scooner' (gay man's pint) in a 'hotel.' I want condiments in a cafe that I don't have to fricking pay for. I want to scowl at how crap 'The Sun' is, but read it anyway. I want to talk about football without people going "do you mean soccer?" and what's more is I want to watch a decent game of it. I want a proper take away curry. I want music that hasn't been in another chart for 6 months before I finally hear it. I want decent tasting ketchup. I want to buy food in a proper sized supermarket. I want a hot summer day where everybody is in a top mood, sitting in the beer gardens, taking drives, whatever. Because these are the rare occasions that makes a British summer and we truely know how to appreciate it. 'If I should die think only this of me,' Rule Britannia with marmalade and jam. I'm coming home. Well, after a brief stop off in New Zealand. But I'm coming home. Travelling around I have learnt that we are all after the same thing. Everybody wants to find paradise. But now I know that paradise isn't a place. It's not something you can touch. It's how you feel for a certain moment in time when you're a part of something. And when you find it, that moment will last forever. Paradise has been found, paradise has been lost, paradise is my journals, paradise is my photo albums, paradise is the added wrinkles on my face. Paradise is the memories I have, paradise is the memories I have forgotten but will recall at some random point on a wet weekday for no apparent reason. Paradise is here, it's then, it's now, it's all around us. Paradise is coming home. Dorothy and her ruby slippers were right all along. Whether it be a good thing or a bad thing I'm still not fully sure, but there really is

no

place

home.

Give me two weeks back in Rossendale and paradise can f*ck right off!

Lest We Forget

2007-02-20T22:03:00.001+11:00

I tried to take the time to pen a few verses that might best sum up the last few years. But the ink ran lazy. Instead I looked to the past masters for a contribution. Keats, Wordsworth, Wilde, Shakespeare. Then I stumbled across this:

Wig-wam bam, gonna make you my man.

Wam bam bam, gonna get you if I can.

Wig-wam bam, wanna make you understand.

Try a little touch, try a little too much,

Just try a little wig-wam bam.

It didn't make much sense to me so I carried on looking. And then I stumbled across this. Could it be summed up in a more appropriate way? Me thinks not.

.
We've come a long way, but we're not too sure where we've been.

We've had success, we've had good times, but remember this:

Been on this path of life for so long,

Feel I've walked a thousand miles.

Sometimes strolled hand in hand with love,

Everybody's been there.

With danger on my mind I would stand on the line of hope,

And I knew I could make it.

Once I knew the boundaries I looked into the clouds and saw,

My face in the moonlight.

Just then I realised what a fool I could be,

Just 'cause I look so high I don't have to see me.

Finding a paradise wasn't easy but still,

There's a road going down the other side of this hill.

Never forget where you've come here from.

Never pretend that it's all real.

Someday soon this will all be someone elses dream,

This will be someone elses dream.

Been safe from the arms of disappointment for so long.

Feel each day we've come too far.

Yet each day seems to make much more.

Sure is good to be here.

I understand the meaning of "I can't explain this feeling" now,

And it feels so unreal.

At night I see the hand that reminds me of the stand I make,

The fact of reality.

Never forget where you've come here from.

Never pretend that it's all real.

Someday soon this will all be someone elses dream,

This will be someone elses dream.

We've come so far and we've reached so high,

And we've looked each day and night in the eye.

And we're still so young and we hope for more,

But remember this:

We're not invincible, we're not invincible no,

We're only people, we're only people.

Hey we're not invincible, we're not invincible,

So again I'll tell you:

Never forget where you've come here from.

Never pretend that it's all real.

Someday soon this will all be someone elses dream,

This will be someone elses dream.

- Gary Barlow.

Back To The Beginning

2007-02-20T22:02:00.004+11:00

The lyrics to Bon Jovi's 'Living On A Prayer' were blasting in my head from my iPod. I have read that listening to your iPod on full volume can impair your hearing for good. What can I do? I'm a sucker for 80's soft rock music.

Whoa, we're half way there. Whoa, we're living on a prayer...

Ah, back in Melbourne, back in Kim's house, back where it all began. The funny thing is I felt like I was home. Alas, I'm not home but this is my last stop in Aus. I've now come full circle. I discovered how much I actually like Melbourne. When I was here last time it was the first place I had been to so lacked a comparison. After a year I can say that Melbourne is my favourite place by a mile. I just love how it's so bohemian. If I had to pick a place to live in this country, this is it. Infact, it's the only place I'd live for any length of time.

A few days relaxing, catching up with Legs aKimbo and marvelling at how her cat has lost so much weight and I was all set. One of my first blog entries pointed out just how fat her cat was. Well now she's slim(mer). After all the 'I can't believe it's been a year' speeches, I said my fairwell and took a taxi to the airport. I think I would have been a little bit down but the taxi driver turned on the radio and there it was...

...take my hand and we'll make it I swear, whoa, we're living on a prayer.

Please note all characters, names and events in this blog are completely fictional. Any similarities to people, either living or dead, are purely coincidental.

Spazzing Out In Adelaide

2007-02-20T22:02:00.003+11:00

I expected Adelaide to be a tiny wateringhole of a place like Cairns. No Australians ever mention Adelaide but infact it's huge. The town centre is much bigger than Brisbane's even. It was good to be back in a big city. And it was here I discovered England had miraculously won the Commonwealth Bank Series. And it was here that the Aussies miraculously stopped talking about cricket again.

We didn't really do anything of note or worth or interest here. Just chilled out before my last week in Aus. I didn't take any photos in Adelaide so here's one of somebody with Down's Syndrome. It's evil to be amused, but you are aren't you?

Being A Part Of The Underground Scene

2007-02-20T22:02:00.001+11:00

Whilst on another road trip from Alice Springs to Adelaide we stopped off for a night in a place called Coober Pedy. With a population of roughly 3500 this whole town is founded on the opal mining industry. Yawwwwn, a little boring I know. Here's the science bit. Because it's so hot everybody lives in underground caves. Our hostel room was 6.5 metres straight down. how cool is that? A lot cooler than the 50 degree temperatures up top. I've seen this place on TV a number of times. Billy Connelly came to visit and I'll plat piss if it hasn't been on Blue Peter. So it was good to finally be here.

The place itself was a bit weird. It looked a touch like in 'Tremors,' if you've ever seen that quality film. If not, why not? Infact, it's been used as a setting for many films, namely 'Mad Max 3: Beyond The Thunderdome' which I'm pretty sure you all wasted two hours of your life watching.

Whilst wombling about in the hotel I met a really cool guy called Peter. Peter told me he'd been here a while after causing a spot of bother with some Yank dude. I wasn't really paying much attention, but here's a picture of him.

The only reason we were here was to stay in the caves. Novelty value innit? The next morning we found we had the day to kill. Unfortunately, the day nearly killed us. Talk about boring. I'd honeslty rather die than live in a place like this. Sorry, that's a bit morbid. I'd rather be in a coma than live in a place like this. Luckily the cricket was on. Can't remember the score...oh yeah, we won!

Rockin' All Over The World

2007-02-20T21:53:00.000+11:00

...not really, I just wanted a bit of suspense. Alice Springs was another shithole in the middle of nowhere. It was here that Tom offered me a peanut butter sandwich and I told him to stick it where the sun doesn't shine. So, he's gone back to England. Haha, get it? So Tommy B Meister De La Funkster left to go back to a country where it's minus 30 degrees yet the beer is warm. Allegedly. I won't waffle on but it's been good. I've found a new best mate there and I think I speak for both of us when I say it's been a good year. Besides, his sister is well fit. So goodbye Bri and no doubt I'll be seeing you in London before you lose the tan. Well, maybe not that quick.

After meeting up with Irish (Aine), another girl from 1770, we hurriedly decided to set off in a rented car for a 3 day trip to Uluru (Ayers Rock). The roads were straight enough to drive the 550Km at 140Km an hour and only need to use the brakes twice. One of those was to avoid two emus running across the road. They haven't been the same since Rod Hull left us.

First stop was Kings Canyon which was amazing. A trek in el scorchio heat and then onto the rock, which I wasn't expecting to be that good if truth be told. But it absolutely blew me away. I couldn't take my eyes off it. Apart from Toadie off Neighbours, Uluru is without doubt the best thing I've seen in Australia.

After a few days camping under the stars (literally as we had no tent) seeing the Olgas, finding no respite for the 48 degree heat and having constant swarms of flies on our faces, we headed back to Alice. Though not before we stopped off to see Dinky.

Dinky is a dingo who sings and plays piano as soon as somebody else starts tinkling the ivories. A bit selfish if you ask me. You're playing a decent tune and along comes Dinky to ruin it with his less than grade 1 standard playing. He has begun to make newspaper headlines all over the world and is now even a question in the 20th anniversary edition of Trivial Pursuit. The way his owner/manager/promoter/A&R man goes on, I'm surprised he wasn't sporting a moptop haircut or a fricking jumpsuit. Anyway, watch a dingo sing and play piano? If there's a box for that then tick it!

Alice? Alice? Where The F*ck Is Alice?

2007-02-12T18:29:00.000+11:00

So into the desert we drove on a 3 day, 2 night journey to the geographical heart of Aus - Alice Springs.

The first lunch we stopped off at some ranch in the middle of nowhere. The guys said they would get their snakes out for us after lunch (that's snakes, Greame Norton, not penises), so me and Tom went into a hut to make a cup of tea. As I was adding my one sugar and little bit of milk Tom said "you do know where we are don't you?" I didn't need to turn around to know that I was in a long, thin situation where I didn't want to be. The guys got them out and we all watched a python eat a live rat. Now there's something you don't see everyday.

Back on the bus Laurie the driver had become an instant legend and we were meeting some really top people. The scenery was also spot on. This was the Australia I had wanted to see the most. Vast expanses of straight roads surrounded by desert. I slept, read, listened to music, watched films, had a laugh. Infact, throw a guitar and a naked girl into that list and you've pretty much got the 7 things I live for!

The first night we stayed at a real outback place. One pub, one shop, a couple of Aboriginies getting abused by the locals. We all ended up skinny dipping in the pool where I met a local lad called Dave who spent 45 minutes explaining how to catch a bull. This is his job. I asked if he could envisage himself doing this for the rest of his life and he said "oh no, no, one day I'll move onto Buffalo." Literally, almost in a sitcom moment, as soon as I pulled the covers back to get into bed the alarm went off. I brushed my teeth and crawled back onto the bus.

We saw the Devil's Marbles and some scary 'Wolf Creek' style places where plenty of 'missing' signs started to appear. We saw some aboriginal artwork, which, if truth be told, wouldn't have made it onto Tony Hart's gallery. Honestly, Morph could have done better. Before long we hit Alice. She was annoying us anyway. Nah, I mean we'd arrived in Alice Springs.

This was some of the best days I'd spent in Aus. I loved it. Yet it was in Alice Springs that my life would change forever...

It's Grim Up North

2007-01-30T18:28:00.000+11:00

If you're mad do you know that you're mad? And if you don't then how do you know that you're not mad? Yes, you're right, Cairns gave us too much time on our hands.

If you ever come to Australia or have been here, you will know that Aussies think some weird stereotypes about us lot.
1) All English people constantly whinge. Where does that come from? Yes, we all wear bowler hats aswell.
2) We drink warm beer. Apart from the fact we probably invented the cooling systems they use, we don't drink our beer in girly half pint glasses and our beer doesn't warm up after 2 minutes because... (next stereotype) ...
3) In England it's always minus 30 degrees and raining.

They will remind you of each one of these at least five times per day. So if ever they pull out the weather one on you, tell them to go to Cairns in January. It did nothing but slash it down for the whole week we were there. Nice weather for ducks. It's a tiny place anyway and except for a day trip to Cape Tribulation, the Daintree rainforest and Mossman Gorge, there was little else to do. We also had a week to kill until our road trip. I therefore turned into one of those domestic housewives who drink red wine all day to pass the time. I don't have any pictures of Cairns but here's a self portrait I took which managed to pass 25 seconds of the day.

The original plan was to rent a car and take a five day road trip through the desert to Darwin but no car hire company would let this happen. It's wet season and they don't have sealed roads which would apparently mean a ruined car and loads of breakdowns. What, no proper roads between two major cities? Are we in Africa or what? After two days of stressing between Boycie style car dealers we decided to Geoffrey Boycott the idea of Darwin and booked a 3 day coach tour to Alice Springs instead. Carla, whom we'd originally met in 1770 (the town, not the year) came to join us and we were off. Goodbye Cairns, goodbye east coast, goodbye slight red wine addiction, goodbye my lover, goodbye my friend, you have been the one, you have been the one for me.

Pushing The Barrier

2007-01-30T18:27:00.001+11:00

How do you know if you're a pirate? You just argh! They didn't get any better than that the whole time we were at sea.

It appeared the only way to escape just how toss England are at cricket was to go on a boat for a few days around the Whitsundays. The Anaconda 3 was graced with our presence as we set off on treacherous seas to avoid falling off the edge of the world, drink rum, walk ten paces left and four to the right, find where the X marks the spot and dig for the treasure. Unfortunately there was none of that. Turned out the only treasure was the set of jewels on this German bird. The weather did start off slightly treacherous though with Tom turning a shade of green usually reserved for baby poo. It had settled by the second day and we were soon doing what I'd set out to do - swim on the Great Barrier Reef.

We had paid extra cash upfront for a three night tour instead of the usual two nighter. They used the extra time to take us right out to the outer reef. There is a flag there to mark the spot. A bit like the north pole but in the sea, and it's not a pole and is no way near the north. Infact there's really no similarity whatsoever apart from it serves as some kind of marking device. Anyway, there was no land in site, just pure ocean. So out we jumped, into the reef to swim with sharks and scary looking fish. Another world wonder off the list. Another day I'll never forget. Tick box.

It was all going swimmingly (get it?) until the inevitable happend. I knew it was coming. It seems that you can't get on a boat without having this conversation:

"Can you remember Pugwash with Master Bates and Seaman Stains?"

"Those characters didn't exist."

"Yeah they did, the BBC got away with it for years. There was Roger the cabin boy too."

"It's an urban myth."

"It's not 'cos my mate Tony knows this guy from down the Queens (the same guy who shagged Madonna before she was famous) and he's got an episode on video."

"Is it a pirate video?" Haha, get it? I just thought of that.

Still, great times. Then it was back to Airlie Beach for our after boat party. What did I see as soon I stepped off the boat? 107 all out. Streuth almighty.

The King Has Entered The Building

2007-01-23T15:25:00.000+11:00

Tom has a mate from where he lives. Hard to believe I know, but it's true. Her name is Gwendaline Stefani King and I was to find out that she isn't imaginary as suspected. She's over here doing conversation work with dolphins or something. Pressumably coversation work involves trying to get them to pronounce their T's and avoid P's and Q's. I think that's what she said anyway.

After a forgettable night in Rockhampton (the less said the better) we met the Kingathon and her eco friends at a tiny place called Emu Park. Stehpoid lives with two Frenchies, Alex and Juliette, and an Italian dude called Daniel or Danielli or a stifled mutter so he couldn't tell I wasn't sure which one it was. Yeah man, good does. Saw a bit of the east coast that most travellers wouldn't. Didn't manage to get out on the boat to save whales but did save money on accomodation. The girls were lovely, especially Gwendaline who makes the best potato lumps ever. Gwenno didn't need to urinate the whole time we were there as Tom constantly took the piss out of her. Even so she managed to smile. Thanks Gwen. Keep up the good work saving the fish. Especially the tuna 'cos they taste bloody gorgeous!

Back To 1770

2007-01-23T15:05:00.000+11:00

This was a belter. Stopping off for a night in the Town of 1770, we were reaquanted with a girl we had met/mocked on a previous bus journey. Heather, or The Animal as she would later be known, is at least 30% Down's Syndrome. A few quick examples:

1) When we told her she had caught the sun on her face she crossed her eyes in an attempt to have a look. Let me just clarify that point. She tried to look at her own face without using anything as a source of reflection. That is the equivalent of attempting to lick your elbow or trying to bite your left ear.
2) When doing graffiti in the hostel kitchen (you were allowed to write comments on the wall) she wrote 'No regrats (sic). Go kayaking.'
3) Just look at her! (Bottom of the entry)

We met some quality people, namely Carla and Irish (Aine). Also, all my life it has appeared I can't go anywhere in the world without meeting somebody from down my road. It's a shock that it's taken this long but finally I met Liz from Edenfield. After a good old chat about the new traffic lights at the roundabout and the naughty goings on in the Rhythm Station I was back on track.

Whilst on a comical tour of the small town we were told there is no crime at all in 1770. There was no lock on the hostel door and you can apparently leave your car keys in the ignition. Imagine how pissed off I was when $250 got nicked from my wallet. How unlucky is that? Granted, it's not quite as unlucky as this man.

Back at camp we had formed a band with The Animal on drums. Here's a few snaps we took for the cover of our first album. Click on them to enlarge and see if you can spot which one bangs the bongos.

Teenage Mutants & Hero Turtles

2007-01-23T14:37:00.000+11:00

Hmmm. Bundaberg. Bundy. Bunders. Inbredsville. Same place, different names. We could tell how close we were getting to Bundaberg because the people on the streets had fewer and fewer teeth, yet more and more fingers. In Aus, there's quite a number of hickville towns. Bundaberg is one of the larger nowhere places. It looks just like one of those small towns you see in America. You know, blockish in appearance, no buildings are over two stories high, looks like an industrial estate with a few houses placed in the gaps. I think the architectural name for it is 'shithole.' Even our hostel looked like a young offenders institute and the guests certainly acted like they should be in one. Bundaberg is apparently where backpacking tinkers come to fruit pick and sell pegs. The tourist info said of the town: "Bundaberg contains banks, credit unions, a cinema, a bus stop, a train line and several places of accomodation." Now, any town that has to add credit unions and bus stops onto a list of offerings is struggling more than an English low order batsman. So why were we here then? One reason: T U R T L E power.

Every night down at la plage, huge loggerhead turtles come out of the water and up onto the beach to lay their eggs. If you're lucky you can see a previous group of eggs hatch and watch the little blighters toddle off into the sea to be eaten by sharks. So off we went to see Raphael, Leonardo and the other two who weren't as good. All I can say is it was amazing. We all stood watching this miracle of life, shouting 'push' and mopping her brow. Afterwards the researchers said the dumb bitch had laid her eggs too close to the sea so we got involved with the egg relocation programme. Not before I'd whispered a few words of advise to my babies. You know, stuff like follow your dreams, don't support Utd, dogs die in hot cars. I hope one day they come and visit. We can all eat pizza and do some kung fu.

Somewhere Over The Rainbow

2007-01-23T14:27:00.000+11:00

I wanted Rainbow Beach to be like the computer game Rainbow Island. That was one of the best games ever released on the Amstrad CPC 64K with the green monitor and that tape deck that used to make the whining noise as the game failed to load for the 17th time. Brilliant. Actually, looking back, it was probably a bit gash. All you did was collect fruit and avoid getting hit by a bee. Still, we stopped off here for one night only. Took a stroll along some beach type, cliff type, forest type place and got pissed with Stu and James, the Scottish legends that we'd met previously in Surfers Paradise. Good.

Putting Our Heads In The Noosa

2007-01-17T15:22:00.000+11:00

Picking up the story from where I left off, we carried on up the cost to Noosa, or Noosa Heads depending on which book you read. This is one of the more aesthetically pleasing places in Aus. Set in an area of everglades and national parks, the majority of houses are on the waters' edge with a jeti and a boat attached. The hostel was great aswell and they put on a free mini van to take you to the beach and parks whilst the driver told shit jokes. The national park had an amazing nudist beach. The amazing bit wasn't the nudists as this 'privilege' was only used by fat men over 50. 'Chipolata' isn't the right word, but it's the first one that springs to mind. I'll stop doing that now.

Whilst at the national park Tom managed to capture this soon to be award winning photograph. Click on it to enlarge it. It's a leaf, suspended in mid air, with an ant trying to find its' way around. A jogger in the background helps to frame the perspective and add dimension. How good is that? Don't ask who, how or why, just sit back, admire, enjoy and watch the royalties stack up.

Noosa is certainly one of Australias more affluent places, the main street being decked with posh eateries and designer shops. Combining this with a night time stroll along the beach made it feel like one of those evenings when you're with your bird on a European holiday. Me and Tom even tried holding hands but it just felt weird. Still, a top place. Even better was we met a Canadian chick who had 3 nipples. A bit like Scaramanga from James Bond. Freaky.

Tell The Teacher We're Surfin'...

2007-01-17T15:09:00.000+11:00

The Beach Boys 'Surfin' USA' was blaring out of the stereo as we packed our bags. This could only mean one thing. An attempt to get the blood pumping before our surf lesson. 'Motivational' isn't the right word, but it's the first one that springs to mind. Down at the beach we were handed big spaz boards and given brief instructions on what to do by Pat, an older version of a true Aussie surfer. 'Weathered' isn't the right word, but it's the first one that springs to mind.

We hit the surf and flipped a lid or banged a bong or whatever all the terms are that sound hip and street. I thought I'd be bobbits at it so I was well pleased with myself when I found I could do it quite convincingly. 'Professional' isn't the right word, but it's the first one that springs to mind. One of the instructors praised me for managing to 'ride one out.' I have no idea what this means but it sounds cool as and we hi-fived!

The last fifteen minutes I stormed it, standing up everytime and riding some monster rips. 'Exaggeration' isn't the right word, but it's the first one that springs to mind. I was inspired though and will definitely be doing it again soon. I haven't had a buzz like that since Nadine sung 'Show Me Heaven' on Popstars The Rivals.

Back in Surfers Paradise we spent a good few days chilling out, maxing, relaxing all cool and shooting some meatball outside of a school. There were loads of nice people. 'Fitties' isn't the right word, but it's the first one that springs to mind.

Putting The 'K' Back Into 'Kwality'

2007-01-17T14:47:00.000+11:00

I f*cking hate hippies. Goddam tree huggers. Being a smelly, crust ridden skanker and using saving the world as an excuse for doing feck all. They peculate 'cool' religions like Hinduism, everything has to be multicoloured and tacky, 'university' conversations are regurgitated over and over again - the governments corrupt, Coca-Cola (for some reason) is the scurge of the world and Corrie isn't as good as it used to be. Not since Percy Sugden left anyway.

So it was with a certain amount of hypocrisy that we turned up for a night in Nimbin. The 'town' is just a single street in size. Think oldy worldy America, except the cowboys are hippies and the whole community is based on smoking doobies. They had a hippy museum, all the shops sold gear, all the locals sold gear, the children sold gear, the police were too stoned to do anything about it and the local kebab shop had a multi million pound annual turnover. The scene was set for a barrel of laughs. And the munchies!

The signs were there from the moment we arrived. In our room there was a mad Columbian girl stoned off her babylons. As we put our bags down we said hello. Without looking around to see who had spoke, she glared wide eyed up toward the roof as if to say "God? Is that you?" In town, some old crusty had chalked 'free cricket lessons' on the pavement. A comment on Englands heavy defeat in the Ashes. We got talking to him and he was slagging absolutely everything he could about England. Obviously his 'Little Book of Facts About England' was taken from the library section marked 'Utter Bollocks' and we reckoned he could have only been as far as the street corner in at least the last 20 years.
See also: Waster
See also: Parasite
After a while he asked where we were from. In the most sarcastic, ironic tone he could muster, Tom said Spain. After another ten minutes of England bashing, he stopped and asked us "so, what's the weather like in Spain?" Jesus Christ. "Good," I thought, "at least it's not England." Get back in your hole knobhead.

Despite good being a bland descriptive word, we had a good time here. But I just can't handle hippies. There was a group of 50ish year old men sat stoned off their heads and on their 15th beer of the day. It was 2.30pm and we were leaving. "Have a good trip lads," one said, "and whilst you're out there, make the world a better place." What, by being on my 15th beer and stoned out of my head everyday by mid avo? "I will," I thought, "I bloody well will." Goddam tree hugging hippies.

"3 9 9 5! Keep Dreaming Patrick, Keep Dreaming..."

2007-01-17T14:34:00.000+11:00

Back on the road! Although it was sad to see the back of Brisney Land, it's great to see the front of travelling again. Time has slowed right back down and it feels like weeks since we left Brissers. Before heading north to Cairns we dropped southwards to Byron Bay. Unfortunately, so did everybody else in Australia, or so it seemed. When we arrived we found no room at the inn. No room anywhere infact. Tom got left with the bags whilst I tried every hotel, motel and hostel in town. No joy. Then we lucked upon a room in the upstairs of a pub. Fortunately there were no shepherds. Unfortunately there were no wise men, but then this is Australia! We saw one girl walking up and down the street in tears of despair. We chatted to her later and she had found a spot in a hostel TV room! Apparently people were sleeping on the streets it was that busy.

Our happiness of finding a place to stay spilled into pints of beer and to watch the various street performers. An eclectic bunch of freestyle rapping buskers, beat poets and drunken angry young men. I liked Byron but the next day we were back out on our asses with nowhere to stay again. After getting bored of trying we jumped on a bus to Nimbin.

Happy Birthday Jesus

2006-12-26T15:44:00.000+11:00

So Crimby day came as it does the same time every year. Depsite my apprehension it turned out to be pretty darn good. Housemate Ryns' mum and dad had kindly invited us round for the day and this prooved to be great. For a kick off the house was one of the nicest I've seen. Secondly, we were provided with enough quality food to feed a small army. Thirdly, the reason I know it could have fed an small army is because Ryn's dad, Alan, told me, and he's some kind of CIA, SAS, FBI, type mafia geezer. His nickname in the special forces was 'Mad Dog.' Need I say more? You know Robert De Niro in 'Meet The Parents?' Yep, that's him. They've even got the same bloody cat and it's been trained to be a killing machine.

So the day time was spent exactly how I like it: watching the DVDs people have got as presents, reading, snoozing, eating, checking grandma's still alive after her 8th nap of the day and lounging around by the pool. Night time saw Alan De Niro take us into his workshop to show us his array of guns and other artillery. We also had some giggles pretending to sniper neighbours through the night vision goggles. It was all good fun until the lie detector test...

So This Is Christmas?

2006-12-23T21:08:00.000+11:00

Christmas is bollocks. The miserable ones among us don't need to be told that. I know if I was home right now I would be squeezing past the millions of people lining the streets of Manchester in a stressed attempt to find a present that the recipient might at least look at twice before giving me that 'well, at least you tried' look. No doubt, to add to misery, it would be torrential rain, minus 5 temperatures and darker than the dark side of the moon. So you'd think I'd be happy that in comparison, Christmas barely gets a mention in Brisbane. Of course I'm not happy. That would go against my beliefs.

I must admit that despite my hatred of the British winter, the weeks building up to Christmas are some of my favourite of the year. I love looking out into a darkened night, watching a passer by struggle against the elements as I sit snuggly in a dimly lit and cosy room, fire ablaze and Christmas film just about to start. Or finding yourself in countless pubs, all huddled around with your friends enjoying the seasonal atmosphere and jocularities. It's like that feeling when you wake up early on a Sunday morning, look at the clock and realise there's no need to get up until your ready to. With that you wrap the warm duvet around you and sink back to sleep. Love it.

It all feels a bit odd here. We went shopping in the city today and there were no more people around than another other weekend. There's barely any decorations up anywhere. Even in the city centre you struggle to find some. No C list celebrity to turn on the lights. The TV scheduling has barely changed. Where's my 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory' on Chrismtas day morning? It's not going to be on is it? I'm trying to get home my point of just how different it is and I think here is the biggy: I haven't heard Paul McCartney, Wham, Shane McGowan and Kirsty McCall, John Lennon, East 17 or any of the other Christmas anthems. NOT ONCE! Now you understand don't you? I've come to realise that apart from maybe the Yanks, nobody does it better. You just can't do Christmas properly when it's boiling hot. There should be snow and snowmen, real English pubs and plates of hot food, town squares completely altered, a constant buzz in the air, Cliff Richard, a battle for Christmas number 1, over spending, over eating, over the rainbow way up high. I miss Kansas. Wait, I've turned into Dorothy. I miss home. I miss Christmas at home. I miss you lot and the nights you'll be having. Granted, once it's over then you all have to go through the January blues, or 'suicide season' as I like to call it. When that time comes I won't envy you in the slightest. But for now, have a pint in the pub for me will you? And as Slade comes on that juke box for the fourteenth time in the evening, sing your heart out just for me.

Merry Christmas.

The Hils Is Alive

2006-12-23T19:00:00.000+11:00

It has now been quite some time since I've seen a lot of my friends from back home. So it was a bit of good luck that Hilary and her sister Rachel decided to do some travelling through Australia of their own. Despite my house not having a swimming pool, a 5 star casino or a butler, Hilary swallowed her pride and decided to come and stay. It also coincided with Tom's mates, Peanut and Jackie, staying for the weekend.

Cue some hilarious conversations and a weekend of drunken behaviour. Nothing that would make much sense written down so I will annoy you all by saying "I suppose you just had to be there." Doesn't it wind you up when people say that? They usually only say it because they've just realised the story they've spent for too long telling you has fallen on its' ass. Likewise, I don't really know where I'm going with this but as it's a type of journal in Aus thing, I wanted to remember the girls stopping by.

The weekend wasn't without its' downsides - I had to wash my sheets before the girls could stay in my bed. And Rachel kept banging on constantly to reform an Abba tribute band. "No Rach, we're not doing, no matter what you say." It also had it's positives - after the girls staying in my bedroom, the place has never smelt so good. Also receiving texts like 'hi sweetie, we've got tea on the table for you when you get back,' made for a very pleasant train journey home at the end of a long day. Best of all, as a parting gift they bought me Gary Barlow's autobiography. Just what I needed. I'm up to the bit where they've just formed Take That. It's getting exciting. I really hope they make it.

So the girls are on their way again, lugging around a backpack full of absolutely pointless travel items: dressing gowns, koala sized hairbrushes, a chest of drawers etc. But not before we had to finally succumb to Rachel's request to form an Abba tribute band. For God's sake Rachel, here it is. Now just let it go will you?

Happy Noel

2006-12-20T23:32:00.000+11:00

Oasis are having a bit of a break and some might say they deserve it. That's the first and last crappy pun where a song title is thrown into this blog entry. Noel, missing the intimacy that stadium gigs cannot provide, saw this as an opportunity. With guitar and Gem in tow he travelled around a few countries playing acoustic sets to the lucky 1000 or so fans. The venues were tiny, the track list wasn't your usual Oasis set and, nightmare of nightmares, the notice was very, very short. So short infact that when Regan showed me the sold out advert for the gig just 3 days before it took place, I hadn't heard a word about it. Incidentally why do venues advertise sold out gigs? It always annoys me that.

Attempts to pay mass amounts of cash to knobheads on ebay were futile, but I wasn't yet defeated. Camera in pocket, I headed down to befriend a tout. Now I don't think I've ever been to an event of any variety and not been offered tickets by some dodgy geezer in a parker. He's probably called Tony (known to his mates as Ticketek Tone) with a Staffordshire Bull Terrier and a Manc accent, regardless of where he's from. I even went to watch Brisbane FC the other week and in a stadium that seats 60000, there were only 15000 seats sold. Yet there were ticket touts outside! Mate, there's 45000 spare seats in there, why am I going to buy a ticket of you? Knobhead. Anyway, shit shock horror, there were no touts at all. Just a row of geeks waiting for their ticket to arrive from 'some guy off ebay.' Long story short, got mates with some woman on the guest list, I was in. The place was rocking. Not so much like a small theatre, more like something off a Channel 4 programme where they have bands on, like TFI Friday or similar. I won't bore you with the details of the set, or how good it was, or how close I was stood, or the really cool people I met. What I will bore you with is this:

After the show me, the really cool people I had met and about a hundred others decided to wait for Noel to come out. What other chance would I get? As time passed by, numbers dwindled until there were only six of us left. And then, as hope was in no way beginning to fade, he emerged and in true rock 'n' roll style, was pissed out of his head. He went to get straight into his car but I shouted that there were only six of us and so he comes walking over. Cue dry mouth, racing heart, jelly legs.

The best thing was that the bouncers had taken the full ticket off people as they had entered the gig, leaving many to protest that they wanted a stub as a souvenir. So at the end of the show they had left all of the tickets out on tables for people to collect one if they so wished. I collected seventy. I pulled them all out so Noel could use the other sixty nine to rest on as he signed the top one. "Fuckin' hell!" he said. How rock 'n' roll is that? The first words he ever said to me were 'fuckin' hell.' It was just how I'd dreamt it.

Granted he's just a Manc scally come good, but he can't half write a tune and the guy has changed my life. A hero of heroes. I had to get out of my taxi early and run home just because I had so much energy. Purely belter. It will probably go: marriage, having children, shaking Noel Gallaghers hand. By no means whatsoever will they be in that order.

As my new best mate Noel said himself, "Happy Christmas, and all that bollocks."

Can Anybody Fly This Thing?

2006-12-07T00:41:00.000+11:00

I don't really like to talk about work but for some reason I always mention it on here. So, continuing with tradition I will give a brief summary of the past few weeks. It all started with me being laid off. Despite there still being much filing to be filed, my filing job came to an end. Maybe this was because the only things getting filed were my nails. I was managing to read at least a book a week though and do my own bits of admin, like writing fan mail to Dr. Dre, designing new fonts, that kind of thing. Anyway, in typical Hoskin 'final day at work' tradition I stole a load of food from the fridge, sent the office hottie an email telling her she was, indeed, the office hottie, and a whole host of other things usually reserved for 15 year olds or people from Liverpool.

So imagine my discomfort when on my first day of unemployment I received a phone call to say they wanted me back. Cringe. Luckily the hottie was well impressed with the compliments, nobody mentioned the food and I managed to clean off the shit I'd smeared on the walls. Not really. It's still there. This time, however, I have been given a proper job. I have a job title and everything. Booooo. Basically, a woman was leaving and they rushed me in to fill her place until they find a permanent replacement. I was given one weeks rushed training and sat infront of a computer. Honestly, they may aswell have sat me in the cockpit of a plane and gone 'fly it.' I have not got a scoob what I'm meant to be doing but all I really need to do is blag it for three weeks and then I'm out of here.

The office seems to be over bulging with those funny people. You know, gays I think they're called. One group all meet in the kitchen before home time to have 'group huggies' and drop more innuendos than a whole series of Graham Norton. I call them the gAy Team. Anyway, one of the rent boys is from America and I get the feeling he fancies me. The other day he came up to me and asked if I could play an instrument. "Any instrument, I don't care what it is, just can you play any instrument?" "Well, I play a bit of guitar," I said. "Cool," he snapped, "you're in my band." A few questions later and I had found out that the band consisted of me and him, practice was to be held at his house and due to the fact that he insn't very musical, he will 'just sing a bit.' Brillant. Do you have some sweets and maybe a puppy you can show me? Imagine that, turning up and he's stood there infront of a microphone naked. "What are you doing mate?" "Well, our band name is The Naked Sodomists and we are doing a dress rehearsal. Just pop your clothes on that chair and come over here." "I've forgotten my guitar." "Doesn't matter, we can make sweet music without it." Sounds a bit too Pet Shop Boys for my liking.

I realise this is starting to sound like an ego trip but there is also a woman in the office who fancies me. Short blonde hair, Australian, blue eyes, softly spoken. You know that image you've got in your head right now? Scrap it. She's short, fat, and over 50. Minging to the point that I cringe when she's licking her lips around me. "Paul, you are absolutely gorgeous," she said. "If you were here for longer I'd introduce you to my daughter." "Well," I jokingly replied "I'm here for a few more weeks and it only takes a couple of minutes tops. Bring in a photo and I'll see what I can do." Unbelievably she was made up with this prospect despite me having just said in short 'bring in a photo of your daughter, I'll see if she's fit or not, and if she is, job's a good 'en and then I'll be offskis.' Bless her though, despite the fact I rarely talk to her, she invited me around to spend Christmas with her and her family. I don't care what her real intentions are, I think that's a lovely offer and it warmed my heart. Unfortunately, housemate Ryn has already offered her family up for entertainment so we will be spending Christmas there instead. So I had to tell the woman at work, "I'm sorry, Mrs Robinson, but Jesus loves you more than you will know."

Ashes To Ashes, Funk To Funky

2006-11-26T21:15:00.000+11:00

It had been a big weekend. The start of it saw us go out to celebrate Stu's birthday (again). Friday night didn't finish until 9am Saturday morning so this meant the full day asleep. It was dark by the time I emerged from my bed again and a couple of drinks and a cinema trip to see the Borat movie ended a short day. Incidentally, the Borat film is absolutely class. Sunday saw me and Tom back on it early doors as we trundled off to watch the 4th day of the Ashes first test. I have learnt that you simply cannot get a decent, representative match report in Aussie media coverage, be it radio, newspapers or television. A typical days play summary on the news goes something like this: "The Aussies emerged from the dressing room with whiter whites and a cleaner set of teeth than the evil England bell ends. England smelt really bad (probably of poo and wee) and looked daft as they attempted a sport that no other team can play except for Australia. It was a proud day for the Aussies, and people cheered in a way reminiscent of when Australia single handedly won the world war (first and second). Despite incorrect media information, it was actually an Aussie who was first to land on the moon, an Aussie who said that E=MC2 (whatever that means) and an Aussie who got nailed to the cross. The Southern cross that is. Our only regret was inventing England who inturn invented Beelzebub and Hell. Incidently, a good days cricket for the Aussies. Not sure of the score but it just was ok?" It's like a country full of Utd fans. Nightmare. So, we went off to watch the game for ourselves. Unfotunately the news report wasn't far wrong. Commentary now coming from Richie Benaud down at the Gabba...

It appears that England have yet again fallen victim to the cruel rules and regulations brought about by test crickets' governing bodies. I don't think I am the only one to notice that our selectors were only allowed to choose team players that are from England. This leaves us with a severe disadvantage before the game has even begun. Australia, on the other hand, were given free reign to choose a good number of Australian players. Not just batters and fielders but bowlers aswell. No wonder the Enlgand team seems to play with the pychological scarring of Norman Bates after his mum's just popped round for tea. Something really should be done about this injustice. By the way, the reason I have a blockhead in this photo is because I'd just taken my hat off.

Yes, it has started badly, as we all suspected it would. But still we go to watch in the hope that maybe, just maybe we will be behind the winning team. After several beers and ever increasing sunburn, me and Bri decided there was only one team that would shine victorious and that we could be a part off...the Barmy Army.

If English lads are the best in the world at anything, it's coming up with abusive chants and singing them to tunes of well known songs. I think we have our footballing history and a genius sense of humour to thank for that. And this is how we drank away our afternoon. Here's a brief selection of some of the more printable ones:

"F*ck all, your money's worth f*ck all..." (A comment on the weak Aussie exchange rate)
"Get your shit stars, get your shit stars, get your shit stars off our flag..."
"You're so poor it's unbelievable..."
"Third world country, you're just a third world country..."
"God save your gracious Queen, long live your noble Queen...long to reign over you, God save your Queen."

"If it wasn't for our grandads you'd be chavs..."
"You're Poms and you know you are, you're poms and you know you are..."
"Part of the Empire, you're just a part of the Empire..."
"You all live in a convict coloney, a convict coloney, a convict coloney..."
(My personal fave) "I shagged Matilda, I shagged Matilda, I shagged Matilda and so did my mates. And she moaned and she groaned and she took it up her...."

When the Aussies finally did some singing of their own, the best they could come up with was "we gave you Peter Andre, oh we gave you Peter Andre..." Which, if they would only listen to his quality back catalogue they would realise it's not even an insult. Haha, the jokes on them! Seriously though, you would have thought we were the home crowd and it was being played in England. It was brilliant and I had a great time. If only we were good at the sports that we cheer the best for!

I can hand on heart say that since England won the Ashes I have not met an Aussie who claims to like cricket. My 'what about the cricket?' questions have always been met with 'it's not really my scene mate.' Until now that is. The Aussies got a few runs on the board and they all came out of the woodwork. Which leads me to my final chant - "Where were you, where were you, where were you when you were shit?"

The Legend Of Paradise

2006-11-26T21:14:00.000+11:00

The clock struck 2am as we drove sleepily across a blackened desert. Only the stars were awake to keep us company as we coasted along snuggly nestled in the corner of silence. All of a sudden - a figure. Small and dimly lit at first, but growing in stature until the car lights forced his arm to shield a withered face. An old man, white beard and cane, in what seemed like some distress. If we could take him to where he wanted to go with no questions asked, he would tell us a secret. A secret so rich in content that it would change our lives forever. Not since Leonardo Di Caprio found a map of some beach somewhere had anything like this been passed on. So on through the night we drove, hoping, dreaming, praying for his tale and the prospect of a better life.

The secret turned out to be a bag of bollocks. Something about backing 'Three Legged Wonder' at the 3.10 in Melbourne. However, depsite his crock of shite, he got us to drop him at Surfers Paradise for Schoolies weekend. "What's this?" we asked. Well, in short, it's the Australian equivalent of the Yanks' Spring Break. You know, you've seen it on films and TV - "Yeeaaah, woohooo, spring break, yeeaaah man, it rocks" (Hi-5s and American style whooping all round). This is where entire communities of kids descend to celebrate the finishing of their exams. We'd been told about this before by many a smug person. Tales of debauchery with 17 year old girls at the highest level. Weekends of pure drunken sordidness and experimentation. Stories that I couldn't possibly write about on here due to my mum reading it and me not even knowing what some of the words mean. That's how bad it is. "You boys can't go," we were told. "You're too old and will be mocked and called Toolies." "How do you spell Toolies?" said Tom as we pulled up to our hostel.

As soon as we arrived in our room we were met by Louis, your typical cheeky chappy rude boy cockernee geezer. He was in straight away. A trip to the beach, a perv on the poon, a booked night time spot on the hostel Vengabus and we were all set.

I had a truly great night. Me and Louis walked down to the beach where the party was at and couldn't believe our eyes. We had never seen so many young teens being sober, not fighting and causing little mayhem. This weekend couldn't happen in England without the armies involvment or at least hoards of riot police. Still, it was good to witness though. One bad thing is that I have never felt so old in all my life. What was scarier is that I didn't even care. Although, don't quote me on that.

Our hostel room also contained an Israeli girl called Lian who hadn't come out on the Vengabus but did spend the following day in our company. I fell in love with Lian in the space of 24 hours. Usually I look for 2 things in a girl: a one track mind and eyes for me. Facing in the right direction is an added bonus. But Lian pushed it to an all new level - she laughed at everything I said!

Lian came to stay with us in Brisbane the following Monday which worked out well because I had just been laid off from work (more of that later). We had another good day when I showed her the city and followed it up with drinks and crisps. It's fair to say that this was one of my favourite weekends yet and I was absolutely thrilled until I found out that 'Three Legged Wonder' had romped home at 66/1. Ass.

General Info & Colonel Bollocks

2006-11-26T21:08:00.000+11:00

I work in a call centre as admin boy. I have taken the initiative to expand my admin duties to emailing friends, buying Girls Aloud autographs off ebay and wondering if the world would be a better place if The Libertines reformed. Along with this I can be found doodling rabbits being stabbed on Post-It notes and displaying other signs of psychotic behaviour brought on by boredom. Even more despairing is the new starter sat two work stations away from me. He has taken to ending every call he receives with “I hope you have a wonderful Christmas.” He’s been doing this since November 7th. I mean, come on, my seasonal Scrooge outfit isn’t even back from the dry cleaners yet. For me, I find it near impossible to enter a festive spirit until I see the Coke ad that’s on TV every year. “Holidays are coming, holidays are coming (‘tis the season, it’s always the real thing), holidays are coming.” Brilliant. When you hear that you know it’s time to line someone up for the Christmas do. Unfortunately I won’t be seeing that advert out here. Nor will I be lining anyone up for the works Christmas do. Unless, that is, it's infront of a firing squad. I’m just praying to God that they know who Slade are. If not, that’s it, Christmas is cancelled.

Went shopping and bought an 80Gb ipod didn’t I? Yeah, yeah, yeah, bigtime. Think of the bongo I can get on that. Unfortunately I had no tunes to put on it so raided my housemates computer. She is 19 though and it was full of whiney women whinging about exboyfriends and 'gangsters' talking about getting head in a Bentley whilst shooting people. Delete delete delete. Thankfully my mum and dad were good enough to bring out every album I own in mp3 format which saved my sorry ass. I can go back to strawberry fields forever and zigazigahing. I'm pretty sure that after that paragraph you have just breathed a sigh of relief.

Alright, chillax will you? I know you’re all dying to know what the housemates have been up to, so here goes it. Ryn has been tucked away in her bedroom for ther past few weeks, beavering into her books as prep for uni exams. Annoyingly she’s one of those girls that goes “oh my God, I’m so stressed, I’ve only done, like, 42 hours revision for this exam.” Straight after the exam it’s all “well, it kind of went allllright, but not that good,” and says “oh wow, I really wasn’t expecting that” as the A’s begin to roll in.

We’ve had one or two nights out with Ryn and she’s a good crack. Her mates are a groovy bunch aswell. Recently her friend Katie turned 19 and Ryn was trying to tempt me to join their night out with the promise of a birthday kiss. “You’re defo gonna get a snog,” said Ryn, “it’s just that i can’t be sure you'll be the only one.” And all of a sudden I’m back at illegal parties in the up stairs of the Boot and Shoe, bagging off with as many 15 year olds as I can and maybe getting some finger pie so I can run up to Nikki, hold my fingers under his nose and go 'smell these.' Ok, let’s try and keep this slightly more high brow shall we? I think that’s what I like about Ryn. Since travelling I think I have matured almost to a boring level. I’ve lost a lot of that hyperactive cheeky chappy boyishness. I have gained weight though so…pros and cons innit? Ryn reminds me a little bit of how it was. Only half of her manages to do this though. This is because the other half of her is a 45 year old nagging housewife. “Remember to turn the oven off when you’ve finished with it.” That kind of thing. “Oh yeah, I’m glad you said that ‘cos I was planning on just leaving it on.” I was using ovens when the only meals you were getting were from your mummys’ breasticles. See how I have become mature to a boring level? It were all different in my day...kids knew how to respect their elders...it never rained...I didn't have to wear incontinence pads...

The time here is a joke. I wake up on a Monday morning and by the time I go to bed it's Friday night. That isn't a comment that we are 24 hour party people, I'm just using hyperbole to show how fast the clock is ticking. Talking of 24 hour party people, Regan has just bought some duff duff duff duff duff duff duff duff duff duff duff duff duff duff duff duff duff duff duff duff duff decks. He is probably the only person I know that can listen to the same drum beat for 35 minutes and go “aw man, what a tune!” When the smoke detector kicks in from the plumes in the kitchen, Regan laughs uncontrollably, runs out of his room and starts dancing. You know when you chase a 5 year old and they start to run and get this adrenalin fuelled excited/panicky screaming thing going on? That’s Regan when the smoke alarm goes off. He’s a good lad though is Regan and even brought his keyboard along to one of our basement jam sessions.

Stuey has also been studying but in a more boyish way of “what you up to Stu?” “Studying” “That looks like a scantily clad woman to me Stu?” “Yeah but she’s helping me stay relaxed.” Stu has just celebrated his 21st birthday for the 4th time. No, he isn't one of those people who is really 25 but say they are '21 again.' Instead he just uses his recent 21st to go out celebrating every Friday night.

Tom has a new catchphrase which is ‘and that worries me.’ It is now placed at the end of most sentences. He’s still sailing along, much in the same boat that carries me. Amusing discovery the other day though. He won’t be happy with me re-telling this but I have to just because I haven’t laughed so much since Del Boy fell through the bar. On the internet the other day I was checking through the history of what has been searched for from Google. My stomach creased when I came upon ‘I can’t get a tan,’ ‘best male fake tans pale skin,’ and ‘why can’t I get a suntan?’ The guy kills me, he really does. And that worries him.

We spend most weekends now trying to fill it with trips to the beach and other cool stuff. I'm sorry I can't be more specific but I haven't wrote this forever and my time scales are all off. Aswell as that, my memory appears to have become a siv, hence me having to write crap like 'I've got a new iPod.' Anyway, it's been good. My main worry (and I have a lot) is that time is flying by too fast. And what if I go bald soon? And are my teeth getting browner? And why don't any girls wolf whistle anymore when I'm out jogging? And what if Take That don't tour Europe? And what if something I read about Cuba bombing America comes true? Oh well, I will get on with my life and bide my time until The Libertines reform.

Meet The Parents

2006-11-26T21:05:00.000+11:00

“Paul, please can I have my photo on your blog?”

“No mum, you can’t.”
“But I carried you in my womb for 9 months.”
“Oh, that old chestnut is it? You can’t get on my blog unless you are part of my Aussie experience or send me photos of yourself in stockings á la Claire from Bolton. And frankly, the latter is not an option.” So, it was with these thoughts that Lizzie (mummy) and Father D (daddy) flew 264000 kilometres to see me.

After 20 months I was worried they may have forgotten what I look like and when I caught them hugging the hotel receptionist my fears were confirmed. A quick show of driving licenses sorted out the identification crisis and a good time was had by all. I did initially want to show up carrying a baby and tell them I had a special surprise. But finding a baby to rent during rush hour on a Wednesday is not an easy task. Just ask Madonna.

The next few days were spent going for meals and catching up with recent events on the cobblestones back home. I have missed my dads' reactions to taking the blame for everything from the air con not working to the Hindenburg disaster, and my mum was well and truly on form. On Saturday they came to see where I live and we had a BBQ with my housemates. I even cooked them some kangaroo to complete the real Aussie experience. Not that they need me for this – the other night they went to see Kylie in Sydney. Anyway, it was really great seeing them both and I’m glad they made the effort to come out and see me, to experience a piece of Aus and to do that parenty thing of slipping me a few quid before they left.

Round of applause for mums and dads everywhere. Apart from Father Ted who wasn’t a real father at all.

The Day We Didn’t Meet Kylie

2006-11-26T21:03:00.000+11:00

I will be happy to know that as this goes to press I am still alive. As it happend, my 28th year on Planet Reebok started off pretty good. For a change my birthday would fall in a summer month and may even be a scorcher I thought. Content with these high spirits we planned to take a canoe out onto the huge Brisbane River. Guaranteed ‘how the hell do I paddle?...is that a crocodile?...how far away does that ferry look to you?’ style comments would make for a memorable day. Unfortunately it absolutley pissed it down from start to finish. Obviously, it was scorching the day before and has been ever since. Look at me acting like the fact it was my birthday controlled the whole weather system for an entire state in Australia. I didn’t think I had it in me. So, the canoeing expo was replaced with a shopping in town trip. Not as entertaining but with an equal amount of water.

Not many of you know this but I have an ultimate fantasy. Not the obvious ‘sisters…lesbians’ one that no doubt so many of you predicted. One where I am walking down the street. It’s a busy city street. The weather is hot and there are hoards of people milling about, shopping, going about their daily business. Then I innocently spark off a bit of dialogue with a passer by. Maybe I ask them for the time or the directions to the nearest Subway. They reply by not simply telling me, but by singing the answer. Then a man walking by sees this and sings another line. It has a domino affect and before I know it the whole shopping mall is involved in a wonderfully choreographed musical show stopper. Dear Jim, please can you fix it for me… If only. Unfortunately, I can’t really see this ever happening. But up there on my list would be my McDonalds experience on Saturday.

There me an Tom sat, strawberry milkshake turning to concrete in the straw, as we people watched the day away. Now, I’m not blowing my own clarinet (I would if I could reach) but if people watching was an olympic event Tom would have ‘sir’ prefixing his name and I would at least be a team captain on ‘A Question Of Sport.’ Whole historys for people get invented - from names, lifestyles, childhood experiences, dental records, whether they’d rather be Eminem or 50 Cent and so on. Tom has even been known to follow people home to authenticate his assumptions. And he never gets it wrong. He’s like a slightly weirder version of Columbo. He even does that whole lazy eye thing when he gets too involved in the activity. Anyway, we’re sat there laughing at the usual mixture of freaks and uniques and who should stroll in but Marilyn Monroe. I say Marilyn but it might have been Malcolm. If you took Marilyn Monroe’s Madame Tussaud’s statue and stood it next to her it would look pretty similar. Just make sure that beforehand you’ve melted it down and completely remoulded it into a Graham Norton lookalike with a blonde wig stuck on. I mean, stuck on anywhere. He/she/it had the full get up though and as it was my birthday I was looking for a JFK style present. Not like that you animals, but I wanted a birthday wish. So there I stood, middle of Maccy’s, getting Happy Birthday sung to me in the style of Mazza M. To be fair she sounded just like her. I would have killed for that picture. Oh well. Apparently she is a well known local nutcase and in summer time often parades around town in a bikini. God willing, if I can brave that vision I will get a photo of her then. I love Brisbane for people watching. Just the other day we were sat at a café when a small and expensively dressed lady walked infront of us. “Is that Kylie Minogue?” said Tom. “No,” I said, for it was not. I think that illustrates the complexities of this great nation.

Night time on my birthday saw a few beers out in the Valley and the birth of our new invention - the Camel Toe Stopper. As well as making us overnight millionaires, it will aslo prevent a lot of female embarrassment by filling a rather favourable hole in the market! Later in the night on the dirve home we passed some curb side commotion. “There!” said Stu, “It really is Kylie Minogue.” “Keep driving,” I said, for it was not. This will forever go down as the birthday when I didn’t see Kylie. I also didn’t see Jason. Coincidence? Not if you’re supersticious like me. Or if you have OCD and need to repeat the last sentence 3 times. Or if you have OCD and need to repeat the last sentence 3 times. Or if you have OCD and need to repeat the last sentence 3 times. Or if you have OCD and need to repeat the last sentence 3 times.

The Best A Man Can Get

2006-11-26T20:58:00.000+11:00

Yeah man, best man me man. Cool man or what man?

A few of you have been asking how Danny popped the question. Well, it goes a little something like this. Danny rang me up in the morning (my time) but I missed it because the vibrates gone on my phone. Anyway, when I got home from work I put it on high volume and he rang again and I knew it was about the wedding because only my mum ever rings me, especially twice in one day. And I was well nervous. And he goes, “I’ve got something to ask you.” And then he told me how nervous he was. And he pops the question (down on one knee like) and I start to cry and say ‘yes.’ And even though he’s on the phone 172 000 miles away, we make kissing noises and lick at the microphone bit of the handset. It was sooo romantic. And then the joy of being asked was replaced by sheer nerves and these have stuck with me ever since. Along with a fear of me making a hash of it and prooving not to be the best at all. Let alone best, what if I proove I'm not even a man? And then I thought, “wait a minute. I am the best man. I'm the best goddam man on the planet. At everything. Infact, I really should grow a white beard and call myself God from now on.” And I was going to but I thought that would make me like every other man. And besides, I cant grow a beard.

I have already ordered books in at the library to find out exactly what is expected of a best man and how to write a good speech. It will be being worked upon from around Christmas time. Acting lessons will follow mid Feb, a 6 week course at drama school where I’ll finish with a Best Man Diploma followed by 3 practice weddings, 2 that I gate crash and then the big day itself. As Danny keeps reminding, I am more than just a speech. I am also a man who can’t grow a beard. I have already got one thing down to a fine art though; that bit where it comes to the point where I hand him the ring and I do that whole “woops, oh no, ive lost it” sketch. Whilst I am on the subject I would like to ask any of you who have any contributions you think would be helpful – be it annecdotes, allegorys, metaphors, comedy genius, stuff you have witnessed in other speeches – don’t hesitate to email me. All stories are welcome.

One thing is bothering me a bit already though. I haven't been to many weddings, as you can probably tell, but I know that it is tradition for the best man to get some jiggy. It goes hand in hand. Now usually this is with a bridesmaid but all are off limits barring Sarah which, depsite what everybody thinks at home, its’ a non entity. So basically, is there any decent young, free and single women going? Infact, forget the decent bit. And the free. Just young and single. Cancel the single. Just young women. I will settle for an older one if need be. So, just women then. Is there any women going? I think I will be alright. Women love weddings don’t they? They get into that whole weak, naïve, vulnerable state of “I need to feel loved” on the big day. Throw into this melting pot of sordidness the fact that it’s taking place in Cyprus which equals sun, which equals horniness. Mix it in with my 6 pack and a few other made up things and I should be wetting my nuts before you can say ‘I do.’ Do I accept the terms and conditions? I do.

I’m not fully sure why I’m writing this as it has little to do with my time in Australia. I’m just excited by it all I think and it's had a real impact on me. Again, congratulations guys. Everyone - group hug!

Don't you know who (I think) I am?

2006-11-04T10:56:00.000+11:00

Oooooooooooo.

Twenty seven.

Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me…

I’ve got a problem. For this is the year of dread. Judgement day. 365 of them to be precise. Since I was 13 (unlucky for some), turning 27 has been about as welcome as a group hug at the world albino sunburn championships.

The reason? There's a few clubs I've been, or would be, happy to join. The Oasis fan club, Rawtenstall Cricket Club, the 1.6Km High Club (it's all metric now-a-days). But you can strike me from the guest list of the 27 Club.

Jimi Hendrix, Brian Jones, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cocain, Janis Joplin, all creaming it when they were 27.

“My heroes had the heart to lose their lives out on a limb, And all I remember is thinking I want to be like them. Ever since I was little, ever since I was little it looked like fun, And it’s no coincidence I’ve come and I can die when I’m done.”

Twenty seven is a bogey year for rock legends. Granted, I know I’m a few chords short of being able to claim I’m a rock God, but in my head I am. Even the title of this blog is lifted from a Libertines lyric, so there’s proof if you need it!? And even though the album is yet to be produced, I have wrote some quality songs. And you lot wind me up about getting old? Bollocks, roll on 28!

Every time I travel in a plane I will think of Lynard Skynard and Buddy Holly. Everytime I travel in a Porsche I will think of James Dean. Look what I'm doing, he wasn't even a rock star. I'm just firing at anything now.

My mum isn't going to be happy with any of this. To be fair, I did change the title from 'It's my Party and I'll Die if I want to!' I'm not being morbid or anything. It's just an observation. There is, however, a few skeletons I want to let out of the closet, just incase. Danny, you know how I pissed in your pond? Well, I did it twice. Vickers, it was me who put that cat on your head. Nikki, remember that time we went camping and you passed out unconscious and couldn't walk right when you woke up and said it was sore...

It doesn't end there. Even if I do get to 28, it's only another 4 years before I have to contend with the 32 club and the fates of John Bonham and Keith Moon. And what next? I'll be competing with the big man Himself. Give it to me straight doc, what chance do I have?

Who's A Pretty Fan Then?

2006-10-18T10:39:00.000+10:00

A question that plagues me is if a child is choking on ice would pouring boiling water down their neck be a wise idea? Another queston that bothers me is does anybody actually read this blog? I’ve mentioned this before and got a few emails from completely random people telling me that they do infact have a go at making sense of it all. That makes me happy, even though unless you read it in my accent I’m not sure it gels correctly. Try emulating a broad northern accent mixed in with the dulcet tones of Sean Connery. You won’t be close but give it a go just for a laugh.

However, I have found my biggest fan to date. So tell us what’s your name and where do you come from?

Well Paul, my name's Claire and I’m from Bolton.
*Applause*

Claire requested that she gets a mention on my blog. “No way,” I said, “I don’t do requests.” I’ll send you a photo she said. “No way,” I said, “I don’t do…wait…is that you?” So, here she is. Miss Claire Stockings of Bolton creating a focal splendour to the senses. I’m not 100% sure but I have more than a little twinge telling me we’ll defo be meeting up when I get back to good old Blighty. See you then.

Oh, one last thing - Claire, I’m really interested in the make and model of your camera. Ssshhhhh, don’t tell me. I like to study the picture quality, the pixel useage and lighting arrangements and then make an edumacated guess. Apart from lawn bowls and travelling on buses, it’s my favourite past time. So Claire, if you want to be an angel and send me several more photos (quite a lot actually) so I can play my fun game of guessing what camera you’re using. That would be much appreciated. You’ve got my details, and I’m looking at yours (quite closely) as I type!

It's The Best, Man!

2006-10-18T10:37:00.000+10:00

Can I give a big Cliff Richard style 'celebration' out to my mate Danny and his soon to be misses, Helen, on their planned wedding? Of course I can, it’s my blog and I can do what I like. Except sometimes it won’t let me leave spaces between the paragraphs. Well annoying. Danny proposed and Helen said 'yes' and, unfortunately, we are now at that age where a congratulations is in order instead of a "shit mate, have you got her pregnant?" So, congratulations to the both of you.

I touched upon the wedding one or two blogs ago but more news has happened since then that has sent church bells ringing all around the chapel and its' orchards. Our Graham gave the round up and Danny picked contestant number two to be the best man. That’s me if I haven’t made it clear. He’s always had good judgement that lad. It’s in the calves you see? Very sturdy calf muscles.

You have to feel a little sorry for Helen and Danny. What started off as the biggest day of their lives has now been given second billing to my first proper stand up gig. And boy am I bobbing it? I’ve been more nervous than a Jew in a German built shower, and it’s not even until next June. What will I be like on the big day? Apart from good looking I mean.

Unfortunately I don't have a photo of Danny or Helen so you will have to make do with Peter and Jordan. It's a fair compromise me thinks.

Right, must get going, there’s so much to sort out. My entrance music, stage props, what should be available at the interval, tour t-shirts, badges… Seriously though, it is an honour to be Danny’s best man and I can’t wait for June. I guarantee this will be the best wedding he ever has. That’s a joke by the way. Crap, maybe I should have saved that for the speech.

If You Go Down To The Woods Today...

2006-10-18T10:28:00.000+10:00

“The World Heritage listed sub-tropical Fraser Island has a truly amazing array of natural wonders including beautiful rainforests, pristine lakes, endless surf beaches, immense sand blows, cliffs of coloured sands, crystal clear streams and vast stretches of mangroves. In this fragile eco-system the rainforest consists of huge satinay and brush box, kauri pines, piccabeen palms and the rare angiopteris fern which is one of the largest ferns in the world. All this growing in pure sand! There are some wonderful walking tracks through these areas to enable visitors to appreciate the unique beauty of Fraser Island..."

The weekend just (thankfully) gone can only be summed up with the following word – streuth! Actually, here’s a few more I’ve just thought of: *****, ****, ***$$****! ****, ******, ******, ***, ******!!, *****, **@*, ****, ****. Well, the second to last one’s not entirely true. Brief bit of background: met a lad in a bar called Dan. Told me he was in a band and I was naïve enough to believe this, along with many other impressive details. One thing led to another…he never called, he never text. Nah, just kidding. I was drinking as a drinker in a cocktail bar, that much is true. Met a guy called Dan who we joined a 5-a-side football team with and became alright mates. He invited us to a weekend away on Fraser Island with his friends. Cue Friends theme tune:

So no-one told you life was gonna be this way.

*clap, clap, clap, clap*

Your job’s a joke, you’re broke, your love life’s DOA…

Take the cast of Friends, put them on an island and that’s pretty much what it was like. That’s if Friends was based on a 44 year old alcoholic dirty old man, two goths, a hippy, and some Panic! At The Disco rejects. So, with Dan sporting a Phantom of the Opera mask, eyeshadow and a bowler hat, his girlfriend, Alana, done up as a pirate, Aaron Goth and Pamela Goth dressed in black, 44 year old alcy Chris already on the booze and Hippy Adam still pissed from the night before, we set off.

“Mishapes, mistakes, misfits, raised on a diet of broken biscuits...”

Tom lost the toss and had to drive with the goths and mid life crisis Chris. A coin flip I quickly regretted on realising the goths stereo didn't work. In my car, however, death metal was going at full volume whilst hippy Adam moshed in the seat next to me, only stopping to check if he'd blown an aneurysm in his brain or to scream 'this f*cking rocks' out of the window. To be fair, Adam turned out to be really cool and he was good to have around. Here he is sat wondering if he could invent an amp which turns up to 12. At each service stop, me and Tom would meet up and swap stories. Mid life crisis Chris had started with confiding how his girlfriend won't sleep with him and had progressed onto rape stories. I'm not even joking. This was ten minutes into meeting Tom.

I think the first problem was that people started drinking too early. Quarter past seven is a touch too soon if you ask me. Wait, I’m not talking pm, I mean in the fricking morning! It’s ok though, at least they sprinkled a few cornflakes in their rum and coke. By 10am people were wasted, by 1pm people were more wasted, by 3pm the money I had spent on the trip had clearly been wasted. And we hadn’t even caught the ferry over to Fraser Island.

Eventually we hired a 4WD Land Rover and after the obligatory “ok, who hasn’t paid, we don’t have enough money, someone’s ripping us off” argument that seems to plague every group of friends, we landed on Fraser Island.

Meet Chris. Chris is only forty odd years old. Forty very odd years if you ask me. Even odder is the fact he looks like he’s been an alcoholic for at least fifty. Unfortunately, for those not blessed with God's precious gift of deafness, all we heard him say on day one was either:

“Aw, this is beaaaautiful.”
“You can’t buy this, you just cannot buy it.”
“Accelerate! Accelerate! Accelerate!”
“We should get the Discovo Channel down here”
“What an adventure!”

These are pretty much the only lines he said all day. The bad news was he used them over and over and over again, usually screaming them at the top of his voice as he struggled to keep a hold on the jeep. Oh, I can still see it now: spit dribbling from his mouth, stumbling around in the back of the 4WD, can of rum and coke in one hand, watching Asian porn on his phone with the other. “What an adventure!”

Before we were allowed to hire the jeep we had to watch a safety video on the perils of the island. Fraser has a large population of dingoes which often turn vicious and can easily attack you. We reiterated this to eachother once near the camp site. As we parked the jeep a dingo appeared and before you could say “how big do you think their teeth are?” Chris was chasing it down the beach screaming “I want to hang out the back of a dingo!” I can only presume the dingo did the same thing as everything else Chris has chased with the intention of ‘hanging out the back of’ – it turned and ran. Undeterred, Chris then found solace in a fully clothed evening swim, despite the sea being proclaimed one of the most dangerous in Australia; what with the undercurrents and the great white sharks. Again, they probably turned and bolted. After hysterically trying to put up his tent for an hour, Chris passed out. It was 7pm.

This slightly reduced the noise level and cringe factor, leaving me and Tommy B to start drinking and play catch up. Fully equipped with a bottle of vodka we both set off for a walk along a pitch black beach to discuss deep and meaningfuls, find the nearest pub and to be at one with nature. Little did I know that 3 hours later the ‘being at one with nature’ was eating mouthfuls of sand everytime I fell over and the ‘deep and meaningfuls’ extended to “Briant…I can’t see…we’re lost…I can’t…the world’s spinning…the world's…lost me flip flops (*fall over, eat more sand*)” I’m not sure how long we’d sneaked off for but the rest of the camp were worried about us enough to call the police! Honestly, I can’t take me anywhere.

The following day we changed camping spots. Once settled, they carried on drinking. This time, with no chasing of dingoes or swimming with sharks to be done, Chris was pissing himself, unconscious in his tent by 5pm. With more than one day left of a weekend trip, me and Briant had already declared it a nightmare. Luckily to keep the amusement levels up, there were no end of arguments.

The island itself was beautiful and I would have liked to see more of it. I had an enjoyable stroll into the bush and saw some cool wildlife but in all honesty, I struggle with this whole ‘go camping, find paradise’ malarkey. People always assume that paradise involves golden sands with a see through ocean, palm trees and coconuts. This to me translates as sunburn, mangy salted skin, getting raped by mosquitoes and still finding sand in every orifice five days later. I like the whole paradise idea and my concept would probably still involve a beach. It’s just that my beach would be concreted. Maybe with a Dolby surround sound cinema nearby. A football stadium for sporting events and concerts. A Maccys, a super 8 lane highway, a Laser Quaser, a giant shopping mall and an international airport. Infact, just take the girls in the bikinis and put them in the city. Urban paradise.

To pass the time I even tried to make myself a sand girlfriend. It was going well until she started moaning. I let her slip through my fingers. Haha, get it? She was sand you see so she slipped through my fingers? If you have to explain them there's really no point.

Aaron and Pamela also turned out to be nice people and ironically I was begging to travel with them on the way home. During that journey it emerged that practically everything we know about Dan is a complete fabrication. “This whole weekend has been one of the weirdest ever,” I said to Tom. “Arrrrgghhh, I wonder if this spider can suck me off?” said mid life crisis Chris. *sigh*

Next weekend I will be leaving my mosquito repellent at home, catching the train into town and heading straight to Laser Quaser.

The Good News, The Bad News & The News That Isn't Very Interesting But I Want You To It Hear Anyway

2006-10-11T15:37:00.000+10:00

I thought I would update you on a day in the life of a year in Australia and let you in on what’s been up on the lowdown. Well, time is flying unbelievably quick. Even the days at work are going too fast for me. I almost missed my train home the other day because I didn’t realise it was time to leave. And in that way which people do, we are already planning where to drink for new year. No doubt Christmas paraphernalia has been springing up in Asda for the past few months now. I think it will be a while longer here before I catch the sound of Slade. The sun has got his hat on and he’s definitely coming out to play. But let’s not drag ourselves down with talk of weather. Let us drink tea, eat cake and blog.

You know when people go "I've got some good news and some bad news; which do you want first?" Well, which do you pick first? I think I’m mainly a good news first kind of person. Why do people only ever announce what news they have got when one bit is good and one bit is bad? You never hear anyone go “right, I’ve got some pretty average news, a piece that’s not very interesting but I'd like you to hear it anyway, and a bit of worldwide news about the present peace process in Sarajevo. So, which do you want first?” That would work far better I think. Maybe Trevor McDonald could announce the news headlines at 9 o’clock and then a phone vote decides which items go first when it airs at ten. Liven it up a bit. Anyway, I completely forgot where I was going with that.

In news that’s not very interesting but I want you to it hear anyway, I have been banned from using the internet at work. Gutted? Gutted? That doesn’t even come close. I may have to look for a new job here! To be fair I was spending about 7 hours of the day on youtube. There’s only so many clips you can look at of idiots in their bedrooms hey? Did you see that? I said ‘hey’ at the end of the sentence. I’m becoming a proper Aussie aren’t I? I was getting bored of the internet anyway. It got to a stage where I couldn’t make a decision without first consulting the net. ‘’Hmm, what should I have for lunch today? I know, I’ll Google it!” Became a bit dweeby. Unfortunately I have rediscovered my love of ebay which isn’t the cheapest hobby to have. However, apart from my recent exuberant purchases such as Clinique shaving gel, a white gold bracelet and a bass guitar, I have managed to snag some tickets for the Ashes. Oooh happy days… Is that a Gospel choir I can hear?... Oooh happy days…! I can’t wait for that. Full day session in the blistering sun watching the boys retain the worlds most infamous ash tray. The tickets are for the fourth day aswell. Crunch day.

I always leave a few mouthfuls of tea in the bottom of my cup. I say this because I have just done it yet again, and it got me thinking. Does this have a deeply routed meaning behind it? Would Freud say I secretly harbour a desire to bone a relative? Nah, I don’t reckon. I think maybe it means that my attention span and boredom threshold is slightly less than a cup of tea. That’s pretty bad isn’t it? I will use that to tell people as part of my ‘bad news’ from now on.

When Oscar Wilde landed in America and was asked if he had anything to declare he quipped "nothing except my genius." He was quickly pepper sprayed in the face and restrained by customs until a full background check could be carried out to see if he had any Middle Eastern qualities about him. Not so clever now are you Wilde? When me and Tom rocked up to Australia and were asked the same question we replied "only our good looks, wit and quality 5-a-side footballing skills." "Quickly boys," said the corked hatted security fella, "your new football team awaits you in Brisbane." So here we are, everything’s going hunky-dory, the pre-season games outlining and eradicating any weaknesses in the squad. And then disaster. Goddam foot injury. It happens to the best of us. Beckham, Owen, number 4 for Accrington Stanley. Who are they? Exactly. I ended up having to go to the hospital to see the doctor where I asked him to give it to me straight. He wasn’t that kind of doctor but told me that I’ve torn a ligament in my foot. I have been in contact with my old mucker Uri Gellar, the big bender, and I will heal a lot quicker if at precisely 12.03pm (GMT) on Friday 13th October, 2006 everybody kisses the picture of my foot. Please be generous. A slip of the tongue means nothing to you, but it means a great deal to me.

Annnnnd finally - In good news, may I take this opportunity to mention my mate Danny’s proposal of marriage to Helen. Congratulations guys. I honestly cannot wait for the stag do and the wedding and in more good news, I look great in a suit. Bonza! It’s gonna be big.

It's Only Words

2006-10-06T13:39:00.000+10:00

Throughout history folks have been having problems with barriers. The Greeks had to craft a giant wooden horse to get passed their barrier. The Germans struggled with the Berlin wall and what about those people that got left stranded in the open water on the Great Barrier Reef. Ok, I'm struggling for examples I admit. Not sure why I started that. However, the main barrier must surely be the one of language. Language barrier you see? It was clever in a way. Right, I'll just get on with it.

I went out the other night to meet up with some birds I met in Laos. They brought along with them a big group of mates and a fun night was had by all. I was doing my usual centre of attention comedy sketch routine when, during a hilarious story about disabled children, I used the word 'bitch.' It was like I'd just told them I was in Brisbane solely to learn how to fly a plane into a tall building of the infidels that plague the West.

"You can't really say that mate," I was told. "It's pretty out there." "No, it's not. It's really really not," I explained. "You lot use the 'C' word which isn't even joked about where I'm from. You openly refer to people from the Middle East or Mediterranean as 'Wogs' which, again, you just don't hear where I live. You're all completely racist and you have a brand of cheese called 'Coon.'" When I told them that this is a word I haven't heard in years at home, largely because it's seen as that offensive this is the conversation I (sort of) entered:

"Yeah, it's offensive in Australia aswell. It's what we call Abo's."
"Isn't 'Abo's' offensive?"
"Yeah, it's probably one of the worst you can say."
"Yet you've just said it, but I can't say 'bitch.'"
"Stop saying that."
"You've just said 'Wogs' and 'Coon' and 'Abo's' but I can't say 'bitch'?"
"You've just said it again."
"What? 'Bitch?'"
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

I had a similar conversation when calling a bird 'a bird.' Unbelievable. Life's such a bitch.

Blog Is Bob

2006-10-02T16:27:00.000+10:00

I put this message on when Blog was being bob but deleted it when it became unbob. But I want a record of everything so I'm adding it back on even though blog is (temporarily) not bob.

Right, I know I haven't done anything on here for a while but there's a perfectly good reason. Basically this whole Blog website thing runs slightly worse than my Amstrad CPC64k that I had when I was 5. It had a green monitor and the games were on tapes and would make that whining noise when loading up. Still cool though. Anyway, it actually is this shitey website and not my shitier computer skills. I've looked into it and they're having problems when it comes to uploading photos. Seeming as the majority of my friends need pictures to accompany them with any form of literature I have decided to wait. I have written about 5 posts which are ready to be published but just need the photos adding. Point is to just hang fire until somebody at Blogger stops standing in the corner and scratching their ass. Meanwhile, if anybody needs me, I will be stood in the corner scratching my ass.

Meet The Roomies

2006-10-02T16:22:00.000+10:00

Ok, well, I did it with the Koreans and the majority of them turned out to be pains in the ass. I’m tempting fate here then but I thought it’s only fair that I introduce my newer, squarer faced housemates. So here they are for your perusal.

Your vision of a young stereo typical Aussie male probably goes something like this:
A white vest top is an absolute given. Rugged facial hair, good mop on the head, shorts, and flip flops (or thongs as these guys stupidly call them. Hearing a grown man say ‘where’s my thongs?’ still sends a shiver down my spine). Some kind of head attire is good, a dirty baseball cap with a truck on it or better.

Meet Stu…

Stu has actually managed to take it a few steps further. Note the silk Superman boxer shorts and the ‘XXXX’ hat. This guy is class. I don’t think he’ll mind me saying (infact, he’ll be almost proud of it) that Stu is a racist, homophobic, bigot and for some weird reason I bloody love him. Nah, seriously he's a good lad. His misses Bec is grand aswell, even if hearing her speak is like listening to a gangster rapper with Tourettes.

Ryn: Ryn’s only 19. Sweet. For 3 weeks out of 4 I like having a girl in the house and along with Tom she adds the feminine touch. She doesn't get jealous that Tom's hair straighteners are better and her bedroom always has that girly smell in it. In true bird fashion she's got photos up all around her room yet she doesn't mind us coming in to perv on her mates or to sit on her bed and watch Pop Idol. Ryn loves her MSN and spends hours a day tapping on the keyboard and pulling this grinning type face like she's just got a dirty message. Good girl. Here she is having just been asked what knickers she's wearing. I'm just kidding.

Regan: Computer buff Regan will download your C3PO sub section B shock amplifier mix tape 4 times 0.3Gb 256 321 Beverly Hills 90210 without you needing to ask. I have no idea what any of that means. All I know is he can get you pretty much anything you want off the net. "Every episode of Scrubs and Familly Guy then please Regan?" Sweet. "Hey, I don't suppose you've got any porn with twins in it do you? It's just me and Tom pulled some the other...what?...Jasmine and Jodie do Las Vagas?...Hell yeah, that'll do." Likes his nights out does Regan and his dance tunes which unfortunately stems over into his choice of bedroom music. Right, make these noises now: 'Duff duff duff duff duff duff duff da da duff duff duff duff duff duff duff da da dum da da duff duff...' I couldn't hear your version but I'm prepared to bet big mo' fo' sums of money that it was better than the shite he listens to. Just kidding Regan. Serious, let us know if you ever want every episode of The Simpsons or Ladyboy Lover 1, 2 ,3 and 4.

Our landlord, Jeff, is also quality. The other night he drove round just to put our wheelie bins out. Didn’t call in to say hello. Just put the bins out and drove off. Still hasn’t taken them back in though. Lazy. However, he is coming round at weekend to mo the lawn. I'm not even joking.

That just about sums up the house for now. Despite all being completely different, I think we get on well. Infact, I couldn't have asked for it better.

It's Dynamite

2006-10-02T16:21:00.000+10:00

“Our new housemates are throwing a party for us,” I told my brother. “It’s fancy dress and the theme is film characters.” I then explained that me and Tom were going dressed as Napolean and Pedro from the film Napolean Dynamite. "What?” he asked, “that French fucker wi’ hat?” Class. He’s never been one for films has our Matt. Infact, I think he’s the only person on the planet that doesn’t know the whole Bruce Willis = ghost twist at the end of The Sixth Sense. This wouldn’t be too bad but he’s seen it 4 times.

The party turned out to be what can only be described as a ripper. Me and Briant absolutely mopped up when it came to the fancy dress; Tom even taking it way too far and learning some of the dance routine. Unbelievably we weren’t allowed to win the bottle of vodka on offer for the best dressed because it was our house. That award went to this guy…

David ‘cocking’ Hasselhoff! Fair play, he's got some guts to do that. To anyone reading this from Rossendale, he was pretty much Woo in red pants! Me and Bri even filed an appeal under Chapter 7, Paragrah 2, Sub-section 4B which clearly states it was specifically a ‘film characters’ event and not a ‘TV stars’ party. Some argued that Baywatch had been made into a film. Yeah right. If it has then nobody’s seen it. Well, maybe our Matt.

The only low point of the night was that I had been growing a moustache for my character for 2 weeks, yet still had to colour it in. The high point was that me and Briant pulled some twins! And some people say we share too much?!

Finding Emo

2006-10-02T16:18:00.000+10:00

Too much time on my hands at work:

"My life is spiralling downwards," I say,
As I slouch along the road.
"I couldn't get tickets for 'Love Death'
Or 'Burn My Loser Bones.'"
Let me introduce myself,
I'm an emo don't you know?
Jet black hair and jet black clothes,
And an even darker soul.

I'm proud to be an emo kid,
Non-conforming as can be.
You’d be non-conforming too,
If you looked like me.
I paint my nails, darken my eyes,
And whiten up my face,
On the casting couch of Lost Boys,
I wouldn't look out of place.

I feel so deep and meaningful,
When I get dolled up in drag.
I call it 'freedom of expression,'
Most would call it being a fag.
I don't have any real problems,
But I like to make believe.
I stole my sister’s eyeliner,
Now I’m grounded for a week.

Becareful what you say to me,
I've emotions made of glass.
I’m sensitive and dark and my low esteem
Is a pleasing pain in the ass.
Girls keep breaking up with me,
It’s never any fun.
They say they've already got a pussy,
They don’t need another one.

I'm societys self made cast-away,
Though no-one gives a shit.
We're not discriminated against like some,
But in my head, we just don't fit.
I try to be an individual,
But look like all the rest,
Who are trying to be individuals,
Like it's some kind of test.

Stop my breathing and slit my throat,
Play guitar and write suicide notes.
Squeeze right into my little sisters jeans,
Christmas for me falls on Halloween.
Screw Xbox, I play old school Nintendo,
I like The Smiths and all things retro.
I act like Kevin and Perry in drag,
I don't say a word to my mum or dad.
Bow my head and hide from the world,
Can’t decide if I like boys or girls.
I’m just a bad imitation of goth,
I read Catcher in the Rye and have to whack off.
I'm trying to find the meaning of life,
If I said I like girls I’d be only half right.
Lads look like chicks, chicks look like dykes,
And all of us look like transvestites.
Our whole belief system eats itself,
Like punks and goths and anarchists.
Please stop my breathing and slit my throat,
I must, I must, I must be an emo.

Only Fools & Horses

2006-10-02T16:17:00.000+10:00

Rodney you plonker! They’ll tell you that a man’s got to work. He doesn’t. Not if he puts his mind to it. Unfortunately I have been applying myself in all the wrong areas and have to get a job. But knowing that hard work is the refuge of those with nothing better to do, I have taken a job as a glorified data entry guy. Sounds rubbish doesn’t it? Well it’s the best goddam job I’ve ever had. Serious. There is absolutely no pressure on me, I don’t have targets to meet, I’m treated like a person instead of some scum that arrived here for a year to spread disease, and best of all I can spend as long as I want on the internet. It’s 'youtube' mayhem. To the point where I don’t know what to look at anymore. Nevermind, if I get bored of glaring at the computer screen, I can always look out of the window. This is the view from my desk! Pretty impressive I’d say (enter smug mode).

The other day the finance department asked me if I’d help move a few boxes. I obliged and they got me a bottle of wine for my effort! I was like “you are paying me aswell y’know?” Bit of a difference to Sydney where I got whipped for 8 hours a day by a fat Indian woman who had no sense of, well, she just had no sense. I don’t think this will last though as the position is only for a few weeks. I just hope my next job is this good and offers enough free time to write pointless poems such as the one above…(look up)

A Need To Take That & Party

2006-09-24T17:31:00.000+10:00

I NEED YOU!

Do you want to climb to the heights of 'best friend' never achieved by anybody else before?
Do you want to be filled with a sense of worth and life achievement?
Do you want something interesting to tell your grand children?

If you have answered 'yes' to some or none of the above questions, I have a mission for you.

You have been selected for your elite capabilities in keeping your ear firmly to the ground. I need to know updates of Take That's planned tour around Europe. You have to keep an eye on when and where the tickets go on sale. What dates are they playing? What countries will they be going to? What hotels will they be staying in? What fragrance does Howard use? Did Jason really bone Lulu? How does Mark stay so youthfull looking? Ok, it's mainly the ticket thing but you get the gist.

Read those trashy 'Girls Zone' and 'Hair Do' magazines or whatever it is they're called. Get on the internet, ask around, camp outside Gary's house (he doesn't live that far away), join the fan club, beg, steal, borrow. I don't care how you get it, just get it if you can. Just remember to ask nicely.

There will be casualities. In a situation like this, it's inevitable. There will be people who don't manage to get that illusive ticket. Girls crying, people scrambling to place a bid on ebay, people who have to resort to talking to those weird men outside the concert who I'm never really sure if they are offering me a ticket or want to buy mine off me.

Should you accept the mission and fail, you will be put down. But you will have died a valant hero. A pathetic valant hero, but a hero nontheless. Should you succeed I guarantee you a seat on the right hand of God.**Please be aware that this guarantee is not guaranteed and will only happen if I get to meet God, ask him if it's all alright and He allows it to happen.

A Cellar Full Of Noise

2006-09-10T18:14:00.000+10:00

The new house is awesome. I've finally got my own room, there's free broadband internet and old copies of 'Woman's Weekly' and 'Menopause Monthly' to read whilst I'm on the bog. Better still is underneath the main house is a basement type 'Wayne's World' area, which we have named the Cavern. It's got the laundry room in, old freezers and clutters of odd junk. There's also some weights, the computer and loads of seats and sofas. It's just a good chill out area and is ideal for parties. Incidently, the guys have organised a moving in party for us in a few weeks time. How nice is that? So it's in the Cav that me and Tom find ourselves, computer on, 'youtubing' songs, getting wasted and jamming on the guitar. It's a den of productivity while at the same time being nothing but a palace for idol bums. But isn't that the refuge of an artist? I love it in the Cav and am even thinking of moving my bed down there. The other night we let the camera roll and improvised about 7 songs on the spot inbetween snippets of spratting absolute shite. That footage is pure gold. Unfortunately, I didn't manage to record the freestyling we'd done beforehand. Honestly, this went on for about half an hour and was the funniest thing I've heard for a long, long time. Not to you lot, but I just wanted to make a note of that night so that I never forget it. All I want to say is:

Bri: Give me two words, any two words.
Me: Butterfly moon.
Bri: (Knodding slowly in appreciatition) Schhweeeet!

I sense a few more of these nights to come. Watch out for the album.

Tom's Got A Surfboard!

2006-09-10T17:46:00.000+10:00

There's no pun on that title. No quick quipped, loose lipped word wizardry. It's simple, it does exactly what it says on the tin. For some unbeknown reason, Briant has bought himself a surfboard. Granted, it will look cool as fook in his room and if shipped home will make a great coffee table. But the chances of ever finding its' way to the water are slimmer than
Karen Carpenter at WeightWatchers. He's going to do it up though. Spray paint it, draw some flames on it, add a spoiler, drum 'n' bass on the stereo, flashing blue lights, bitches in the front, bitches in the back, might even apply to 'Pimp my Surfboard.' Here he is, in an ode to Matt from 'Game On' (remember that class programme?) scraping the wax off his newly acquired rider.

The Hat Has Been Laid

2006-09-10T16:58:00.000+10:00

'Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da, life goes on bra,' whistled Paulo Macca, 'la-la how the life goes on.' By Jove, hey Jude, he was note perfect. The last few weeks have seen us living/squatting in a backpackers, spending the nights in the hostel bar and the days pretending to look for a job. I've seen more male strippers and wet t-shirt contests in the last few weeks than a well seasoned 18-30s club rep. Now we've got a house. Yays! It's one of those big, wooden Queenslander jobbies, out in the proper Aussie suburbs. The next door neighbours even have an Australian flag up in their garden. Our house mates are 2 lads called Regan and Stu, and a bird called Ryn. ALL Aussies. It's real Australian stuff with a little piece of UK thrown in. A bit like Fosters.

I like it here. The people are unbelievably friendly. The other day some random on the street helped me carry my shopping home! No joke. He even took the TV a way to get it fixed even though I didn't think it was brok...oh shit. Also, the stunning Aussie women that form the stereotype were somewhat lacking in Melbourne and Sydney. Turns out they are all in Brissy. Streuth almighty, on a few occasions we've been to clubs and every single girl is a minter. It's unreal. I think they put something in the water here aswell 'cos let's just say there's a lot of A cup bras still on the racks in Woolworths. Schhweet!

What A R.I.P.per!

2006-09-10T16:12:00.000+10:00

People warned George Best that his life style would one day catch up with him. And it did. It caught up, overtook, slammed on the brakes and watched Georgey go straight into the back of it. Doesn't matter, he was probably pissed at the time. Thing is, even though everyone knew it would happen, he still played some class football, tapped more than his fair share of women and was nicknamed the fifth Beatle. In my eyes that's enough for me to doth my cap.

In a similar vain everyone said Steve Irwin was surely bound to end up being placed in a coffin via the A-hole of a crocodile. Unfortunately it was a far lamer animal. It caught him in the end though. Stevie will be remembered for the best hangover TV ever. Sunday afternoon, switch on to see a hyperactive Aussie stood waist deep in a swamp holding a baby crocodile and going, ''this means the mother is around here somewhere and the laaaaast place you wanna be right now is stood waist deep in a swamp.'' Crazy bastard. In my eyes that's more than enough for me to doth my cap.

Ladies, gentlemen, crocodiles, snakes and other deadly animals, please bow your heads and join me in a minutes silence to the late, great Steve 'crazy bastard croc guy' Irwin.

Thanks Steve

Bringing It On In Brisbane

2006-08-27T19:09:00.000+10:00

So I finally arrived in Brisbane where I met up with Tom's family for a few days of eating, drinking and driving around. I know that on a day to day basis most people eat, drink and drive around, but this was different. I was doing it with the Tring family Briant. And we were driving around in a motor home. Cool! So let me introduce to you, the act you've known for all these years, Davey Briant's Motor Camping Band...

Tom's dad Dave doesn't know the meaning of the word 'embarrassed' much to the outcry of the kids, but to the amusement of me. If any of you are female waitresses you will know who Dave is and will no doubt have a picture of him behind the front desk of your establishment. Dave - funny, generous, good all round bloke - he's the brains of the operation. Dave's bezzie mate, Keith, was also with us to provide a perfect on-hand contrast.

Tom's bro Mark is only 16 yet is already a budding rock star having recently joined a band as lead singer. There was talk of them headlining at the local pub soon but Mark was refused entry on the grounds of looking about 12. But hell, I'll buy him a shandy anyday. Mark - dry humour, good hair, knows where the Game lives - he'll do for me.

I don't know why I've gone all 'Lock, Stock...' with the intros but that's the way it's worked out. Tom's sister Claire will have to remain somewhat of a mystery. This is because Tom goes semi-pyscho whenever I mention her name. Even reading this he will be more purple than Jimi Hendirx the day after he spent too long in a purple haze. Claire - 21, great singing voice, absolutely gorgeous, entertaining, Pop Idol finallist - oh whatever Briant, I'll say what I like. Fit, fit, fit, fit, fit, fit, fit... Hahaha

Tom was and still is Tom. He's acquired a new cardigan, some fake tan donated by Claire and some quite severe mood swings when in the company of younger siblings. Tom - questions the questions that are asking the answers what the question is - he's a good lad. I have no idea what that means.

So, my first taste of Brisbane was sampled along with Tom's crew who have now gone onto bigger and better things back in Blighty. This left me and Tom to check into a hostel and start the flat/job hunt. This will probably happen after a few weeks of 'yeah, we'll start looking tomorrow.' All attempts to start so far have dissolved around midday-ish only to re-emerge as a better plan in the shape of a pint glass come early evening.

First impressions of Brisbane are massively positive. It's smaller, more chilled out, hotter. It's been 28 degrees the past week, and it's winter. They'll be no Frosty the snowman around here. Get me that suntan lotion, I'm off to the beach. Only after we've found somewhere to live of course. Well, maybe we can start that tomorrow?!

Nietzsche & Scratchy

2006-08-17T23:25:00.000+10:00

So my time in Sydney has for now come to an end. I will be back to meet my mum and dad in November for a week and then I'll probably be back for Christmas and New Year. It will be interesting to see how it changes. I think this will be a totally different city in summer time. I bet the whole atmosphere is better. I must admit there has been times when I've struggled with this city. For a start it's been hard to settle back into one place after travelling for over a year. It's been even harder to have a job after 15 months of getting up when I want to. Recently I have been thinking about home. Not to say I don't love it but I haven't really missed home on any great scale. But the last few weeks has seen me thinking about it more than usual. It's not the place I'm missing, just you lot. Aw, you guys! Come here, give me a hug. Awww. You see, as the sun goes down on me, it rises on you.

I have learnt that there really is no secret to living. "You can go to the most beautiful place in the world, but the sunlight shall not bleach thy passion, nor the tide wash away thy desire." Not that I haven't had a great time here. To say I only knew Briant for a month before he got here, we get along remarkably well, despite the fact we literally live in eachothers pockets, what with sharing a room and all (still not gay remember). There's been many a fond memory lost by the goon bag on a Saturday night. There's been many a fond memory remembered and will remain that way. How could we forget times like when the crazy woman took us to the casino and we tried to fleece her? There's too many to list but they'll be stored somewhere. Probably on your camera Briant to be fair! A few people came to see me off the other day as you can see by the photo. They also used it as an excuse to do a mini marathon. Thanks for the turn out guys.

There's a few things I have remembered and want to make note of. First off the nightlife here is very different. They don't have many proper pubs in a lot of the places. They are called hotels. Now, 'hotel' doesn't mean hotel but can be anything from spending a good night out to ordering room service from a double room that you didn't want. They often have hidden rooms full of fruit machines. Australia has something like 0.3% of the world's population yet 20% of the worlds fruit machines. I'm not sure what that means really because there's a billion Indians and you wouldn't get them slotting their money away. We've had a few good nights out though in various of these establishments.

The last point was I remembered how Australia seems to be unashamed on the amount of nods it has towards America. The news is absolutely unforgiving when it comes to reporting stories that Aussies really shouldn't give a XXXX about. On the front page of the paper today was the story of how they've finally caught the killer of that 6 year old beauty queen. She was murdered 10 years ago! Even less important than this was a report on the news of a shooting in an LA casino. Yes, that's right, a man got shot in America and it's on the news in Aus. The sports round up on the news goes through a whole host of sports. I like this. It's not just 'here are the scores from Chelsea, Liverpool, Arsenal and Utd,' like at home. They go through everything from football, rugby, cricket, to surfing, BMX biking, drag racing. But then they move onto American sport like how the New York Yankees are getting on and stuff. What?! Who gives a shit? Somebody told me it was because of Rupert Murdoch. But he owns half of Enlgand aswell.

Anyway, I've felt like I had to get all these past few blogs down before I leave Sydney. Maybe because I'm after a fresh, new start. I hope Brisbane brings a few challenges. Something a little new . I need to get out of my comfort zone.

Apologies for this blog being all over the place but it's 1am and I didn't sleep last night with the excitement of finishing work and leaving for Brisbane. So, I am delirious. But I can't wait for the prospects of Brisbane and the east coast. I think this is going to get better and better. You see, as the sun goes down on you lot, it rises on me.

Working In The Pits

2006-08-17T22:05:00.000+10:00

Think hard about this one. To get to where you are now, every single one of your ancestors survived long enough to bare children. For thousands and thousands and thousands of years, your family has battled against a whole mannor of diseases. They've eaten passed famine, drank through drought, and staved off the plague. They've conquered battles, survived wars, and fought off all types of physical conflict. Cancers, Tuberculosis, Acantholysis Bullosa, Biotinidase Deficiency, Pappataci Fever, Retinoblastoma, Dihydropteridine Reductase Deficiency Disease, hell, I don't even know what these are. Point is, for thousands and thousands of years your descendants have survived them all for long enough to drop the next in line. Not to mention the whole load of animals they escaped falling victim to their jaws. It's an amazing feat if you really think about it. So, imagine how those ancestors would feel like if they could look at me now and see that I'm spending my valuable time working as an admin boy for a train company. Balls to that. I'm offskis.

Not that it's been all that bad though. There's been an alright crew at work. A guy called Peter who wanted me to go pigsticking with him. For those of you who, God forbid, don't know what pigsticking is, let me briefly explain. Go out into the bush, hunt down wild pigs, catch one, lift its back leg up and stab it in the ribs with a knife. It dies, you cheer and crack open a tinny. Look how much joy it brings to people. "Am I right in saying stabbing a pig is meant to feel just like stabbing a human?" "Yeah." "Riiiiggggghhht." Peter showed me magazines (yes, there are magazines for this). Think on the lines of ''Gun Down Your School monthly," "Incest Is Best fortnightly" and the "Mummy What's Daddy Doing? annual." The best thing about this magazine was the free calendar you got in the December edition. Bikini clad 'women' stood holding a dead wild pig. Sexy. "We could take the rifles, go out hunting, make a weekend of it," he said. "No," I said. He did give me a proper Mick Dundee hat though, so now I can say 'that's not a hat, that's a hat.'

Big mention to Greg and Dave, the Beavis and Butthead of the office. Robots in disguise. Thanks to Dave for the constant supply of cereal and for giving me my first experience of driving in a real Aussie ute! Greg for sorting out my iPod and for giving me a reason to spend 30 minutes away from my desk four times a day!

Me being a scummy backpacker has become a comedy event in the office and what started off as small scale food donations has spread into the biggest charity event since Live Aid. On a daily basis people will bring food in for me. It's gone from "Paul, this was our left over dinner that you can have" to "Paul, we cooked this for you last night." The other morning I had a full roast dinner for breakfast! You can't beat that. My main man has been Dragi. Dragi used to work on the track but is now old and can no longer do physical jobs. They couldn't just fire him so they gave him a job in the office. When I say 'job' I mean he sits at a desk eating nuts all day. Serious, there is no computer on his desk, just a phone and a stapler! He is from Macedonia and I can only really understand one sentence in every five. It doesn't matter to him and as we are both looking for an excuse to pass the time we spend ages talking and eating the food his Mrs has cooked for us. Somebody asked him if he'd miss me when I move on. He replied ''yes, Paul is like a second son to me.'' Awwww. This would be good but he butchered his first son with a machete. Not really. Biggup Dragi.

The biggest legend of them all, in every respect, has to be Paul Lucas. Paul is the quint essential Australian. You couldn't get more Aussie if you sat him on a BBQ with a cork strung hat, downing a four X whilst fighting a kangaroo. For the last few days I have been following him around with my camera in an attempt to make a small documentary about him. He's that good. He is also one of those people that I just love to wind up. I'll stop there because there's no point explaining. Just have a look at the photo to get some idea.

Quick mention to Jim aswell who is a temp like me but manages to avoid any work orders due to keeping his head firmly down and fixed on Wikipedia. That boy must be a walking encyclopia by now. Jim hales from Wales and has adopted me on a few belting nights out with his mates, including an unforgettable 'pirate party.' Not only that, Jim has kept me sane throughout the last few weeks when I would have probably staple gunned myself to the power lead of the photocopier.

So, that's the office and that's me clocking off for now. Wait, where's that Tipp-Ex? I'll just adjust my time sheet!

A Secret Well Guarded

2006-08-16T22:53:00.000+10:00

Nobody can break out of Alcatraz they said. But they did. Nothing can break the Titanic they said. But it did. Nobody can break into Britney Spears they said. But, alas, they did. If only everything in the world was a bit more secure. If only you could clone Johnno and George, our two resident security guards.

Throughout our time in Princeton Apartments, I have been able to sleep peacefully in my bed at night knowing that with these two in reception no bogie man will get me. George is from Macedonia and is a serious cookie who will always talk to you (for hours) about absolutely anything you want to. Johnno is like a child who has washed two ecstacy pills down with 4 litres of Red Bull. He thinks everything we do is fantastic. He'll be on the phone to his mate and we'll walk in. "I've gotta go," he giggles, "the poms are here." And that's our night planmed for at least the hour. The people on other apartments love Johnno aswell and are constantly bringing him food which saves us having to buy a kebab at the end of a Saturday night. For some reason he thinks me and Tom are legends and is amazed to find out anything about England. It took us 40 minutes to calm him down when we explained that the policemen in England really do wear those big hats. "Where did you buy your camera Tom?" "England." "No way, are you serious? Wow, that's just fantastic. I really can't get over that..." for fifteen minutes. For God's sake, don't tell him it was made in Japan.

Both guys are legends and it's been a homely feeling to walk into reception at the end of a day and hi-5 the security guys before you get in the lift. Georgey, Johnno, I doth my cap.

Miscellaneous Ramblings - Part 2

2006-08-16T22:15:00.000+10:00

I mentioned in part 1 how I thought it amazing how the Stromatolites could be so important yet so overlooked. Well, I would be doing an injustice to myself if I didn't write anything about the Aboriginies at some point. For the Aboriginies truley are the planets invisable people. Before I label the whole of Australia in a negative fashion I would like to say that this is by no means a generalisation and I have met some great people here. I have also spent the majority of dealings with people from Sydney who are reknowned to be of a different breed. Think London if it helps. But the truth is I have never been to a more racist country than Australia. Not just with the Aboriginies but with anybody who has a history not solidly routed in Australia. For such a young country this is odd. Surely a melting pot would be welcomed, especially when the people getting annoyed with the newcomers have only been there themselves for a couple of hundred years. Some of the comments I've heard beggar belief. You don't need me to tell you that the Aboriginies got butt raped big time. There is a stereotype in Aus that all the Aboriginal people are now alcoholic, unemployed bums with a tendancy for violence and living it up with the underclass. I don't think I have ever known of a more accurate sterotype. But when you think about it, you really can't blame them. These guys have been in a downward spiral ever since Cook pulled his boat ashore, pointed his finger and proclaimed ''I reckon that'd be a good spot for an Opera House.'' In this respect Australia seems a little bit backward. Along with their attitudes to faggots and pufters. Hahaha, we can still joke about them can't we? Haha. No, serious, some of the view points are a bit 50's to say the least.

The Aboriginies have (or had) an impressive culture though and it's interesting to learn about it. When the whiteys first landed it is thought that there were close to 700 different languages that various tribes used. Yet none of them had a word for 'yesterday' or 'tomorrow.' This is extraordinary yet I absolutely love it. Just to care so little about time or social constructs such as achievements, 5 year plans, job promotion etc is fascinating. As a race, they had no chiefs or governing councils, wore no clothes, built no houses, or other permanent structures, sowed no crops, herded no animals, made no pottery, possessed almost no sense of property. In the Endeavour Journal, James Cook wrote ''they seemed to set no value upon anything we gave them, nor would they ever part with anything of their own.'' Later he wrote, ''they may appear to some to be the most wretched people on earth but in reality they are far happier than we europeans. They live in tranquility which is not disturbed by the inequality of condition.'' They should have built their house from bricks.

Well, I've been doing a bit more reading on Aus, as you can probably tell, and these are the comments I want written down. Aus is mahahahoosive. To put it in perspective, it's much bigger than Wales. The majority of the population live on coastal regions because the outback (anything further than 100 miles from the ocean) is unforgiving and pretty much uninhabitable. And because Aus is still an ikkle baby when it comes to the modern scientific world, a lot of the land has still to be fully explored. There are hundreds of stories of men literally tripping over blocks of gold in the desert. Some claim to have walked passed mile long stretches of the stuff only to be unable to find it when they have gone back with equipment. There are definitely some fairy tale stories ahead for this country. If you want to buy yourself a gold detector and can stand 50 degree heat why not get out here? There's gold in them there hills.

One thing I've come to realise about Australian people is just how much they assess themselves. I have never seen anything like it. They are amazingly self critical and this flows over into talk of their country. Absolutely everything is 'Australia this, Australia that.' In newspapaers, on television, branded on food packets, you are constantly reminded of where you are. In day-to-day conversations everybody talks about being Australian. But a lot of times it's not a boastful bigging up of themselves, but done in a more defensive manner. A retort to hurtful comments that you haven't even said yet but that they were expecting. It's hard to explain and I'm sure I'll be told I'm speaking shite if any Aussies read this. But you know what I mean don't you Bri?

MP Vs. KFC (Waterfoot Park, Straight After School)

2006-08-16T22:06:00.000+10:00

Politics is boring. Fact! If you could cast a vote to find this out then people would definitely agree with me. But you couldn't find it out because people wouldn't turn up to vote because they think it's boring. So point proven. See? Fact!

It's a bit different in Aus. Not much, granted, but enough for me to read an article on it in the newspaper. The last week has seen placards being waved in the House of Representatives and even a toy chicken being tossed about. The Labor (sic) lot then proceeded to do chicken impressions to get the point across that the Treasurer was a coward. Then the other day Labor leader Kim Beazley told Liberal Wilson Tuckey to ''take your tablets.'' In true MP style the retort was quick and Tuckey fired back with ''you fat so-and-so.''

"Why don't you take your weak, worthless self in there (to Parliament) with the weak, worthless piece of legislation?'' said the fat balding grey man to the other unattractive, spits-whilst-he-speaks MP. "Don't you call me weak, you fat so-and-so," came the reply as they squared up to eachother. Fight! Fight! Fight!

Last Tuesday a Labor MP (who no doubt has slept with his minging secretary) called the Foreign Minister (who no doubt has slept with boys) an ''evil little shit.'' Come on Tony Blair, be a devil, make it interesting will you? David Cameron told me to tell you your wife's a slag. And he's had her. Fact!

Rolling The Joint With The Arthritic Monkeys

2006-08-16T21:43:00.001+10:00

There's probably not a lot of title puns left that haven't already been used on the Arctics, but that was is a belter eh? This blog entry is all about me going to see the Arctic Monkeys. So you could take that as rolling the joint as in you've got arthritis, rolling the joint as in you're rocking the place, having a doobie whilst watching the band and it probably works on a few other levels as well. Class.

Briant is forever slating me for now liking the Arctic Monkeys when I first claimed to hate them. I didn't hate them, I just didn't see what the fuss was about. So, this is really all for you Briski. I'll admit, I've struggled when it's come to the Arctic Monkeys. I just get so bored of these so called 'NME bands' that are championed like they are the best thing since the invention of the C chord and then disappear before they've dropped it to a B flat. At best they turn out a semi decent album before running to the corner of obscurity and you wonder if the only reason anyone ever listened to them in the first place was because the NME painted them with this 'cool status.' Whereas in actual fact, if you listen to the songs they are bobbins with a minor chord thrown in. To add to this they are usually a dull bunch of knobheads that try to play that whole 'we hate interviews and anything remotely commercial' game. It seems that answering a straight forward question is the hardest thing in the world and they are just to cool to even attempt it. The result is usually 5 minutes of very boring television and a dip in my repect for them. They may be able to write a catchy mid 8 section but they can't string an entertaining sentence together. Brillliant. For me, the Arctic Monkeys have landed somewhere in the middle of this lot.

It took me a while to get into the album. There's some good songs on it. There's some not so good songs on it. I thought that the production of it was better than the songs themselves. But then, I'm not the one who's raking in the royalties am I? So it was with all these thoughts that I went to see them. I like to watch bands. I like to watch big named bands, and these lot have a rep for being great live. And crikey, that reputation is well deserved.

These lot were absolutely awesome. One of the best live bands I've ever seen. In a theatre that only took 2400 people, they absolutley rocked the crowd and the sound was top notch. They replicated the songs on the album perfectly but with more crunch and rawness. I hadn't realised that the album was recorded live. I thought it was too good to be. How fit is this bird by the way?

I still don't think they are massively amazing. But they are pretty damn hot. They have livened it all up. The songs are original, the chords they use are inventive, they are without doubt quality musicians, the drummer is absolutely class and they hold it all together so, so well. If whatever people say they are then that's what they're not, then they are a bunch of very interesting lads with some witty messages to keep us enthralled. But then, they would also be really crap at what they do.

Miscellaneous Ramblings - Part 1

2006-08-13T21:02:00.000+10:00

Here's some boring stuff on Australia that you don't have to bother reading but I wanted to remember it.

When I first arrived here an Aussie girl was telling me a story about her art teacher. He wasn't from Australia and she had asked him what his favourite aspect of the country was. She found his answer to be a bit creepy and loaded with a cheesey chat up line. He had said he thought the best thing about it was the light. I was relieved to find that somebody else had noticed it too and it wasn't just my eyes needing yet another contact lense upgrade. The teacher wasn't being creepy at all. Granted, later on in the term he would keep her behind after class and try to bone her. But for now, he had hit the nail on the head. I have since read 'Down Under' by Bill Bryson and he penned it far better than I could ever do so here it is:

"Do you know how sometimes on very fine days the sun will shine with a particular intensity that makes the most mundane objects in the landscape glow with an unusual radiance, so that buildings and structures you normally pass without a glance suddenly become arresting, even beautiful? Well, they seem to have that light in Australia nearly all the time."

It's something you have to see for yourselves to really get it. And the odd thing is, even the Aussie's don't know what they've got. But it really does make everything look prettier, more real. I think it is this light that has saved me through what is usually a winter slump. In Australia, there are no greys. Just blues and lesser blues. Here's some Australian blue for the dads.

Back in the days when it never rained and you could keep your doors unlocked at night (ask your grandparents) some English dude brought 24 rabbits over to Aus. They had stole a loaf of bread or something. Not really, he wanted to shoot them. That'd be a laugh. Unfortunately Mr. Dude was not a very good shot and the rabbits ran rabbit ran rabbit ran ran ran. And then pumped rabbits pumped rabbits pump pump pump. They bred like, er, rabbits. Now for 50 million years and some months rabbits had not lived in this country and so a whole eco system had evolved where the rabbit had no predator. Even the things that could kill it were probably thinking ''I thought you died at the end of the film when Art Garfunkel sang 'Bright Eyes?''' Hahaha, I have just googled 'Watership Down' to find out what the spirit was called at the end of the film and on the plot summary it says ''not recommended for young children.'' I wish somebody had told my parents this before I was traumatised for, well, forever. She didn't really die at the end did she? Anyways, these rabbits literally ran riot through Aus, chomping their way through the majority of the vegitation. They destroyed most of the greenery until good old Myxomatosis got sprinkled over the land and killed them all. The thing is with this disease it has a 99.9% success rate. Which means that 1 in a 1000 survive. And the ones that do hold the gene that can stop the disease. You're hopping ahead aren't you? Yes, the rabbits are making a come back and will soon be taking over again. Go Hazel, go Bigwig, go Holly. Altogether now, ''bri-ght eyes, bur-ning like fire...'' I just like that story.

The thing I like about Aus is there really is no other place on earth quite like it. This was cut off from the rest of the world and left to evolve on it's own for God knows how long. A massive 80% of the animals in this country are native to Australia alone. Eighty percent! And the majority of them can smack us with enough poison to knock out a room full of men. Why do some spiders have such powerful venom when all they eat are insects? This next bit, infact this whole section, is a bit geeky so move on if you're not into this stuff. I can be forgiven for writing a serious entry every now and again instead of trying to pile it full of quips.

Ok, 3.5 billion years ago, long before your day, they were these organisms called Stromatolites. This is going back more than three-quarters of the time to the big bang. Who actually knows this is beyond me, but they do and they've wrote it in a book which I am plagiarising this very instant. Anyway, 3.5 billion years ago, these Stromatolites looked like coral that lived in water, streams and on rocks. All they ever did was release a tiny bubble of oxygen to the surface every now and then. For 2 billion years this is pretty much all that went on. And you moan that there's nothing on TV? Eventually they did this until the oxygen level of the earth was at 20% and this allowed more complex life forms to emmerge, which lead to weird sea creatures, weird land creatures, the missing link and us. These Stromatolites gave rise to life on earth. I think that's great. So imagine one day when these fossils were found on the coast of Australia. Pretty big event I reckon. And then the scientists moved down the coast and found ones that were still living! The creation of life still sunbathing and living it up in Aus. Here's a picture of one. Now, this must surely be a tourist attraction? I've done a bit of travelling and know that locals will doll up anything to make it appeal to tourists. ''Yes, come and have a look at this rock that the ancient king's 7th cousin, twice removed once sat on and was told by Lord God Munk Fish not to throw stones in glass houses.'' And you get there and think, 'riiiiggghhht.' The place where these Stromatolites are isn't even signposted. Nobody cares. And that to me is the Australian attitude. Everything, no matter how big or small, is 'just alright.' "We don't have many celebrities in Australia," said a colleague recently, "because whenever anyone does something, we all just think 'so fucking what?''' The creation of life? Can you drink it? Ah well, forget it then.

Bri For Now, See You Tom-orrow.

2006-08-02T23:16:00.000+10:00

''Briant? Tom? Mate, where are you? Briant? Are you there?'' These are the words I mumbled to myself as I climbed into bed on my own (still not gay remember, just sharing a room). No clothes strewn out over the desk, no champ manager loading away on his laptop, no strange smell emitting from crust ridden sheets. It could only mean one thing. My baby's gone. Tommy B has left the building. Well, I suppose it had to come one day. They just grow so quick and before you know it they've cut the apron strings and left home.

Thomas Boris Francis Briant has left for a 3 week booze up with his dad, sister, bro, dad's mate and a giant camper van. It won't be long though until I meet up with them all in Brisbane for a few days before me and Bri start a new ball rolling.

It marks the end of quite a prominent stage in our Australian tour. The end of living in Sydney. The beginning of living in Brisbane. I absolutely love fresh starts and clean slates and I can't wait for it.

The last song on the soundtrack for 'The Beach' has a quality and massively appropriate voice over. I've been saving it for this very moment. But my iPod got swagged the other week and I can't find it anywhere on this world wide web, which to me never appears to be world wide at all. It's more like a spider web when I try to find something. Anyway, not knowing the lyrics has completely ruined it so maybe if you've got the sound track you can have a listen. It's the whole speech that starts:

"This is where the hungry come to feed. For mine is a generation that circles the globe in search of something we haven't tried before. So never refuse an invitation, never resist the unfamiliar, never fail to be polite and never outstay your welcome. Just keep your mind open and suck in the experience. And if it hurts, you know what, it's probably worth it."

Anyway Briski, me old mucker, see you in Brissers.

'Cos This Is Neighbours Night And The Feeling's Right....

2006-08-02T22:12:00.000+10:00

"Nah, nah mate, not me. I mean, there's one or two. Paul McCartney defo. Obvioulsy Noel Gallagher. I mean, they're my proper heroes. I don't know what I'd do. But all the Hollywood film stars and the football lot and stuff, I don't really idolize them. I mean, I wouldn't get star struck at all." And on I went explaining to Tom how it was only your major rock legends that would affect me when it came to meeting stars. This turned out to be a load of bollocks when I almost pissed myself when Toadie from Neighbours walked in the room. It wouldn't be so bad but we were expecting him!

There's a few things us Brit's in Australia simply need to do before we feel fulfilled:
1) Take a whole load of abuse just for being a 'pom.'
2) Put on one of those cork hats and go ''strueth Noleen,'' in what I would say is a pretty good Aussie accent.
3) Talk about the likelihood of getting eaten by a shark or bitten by something nasty (probably a spider that lives under the toilet seat or a snake that will no doubt live in the airing cupboard).
4) Call home and say ''my God, it doesn't sound like you're at the other end of the world."
5) Go to Neighbours night.

Having done the first four at least three times each, it was time to revel in the last one. Off to Neighbours night we went. Pure backpacker mayhem. And it was a good night had by all. Not even a dramtaic ending. Here's a few pics. Me with some dude called Boyd. Granted I haven't really seen the show for a long time. And to me the golden era will always be Charlene, Scott, Mike, plain Jane superbrain, Bouncer, Nel Mangel, Des, Daphnie et al. Ah, memories, everybody needs good memories.

I was a little bit wounded at the late drop out from Paul Robinson. I'd bought his single from the shop for him to sign and everything. But was pleased to see Scully there who was surprisingly fit. I swear to God this conversation heppend between me and her:

"Hiya, d'ya mind if a give you a little..."
"No!"
"What?"
"You're going to ask for a kiss and the answers no."
"Ooookkkk. I was actually going to say a little condo on the beach"
"What?"
"Er, nevermind. Can I just have your photo?"

My God, I was still cringing as I was typing that.

Here's the main man. Legend. He knew what he was doing. Chopping up for fun. Seemed alright though.

The only people there were your Irish and British backpackers. Exceeeeept, hahaha, this guy was absolutley top...ADRIAN! What A legend. When we turned up we saw this hair lipped dude with a Neighbours t-shirt on. Surely he's being ironic we thought. The host comes on and gives a special shout out to him. He was celebrating his 31st (thirty first) Neighbours night! During the competitions they hold, he chose to sing (badly) the Neighbours theme tune. With the additional second verse that nobody knows and the secret hidden one that was probably written by him. Obviously we got this guy over to our table for a drink. After flipping through his massive photo album full of Neighbours memorabilia, autographs and photos (I shit you not), my head was brimming with questions. Like, how do you survive in society? You're still a virgin right? And that Helen Daniels was alright for an old bird wasn't she? I refrained from these ones but did fire a few in. These aren't word perfect but pretty near, so here's a selection of my faves:

How many times have you ripped the head off thinking about Kylie Minogue?
"I don't believe a man should offend his body like that until he is happily married. I think it's wrong unless he is married or at least in a stable relationship with a girl...or a man if he swings that way.''
So then it's alright to rip off over Kylie?
"Yes."

Are you the biggest fan in the world?
"Yes I am. The producer even said so."
But how do you know for definite?
"Because he gave me a badge."

Do you have a girlfriend?
"I split with her 3 weeks ago.."
You mean she split with you?
"Well, yeah, well, she was seeing her ex boyfriend behind my back. I was gutted. Last Neighbours night I even put a question in to the cast asking for advice but they didn't read it out.''
Weird.
"Yeah, but I'm not that upset anymore. My girlfriend was never really that into Neighbours. (Look of disbelief). I mean, she'd come along to these nights but I always felt it was more to support me rather than wanting to be there."
You don't need her in your life Adrian. Get rid I say.

And so it went on. I could seriously watch this guy for half an hour, 5 nights a week. He doesn't even need a catchy theme tune or those Erinsborough High uniforms. He'll do for me. Legend. So, I'm adding to the list.

Things us Brit's should simply do in Australia before we feel fulfilled:
6) Meet Adrian, number 1 Neighbours fan.

Living The Dream!

2006-08-02T22:06:00.000+10:00

Tommy B's last weekend in Sydders saw us celebrating by going to a sex exhibition called Sexpo. (Like we wouldn't have gone anyway!) I could rig this whole article up with quips like ''it was sexcellent...'' and the like, but I won't. I'll just say dildos, ass, fanny, tits and leave you with this picture to get jealous over.

See the Taj Mahal - tick box
Walk along the Great Wall of China - tick box
Climb my way to Everest base camp - tick box
Get sunburnt on a Thai beach - tick box
Have my photo taken with 3 topless women sat on my knee - Where's my marker? Tick that bad boy baby! Sweeeeeet...

News From The Underworld

2006-08-02T21:58:00.000+10:00

If you are reading this, then I have been murdered. Not really, but it's a captivating start to a blog entry eh? Ok, I have realised a few things about my blog. 1) It rarely gets updated. 2) I still don't believe that anybody reads it. This cancels out me bothering about point 1. 3) It has become a bit formulaic. You know, someones been evicted, what's hot, what's not, someone else has been evicted, I got murdered, someone else is evicted etc ecetara. So I will endeavour to write more on it despite the fact that 1) I still believe nobody reads it and 2) 'endeavour' is just a posh word meaning 'try to but fail.' I will also endeavour to stop listing my points in numerical order because 1) it is a bit tacky, 2) it drives me mad and I'm the one who's writing it and 3) times a lady. See what I mean about the word 'endeavour.'

So, apologies if this is nothing but mindless ramblings in a whimsically coherent order, but the true essence of this blog in the first place was 1) to act as a journal for the benefit of me and 2) to boost my ego by realising I am capable of using sentences like 'mindless ramblings in a whimsically coherent order' and words like 'true essence.' So, are you sitting comfortably? Then I will begin.

1) Well, I'll start from the flat and work outwards. With all these evictons taking place some of you may think that the flat is left to me and my gay partner Tom to enjoy all on our own. First off (point 1!) me and Tom are not gay but try explaining to work colleagues that you are a 26 year old male sharing a bedroom with another man and see what response you get. Then in an attempt to proove your sexuality get quizzed on if George Michael, Erasure, Elton John, Will Young, and The Pet Shop Boys are on your iPod. Oh dear, tick box to all of them. Everybody... Y M C A, we're going down to the Y M C Aaaaa! However, these Koreans move so fast, I swear there's a factory outlet of them round the back of our gaff. Serious, we go through periods of not being sure who we live with. New editions include a girl who is so small she looks perminently far away. Straight off the plane from Korea, she hadn't chosen an English name by the time she arrived in the flat. I quickly reeled off a few options for her: Christina, Jessica, Paris, Nadine, Cheryl (see a theme here?) I eventually imposed Britney on her! This lasted as long as it took her to learn how to say 'please don't call me Britney.' Fun over. A few others have arrived: A girl called Maria, a fit one who I never see and don't know the name of, a Japanese bird, and another new arrival called Angela who has since left! That's how quick it happens. Angela has an amazing profile but is distinctly average from the front. God, I sounded like Simon Cowell then which can only be a good thing because after reading his autobiography (I found it in a drawer at work!) he's my new hero. I liked Angela though and this is a photo of her which makes me laugh everytime I look at it. There's also a new girl who is well, well fit and is from Thailand but unfortunately I don't think I can just pay for this one. Just kidding mum. The boys still refuse to talk to us for not playing football. Jesus, if you ever tell a korean you are going to do something, make sure you bloody do it. Well, all these people are just names with no faces to you so I'll move on. If it helps, the majority of their faces are pretty round!

2) So, I'm here in Sydney with the world famous Opera House and I decided I had to go and see something there so that when it comes on the tele I can patronise anybody I'm with by going ''I've been to see something there." That something turned out to be Romeo and Juliet. Up the Capulets! It wasn't as dweeby as it sounds though for thus thee thy was a modern day version. A bit like the Baz Luhrman film that absolutely every bird I've ever met ever ever creamed over. Even my ex girlfriend loved that film and she usually doesn't like anything that hasn't appeared in a Tupac video, doesn't have ''yeah, yeah, gangsta mo' fo'!'' in the lyrics, or isn't endorsed by somebody signed to Defjam. Haha, I'm only kidding Leigh. By the way, if you're reading this and wondering how I managed to get the words on the screen, then let me tell you, it's called a k e y b o a r d. It's used to send emails etc. Get the hint? I think Nelly's got one! Haha.

3) We've just been working all week, feeling rough all weekend. Managed to get kicked out of yet another club the other week. What is it with Sydney? They don't seem to like you drinking much around here. "You're too drunk mate." "I know. It's Saturday night. What's your point?" I was trying my damdnedest to fire into a bird who had tapped James Blunt as well! Bugger. That would've have made a good entry. Blog entry I mean. Oops, bit of innuendo. Cheeky.

4) Work is...well, it's exactly what it says on the tin. I have to be careful here because some colleagues have discovered I have a blog. Overall, it's ok. Let's just say that if Richard Branson came out here and took a temp job in an office I think he would still get treated like he was just a knob jocking backpacker who is only capable of making tea, photocopying and maybe being responsible enough to go and get some clear plastic wallets from the stationary cupboard. ''Be back within 5 minutes or this position will be handed to somebody else. '' I have never been so patronised in all my life. Still, it's not massively tasking and it gives me enough time to do loser things like this:

5) Sydney is coming to an end. Especially for Briant who departs to meet la famille for a holiday before I meet him in brisbane. I will leave with mixed feelings. It's been good. But it's been winter. And the fact I live in Koreasville and had rotten luck when it came to meeting people in my job meant that the whole networking of friends never materialized like I had wanted it to. Still, the time here was intended for city living and saving some money which we have done. Apart from the saving money! Don't get me wrong, it's been good, but I think it will get better. Anyway, there's more of the thoughts of Aus coming soon so I think I better leave right now before I fall any deeper.

6) Because its el scorchio during the Christmas period over here, they have a thing called Christmas in July where, get this, they celebrate Christmas in July! It's inh order to give it a bit more of a wintery feel I think. And because eating turkey with all the trimmings is a bit heavy when its 45 degrees. Christmas in December is bad enough so why anyone would want one in July aswell is beyond me. Double bah humbug. We all went out for a meal with the work lot and in keeping up with festive tradition I had a cold!

7) In the wider world, what the hell is Nelly Furtado doing giving up the guitar for that hip-hop nonsense? And Timberlake popping up in her video to wiggle his hips in a ''hi, I'm Justim Timberlake'' manner is just selling out. God, that really annoys me.

8) Tink dat's about tit.

Where Has Your Love Gone?

2006-07-26T23:35:00.000+10:00

Godddddddddd, it's been ages hasn't it? Last time I wrote, I was this big. So, where have I been? Well, I'll give you a few options and you can pick which one you believe is true. The first person with the correct answer goes into a prize draw to win a raffle ticket to win a used scratch card. If in the massively unlikely event of this card being a winner, nothing will be paid in any way shape or form.*

*Entrants must be over 82 years old and a citizen of Botswana. Entry date closes March 1st, 2005.

So here is the list:

1) I was dead and returned to earth as an angel. Not with the wings and halo, but with a perma -tan and kick ass 80's hair do, like that guy from Highway to Heaven. I have been walking and hitch-hiking around middle America, helping people with their problems. Hmm, let's see... I helped a blind girl fall in love, helped a towns angry youths come together and build a community centre, helped a recently disabled man overcome his disability and learn to become a better person. You know, usual stuff. A bit like the Littlest Hobo but more opinionated and annoying. Anyway, got board helping people. And plus I had to have a boring name (Jonathan Smith) and I couldn't smoke or shag so I quit. And here I am.

2) I was part of an experiment to go to an alternative reality, but there was a problem and I couldn't get home. "So now Paul must leap between realities, each time hoping the next leap, will be the leap home." It was Ok actually. Each time I leapt, I was transformed into somebody else's body and I always seemed to be in an awkward situation (about to die / about to be kissed etc) and would say "oh boy" and then I would have to work out how to stop them dying and whatnot. Once I had done this I would leap to the next reality. I had a mate help me though. His name was Al and he was a cigar smoking hologram who would update me on how I was doing. It was good fun and I have been in the bodies of black men in the racist deep south, old men and best of all women. When this happened I never got anything done for a few days as I was too busy soaping up my tits in the shower and...well... leaping around in another sense. Anyway, I eventually leapt back and here I am.

3) I went to the fair a few weeks ago and decided to go on the rollercoaster. Only something strange happened. Me and the other people on the ride were transported through to another dimension. When I awoke, I was wearing this green outfit and had a bow and arrow. Same thing happened to the other people on the ride. There was a lad called Eric who was a bit of a puff and had a shield. A black girl that had a small stick, that turned into a bigger stick (Wow! How crap is that?) A girl that had an invisibility cloak which came in handy wheb bullying Eric. A kid who had a wizards hat, but was crap and couldn't use it well. A small kid that had a giant barbarian club that could make the ground shake. He adopted a unicorn. We wandered around looking for a way back home and got in to lots of adventures. Anyway, one night we found a way home, but the rest of the dickheads went back to save the fucking unicorn rather than go through the teleport. Not me, fuck that, straight through and back home. I'd been saying we should eat the unicorn for months anyway. Beside which, what the are you going to do with a unicorn back in the real world? Government would confiscate it in two minutes flat. Anyway, I got back and here I am, to sue the ass off those gypo's who ran the fair.

4) We befriended a talking dog who owned a 70s VW camper van, knew some fit birds and was generous when it came to wanting petrol money. Thought we were well in with these girls 'cos the rest of the lads were a bit dweeby. There must be a catch we thought. There was. To get anywhere near them we had to drive around solving murder mysteries and running past scenary that would repeat itself 100 meters down the corridor. The reason we were always running was because more often than not we were shiting it 'cos old man Whathisface was dressing up as a zombie to scare the town into re-opening his shop as a museum. Or something. Was gash anyway. Caught the greyhound bus, came home.

5) Just been being a bit lazy. I will write more soon.

Yeah, I won't give the answer away but I reckon you're right. But now this blog entry is getting too big and I haven't even begun so I will end for now. Besides, I'm running late. I've just joined a crack commando unit who, in 1972 were sent to prison by a military court for a crime they didn't commit. These men promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the Los Angeles underground. Today, still wanted by the government, they survive as soldiers of fortune. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them... right, I'll stop now. FOOL!

It's All Come To A Wend-y

2006-07-02T23:10:00.000+10:00

Wendy. Ah Wendy, Wendos, Wendy. Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens, brown paper packages tied up with strings, these were a few of Julie Andrew's favourite things. If Wendy had been around at the time that song was written, I guarantee she would have had an entire verse to herself. She is that good!

Wendy has definately been one of my favourite people in the house. You can't help but smile when she walks in the room. Everything about her is cute and innocent. She works in a restaurant called ''Sushi in the Sky with Diamonds." She adds a 'y' to the end of pretty much every English noun. "It's a cockroach Wendy."
"Cockroachy."
"No, cockroach."
"Ah, cockroachy."
"Cock-roach."
"Cock-roach-y?"
"Yep, that's it, nail on the head."

Wendy truely believes that the 'happily ever after' romances from 'Cinderella' to 'Pretty Woman' really do exist. She's never been kissed and cries not only at films with Hugh Grant in but every goddam film with any goddam hint of loved-up sexual tension. I've never heard of anybody watching 'Bridget Jones' Diary' that many times. When chosing an English name for one of our new Korean housemates she even suggested Bridget. Eventually we chose Kevin. There's no doubt in Wendy's mind that one day her prince will come. And she wouldn't be downbeat if after a day of frog kissing she was left with nothing more than a hord of lipstick covered frogs, bad breath and a strange rash on her lips. This makes a refreshing change from my own cynical beliefs. Even if hers are all bullshit!

The little love even had a tear in her eye as we said our farewells. Granted, I was milking it, giving it the old, ''I'm gonna miss you Wendy. You are like a sister to me." But I usually only make girls cry when I pull their hair, steal their dinner money or call them fat. Her naivity and ignorance is her bliss. Her bliss is my enjoyment and the reason why I like her so much. One day when I'm rich I'm going to pay Wendy just to walk around my mansion. Not naked like all the other employees will be. But just being Wendy.

The Kettles On

2006-06-28T23:01:00.000+10:00

Well, it's been a while hasn't it? They say that if you put an infinite number of monkeys infront of an infinite number of computers for an infinite amount of time you'd eventually get dirty emails from monkeys. Or something like that. (I used that in a previous group email but it's good enough to use again). Well, a couple of monkeys with what must have been very limited time were given the opportunity. But far from re-writing the entire works of Shakespeare, they could only manage to design this website. And that's my excuse as to why it's not been working. I always think that monkeys re-writing Shakespeare would be a bit pointless anyway. I mean, it's available in all good book shops, so why bother? Surely it would be better if they came up with some new plays? Maybe a sitcom or two? Just an idea.

Right, so, I'll bring you up to date with what's been going down down under. Love the double use of 'down' there. Try and do that in another sentence. Well, it's been world cup mania for the last few weeks. Fair play to the Aussies, they put in a few good games. I've never seen whinging on such a wide scale as when they got beat by the Italians. Even newsreaders who I thought were meant to be unbias, didn't hide their feelings and were practically going ''a law was passed today to allow mass beatings of greasy, cheating, bastard Italians. And finally..." I'm glad the Aussies did well and I think this world cup has seen the real birth of the sport over here. But it has to be said that talking to them about it is a bit like talking to an 8 year old. With Down's Syndrome. Who is deaf. And has lived all his life in Papua New Guinea. Alone. "Yeah but the umpire gave a kick spot and they hit the net and if they hadn't then we would've been in the final 'cos that's where Italy are now so we would've probably won and kicked the ball and held the cup and that's what my mate Steve said and he never does a lie apart from once when he went to jail for saying he hadn't made love to a pony when he had and so he could'nt see us lift the cup which we will in the final on Sunday if we play Italy again..." Serious, it's that bad.

Cooper has left us to return to Blighty. Along with our footy lot, whislt the fans are left to celebrate in the usual way. Aw, what about the boys eh? *Long, drawn out breath* The word 'robbed' springs to mind. And the fact that this cheating, Utd scum, showboating greaser had anything to do with it just makes it worse. Here's a picture of him praying to the gods of analdom. I never thought I'd say these words but 'come on France.'

Well, the new bird is pretty much the old bird now. She works nights and I work days and I never see her. Literally. So I think that ones pretty much fizzled out. It was only ever novelty value anyway. Still, at least I can stick a flag in the korea section of my world map, lift my head high and shout ''I've been there!'' Preferred Japan!

The Korean lads have fallen out with me and Tom and are still not speaking to us after 3 weeks. We were meant to go and play football with them but trotted off to the horse racing instead. You'd think the game was a Champions league qualifier to be played in the San Siro with the way they're carrying on. As it happend it was 3 and in, tackle and shoot.

There's been a load of celebs knocking about recently. Right outside our apartment. But in true 'Tom and Paul are a bit gash' style we only ever find out about it when reading the next days papers. Nicole Kidman got married near by and Jennifer Aniston was at the cinema that we can see from our very balcony. Bloody hell.

Apart from that we've just been keeping on keeping on. Et cela est ma vie pour le moment.

Here's a few photo's from the weekend. You can click to enlarge, not click to keep small or click off if you can't be assed:

(Left) Captain Cook was amazed to find that depsite living off grubs and having little in the sense of technology, the aboriginies had managed to build themselves an opera house.

(Right) Two lovers miss the extraordinary view by facing the wrong way. If only they had known what was going on behind them.

(Left) Under microscopic investigation it was clear to see why the new Gilette Mach 3 was the best a man can get.

(Right) When the aliens finally did arrive Will Smith was nowhere to be seen. He was probably back in the wicki wi wi west or on his way to miami, mi-ami-ami-ami.

(Left) The new style of surfing lost a lot of the thrill but cut out any chance of a shark attack.

Drop It Like It's Hot - Eviction Night 4

2006-06-16T20:38:00.000+10:00

These are coming round quick aren't they? Despite Tommo changing his deodrant, me curbing my language, Korea winning their opening match, letting him play my guitar (for 15 minutes on Sundays under my supervision ONLY) and a promise that we will find him some friends even if it means using one of those online geek sites, John has decided to leave us. God rest his soul. Nah, he's not dead. Just buggered off to Melbourne to... get this... plant trees. Dweeb! I'm all for planting trees but if you'd met John, you'd probably know he was the wrong man for the job. Wrong as in Hitler applying to run the newly built synagogue and claiming on his CV to have ''housed many Jews in the past, including the construction of their accomodation and the connectoin their gas supply.'' Bit low that one. It's fair to say that John is pretty lazy at best of times. You can come into the flat and say 'hello' without even looking towards the newly created indentation in the settee. You just know he'll be there. Sending Koreans to plant trees? Well, we all know what happend to the Chinese who got sent to pick cockles. Similar thing. Hopefully not. Bit low again eh? Must be in a bad mood. John, you will be missed. Your sneezing into the fridge without covering your face seemingly EVERY time you open the frickin' door will not be. Yep, I am in a bad mood aren't I?! Get out John, GET OUT!!

"So Paul, Tell Us What's Hot, What's Not"

2006-06-12T17:22:00.000+10:00

Now, I don't really do girlfriends me. Granted, I've had two long and happy relationships in the past. They have both ended amicabley and I'm still friends with both of them. But two birds in 26 years is a bit lame. To say some people kill two birds with one stone, I'm pretty slow. It's not my fault. I'm just picky. Stop laughing, I really am. Besides, I can never be assed with all the crap that comes with it. The arguments, the jealousy, the ''don't get too drunks,'' Valentines day, the shite music taste, blob week, feeling guilty for having done nothing, feeling nothing for having been guilty, the ''where are you's,'' the mind games, shopping trips, putting up with her annoying friends, that look you get (you know the one), putting up with my annoying friends, having to watch the OC omnibus and films with Hugh Grant in... I could go on but you already know.

So imagine my surprise when I woke up the other Sunday to find I had a girlfriend. A Korean girl called Gloria or G for cutesiness. Let me track back a bit. G's not that fit. Actually she can look ropey, but she can look pretty tidy. I find her sexy though and she's Korean so... novelty value innit?! Anyway, me and Tom went out the other Saturday, get so drunk that I walk into a giant plant pot and received a straight red from the bouncer. My 2nd in as many weeks. Came home and G is up watching Harry Potter. These lot love that little wizard boy. I continue to believe that pints of wine are a good idea and end up trying to fire in. She said she would only kiss me if I was her boyfriend. Now, my head was saying no. My heart was saying no. The 2 litres of wine, countless beers, my knob, balls and morals were all saying yes. Oo-er, 'yes' wins 5-2 on penalties. So I got myself a bird. Turns out that 'kiss' isn't bagging off in Korea. More like something you give to your gran on Christmas day. You know when you have to but you don't really want to and you long for the day when a hearty handshake or hi-5ing old relatives is socially acceptable. Whenever I went to stick the tongue in she'd go ''no, no, too fast, too fast.'' I've estimated 5 weeks until we cuddle.

So there it is. Got myself a bird. To be fair it's ace. She works nights, I work days. We barely communicate so any arguments are out of the window. I don't get worried about where or who she's with. Crikey, it ain't like she'll be banging! It won't last though. I'm off to Brisbane soon. But I'll never forget my limited time with little Korean whatsherface. So I suppose this month I have to give a mention to G in the What's Hot section.

Also up there is after work saunas, after work, and world cup fever. You just can't beat the world cup. Maybe we'll get a glimpse of Totti's Mrs, not to mention all those fit Brazilians that the camera men never fail to pick out. Oh, and there's the football element too. We went out to watch it the other night. Here'a a photo of Tom who discovered his ancestors watching the game. And here's one of Wendy who went overkill in support of Korea. She's a little angel isn't she? Bless.

On the down side to it all, I wish I was watching it at home. All the flags, the face paints, the crap press reports during the build up to keep everyone talking. "Peter Crouch ate my hamster," "Aliens land in Rooney's garden to take him home," "Sven makes a good substitution." Come on England.

Also in the What's Not section for this month is winter time. I'm one of those people that just want to curl up in winter and hibernate for 6 months until I wake up and check on my nuts. Haha, a good old nut gag. Honestly, I thought it would be different in Aus. To be fair, it is. Winter is 15 times better. It's not as cold, the sky isn't grey at all, it doesn't rain a quarter as much and all the rest of it. But I honestly believe I'm solar powered. When it goes dark I just turn off. Though they do say it changes when the sun goes down.

Please Mr Cowell, I Want To Live Forever

2006-06-12T16:42:00.000+10:00

What do these people all have in common: Will Young, Cheryl Tweedy, Sarah Harding, Nadine Coyle, that ginger one, Kimberley Walsh, Darius Whatshisface and Gareth Gates? You've guessed it; they all made a name for themselves turning up for Pop Idol, The X Factor and the other ones that I don't know the names of. Now if you know me you'll know I hate those kind of shows. I'll walk around the house wondering who the hell votes on such programmes just as I stroll into the living room to find my mum casting her 8th vote of the evening. Four for Gareth and four for Will just to be fair! But, hate it as I might, I've got a Darius album, two Girls Aloud albums, a Will Young album and I've even been to see the little homo in concert! And what I wouln't give for a slice of Nadine. Any of them to be fair. Girls Aloud I mean, not Will Young. Even that ginger.

They are never going to be accredited with writing quality tunes. They are never going to make my top ten artists of all time list and God forbid they'll never be dipping their hands in wet cement at the rock 'n' roll hall of fame. But they all have something else in common. They can afford to buy proper beans instead of Tesco's crappy own brand. They're holidays won't be a one week last minute deal to Faliraki and I'm sure they won't see a large Big Mac meal as an 'extravagant splurge in a fine American bistro.' They also probably shag like Mr and Mrs Rabbit at the annual rabbit swinging convention in honour of the sacred rabbit God of Shagdom. So, it was with these thoughts in mind that made me and Tommy B decide to drop some phat beats for the judges to cream over down at the audition for Australian Pop Idol.

Unfortunately, the dream didn't last long. You have to be Australian to audition so we failed before we even got through the door. It was cringe worthy anyway. The place reeked of desperation, wannabes and losers. And that was just the woft from under my armpits! Here's a photo anyway. Oh, and the reason I turned up looking like Gary Linekar is because we were on our way to play football. Due to my bob camera and Tommy B's bobber camera skills I have a bobbits blurred photo of me in the que. That's the moment gone. I suppose you really do only get one chance. And you really do have to lose yourself in the music, the moment, you own it, you better never let it go, you only get one shot do not miss your chance to blow, 'cos opportunity comes once in a lifetime yo. Oh well, it's back to dreaming about Sarah Harding singing me to sleep and wondering if Will Young is the mummy or the daddy!

Another One Rides The Bus - Eviction Night 3

2006-05-25T18:55:00.000+10:00

With Cooper coming to Aus for only 2 and a half months it was inevitable the inevitable was going to happen. And it did. Inevitably.

It would've been a shame for her to come all this way only to see Koreans and 7 Elevens. Hardly a taste of true Australia. Me and Bri have both now married ourselves to a 9-5, Mon-Fri lifestyle, coming out with crappy phrases that you only ever use in an office like ''it's a bee hive of activity.'' And what day it is seems enough to determine how you feel.
"Oh, I've got Mondayitus."
"Is it only Tuesday?"
"What you doing at weekend?"
"At least it's Friday tomorrow."
"Thank God it's Friday."

Not an interesting life for anyone visiting. So off Cooper is winging, up the east coast and back down again. Now Cooper is going it alone for the start and she's not really done anything like this before. So me and Briant tried to get her chatting to a few people at the bus stop. You know, just being nice and helping out a bit. I tried to introducing her to Dave, an 18 year old petrified boy who grew more so when I hinted that if he became friends with Coops he could probably sleep with her. It didn't work and we were having rotten luck until we got chatting to the bus driver. The two of them hit it off instantly.

So, safe travels Coops. Hope you have a great time. And if you're reading this then just remember that me and Tom are always here for you. Send us a postcard and make sure you email. Keep warm and are you eating alright? Don't get too drunk and if you have to talk to boys and do those things that you young folk do then make sure he wears one of those Dulux things. Don't piss your money away, don't take drugs and give your grandma a call and let her know you're ok from time to time. Did you take a spare pair of socks? Just remember that we love you loads and if anything happens you can always come home to us. Ring us if you need anything. Ring Tom first.

Status: Evicted.

Blue Mounting The 3 Sisters!

2006-05-25T18:40:00.000+10:00

Sarah, Tom and me are all friends. So we decided to spend some time together 'cos that's what friends do. Unless they hate eachother.

A 2 hour train ride out of the centre of Sydney takes you to the spectacular Blue Mountains. So called due to the colour giving off when light hits droplets of oil placed in the atmosphere by the hordes of eucalyptus trees. With stunning scenery and breathtaking views this retreat is the quintessential weekend getaway...check me, I sound like Jill Dando.

I'd heard this joint was well worth visiting because there are these 3 notorious sisters who look amazing and let you photograph them and touch them and things. It wasn't what I'd imagined. These birds were just 3 rocks. I had that feeling you get at 3am Sunday morning when you're stood pissed up in an emptying nightclub knowing the best you'll get now is a kebab and a cheap taxi home. To be fair I got a better conversation out of them than I've had from some girls. Still, the times were good.

Far more entertaining to look at were the local yocals. The mountains are out in 6 finger country and the local pubs were full of the cast from 'Deliverance,' if you know what I mean, and I ain't talking Burt Reynolds. You can use your imagination so I won't go into detail. One guy though came dressed as a magician equipped with top hat and long tailed blazer. Must be a one off we thought. Probably fancy dress for his sister's/wife's/mum's (all the same person) birthday. However, the next night he came dressed as a pirate. His backward ways and insanity were made even more clear when he took a shining to Cooper. Absolutely bonkers!

A Hard Day's Night

2006-05-21T19:59:00.000+10:00

Here's pretty much my first day at work in thought form:

"Hi, I'm Paul. New temp. Yeah..."

When you were young and your heart was an open book...

Files go in the blue tray, invoices in the green tray, documents in the red tray

You used to say live and let live...

What's the black tray for?

"Manchester. Well, near Manchester"

I don't believe it, there are NO fit people in the office

When you were young and your heart was an open book...

Files go where again?

Is that a pube on my keyboard?

KFC or Maccys for tea?

How the hell does a pube get on the keyboard?

Maccys everytime

No way has it only been 3 hours

Red tray goes in the green tray

"Collected what mail?"

Ok, focus

What time is it at home right now?

No fit people at all

KFC. Chicken and chips innit. Yes, glad I've decided on that one

2 in the morning. No, wait. 3:15. Wait, 11 minus 9 is 4:15am. Just gone 2 o'clock. All be in bed

You used to say live and let live...

Big Mac meal, BBQ sauce please

Did Norman Stanley Fletcher ever get out of Slade Prison? Ah, Ronnie Barker. Qualo

Concentrate. C:\Documents\Settings\Administrator\Desktop\Bollocks

G - G - G - Granville

You know you did, you know you did, you know you did...

What was that nurse called in 'Open all Hours'?

"You're looking for who? I'll just put you on hold and check." Shiiiitttt, who do I ask?

No way! It was defo 2 o'clock at least an hour ago

Burger King

Gladys! Nurse Gladys! Yeesss!

Is that the same pube? What's with this place?

No way is Crouch good enough. Stevie G though. Class

But if this ever changing world in which we live in makes you give in and cry...

Will I look weird if I go for another piss so soon?

Service sheets in the yellow trays. I didn't know there was a yellow tray

Say live and let die...

Might try and nick some Post-it Notes

Da Vinci Code Thursday

Is somebody malting pubes or what?

What the hell do I need Post-it Notes for? Take them out of your bag you dick

KFC defo

When you were young and your heart was an open book...

Eviction Night 2

2006-05-12T19:17:00.000+10:00

Not since I ate 4 raw eggs for a bet have I been close to vomming so much. For the past few weeks it's got progressively worse, to the point where I can permanently taste bile in my mouth. The reason? Tommy B and the new love of his life, Gracey kiss kiss mwah mwah, have been following eachother around like pretty little kittens chasing a ball of fluffy wuffy wool. Due to pigeon English, communication has been largely through touching whenever possible and cooing like babies. And because Koreans find the lamest thing hysterical, Briant's comedy genius has been toned down to crap like "Grace, you stink!" It works though. Somehow. Anyway, now it's Tommo's turn to vom because Gracey kiss kiss mwah mwah is leaving on a jet plane to become the new Miss Korea. According to Bri anyway. She's off home because she misses her family. She'll probably be back because she misses Tom. She leaves on Saturday. No doubt Tom will be singing some crappy James Blunt song as she walks out the door.

Dyeing To Get Laid

2006-05-12T18:42:00.000+10:00

Marilyn Monroe, Jayne Mansfield, Raquel Welsh (if she'd had blonde hair), and Thomas Francis Boris Briant (honest to God that's his real name) all have something in common. They were bombshells that were/are blonde. That's right, blonde bomshells. That's if you haven't already guessed. I gave you enough clues. Now they say opposites attract. Although the next door's dog used to look just like her. Weird. But you only need to look at magnets to know there's some truth in it. And I think that's why the Korean boys in the flat have fallen in love with trying to emulate Tom. The lads think that with his blue eyes, bonde hair and Nazi Youth style looks, he's a pulling machine. This despite the fact that when he's got Wendy's huge 'I won these at the fair ground' glasses on, he looks like Michael Caine.

It's also emerged that Korean's are all a bit 'Pride and Prejudice' when it comes to sex. Their art of love making is a good 12inch away from getting steamed on water melon Bacardi Breezers and having a quick rumble round the back of The George and Dragon, aged 15. Ah, good old Blighty. These guys (almost) wait until marriage. Boooorrrrriiinng. Which doesn't seem to be a problem for the girls but the lads are walking around like theyve got the weight of the world in their scrotum. And to be fair, they probably have. That's where Tom steps in. They think Tommo has the key to the chastity belts of western girls and are forever pestering him to take them out clubbing. So, it was no surprise when John and Gin announced to us that they were going to dye their hair blonde, just like Tom's.

"But it won't work with your hair boys, you'll just go ginger," we warned.
"It will work. IT WILL WORK!" John demanded, already imagining the sound of knicker elastic snapping. It didn't! It turned out to be the worst hair colouring incident since I dyed my hair so black that it had a blue tint. Honestly, I looked like Uri Geller. The Koreans emerged a shade of ginger that Chris Evans would be proud of. "It looks good," said the suspected mentallist John, "I like it." It took us half an hour to explain that it wasn't a good look and only really works if you have enough money to buy a naive 19 year old a Ferrari for her birthday. And even then it goes tits up. "You were only supposed to blow the bloody doors off!" said Tom.

When In Aus, Do As The Tourists Do

2006-05-12T18:39:00.000+10:00

"Alrrriiiight Cooper, for God's sake, I'll get out of bed then," I moaned as I peeled the covers away from my flesh, "but I only just got settled 12 hours ago." Having spent the past year in Asia looking at weird animals, crappy temples, waterfalls and the like, I've been looking forward to spending a few months going no further than the video shop and the offy. All was going to plan until Coops comes out for a holiday. Obviously she wants to do stuff. God! (said in a Napoleon Dynamite style huff). So, off we went to the Koala Park. It was a good day to be fair. I stroked a wombat, had a go at sheep shearing, found my Rod Hull reference hysterical when we saw an emu, fed a kangaroo and tried to steal a koala.

Best of all, by a long shot, was the kangaroo porn that we got to see. They're very open minded these animals. Similar to those shows in Amsterdam but with more of a Steve Irwin vibe, these starlets put on a right turn for us pundits. Kids, avert your eyes, this is strictly adults only. You don't get that in Chester zoo.

Chow Yung Ones

2006-05-06T17:37:00.000+10:00

Can you remember at uni when you'd sit down for your tea with some freshly made super noodles? You'd have 2 slices of bread there ready to dip in and mop up the juice that you'd overdone, and you'd suddenly get this feeling of ''Jesus Christ, what am I doing with my life? Super noodles for tea? How sad am I?"

Well, all these guys eat is kimchi (pickled cabbage) and noodles. Sometimes, for a bit of variety, it's kimch and rice. Once they cooked spagetti and ate it with kimchi. It tasted just like noodles. And they look at you like you're a freak whenever you cook anything that involes more than 3 colours. These lot are students forever. Just think of the loan they're going to have to repay.

It's All Gone Pete Pong!

2006-05-06T16:40:00.000+10:00

You're going to have to put on a Geordie accent for this one.

Day 15 in the Big Korean house and it's all going Ping Pong. First let me tell you about Gin. Gin is the legend who was a pro computer gamer in Korea. Check this, we learnt that for 2 years all he ate was one take away meal per day that his manager would bring to him whilst he was practising on the comp. Probably playing New Zealand Story or Bubble Bobble or something. Twenty hours a day this guy played for. He could hit 1000 keys per minute. Ranked 7th in Asia, he once played bad in a tournament (probably getting beat by the end of level 6 boss on Golden Axe) and his manager battered him! Not only is it shocking that his manager beat him up, but I'm more appauled at the fact he had a manager in the first place. I mean, come on. Computer boy manager? That's not a job. He told me the other day that he never wants to play a computer game again. So he's gone from a kid who would have played a computer game because he liked it, found he loved it, discovered he was good at it, became professional, earnt money from it, got battered because of it, got psychologically scarred from it, and never wants to see a spikey haired blue hedgehog or a small, moustached Italian plumber again for as long as he lives. Poor bastard. Anyway, Gin always looks like he needs a good 40 hour kip. But he's the nicest boy in the world ever. He likes a flutter on any sport you can flutter on, and he likes to get pissed whilst he's fluttering. Every night he's out on it. But last night it emereged it's because his girlfriend is ill. Mentally and physically apparently.

Grace might have to leave because her dad's not happy that she can't find (read: hasn't been bothered to look for) a job. Something like that anyway. I couldn't fully understand. That's put Tom in a mood because he's fallen in love with her. That's put John in a mood because he's fallen in love with Tom. Probably.

Willo G is a tiler and has to tile an olympic sized swimming pool with individual 1cm tiles! He works about 15 hours per day and isn't happy with his current situation. Fortunately the fumes from the glue are enough to keep a smile on his face. The guy has too much of a fondness for crappy slow Korean love songs though. Think Celine Dion in a Korean warble. And this gets Cooper down.

Not only that, Sue has become the first member of the house to be evicted. Immigration aren't happy with her lack of attendance at uni so she's being kicked out of the country. "But, I've been ill," she protested. Yes, if hungoveritus or lazybastardsemia are clinical diseases then she certainly has. Apart from all of this, it's going great!

Here Comes The Fear

2006-05-06T16:17:00.000+10:00

I suppose one day I am going to have children. And I suppose there will come a time when I point to the 3 piece sofa and say ''one day son, all this will be yours.'' I don't need Michael J Fox in a Delorean to tell me that. So, in order for that 3 piece sofa to be a nice one I supoose I'm going to have to earn a wage at some point. And here it is. The dreaded moment. Freddy Kruger visiting my dreams? No. Freddy Flintoff coming round for tea when there's only soup in the house? No. Freddy West popping in to dig up the garden? No. It's far worse. I've gone and got myself a job.

Now apart from the obvious rock star, film actor, scriptwriter style jobs, if I had to pick a normal dream job it would be to be a traffic controller. Those dudes that when road works are taking place stand at the side of the road turning the sign between stop and go. Brilliant. But get this, in Aus to be one of those you need to have undertaken a training course before you're allowed to do it. It is "a Roads and Traffic Authority requirement that everybody needs to hold a Traffic Controllers Photo Certificate." A full day course! Learning how to swivel a sign between stop and go. And it's $165. So, my dream will have to go on hold. I got a job in an office. It gets better. It's for a train company! Start next Monday. At least some coin will be coming in.

What's Hot, What's Not! - Part Deux

2006-04-30T17:34:00.000+10:00

Has it been a month already? Sometimes I think these calendars lie. Well evidently it has been a month because it's time again for What's Hot, What's Not!

Somebody once said that in the valley of the blind opticians are unemployed. And also, the one eyed man is king. But would you really want to live there? I suppose there would be no traffic on the roads. But the village cricket team would be pants. "You should've met this bird I pulled last night. Next time she's out I'll let you touch her face to work out how fit she is. Or we can just go and ask the king." "Nah, the king's busy having to collect the garbage and do all the jobs that none of us can do. It's not all crowns and tiaras is it?"

What I mean is that back home this thick and creamy northern accent I've picked up has never been an advantage for me. Many times I've winced when I've heard somebody local on the TV or radio. But now these vocal chords are beginning to play a different tune. See what I did there? Clever. I've met a few people now that have fallen in love with my voice. MY voice! I know! I met this girl last night who in her own words ''lives for Oasis.'' And because I'm a) the closest thing to Manchester she's ever got and b) a top bullshitter (''Yeah, yeah, of course I've met them. Played football with Liam a few times. Used to help his mum with the groceries.") she was loving it. So, moving up (or should that be moving ey up?) this month is northern accents. Mad for it.

Up there are Blackburn Rovers having a great season and Accrington Stanley finding themselves back where they belong. Special mention to them as my dad no doubt shed a tear or two when they got promoted. With the recent flat escapades how could Koreans not be up there? They are. All of them. Straight in at number 2. Everytime me and Briant leave the house we shout ''I love you'' to them. And they've started saying it back. When Tay left the flat the other day he shouts, ''Ok, bye. I love you.'' Genius. How can you not love that?

This month sees the clearest winner since Chelsea played Man Ure last weekend. How could they not be? Just as sure as sun follows rain, night follows day and kebabs follow beer, the boys are back. Back on tour. The fact I'm going to miss all of it is also at the top of the What's Not list. I've been wearing my black arm band. But there's whispers of a European tour next year so fingers crossed, I'll be there, pulling out the dance moves that I perfected in my living room all those years ago. Hahahaha, it's true, so, so true.

Also down near the bottom of the heap this month is job hunting. It hurts too much to even try and think of some comedy quips about it. So, there you have it.

Meet The Koreans

2006-04-30T14:28:00.000+10:00

Well these guys are ace. The other night we went to karioke at 2 in the morning. Not in some bar. You just hire a booth and all sit round singing. These lot love it. And they all sounded exactly how their personalities would suggest: Tay doing his playboy bit and Grace doing her crappy europop ''I like bubbles, I like bubbles..." cheese. Alas, this means nothing to you without a small round Asian face put to the name. So here's a small profile of each of my new roomies.

William: (Will, Willo G, G Unit, The G)
Will is the gangster of the group. God knows what he gets up to. We barely see him. He's either in bed at all hours, out of his bed at all hours or sharking money on the B-ball courts at all hours. Probably. The other day he was sat in my room learning the words to Joe Cocker's 'You are so Beautiful' so that he could sing it to a girl he's just met. And they says it's dead? It's not, it's alive and well and living in our flat. Absolutely loves Tom because he's got him pegged as a fellow player.

Tay: (Porn Star, Playboy, PB, Tay Bond)
The Korean James Bond plays it cool with his cards close to his chest. He's a smoothie that would easily turn into a taekwondo kicking bad ass if he found out his Martini had been stirred and not shaken. Goddam bar tenders. He even wears hot pants in the pool. This guy can bend over so far that he can kiss his shins. Now that's impressive. I think he's got OCD when it comes to cleaning but hell, the place is spotless so I ain't complaining. Reckon he's working his magic on Sue.

Gin: (Ginno, G & T, Ginola, PSG)
Check dis - this guy was a professional computer games player in Korea! You can earn big bucks over there for winning tournaments. Apparently he's minted and is also a minor celebrity. But he never got hassled on the streets. The reason? He was practicing on his computer for 20 hours a day. No shit, 20 (twenty) hours a day. Look at his eyes man! Gin always looks like he needs a good kip. No wonder. He's a quiet lad who is just genuinely nice. Probably has epilepsy. Note: In desperate need of a girlfriend if any of you can help.

Wendy: (Trendy Wendy, Wendy House, Wendos, Windy Woo, Mr. Wendal)
Wendy is the trend setter in the flat. Well, she would be if we lived in a flat with Timmy Mallet and MC Hammer. Her outfits are mental and she has the largest glasses in the world that aren't perscription but are just for fashion! But, she's a lovely girl and laughs at all of our jokes once we've finally explained them to her. So big thumbs up. She cried all the way through a Korean film the other night. We just got pissed and mocked her. Lovely girl.

Grace: (Gracey, G shock)
Tom's flavour of the month this one. No doubt this will have changed by May. To be fair, she takes a nightmare photo but she is a little cutie. She's also Wendy's partner in crime and they are rarely seen apart, unlike that boy and the dog in 'Woof!' She speaks better English than she lets on, often causing fears that maybe we shouldn't be discussing her sexual prowess right infront of her. She asked what 'bullshit' meant the other night. We told her. Five minutes later Tom cracked a comment. ''Burrshee,'' she shouted. How cute is that? She's only 19 aswell. So, add 10 points!

John: (Johnno, Johnny Boy, JB, Johnjo)
When we asked what his name was he told us his family name of Jeon. We thought he said John. So he caused some confusion the other night when he told us he was going to chose an English name and was thinking about Matthew! We convinced him to stick to our mistake. John is the mature one of the group. Quiet and stern but friendly when he talks. He was a chef in the army and showed me how to chop really fast like they do. Add 5 points. Still can't do it though. Minus 5 away.

Sue: (Sumo, Suzie, Suzie Q, Dirty Sue)
Sexy Suzie is a new edition. Older than the rest of them and far far more corrupt. Adds a little bit of spice to the house. Reckon Tay the playboy is trying his luck. And knowing him, he's got 4 aces and a king.

Kim & Lee: The ever smiling, camp as Christmas Kim (right on the photo) forms part of the duo known in their university as Dumb and Dumber. Unfortunately, it's Kim who is Dumber. His co-idiot is Lee. These guys don't even live here but it took us 5 days to work that out. They don't half brighten the place up though and my palms have blisters from all the hi-5ing. Although not up to Tay's standards, Lee is a playboy in his own right. When I first met him he claimed to be Bruce Lee's cousin and almost dislocated a shoulder trying to proove it. Always excited, always laughing, always finding everything we do amazing. Here he is: Electric Lee.

Landed On A Gold Mine

2006-04-28T12:50:00.000+10:00

Well, we're in. It's a bobby dazzler n' all. Floor 33 of an apartment block. You can see the sea from the living room. Splat bang in the middle of Sydney cenno. Indoor heated swimming pool, sauna, spa, gym, a squash court, snooker and best of all, table tennis. It's also got some quality mirrors in the lifts that are belting for spot picking. Happy days. It's me, Tommo, Coops and... yeeesssssssss...wait for it...oh you beauty...7 (seven) Koreans! These landlords know how to bleed as much money as possible out of their tennants, so there's 10 of us in a flat. It's a big old flat mind. Still, there's people sleeping on the balcony. Not really. Well...

The Koreans are mint. They can barely speak a word of the queens which makes for hours of comedy value. In true Korean style they all love us, think we must be brilliant at football and they are the cleanest people I've ever met. The flat is permo spotless. The other day when we moved in Kim and Lee (who don't even live with us but are always there) were getting massively excited about everything and anything we said. "Paw, wet me ask you one qweson" Hushed silence. "Do you wike foobaw?" Panic on their faces as I contemplate what the F is going on. "Er, yeah, it's alright." Yeeeesssssss, hi-5, group hug, special hand shake.

Watching TV, eating rice, just walking in a room caused for a big cheer and celebration. At one point I left Coops in my bedroom with 4 of the lads. I heard a massive roar go up and a load of commotion to the point where I got a little concerned. As I came back into the room I looked towards Coops for an explanation. "We were all born in the same year," she said. Ah, that explained it! Here's a picture of Kim, Lee and Tay. Look! you can see how mad Lee is 'cos he's pretending to drill kim's head! Ahhhh, bonkers!

They seem well keen on buying loads of food and beer and sitting around the table talking. I'll introduce them all soon in my future 'Meet the Koreans' section. They really are a top bunch of people. As Tommo said, "It makes me feel a lot more happy about the fact that they're obviously going to take over the world!" God bless 'em.

The Coops Is Out

2006-04-27T23:03:00.000+10:00

For those of you who don't know her, Cooper, Coopos, Coops, Mini Cooper, Coopoopidoop, Coop de Loop, Hula Coop (I'm making these up now) has winged it over to check up on her old pal Paul and her new pal Tom. She's a friend from way back when girls learnt the words to songs from 'Smash Hits' magazine and Wolf from 'Gladiators' was the hardest man in the world. Fact! Back then the only issue in her life was to pick between Luke Perry and Jason Priestly. But now it's to put up with me and Briant for two and a half months and to have a good time. Afterall, as she says a least 14 times per day, ''I'm on me holidays!''

For those of you who do know her: still small isn't she?! Bless.

Check, Ch, Che, Che, Check Out The Melody

2006-04-27T22:32:00.000+10:00

So, finding a flat was prooving a tad more difficult than first envisaged. I had originally wanted to stay in a place called the Opera House that I had seen in all the brochures. But Tom explained that this was unavailable. Then we decided that looking for two Swedish nymphomaniacs called Helga and Heidi (lesbians...sisters) was maybe setting our sites a bit too high. Tommy B was getting exceptionally stressed as I think he pressumed we'd find a flat faster than you could say ''that Dame Edna's alright for an old bird.'' So after consulting my magic 8 ball, we opted for plan B: go out, get pissed. First night out in Sydders. Step on!

As we were walking drunkedly down the road (for the sake of the story it was an 8 mile road) we bumped into a lad who was trying to sell us some of that there wacky backy that all these kids are up to now-a-days. He was clad in full basketball garb and I said we'd only buy some if he could beat me in a rap battle. One crazy spit, slap, hi-5, grapple shake later and we had a deal. Cue Briant's beat boxing skills. Cue knodding of the heads, flaying of the hands and calling eachother bitch niggers for no apparent reason. I don't think the poor kid knew what had hit him. We tried to get more people involved and I'm not sure if we did or not. Infact, I can't even rememeber the outcome but I didn't have any of that there doobie stuff in my pockets when I woke up. So, 1-0 to Slim Paulie. Fr - f - fe - f - fe - fe - fresh! Let's take this to the streets kids. I think rap battles are a great way to solve all our problems. When next deciding whose turn it is to brew up in the office, freestyle one out for 30 seconds. And why stop there? Who should be President of America? Drop the beats in and we'll decide. Muslims or Jews? Put on your Air Max and we'll have it out. Simple as really.

The Hunt For Flat April

2006-04-27T21:41:00.000+10:00

I'll be perfectly honest. I have never had sexual relations with Monica Lewinsky. And, whilst I'm fessing up, I may aswell admit that I'm really, really pants at keeping this blog up-to-date. I only created it so I wouldn't have to write group emails. And now, when I'm on the net, all I do is email. Point being that I'm back-logging all of these stories and I already know the outcome. So I'm lacking with motivational drive. I prom that once I get up to speed I will keep it flowing. And only 4 of my fingers are crossed.

So, Tommo and I packed some bread and cheese, wrapped it in a polka dot cloth, tied it to a stick and with it flung over my shoulder we set off to find, and rent, our dream home. Why is it that every major city has a China town? They do don't they? Well, Sydney should have an Australia town. Unbeknownst to me, it seems the majority of Sydders is jam packed with Koreans, Chinese and Japanese. Not that this is a problem before you paint me with the same brush as Cheryl Tweedy. Actually, you can tarnish me with anything that has painted her first. Apart from Ashley Cole's man fat. Ah, any excuse to pop in a picture. I'm digressing. I always do that. I remember one time at band camp... Anyway, when I say Sydders is rammoed with Koreans et al, the emphasis is on 'rammoed.' As in cramming them into each and every space that would be normally reserved for kitchen utensils and those electronic cooking appliances that never get used. We went to look at one flat and there was a family of Koreans living in the kitchen. One in the bread bin, two in the fridge, three times a lady. You don't get that in 'Changing Rooms.' We couldn't even arrange a viewing for a lot of places due to the language barrier. I feel like I'm back in Korea. Hold up, maybe a smile will get me by afterall. Just need a wod of cash now. Here's a photo of them going out for a Sunday drive. You should have seen how many were in the front.

Speak To Me Sydney

2006-04-27T14:15:00.000+10:00

Mellors looked a lot smaller from the aeroplane where I was sat when we left it. I could barely see the cars, let alone the people. And I had my glasses on. It mattered not as the plane set it's compass towards Sydders and we said a fond farewell to 5(ish) weeks in Mellors. It's been good. But this is where it really starts.

After months of getting by on a smile and a wod of cash, it's now time to actually have to communicate with women and work again. Boooooo! Hhhhhhsssss! To be fair, I can't wait to have a proper base for a while. Mixed with an income, seasoned with a sprinkling of routine, add a TV, washing up, proper flatmates, hanging clothes in a wardrobe, actually cooking my meals, cleaning the toilet (yeah right), pop it in an apartment block on gas mark entertainment for 4 months et voila! You've got my plan for Sydders. Hit me baby one more time!

When The Freaks Come Out

2006-04-10T02:37:00.000+10:00

A funny thing I've noticed whilst being in Australia is how the dibble are a million miles different form the bobbies at home. Well, if truth be told they are 176,052 (roughly) miles away. A copper in the park got hold of some lads and went "I've told you before to f*&k off out the park, so pi$$ off now or I'll f%#k you a$$." Brilliant. And they say community spirit is dead. When I first rocked up at Sydders airport I made the mistake of trying to bring a trolley through the check-in bit. In England I would have most likely been met with "I'm sorry sir but you can't bring that through here. I'll take it back for you." In Aus I got "what the bladdy hell do you think you're doing? Take it back you bladdy fool." And on the tram the other day it stopped unexpectedly and the diriver announced "I'll sit here all day unitl one of youse bladdy idiots quits hitting the stop button. I'm really not assed". Genius! And these are all people in customer facing jobs. So imagine the general public on the streets.

Now Mellors has been a good crack. I like it. But hell-o, hell-o, hell, we've seen some freakish schizel whilst we've been here. I really, really, wheelie wanted to write them all down but I have been far too lazy. And I've forgot. But there's been some class A freaks whilst we've been here. All these are abso truemans barrichelo. We've seen a bearded lady. I ain't talking a fraction of stubble and a bit of neglect from the old Mach 3. I'm talking full on beard, plus tits, plus knowledge of the premiership, plus menstral cylce. A 100% bonifide bearded lady. Like Bob with bitch tits. There seems to be a herd of people who just shout at cars and buses. Stand, point, shout. Whilst camping we met a dude who was a highly dedicated player of the God Squad. He heard us talking about evolution and that was it. He tried disproving the whole evolution theory by telling us a story where a man found a rock that he thought was 200 million years old. But when he split the rock open there was a spark plug in it. ''And you know what this means don't you?'' he asked. ''That they had cars 200 million years ago,'' I said. Turned out I was wrong and it basically meant that everything me, you and the rest of us know is a lie. Oh yeah, and believe in God if you want to be a mentallist. It got worse but I'll leave it there.

My favourite by a buzz lightyear has been the best busker I've ever seen in my life. We didn't need to chat to this guy to know that he's 43, still lives with his mum and has never been laid in his life. Whilst the friends he imagines he's got are out drinking in the pub, he invents these random noise making machines and busks with them on a Saturday night. You know that warbling noise on the Beach Boys 'Good Vibrations?' It's called a theremin. Well, imagine an orchestra of those. Add beat boxing and singing in a Darth Vader voice and let me introduce to you the 'Sonic Manipulator.' Pink Floyd in a space outfit. I think he's stuck on the dark side of the moon. God, I love people like this.