Noosa, Australia

Thus far on this road trip I’ve been calm to the minimal (bowls) and mild to the medium (theme parks). So it was that as we checked into the Koala Hostel/POW camp in Noosa, weary from a long drive in the Giant Boob, tired from countless poor nights sleep, I found myself being prepared to take things Extreme to the Max(!). We agreed to go skydiving the very next morning at 7am and considering we were checking in at 8pm the previous evening this didn’t give you a great deal of time to syke yourself. The friendly staff booked it for us there and then as we checked in and left us to relax for the evening in preparation for our big day in the morning (although I’m not sure listening to one of the girls in the dorm being shagged during the night by a local is classed as relaxing – depends on the person I guess). Now, I’ve done most of the touristy things that you can do along the east coast, bowling, getting drunk, theme parks, shouting, surfing, pointing at things etc, but when exactly does jumping out of a perfectly good plane become a tourist activity?

If only they knew I was scared of heights!

In the morning we get delivered to the airfield, and our training is worryingly brief. Head back, legs tucked in enjoy yourself. Any questions? Well I had already gone through worst case scenarios early that morning. We were diving by the coast so if I fell out of the harness I would simply fly towards the sea, make myself torpedo shape and make a sea landing. Swim to shore and back in time for dinner and goon. This flawless plan was ruined by my instructor informing that the impact on the seas surface would probably break every bone in my body. Oh well then, this is it, I’m going to die. We were given the option to purchase the DVD footage of our jump but I opted out for now as it cost around 70 quid and I didn’t really see the point in showing friends and family a video of me shouting ‘fuck’ as many times as I could in 2 minutes. Lets just get this over with!

In the plane I’m on the floor wedged in between my instructors legs (titter ye not!) going through a few safety checks as we soar to our destination; 14,000 feet. This is the highest you can jump and results in 60 seconds of freefall. If you’re gonna do something, do it properly I say. We get to our destination and one by one I slowly lose the people I was sitting with as they plummet to the ground. It still feels all rather normal. I’m in a plane, ground below me, a familiar scenario. It’s when you find your legs are dangling over the edge and suddenly you’re actually no longer in the damn plane it dawns on you that something has gone horribly wrong. I was in a perfectly good plane and I’m now watching it fly away from me. This can’t be happening.


"The last image before my untimely death"

The first thing that hit me was “OH MY JEEPING FUCK ITS COLD”. Its now -8C and I’m in shorts and t-shirt and the wind is about 200mph. The clouds below are coming towards me at an insanely fast speed. In all this madness I find myself composed enough to make a few gestures to the camera and even sing a little bit of a song. Then as we fall through a cloud and my breathing becomes very difficult for a while (not good when you’re hearts racing anyway) you shoot out the other side to be greeted with land. Lots of land. And you’re racing towards it at an unnaturally fast pace. This is one of the greatest views your ever gonna get so I try and crane my head about a bit and soak it in, not easy when your veins are raging with adrenaline and your body is quietly preparing you for your own death. Without warning the parachute opens and you’re jerked around for a while until you’re still, and you look down and you see you’re legs dangling above the ground at 8,000feet and you’re held on by a bit of fabric. For someone who’s not to keen on heights this is like your worst nightmare. This is evident in my video footage where after all the shouting and whooping of the freefall I suddenly go very quiet when the shoot opens.The instructor asks me if I enjoyed it to which I quip “I’ll tell you when I’m on the ground!”. In all honesty it wasn’t too bad if not very uncomfortable around the groin and shoulders where you’re strapped in. I even got a go on the controls at one point and swooped about from left to right which was rather alright. “Whhheeee!”. It was all over in a flash and I made a rather graceful landing straight on my arse. Nothing broken, nothing dead. I’m alive. Score! However, the end of my little finger has now lost a lot of sensation. Must be frostbite. Ah well, Never used it much anyway.

So my two pence worth? I say you’ve got to try these things at least once as no ones explanation will give you the full picture of what its like. It’s bloody cold and bloody uncomfortable but an incredible rush if not a blurred one as you don’t really remember it as you’re so wired. I will happily do another one though as the next time you’ll be a lot more prepared as to what it’s like. Suppose I’m going to have to do a bungee jump in New Zealand now. Christ.

The rest of my time in Noosa was spent doing a nice costal walk and looking at the fantastic houses around the area. It seems that all costal areas I’ve been to so far are all being rapidly developed for luxurious apartments. It’s certainly appealing.

Back at the hostel and its decided to have a few drinks in the hostel. The main area to sit and drink and socialize is also a local bar/nightclub so instead of being able to sit and chat with fellow backpackers and get involved with drinking games, it gets rammed with all the locals dancing to blaring cheesy music. I know I’m ranting here but what the hell is wrong with people when all they want to hear EVERY time they go out is guff from the likes of Bon Jovi, Dexis Midnight Runners, Proclaimers Chesney Hawks etc.. If I hear ‘Love Shack’ one more time I swear I’m gonna tear my anus out. For crying out loud people why not expand yourself and try listening to something NEW! Ah shit. Lets say my experience of the East Coast has had its fair share of nightclubs with shitty cheesey music and when I get home I will NEVER go to one again. So to escape the nightclub you can sit outside on the benches (you cant bring your own alcohol) and the whole area is very poorly lit. Sod this, I’m off to bed/cell. This really is NOT how to do a hostel. Shame really as the staff were some of the most friendly and helpful I’ve encountered. Anyway! Back to the boob….onwards!

(Spider and deadly things count: 0)
(Mcdonalds spotting: 26)

Southport, Australia

I left you about to embark on an impending game of crazy golf. Yet again I have been left disappointed by a putting green giving itself the “crazy” moniker. I’m sorry, but straight putts with a slight tilt to the right and a fibre glass zebra on the side of the hole is NOT crazy golf. I want flashing lights, spinning windmills, giant moneys, loop the loops, mazes, ramps, water hazards, the lot. I’ve still yet to find a crazy golf course in the world better than the one in my home town park. I have high expectations for the USA.

Never mind. Southport is not far up the road from Surfers Paradise. So a similar affair as before except we’re in a much nicer hostel even though they still tried to push the organized pub crawl on us. Spent an evening instead chatting to a lovely South African couple who had me in stitches. Better than some of the standup routines I’d witnessed in the Sydney Comedy Store. Anyway, I’m not here for that though. That’s right. There’s some of Australia’s finest theme parks out here so lets get cracking! Although it’s quite expensive and quite a few backpackers don’t go there, one of the reasons I came on this world wide tour was to nail theme parks so there’s no stopping me. Plus I’m a flash-packer anyway so it’s alright.

First up Dreamworld; A great range of rides such as the Giant Drop which raises you impressively high then lets you free fall for 2 seconds after an agonizing wait at the top.


'Wheee! I'm a giant erection!"

Favourite would have to be The Claw which is a giant spinning swing. I had my hands out whooping like a child and I made sure I ran back to get the last ride of the day.


‘Wheee! I’m a giant flying spider!’

They also had a bit of a zoo area where I witnessed a duck war. Two rival gangs of ducks came across each other and started on each other giving it loads of ‘Cmon then!’ and flying at each other. Hilarious. Plus I got to hang out with this guy:



"Me and Kev"

Next up, Wet and Wild. Waterparks hold a special place in my heart as there’s nothing better to do on a hot day. However this one I think was a little too kiddie friendly as most of the rides were rather lame in terms of speed and were too bendy. Plus a lot of the rides were closed for repair without any discount on entry fee so a big BOOOOOO there. The worst thing was seeing a new ride the likes of which I’d never seen before but it was 1 month from opening! Agggghhh!! The same thing happened in Singapore god damn it! It was pretty chilly in there what with the cross wind so we spent quite a large amount of time in the hot tubs. Want one.

Luckily Movie World was next door so we decided to bail and get one last fix in. They offered no half day tickets so like mugs we bought full day tickets and tried to make the most of it. The highlight here was of course the mighty Superman ride where you get Superman behind your cart to push you out of a subway that’s in an earthquake (or something) and you hurtle at 100kph vertically up then down whilst laughing like a school girl. Fantastic.


‘Yes I know, but I didn’t have the costume with me….’

The other main ride was the Lethal Weapon ride which although was fun it was also excruciatingly painful as it basically bashed my head from side to side against my seat harness. My ears were nearly bleeding after that one. Bad design.

A lot of money spent, a lot of fun had and a lot of adrenalin pumped. Although, I’m sure there’s room for more……..

(Spider and deadly things count: 0)
(Mcdonalds spotting: 22)

The Van

The campervan is starting to become a pain. Being fair, it is getting us from A to B and covering a lot of miles without any problems but, dear god, it feels like you’re driving a giant wobbly tit sometimes. It lurches about road like custard pudding and I rarely feel safe in it. Its horrendously camped for 3 people and pretty much everyday one of us will say “Where did I put my….”, as things are just constantly moving around. The stereo in it is bumwad with any bass or low frequencies in your music being lost. So driving for miles listening to only high-hats can be a real bummer.

Sleeping in it is tolerable at best. I often find myself waking up with half my body numb if I’ve been sleeping on my side. Come the morning its like a sauna and you wake in a clammy sweat with the air stuffy and farty. Maneuvering things around inside can only be done one person at a time so getting your things for a shower can seem like a military operation. To top it all off, we paid a daily rate for the van, plus excess for the insurance the least we would expect is that we could sleep for free. Nope. Most places on the East coast wont allow you to park up a campervan anywhere and sleep in it. Oh no. You have to stay in a campsite (a further expense), or face a 300 dollar fine if you get caught sleeping in a car park. I guess the Australian Tourist Board have certainly got their economics sorted out. It would have been a lot cheaper, and easier to have rented a big car to store all our stuff in and just stay in hostels all the time. I suppose you learn from your mistakes but, by Christ I’m getting tired of making so many mistakes!! When am I gonna start getting things right first time!!?

You know me though. Not one to complain.

Surfers Paridise, Australia

Well what a contrast. The languid rolling hills of Nimbin seem a distant memory, for this place is a cross between Miami and the Costa del sol. Loads of high rises and over development and T-O-U-R-I-S-M. This is holiday central and not the greatest of stops. Kinda says it all when we checked into our hostel to be greeted by a guy in a Hackett shirt and loads of Millwall football club paraphernalia everywhere. Ironically for a town named "Surfers Paradise" the surf, according to Andy, is pretty shit. Hey ho. Went out on an organised pub crawl last night, and I confirmed that I will never do that again. Being herded around like sheep from packed out bar to packed out bar has somewhat lost its appeal. Maybe Im turning into a grumpy old git, or maybe Im just maturing. I dont know. All I know is that last night I was wishing I was back in the cool jazz bar or quality nightclubs of Sydney. However for all my gripes of it being overdeveloped and a bit touristy:



"Great open spaces and sweeping vistas......"

There are a few nuggets of beauty that can be found...

"Thats more like it"

The thing it has got though ARE A LOAD OF FRICKING THEME PARKS AND A WATER PARK!!!!! YES! But first things first before any of that need to settle down WITH A ROUND OF SUPER CRAZY GOLF!!!

Ok ok. need to calm down. Im still a little drunk from last night and easily excited. Im sure a hangover will be kicking in within a few hours, but until that comes I'm in Surfers Paradise so I'm just gonna have to ride this wave.

Hang ten blog fans

(Spider and deadly insect count: 0 )
(Mcdonalds Spotting count: 18)

Nimbin, Australia

Ok. This place is an odd one. Kinda of like an Amsterdam of Australia. Marijuana is legal, but not, if you catch my drift. A tiny little village where you get a lot of hippies floating around and some generally quite strange people. So bombing through in our "BRITZ" time machine, we stood out like a saw thumb. We pitch a up on top of a hill in a little hippie commune which is very peaceful and 'right on'. I kinda feel like I've gotta be naked here, but I resist. So settled in we head into the village. Along the way people are generally very friendly, and when you say 'Hello' to people they return with things like 'Greetings' or 'Peace be with you brothers'. As you get into the thick of it, you get the aggressive hippies whispering at you "Weed? Herbs? Space cakes?". Alright, blimey! Gimme a chance to get settled in here. Ive only been here 30 minutes! For a place thats meant to be very chilled with 90% of the population of the village stoned, I managed to witness two full on domestic rows within an hour. Hmmm, maybe not everyone is smoking weed....Anyway, the one place to go to is the museum. This is a crazy place. Loads of random scrawls on the walls, murals, paper clippings, all along the lines of a hippie mantra about being free and peaceful and how Marijuana should be legalised. Although they make a fair argument, this place is as mad as a hedgehog. Everything is so random and crazy (Oh, hang on is it alright if I hang 20 egg whisks from the ceiling on strings? You sure? Brilliant). Lets just say if it was legalised and the world turned out like this museum, it would certainly be a lot more interesting to say the least. The one thing that caught my eye was a series of, well, what can you call them, random disgusting biro sketches. However the reason they got my attention was they were IDENTICAL to the type of drawings a very good friend from home used to do....see for yourself:

"You know who Im talking about..."

Obviously, this will only make sense to those of you who have experienced the vileness of my friends artwork. Those who have would you agree on the uncanny likeness?

Spent the night, enjoying the local herbs and watching the final episode of Lost. We did panic as due to a bit of bad timing, we left Sydney after the penultimate episode and started to stress that we were gonna miss the final episode. It even got to the point where we were considering booking into a hotel for the night just so that we could get a TV (Yes this is terribly sad, and many other travellers reading this might baulk into their muesli, but Ive devoted 4 months to that bloody program and Ill be buggered if Im gonna miss the last frickin episode). Turns out we managed to watch it fine. And whilst watching it I 'Lost' (See what I did there) the car keys. Hmmm, must have been that funny tobacco we got off those hippies in the museum. Anyway, after losing my keys and my mind the night before, managed to collect them both in the morning and nail a good old game of bowls before we left. I'm looking forward to being an OAP because this is the sport for me baby!

The drive out of Nimbin, (Nimbin-o anyone) was pretty stunning.

"Rock on"

(Spider and deadly insect count: 0 (although Andy claims to nearly have trod on one but was away with the fairies so wasnt too sure ) )
(Mcdonalds Spotting count: 15)

Byron Bay, Australia

Our first port of call then. And what a beauty. A lovely seaside town, quite touristy but not too much. We check into the Arts Factory hostel which is a cracking little place with a nice hippy vibe. A few nights was spent getting back into the hostel vibe, playing chess, card games, board games and of course, drinking games. One night they had a kinda open mic night and I had to fight the evil Robert Golet not to come out and ruin a pleasant evening with a rendition of 'Favourtite Things'. Maybe next time...

This place also had a hot tub by the pool, which I pretty much lived in. I want one. As well as one of those vibrating massage chairs that I spent so much time in, in Tokyo.

Also managed to pick up a surfing lesson to improve my skills. Dare I say it, I think you'll find I was totally knarly, and most bodaciously mundo:


"I'm, like, hanging....or something"

Otherwise, though, a very pleasant place and one I could have easily spent weeks in. Unfortunately, although we have a time machine (Dorris, as she's been Christened), we are on a schedule so onwards you beast!!


"Idiots are an optional extra"

Oh go on then, I'll squeeze in a beautiful sunset:


"It's true, it's true"

(Spider and deadly insect count: 0 )
(Mcdonalds Spotting count: 13)

East Coast Road Trip, Australia

Well, my life has now changed again blog fans. Im on the road, no longer living in my cushy flat, with big sofas, TV, hot powerful showers and all other luxuries of modern day living. Im in a van about the size of a toilet cubicle, and Im sharing it with 2 other guys. No use in complaining (I never complain anyway though, right blog fans? ;) ). We decide to just head north and drive drive drive. Things are good except that it simply will not stop raining. Its like a frickin plague or something. The first night I go back to my home(ish) town, Cardiff. And manage to bag this simply wonderful snap:



"Indeed you are, my princess"

However, this Cardiff is a lot different to the one back home. Its dark, getting late, we're tired, and the locals look like they might want to eat us. Didnt help that Andy reversed into a parked car whilst quipping "Might have to use the mirrors here.....CRUNCH!"

"Dya think Andy?"

Spent the night in Newcastle on the top of a cliff by the sea. I slept in the top compartment listening the rain lashing on the roof (which is a few inches from my face) and the wind rocking by the van back and forth. I miss my bed and toilet.

(Spider and deadly insect count: 0 )
(Mcdonalds Spotting count: 7)

Sydney, Australia

You'd think that by having a week off to prepare for a big road trip, finish off all I needed to do in Sydney and generally get ready to move out of my flat, Id have enough time. So why is it that on the Friday I had to move out, my day started off pretty much like an episode of 24.

The following takes place due to a stunning lack of common sense:

6:12 am

Shit! Why am I wide awake? I've got such a hectic day ahead of me and I need as much sleep as possible. I knew I shouldnt have watched Gremlins last night!

8:35 am

Ok, been awake stressing for a hour or so now, I've had a coffe, better crack on. Right, Ive got to post home my laptop and a large rucksack full of crap, take the 24 dvds back to blockbuster (the tv series not the quantity), buy a new rucksack from town, come home, pack it, move out and pick up a campervan. I've got to move out of my flat by 10am. Hmmm...

8:57 am

I have a large full rucksack on my back and a laptop swinging round my shoulder. Oh brilliant. Its full on cats and dogs raining like Ive never seen before in Sydney. Surely I am evil for I am being punished. Why did I give my umbrella away!!

9:03 am

Charging, full speed to the post office in the absolute pissing rain getting lots of funny looks from commuters.

9:12 am

Shit!! Where the hell is the post office? In fact, where the hell am I??! Ive been here so many times before and I've somehow taken a wrong turning. Getting wetter. Shit, shit shit!

9:14 am

Doesnt matter, Im close to blockbuster now I can drop off the DVDs. Mission one accomplished.

9:17 am

Full steam towards the post office. Ah, whats this business posting shop here.....I dont need a post office!

"Hi Id like to post this laptop home to the UK please".
"Do you have your passport?"

DAAAAMNNN ITTTTT!!!

9:20 am

Pretty much sodden now, but the laptop case is holding on. Im in the post office, red faced, steaming glasses, gasping for breath. I need to post these things home.

"Id like to post these ridiculously large things to the UK please"

He gives me a look along the lines of "You stupid twat" and gives me a lecture about how I need to box it all up and it wont be insured and yada yada yada. The general answer is no. I've got to move out at 10am and I already have 3 bags waiting for me there...shit shit shit.

9:33 am

Back at the flat. Dripping on the freshly steam cleaned carpet and in danger of risking losing my bond on the flat. Right! Im just gonna have to take the laptop and extra rucksack with me for now. However, I have all my clothes on the floor and no bag to put them in. Need to run into the city.

9:36 am

I'm flying full pelt across Darling Harbour, rain hammering my face, splashing all the commuters, panting like Im close to death

9:39 am

I am close to death. Have to change to a laim walk/hobble as Im too knackered.

9:44 am

Get to shop. What I actually need to do is exchange the bag I bought yesterday as its too small (of course, I had already bought a wrong sized bag). The clock is seriously ticking. Woman starts giving me lengthy shpiel about the benefits of the new bag. "I DONT CARE JUST GIVE ME THE FUCKING BAG!!"

9:51 am

I'm trying my best to run back but the pain is getting too much. I think Im gonna hit the wall.

9:53 am

Arrive back at the flat. In the lift I'm close to tears. I think I've pushed myself too hard.

9:54 am

Get into the flat, promptly vomit up my cup of coffee that I had for breakfast. I have pushed myself too hard.

9:58 am

In the shower, it dawns on me that as I'm about to move out of the flat and pick up a campervan, I would have my own transport and be able to do all the things I tried to do this morning at a leasurly pace rather than squeeze it into a rain soaked stress-hour. Start hitting myself for my own stupidity. Kinda reminds me of Back to the Future when he suddenly realises that although he is running out of time, he's sitting in a time machine and hence, time is no object. Except I was picking up a Toyota cruiser rather than a Delorian

10:45 am

The guy doing the inspection doesnt turn up until now, thus further highlighting the futility in my mornings actions. To add insult to injury, the inspection is so brief it barely warrants the time and money we spent on making it absolutely spotless. Want to cut myself as punishment.

12:00 pm

Arrive at campervan rental place at the precise time they told us to arrive at.

13:33 pm

Finally get into campervan. Well fuck me sideways. Im so glad I turned up on time so that I could sit there with my thumb up my arse for an hour and a half while you stand there doing bugger all. Didnt realise I was still in fucking Thailand in terms of efficiency!!

14:00 pm

I'm in a time machine. Nothing matters anymore. Mood lifts. Cares float away. I am no longer angry.

Sydney, Australia

As the good lord Jesus probably said on that faithful day of his resurrection, "I'm back baby!". For those of you who have been following this so far, it's been a while. For those of you who are new to all this rambling nonsense, I'm sorry. But hopefully, together, as a 'blog fan' and hopefully 'soon to be blog fan' collective, you are all collectively sitting comfortably, so, I shall begin. Well, continue. You know what I mean.

This has been the half way point in my travels and, 9 months down the road, I feel it’s good to stop, have a little hammer time, and reflect.

A brief history of me: I followed the very privileged and lucky path of having a loving family and the opportunity to be able to progress through the various stages of education from secondary school, up to university. Fate rolled me some good die on the craps table for the upbringing and I guess a little hard work on my behalf got me through the education (although I still never really know how I have done this as I am a mesmerisingly lazy bastard). Left uni and fell directionless into the KER-RAY-ZY world of IT, offices and 9 to 5. Five years later, I took a break and buggered off on this big traveling malarkey.

Having summed up my life in a paragraph, we can proceed. So up until I got to Sydney (which I now realise is not the capital of Australia although I think it should be because everyone says Cambera is shit - thanks for the comment Jim (Who are you by the way?) ), I have been off on a big jolly, not working, meeting wonderful and weird people, experiencing experiences, and generally doing what backpackers do which is a mile away from 9 to 5. But! You will recall from previous blog entries, that whilst lying on the glorious, un-spoilt beaches of Thailand, I was not in paradise, I was unsettled. There was something inside me that craved normality, a sense of being, worth, a routine perhaps. Those of you reading at the time probably saw the pictures and had trouble empathising, and rightly so. However, after having gone from five years of 9 to 5, to six months of backpacking, to three months of 9 to 5 again and now back to facing another five or so months of backpacking again, I feel I have gained some insight into both extremes.

Bare with me blog fans, the usual farce is coming. Here's a pic of me being great after a heavy night out to keep you going:


'oh the terrible things I have seen'

Here's the long and short of it:

Traveling allows you to break away from your usual routine. It allows you to do something completely different. To live your life in a way that at first, and for quite a few times there after, will feel alien and uncomfortable to you. A life that only has a vague structure, an uncertain future and no real security. One, where danger rears its foul head more frequently and confusion can reign supreme. It's a wonderful sense of freedom, yet a floating sense of indirection. It's great having all this free time where you will often, and genuinely ask "What day is it?". For some, they never turn back. It’s a way of life they feel comfortable with and at one with. I guess that’s why people sell up to run a bar on some Thai island, making just enough money to live in return for having a life where you really don’t have to care about very much at all.

Working allows you to progress in your life. It gives you a sense of worth, of belonging. You feel part of something and what you do has a direct influence on something or someone else. It can justify your existence. It provides you with money for food, clothes and shelter for you and your loved ones. A means to life. For many it defines who you are, your status, what you stand for and what you’re about.

I have now sampled both working and traveling and still I'm not content. And I'd like to divulge with you why, blog fans. Although whilst traveling gave me a wonderful sense of freedom and for a while it seemed like an endless holiday, eventually I lost my sense of belonging. Nothing I did mattered, I had no routine I was floating. It was crazy, but lying on those wonderful beaches, there was a part of me that was looking forward to getting stuck into some work and getting back into a routine.

More pics of me being fantastic:



'one day.....one day...'

Going back to work and doing the whole 9 to 5 thing in a big city again, was a big shock to the system. But I slipped back into it remarkably quickly. What was also remarkable was all the stresses, anger and anxieties came straight back too. I had forgotten that I had lost all those things having been traveling for so long. I was back to my old ways. Equally, as with traveling, I was lost.

So, looking forward now, as I sit here on the penultimate eve of my departure from Sydney, another good few months of traveling ahead of me, I am more focused and wiser. I have learnt a bit more about myself. I know not to get sucked into the tourist traps of backpacker land, and to reach out and do something that maybe someone else hasn’t done. That doesn’t mean don’t do some of the tourist things, but to try and do something different. And as for work....I'm starting to realise that an office can’t contain me for much longer. And here's a message for anyone reading this inane babble who might have identified with anything I just wrote; Firstly, if you haven’t already, and it’s at all possible with your situation, pack it all up and go traveling. Maybe for a week, maybe for a month or maybe even for year. But do it. And go alone. You will find out more about yourself flying into a country where you don’t speak the language without having anything booked than you can ever do from a self help book. For all the smug bastards reading this nodding to themselves who told me things before left and who are now probably thinking "I told you so", well you were right. And isn’t it horrible being proved wrong? But I’m glad I have on this occasion. Lets just say, I am very focused for when I get back home (although lets not get ahead of myself here - there’s a good few more months of carnage to be created), and my masterplan for the next stage of my life will be a lot more driven and hopefully I’ll stop being such a lazy git.



‘An average day at the office (this photo will be explained below)’

RIGHT! Reflection over. Climb out from within the depths of my soul and feast your mind on the delights of what Sydney has served me further:

Ozzies; Here's how to speak Australian. Take any noun you are about to say, and add an 'O' to it. Or shorten it and add an 'O' to it. So. 'Lottery' becomes 'Lotto', 'Freemantle' becomes 'Freeo', Aboriginies become ‘Abos’ (Although I have a feeling this is a derogaritive term), 'Bottleshop' becomes 'Bottle-o'. My two personal favourites are Hollywood heartthrob and now Australia’s not-so-proud-adoptive-anti-semetic-he's-now-kiwi-son Mel Gibson, becomes....’Gibbo’. And my all time favourites; cast members of the popular and highly successful US TV drama 'Desperate Housewives'........’Despos’! Fantastic. Although don’t fall into the trap when you hear someone mention 'Dobbo'. Its not short for some ridiculous Australian place called Dobowalllmonnahongo. It is actually a place called 'Dobbo'. But I reckon it’s been shortened and just stuck. My 'Sidders' still hasn't caught on though. Harumph!

There are three major popular sports over here (well four if you count the recent world cup but they must have had a steel-enforced band wagon for the amount of people that jumped on it):

AFL (Aussie rules) - known and referred to as Footy (pronounced 'Foody')
Rugby league - known and referred to as Footy (pronounced 'Foody')
Rugby Union - known and referred to as Footy (pronounced 'Foody')
Football - known and referred to as Soccer

Lets just say I’m surprised they don’t call cricket football. Or at least cricket-o-o. Or something. But, apart from their curious slant on English (and don’t forget I’ve got the States to look forward to), the Ozzies are a very friendly, sport crazy bunch. Apart from the bouncers. They are, in no uncertain terms, Nazi bastards.

Unfortunately for the Australian people, it would appear that their TV networks are following the American model in treating their audience as gullible five year old children. It can be quite distressing when you see shock tabloid TV news adverts along the lines of "Here are all the immigrants coming into the country and they're here to take YOUR jobs". I actually saw this and it was word for word and there was zero irony or satire. It was the real deal. Worrying.

There are also strange opposing parallels to back home. Whereas back in the UK, nudity in the media is not too much of a problem, over here it’s very prudish and covered up. Lots of blurring of nipples. Bah! However, on the flip (as we DJ's like to say) they are more than happy with swearing and you'll often see an investment bank advertising on the side of a bus with the slogan 'There's bugger all chance of winning the lottery'. My favourite example of this was on the 6 o’clock news when interviewing a guy who owned some dogs that had killed the neighbors child, his comments about the dogs was "No matter what breed they are, or how big they are, don’t trust the bastards!". A tragic classic. It’s even more funny to read that the advert the Australian tourist board made for British TV with the slogan 'Where the bloody hell are you?' was banned. Probably because a senile old bat from Tumbridge-Wells pissed herself and had a cardiac arrest when she saw it. Guess it just goes to show what soft wankers we both are. But if you think about it, would you prefer to be a tight-fisted wanker? I guess it comes down to preference ......a different topic which this blog will not go into.

So the last couple of months has seen me locked up in an office all day and partying at the weekend. Have I managed to get up to a few silly things……well just a few. But only for you.

One night we were privileged to be joined by the hideous, beast of a man and club-singer extraordinare, Sir Robert Golet (pronounced ‘goo-lay’):


‘I’ve choked bigger men than you!’

Nearly got into a few fisty cuffs due to his horrible manner. The night ended with him singing a wonderful rendition of ‘Beautiful Things’ to a pub full of bemused/worried/delighted people with no backing music. Glad he’s gone now. A month of growing a moustache and a very long hunt to find a polo neck paid off ;)



‘It’s called a Diablo Martini, because it gives you a devil of a good time. Golet!’

(For reference of what he’s all about, see Best of Saturday Night Live – Will Ferrell).

For all the movie fans out there who have seen the grrrrrreat re-make of Superman, may or may not know that parts of it were filmed here in Sydney. You may remember this scene filmed at Martins Place:


‘Is it a turd…..is he insane……no, it’s Super Sparm!!’

Sorry, but I really couldn’t resist that one! Bare in mind that, that photo was taken at the peak of lunchtime slap bang in the central business district, and what you don’t see is hundreds of people all looking me like I’m a complete fucking idiot (which, is a fair assumption).


'This looks like a job for.......'

Interestingly, whist doing the preliminary photography for this shot,


'With great power, comes great responsibility....'

there was another film being shot there at the same time. Except this one involved an asian woman in a dress being surrounded by dozens of giant white bunnies:


'Do you bun here often? Hop it you muppet!'

Anyway, whilst walking through the city after this, divinity struck. We saw a sign in the sky, and like wise men, we followed the sign:


‘Is that…..’


‘Could it be…..’


‘Yes….YES!…it’s…..

That’s right. We had been given the sign to go to Hooters. And we did.


‘Another hooters pic in the bag’

Sydney has done me proud. A glorious city and one of my new favourites. I have to give a big thank you to Ant for his kind hospitality for letting us into the comedy store for free each week, letting us hang out with the acts and showing us a quite fantastic underground jazz bar. If you’re ever in Sydney, go to the Sydney Comedy Club at Fox Studios and let Ant show you a good time (that sounds bad, but you know not what I mean you filthy bunch!)

As always, there’s more to tell but I feel this entry is bursting at the seams. God bless you Sydney and all that sail in her.

Right, the campervan is waiting for us tomorrow and I have a million and one things to do right now.

Until the next time, demand world peas with your fish and chips and keep it real-sleazy blog fans.