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Review of 2007!

2008-01-06T13:09:00.000-08:00

Well I haven't updated much of late so I thought I'd kick things off with a belated look back at my favourite things of 2007. Starting off with the ubiquitous Top Ten Films list...

TOP TEN FILMS OF 2007
Again, didn't get to the cinema as much as I'd have liked, especially in the latter half of the year, and there were plenty of films that would likely grace alot of Top Ten lists that I didn't get to see. Even still, here's my pick of the ones I did see.

10. Live Free or Die Hard
The fourth film in the relatively consistent Die Hard franchise raised a few eyebrows when it was announce - Brucey was getting on a bit and he'd chosen Len Wiseman as his director, the man responsible for the atrocious Underworld films. Would the film (known in the UK simply as 'Die Hard 4.0) be an appropriate send off for John McClane, or was it just a cheap way to push through sales of white vests? It was actually neither, and ended up being nothing more (or less) than an entertaining action flick.

9. Sicko
Another intriguing documentary from Michael Moore, goes a long way to show that America isn't necessarily the 'land of the free', and certainly far from being the land of the free healthcare. Over-exaggerates the successes of our dear old NHS but makes its point well.

8. Zodiac
Based on the true story of the Zodiac killer who stalked San Francisco in the '70s. Worth viewing solely for Robert Downey Jr's performance.

7. Hot Fuzz
Everything to say about Hot Fuzz has been said by millions of other people. An instant classic of British Comedy but over-eggs the pudding towards the end.

6. Knocked Up
First classic of the year from Judd Apatow's production company, a cross between a 'gross-out' film and a Rom-com sounds disastrous but this is no ordinary gross-out rom-com. It's a clever, sharp and witty film...

5. Superbad
...but not as clever and sharp as this. Never before have I laughed so loud in a movie theater. Comedy of the year without a doubt.

4. Breach
Amazing performances from Chris Cooper and Ryan Philippe who portray the traitorous FBI agent and the rookie out to expose him. Based, very closely I'm led to believe, on the true story of Robert Hanssen who was convicted of espionage in 2001. A cracking thriller.

3. Half Nelson
Officially a 2006 film but it came out in '07 in Australia where I saw it. Ryan Gosling portrays the young, enthusiastic but drug-addicted teacher who befriends one of his female pupils in a non-pervy way. Dramatic and touching.

2. Amazing Grace
The story of British MP William Wilberforce, a leading abolitionist of slave labour in the British Empire. Brilliant script, and worth watching to see just how little the House of Commons has changed in 200 years.

1. The Bourne Ultimatum
It's the third part of an action blockbuster trilogy and thus has no right at the top of any 'best film' list but this bucks (almost) all the trends. Expensive photography is eschewed in favour of Paul Greengrass' 'documentary' style of directing. Film of the year, action franchise of the decade.

TOP 10 ALBUMS OF 2007
As I spent most of the year travelling I didn't get much chance to get hold of new music, and when I got back in September I was playing catch-up, nevertheless, here's my top ten.

10. Of Montreal - Hissing Fauna Are You The Destroyer?
With more personal lyrics than its predecessors, it's a brave and gutsy change of pace from frontman Kevin Barnes. Maybe a touch too serious but a splendid record.

9. Phoebe Kreutz - Big Lousy Moon
New York folkie Phoebe Kreutz specializes in cute and clever lyrics with stupidly catchy melodies, and this album is a joy from start to finish.

8. Rachael Dadd - The World Outside Is In A Cupboard
Haunting effort from Bristolian Rachael Dadd, with several shades of my favourite female songwriter Lisa Germano. Rachael Dadd is fast becoming my second favourite.

7. Scout Niblett - This Fool Can Die Now
Fantastic voice and fantastic song structure, doesn't deviate in style from previous efforts but somehow manages to continue getting better. Only placed higher than Rachael Dadd because I've listened to Scout more.

6. Die! Die! Die! - Die! Die! Die!
First heard of these guys when I was in their native New Zealand last year, and coincidentally they'd just signed with Dundee's own Pet Piranha records. Noisy and dischordant and sounds fantastic.

5. Spoon - Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga
Would win a 'best album title of the year' poll if it was up to me, felt Spoon's latest album didn't quite hit the heights of 2005's 'Gimme Fiction' but still a damn fine record from a band who seem to be revelling in the creative freedom their label is allowing them. The songs are finely tuned to the verge of perfection.

4. Emma Pollock - Watch The Fireworks
Great voice and great tunes from former Delgados vocalist. Being Scottish has earned her bonus points too. Combines pop sensibilities with ethereal moments. Splendid!

3. Les Savy Fav - Let's Stay Friends
First album in six years or something and it's clear they've been saving up. Solid, raw, but ultimately catchy.

2. McGazz - McGazzprom
Very hard to choose between this and my number one, McGazz has upped the ante with his latest (and still free to download) offering of poppy electronica. The songs are incredibly well written and has enough clever little word plays to keep you smiling every second line. The samples never detract from the overall song and are used to great effect. Catchy as fuck.

1. The National - Boxer
What can I say? Hardly the most upbeat album of the year but it is moody and anthemic in a way that Snow Patrol can only dream of. Very 'indie' but in all the right ways - an absolute joy from start to finish. Album of the year.

(Incidentally, here is my top ten of 2006, admittedly I was a bit more detailed with my reasoning last year. I can't find last years top ten albums list, probably because I forgot to write one.)

2007-09-26T09:50:00.000-07:00

I've added a new album to the photo page, this one is from the first half of our trip around New Zealand in May. Click 'photos' on the right!

Arresting behaviour

2007-09-25T19:03:00.000-07:00

So, London was a blast, but then it always is. I didn't actually do a great deal, I was trying to watch my money and hanging out with Callum is free anyway (despite his protests!). But now I'm back it's time to get down to the serious business of finding somewhere to live and somewhere to work. The work part should be easy - I just ring up Tesco and tell them I want to come back and they find me a position. It may take a wee while but my cash situation is okay at the moment. Finding somewhere to live might be a bit harder though - there seems to be a dearth of places that meet our requirements in Dundee. But we've got a viewing arranged for Friday so I'm optimistic about that, even if it would have been nice to have maybe two or three places to choose from.

Well, I have nothing else of interest to say, so here's a story my Mum told me this evening.

Last week sometime my Grandma was arriving home from the shops or something and was parking her car in her garage when she was aware of four young guys walking down the hill from the school that she lives near. She felt a little apprehensive - as any older person would - but tried to think nothing of it when she noticed two of the guys had disappeared. Before she had time to think about it, she realised they've just reappeared from the garage just down from hers, and one of them is riding a bike. She knows whose garage it is and decides to go up and tell her neighbour that someone has just stolen a bike from them. Her neighbour, Felicity, is outraged and wants to chase after them but doesn't have her car - her husband has it for work. "Don't worry though" says my Grandma, "I'll drive you - they can't have gone far..."

Now, my Grandma is pretty healthy and fit for someone in her mid-seventies, but the thought of her and her next door neighbour playing Starsky and Hutch is still ridiculously funny. Apparently they caught up with the boys at the end of the road whereby Felicity jumps out of the car (with my Grandma close behind "for backup") remonstrates with the youths, retrieves the bike and returns home happy.
"You should have seen them though" my Grandma complained. "They weren't the least bit shame faced about being caught..."
No, but I bet they were a bit shocked to see my Grandma steaming down the road after them in her car. Just goes to show that you can lose alot of things as you get older but pluck isn't necessarily one of them.

Weekend in London

2007-09-19T14:52:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm off to London for the weekend tomorrow, and I'm very excited about it, for several reasons. Mainly it's because that's where my girlfriend is and we haven't seen each other in six weeks or so. But I'm also excited because I love London. In the time I spent there I was amazed by how many Londoners hadn't been to or done any of the excellent things London has to offer.

My old colleague Glenn had never been to the museums at South Kensington, never been to a West End show or caught a gig at the Comedy Store. People that have lived in London their whole life would ask me things like "So what's Greenwich like?" and "Isn't the theater expensive?". Well, Greenwich is lovely, and yes the theater is expensive but it's not like you go every week. Once a year will do fine.

It's underappreciated by the people that live there, partly because it's so full of tourists and tacky gift shops that people are maybe scared to venture out, but also because it has the worst public transport system in the world. And I'm including warzones in this. The tube is underfunded and overcrowded and buses are so random that at times you'd be forgiven for thinking they were part of a Monty Python sketch. There's also far too many cars, and it's about time they pedestrianised Regent and Oxford Streets - shopping for new shoes or a computer game should not be a risky activity, but it is in London.

But I'd implore Londoners to look beyond this - because there's always something going on. Whether it's a gig or a club or a bar or a museum you can't fail to find somewhere that you like in London, and if you're still having trouble, well, you should probably just move.

Weekend at Jimmy's

2007-09-17T13:56:00.000-07:00

I never fail to have a good time when I visit my brother, mainly to do with the fact that I enjoy my brothers company a great deal, but also because Aberdeen has a wonderful concentration of different pubs and clubs all relatively close together in the city center. It makes pub crawls varied but easy at the same time. And as we staggered back to his flat at 3.30am on Friday night I was grateful that the alcohol coursing through my blood stream was protecting me from Aberdeen's trademark breeze.

Now, to change the subject completely, I always thought I would die knowing that the worst piece of music I'd ever heard in my life was when Avril Lavigne decided to start rapping on her last single. I almost felt embarrassed for her but the money she's made from being every thirteen year old emo kids wet dream will probably distract her from the bile that she lays down on record. But never being the sort of guys that care about things like originality or creativity, boyband McFly have stolen her crown. Oh dear god. I was watching ITV by mistake on Saturday night when they appeared (straight from a GAP advert, presumably) and filled my ears with the worst nonsense I ever hope to hear. They've taken the turgid Snow-Patrol anthem style of songwriting, digested it and vomited up an omelette of mediocrity. They couldn't look more awkward wearing those guitars if they were covered in honey and standing in a bear pit. No wonder kids aren't buying singles any more when this is the kind of guff they have to choose from.

Anyway, I feel alot better now that that's off my chest. My brother and I went to see Run Fatboy Run at the weekend, it was okay, and you can read my full review here. Click this.

Beam me up, Scotsman!

2007-09-10T12:14:00.000-07:00

As a Star Trek fan who is also Scottish, for me the most interesting casting choice for the upcoming movie will be that of Scotty. Encouraging then, that Paramount have actually been casting in the UK, they seem to be keen to get an actual Scot to play the role as opposed to an American with a dodgy accent. The biggest name being mentioned is James McAvoy, he's the right age and his stock is fairly high at the moment. Martin Compston (of Monarch of the Glen) has auditioned, as has Chewin' the Fat's Greg Hemphill, who, at 38 is probably too old. Although he has had practise - remember the 'Taysiders In Space' sketch? "In amongst yis!"

New site!

2007-09-10T05:43:00.001-07:00

Well, kind of. Everything is now supported and powered by Blogger as opposed to the feed I was using from LiveJournal. This is still a work in progress so bear with me but there's some photos from my recent Australia trip, click photos on the right there to have a peek.

"That night in Toronto..."

2007-09-05T21:22:00.000-07:00

Ah, Toronto. I first fell in love with Canada's largest city about ten years ago on a family holiday, and I was worried that it wouldn't charm me as much this time around, but charm me it did. I won't pretend it's the most attractive city in the world (or even Canada) but it has to be one of the cleanest and friendliest. It has all the trappings of any large multi-cultural city, while retaining that typically Canadian of traits - politeness. From the skyline landmarks of the CN Tower and the Skydome (officially known as the Rogers Center) to the off-beat scruffy haven of Kensington Market, in a surprisingly compact area Toronto effortlessly glides you from one extreme to another on the rails of its streetcars.

I spent most of my first few days in Toronto doing nothing, I was tired from moving around alot and it was nice to be grounded in one place for more than a day or two. On Tuesday I fancied watching the Rangers vs. Red Star Belgrade match and sought out a bar showing the game. After a brief Google I came up with the Madison Pub, home of the Toronto Midtown Rangers Supporters Club. I sauntered on down and was delighted to find a beautiful bar and even better, made several friends amongs my fellow Rangers supporters. I ended up drinking far too much before staggering home and getting lost on the subway. I had sobered up by the time I got back to the hostel - it had taken me all of two hours to get back when it should have taken 20 minutes.

My brother, Nick and Dale arrived the next day rather deflated being as their holiday was ending. They left on Friday and that night I met up with another person I knew from the internet, Genevieve, for a few drinks.

On Saturday, I took the short ferry ride across to the Toronto Islands, which used to be a large sandbar but were broken up in a hurricane in the fifties. The islands are where Torontonians go to escape the buzz of city life and it's easy to see why. What is essentially a large floating park is the perfect place to get away from it all. I took some photos from the island but instantly regretted not having a tripod as my hand isn't as steady as it should be! The photo above is one of the better examples - it wasn't too dark at that point either.

I was sad to leave on Sunday, Toronto is one of the few places I could see myself settling in one day. As it turned out, Toronto was my last proper destination of the whole trip. I flew to San Francisco and jumped straight on a flight out to London. San Francisco is a gorgeous city but Toronto was the perfect place to end my adventure.

And again

2007-08-27T21:20:00.000-07:00

Following on from my last entry, I got caught up in a conversation with two American guys at the bus station in Boston last week. They were reasonably intelligent guys, but the subject soon drifted on to the fact that I was getting a bus to Canada. The younger guy was quite enthusiastic about this, as he'd never been to Canada before.

"Never left the States!" he beamed, proudly. I was almost willing to forgive this lack of ambition to travel when he looked at me and asked "So does Canada have like, an army?"
"Excuse me?"
"An army, do they have an army, or a navy or anything like that?"
I was almost at a loss for words.
"No", I said, matter-of-factly. "They just keep their fingers crossed".
It's maybe just aswell he's never left the States.

So I was quite relieved to wake up the next morning in Montreal, partly because it meant I'd made it to Canada but mainly because Montreal is a very attractive city. I was there for three nights in a very comfortable hostel, and explored as much as I could with blisters on my feet. I made it to Ottawa, Canada's capital on Saturday and met up with a friend, Linda, whom I've known on Myspace for a while. The next morning I nearly slept in and made it to the bus station in the nick of time to catch the bus to Toronto, not before I realised the Ottawan taxi driver from the day before had ripped me off.

The trip to Toronto was fine, there were only about eight of us on a coach built for fifty, so it was quiet and comfortable. Arrived in Toronto yesterday afternoon and I don't really have a great deal planned until my brother gets here on Wednesday, but I'm sure I'll find something to do.

Top three stupid things I've been asked in the States.

2007-08-22T16:42:00.000-07:00

1.
"Scotland? That's near Ireland, right?" - Philadelphia taxi driver
Although he was right, he really wasn't sure. He also happened to be pretty racist and insisted that 'ghetto niggers' (his words) were bleeding 'his' country dry.

2.
"You know Edinboro? Yeah we went there to see the Loch Ness Monster when I was a kid. It's a myth though, right?"
Yes, it is a myth Mr. Man-on-bus, but you were nowhere near Loch Ness anyway.

3. (My absolute favourite)
Youth on train: Where you from, bro?
Me: I'm from Scotland, in the UK.
Youth: Scotland? (thinks) Man, your English is pretty good.

So distraught was I that I hopped across the border to Canada, only to find that everyone speaks French so my communication woes will continue for now. Parlez-vous anglais, anyone?

My birthday

2007-07-25T14:29:00.000-07:00

Not only is tomorrow my 24th birthday, it's also the last day of having our campervan as the New Zealand part of the trip looms to a close. I'll miss the campervan alot, we've had it for exactly 50 days and have grown rather used to it, but I admit I'm looking forward to not having to make my bed every night, or putting it away every morning. I don't think I'll miss New Zealand either, at least not in the way I miss Australia. Don't get me wrong, this is an amazing country and I can't say a single bad thing about it, but I felt alot more at home in Australia, Sydney in particular. I also miss my family and friends, but I've decided to kill two birds with one stone and pop back to Sydney for a few days. In case you didn't know, my sister has recently moved there to study for a year. So it's the perfect opportunity to see her again, as it'll be the last chance I'll get for another ten months or so.

I don't have alot else to report, it seems like more interesting things are happening back home. Gordon Brown is pissing alot of people off which was to be expected I guess, but I expect the tabloids are even blaming him for all the flooding in Oxfordshire that has been happening. If you look very closely, especially at the editorials, I guarantee one paper has actually blamed him, at least indirectly.

I have of course been getting all my news mainly from the BBC website and although I've always trusted the BBC it's sad to see them ballsing up like they did with the phone votes thing. Hardly the right message to send to a new government when you're trying to secure more licence money. The only other source of media from back home I can get regularly is the 'International Express' newspaper, not a collaborative effort involving news agencies around the world in a hope of making international events have a higher appeal to unite the human race, Oh no! It's sadly just the edited highlights of that week's London Daily Express, which barely even qualifies as a newspaper. It's a bit disturbing to have foreign countries believe ours is a one in which the jailing of four would-be suicide bombers is less interesting than the Spice Girls reuniting. I especially loved the part where they said that although they all get on famously with each other they'll each have their own private jet to take them from gig to gig. Nice to know they haven't changed, eh?

But I suppose the one thing I don't miss from home is the tabloids shoving all that crap down my throat. It annoys me like hell, but the strange thing is I know when I touch down back home, I'll pick up a copy of the Sun at the airport.

Glacier mince

2007-07-13T11:49:00.000-07:00

There can't be too many places in the world where you can trek through temperate rainforest for an hour and a half and end up halfway up one of the only advancing glaciers in the world, but the West Coast of New Zealand's South Island is one of them.

The Fox and Franz Josef glaciers are majestic rivers of frozen snow, flowing slowly but (at the moment) steadily from the slopes of the Southern Alps stopping roughly 250 meters above sea level. The Fox Glacier township is where we found ourselves last weekend and we booked ourselves a half day hike on the glacier itself. After climbing the steep valley walls for an hour or so we came to the access point for the glacier itself, and spent about an hour walking across this most unique of environments. Unfortunately we weren't blessed with brilliant weather but the scale and majesty of the glacier wasn't lost on us. From its neve to its terminal face the Fox Glacier is about seven kilometers long, and it is advancing after years of retreat. You wouldn't expect a drought in a country two thousand miles away to cause a glacier to advance, but as the warm air from Australia crosses the Tasman Sea it evaporates sea water, storing it as rain until it hits New Zealand's southern alps. The vapour falls as snow which is essentially fuel for the glaciers and the warmer Australia gets the more the glaciers will advance.

As we climbed down and looked at the glacier before departing, our guide advised us to take a good look as the chances are it will never look this way again. It's such a fascinating landscape, hopefully one day I'll get to see just how much it changes every year.

The next day I celebrated the glorious weather we awoke to by getting into a tiny plane, climbing to 12,000 feet and jumping out with a large man called James strapped to my back. I had entered the exhilirating and rather bizarre world of tandem skydiving. It's very difficult to describe because there is really no feeling like it (certainly none that I've ever had) but seeing Mts Cook and Tasman (NZ's highest peaks), the glaciers and a few rivers and lakes from that high up was incredible. It's alot more gentle and far less scary than I'd expected - mainly because the views are so breathtaking there's no time to be scared. I'd recommend it to anyone.

Snow in June

2007-06-21T14:31:00.000-07:00

Well, it's finally started snowing. After three or four days of gorgeous blue skies here in Queenstown, we woke to find the town looking as if it was encapsulated in a snow-globe and shaken vigourously. Ironically, this sudden flurry has prompted them to 'close the mountain', meaning we might not get to go skiing tomorrow. I love the expression 'close the mountain', as if you could close off anything that big. You'd need a pretty big sheet. Although having said that, the snow is so thick that you can't actually see it, so I guess it is closed.

Anyway, Jen and I are having heaps of fun in our cosy campervan, we got a portable DVD player with it so we stocked up on cheap films to keep us occupied in the evening, and we also bought a small selection of travel games. We wanted the classics - Connect 4, Battleships and Scrabble, but went to a low budget discount store to get them so we came away with 'Line Up Four', 'Sea Battle', and 'Form-A-Word'. But hey, they still do the job.

We arrived in Queenstown on Tuesday after a whistle stop tour of the south of New Zealand, right in the nick of time for Queenstowns annual Winter Festival which starts tomorrow with a large firework dispay. As part of the festival on Saturday night there is a Masquerade Ball at one of the big hotels here which Jen and I got tickets for yesterday, and there's a couple of gigs and some stand up comedy going on next week too, so it's all very exciting. And hopefully, we'll get to go skiing tomorrow, weather permitting. I've already fallen on my ass twice today, so it should be interesting. Better double check that travel insurance policy...

Kiwi fruits

2007-06-06T11:27:00.000-07:00

I knew I was going to New Zealand when I went up to the bar in a pizza restaurant on our first night here. Different country means different beer and I didn't know what was what so I asked the barman for a pint of whatever he recommended. As he was pulling the pint he asked where I was from. "Scotland", I replied. He seemed unmoved by this but as he plonked the pint on the bar he said "Tell you what, Scotsman, this one's on me". I come from a country where beer is practically a currency, so I was pretty chuffed.

And that's not the only good thing about Christchurch, here on New Zealand's south island, far from it. It's a beautifully kept city, which has a very obvious English feel to it. The river that lazily meanders through the city center is called the Avon, and you can even go punting on it. Many of the older buildings wouldn't be out of place in Cambridge or York, and among the English place names paid tribute to in street names are Gloucester, Worcester, Manchester, Hereford, Durham and Oxford, amongst others. It's incredibly laid back, as I am assured most places in New Zealand are, and above all it's very easy to feel at home here.

Jen and I have hired a campervan to live in for this next adventure, Claire is going off to see if she can find some work on a farm somewhere, and we've got roughly seven weeks to explore both islands of New Zealand, which should be ample time. So on Friday we're heading out of Christchurch a few miles to the east to something called the Banks Peninsula, which was created by two volcanic eruptions some time in the past and is now home to the Francophile village of Akaroa. In the meantime, there's a glow in the dark mini golf course here that I have to check out, and I might pop back into that pizza restaurant...

Six days in a car park

2007-05-31T14:33:00.000-07:00

We've just successfully sold our car in Sydney's Kings Cross car market, but the week did not pass without incident, which is just as well because the car market is one of the most depressing places to be in Sydney, especially when you know what a beautiful city is lying on your doorstep. The car market is essentially just a level of the Kings Cross multi storey car park, it's dark it's damp and the smell of exhaust fumes is inescapable. Despite this, us and many other sellers will sit there from 9am to 5pm in the hope of flogging their car to someone else.

On Monday, not helped by having eaten very little that day, Jen fainted as we were walking back to the car. I was a few feet ahead of her and heard a clunking sound, then turned to see her sprawled out on the floor infront of a manouvering Toyota van. It's not a particularly nice image, seeing your girlfriend sprawled out like that, and as Jen started to come round we rang for an ambulance. The paramedics came and decided to take her to the hospital. She'd hit her head pretty hard on the concrete, so they were concerned and thought she should get checked out. In the end she was fine, and escaped with only a black eye, a cut lip and a bruised ego, and I had the added bonus of getting to ride through the center of Sydney in the front of an ambulance. She's fine now, and the next day was back at the car park, albeit bashfully.

As we were sitting in front of our car on Tuesday, I noticed some of the sellers at the other end of the car park were waving frantically at a car that was out of view. I figured that the car was in danger of running over or hitting something, but as it swung round the corner the glow of flames started licking up from under the bonnet. I sat rather agog for a few seconds, not really knowing whether to run over to help or to run away - whenever cars catch fire in films they blow up and I didn't really want to take the chance that Hollywood was actually telling the truth about something - but by the time I'd decided to get up from my chair someone had appeared with a fire extinguisher and put out the fire. The whole of the car market was filled with a pungent black smoke, but luckily no-one was hurt. I did feel sorry for the owner of the car, an amiable if slightly lackadaisical Irish bloke, who was returning from a test drive with a potential buyer at the wheel. It's not a particularly strong selling point for a car if it catches fire when you're test driving it, but when I spoke to the Irish guy he just shrugged as if this sort of thing happened all the time.

Yesterday passed without incident, and without customers, but one couple took our car for a test drive and seemed rather pleased. This morning they came back and offered is $1,700 for a car we'd paid $3,100 for. I said we wouldn't take less than $2,000 and they seemed happy with this and we shook hands, pleased that we'd finally sold our car, which particularly pleased me as it means I can now afford to buy new shoes. We made a loss of $1,100 which isn't ideal, but that's only 400 pounds in real money so it could have been alot worse. To be honest, I'd have been happy with the $1,700.

So we've sold and it means we can enjoy our last day and a half in Sydney, for we are flying to New Zealand first thing on Saturday morning, and if you'll excuse me until then, I've got some shoes to buy.

Australian psycho

2007-05-22T00:17:00.000-07:00

My new friend Ed and I clinked our beers together and settled down to watch the FA Cup final. We'd only met that afternoon as he was staying at the same backpackers as us in Torquay, just south of Melbourne. Due to the time difference the game didn't kick off until midnight so we were pretty knackered but agreed to stay up to watch the game. After about 30 minutes one of the other guests came home, visibly drunk, and started violently cooking in the kitchen. From the corner of my eye I could see him pouring far too much oil into the pan causing flames to lick up to the hood over the oven. 'Hey' he shouted over at us.
'Yeah?' Ed replied. Our masterchef was brandishing a kitchen knife and waving it at the television.
'It's all paper you know, doesn't matter what's on TV, it's all paper'. He paused for a second before adding 'Fuck!' and slamming the kitchen knife into the counter. Ed and I had a quick private conversation and decided that this guy, in all probability, was a bit mental. His amateur pyrotechnics in the kitchen continued for some time, eventually setting off the fire alarm, which he artfully disabled by disappearing round a corner and making alot of banging noises. We were trying to ignore him, hoping that he would eventually tire and go to bed, but he just stayed, rattling around the kitchen occasionally swearing at various cutlery. ('Spoon! Fuck!').
Shortly after Man United made one of the more interesting plays in the first half, a kitchen knife came flying across the room like a dart, clattering off the blinds about eight feet from where we sat. To say we were mildly perturbed would be to indulge in gross understatement. Ed leaned over, as if about to impart a life-long secret, and whispered 'That's not right you know'. I nodded solemly and whispered back.
'Yeah. Rooney was never offside'.
'No' whispered Ed. 'The knife thing'.
'Oh, yeah, I agree'.
By this point our friend had disappeared out the front door, and Ed and I were able to converse at a normal speaking volume.
'Do you reckon we should call the cops?' Ed asked, nervously casting a glance over his shoulder at the open front door.
'I don't know, we probably should. Got a phone?'
Ed handed me his phone, an older style Nokia, and I punched in three zeroes, the number for emergency services. The phone rang a few times before an operator picked up. 'Hello, do you require police, fire or ambulance?'
'Police' I whispered, for Masterchef had made his way back into the kitchen and was casting appreciative glances towards the knife block. I didn't want him to know I was on the phone to anyone, let alone the cops. After being connected to the Victoria state police, it took what felt like an hour and a half telling the man on the end (whom I pictured as being an obese middle aged man in a uniform too tight with his stomach squeezed under the desk) where exactly it was we were.
'It's 51-53 Surf Coast Highway, Torquay' I said, as calmly as I could. I knew the exact address because I'd read it in the Lonely Planet a few hours before.
'That's Bells Coast Highway?' The man on the end said.
'No, SURF Coast Highway' I whispered.
'Okay'. I heard him type something. 'Is that in Bells Beach?'
'No, it's in Torquay. Surf Coast Highway, Torquay'. This went back and forward a few times including a few seconds when the phone went silent (at this point I pictured the man dipping his doughnut in his coffee) but eventually he arrived at the right address. I explained the problem and I heard more typing, then a few more seconds of silence before I was asked to repeat everything I'd just said. I could have exploded. Eventually he got all the details right, and the cops turned up a few minutes after our crazy friend had ran across to the petrol station over the road. By this point, almost every other guest had arrived downstairs, and we surveyed the carnage. The glass panel of the door had been shattered with a chair leg, and when we went to inspect his dorm room, we found that had been trashed too. The police eventually came back around 2am to tell us that they'd picked him up and incarcerated him for the night, and we all went back to what we'd been doing. Ed and I watched the end of what was an incredibly dreary football match, and I spared a thought for our friend sobering up in his cell. I don't know what's worse, waking up knowing you've tried to trash a backpackers hostel, or knowing you've ended all hope you may have previously harboured of appearing on Jamie's Kitchen.

Sleepless nights

2007-05-17T14:38:00.000-07:00

I was quite proud the other day when I realised that not once since we got to Australia have we booked our accommodation in advance. Our tactic, which for the most part has served us well, is just to turn up somewhere and hope that they've got somewhere for us to sleep. If they don't, we move on to the next place until we find somewhere. Like I said, it's served us well for the most part, but it hasn't always...

For most of our jaunt up the east coast, we camped. It's cheap, it's cheerful, the weather was almost always agreeable and we got a load of camping stuff free with the car. So it was the best way to do things. There's alot of free camping areas in Australia, but when we were staying on the Gold Coast and visiting the theme parks, there were no free or even remotely cheap camping sites nearby as it's a big tourist area. So we went for the 'side of the road' option, which is pretty self explanatory. One night we found a particularly lovely spot overlooking a valley near a place called Mt. Tambourine, and I was beginning to warm to the idea of doing what the police don't like you doing. The next night, however, we couldn't find a particularly nice place and so ended up camping next to a reasonably busy artery running into the south of Brisbane, which was made worse by the fact that I'd managed to misplace the stopper for our air bed that morning, back at Mt. Tambourine. This was followed by a frown on Jen's face and an uncomfortable nights sleep.

The next evening just before sunset we drove all the way back up to Mt. Tambourine (it wasn't actually that far) so we could scrabble around in the dirt by the road looking for the stopper. By some small miracle I found it, and was calmly but sincerely instructed not to touch the mattress again.

Two or three nights later we as Jen and I lay giggling in the tent after polishing off several bottles of beer, I began to get ready for bed. As I undid my belt, I leant backwards all of an inch, when I heard a sound that sounded remarkably like how an air mattress would sound if it was pierced by something metal and sturdy. I looked down to see the poky bit of my belt completely embedded in the mattress. Luckily I had plied Jen with enough alcohol, so she merely repeated 'Oh my god!' before rolling about laughing.

I'm not sure how we managed it exactly, but somehow we found the puncture repair kit and successfully patched the mattress up. It was another small miracle, and I was calmly but sincerely instructed to undress at least three feet from the tent from then on.

Last week sometime, after leaving Adelaide en route to the Barossa, we stopped overnight at a place called Cudlee Creek, as there was a small wildlife park Claire wanted to visit. After over a week of sleeping in beds, the reaction to camping again wasn't what you'd call enthusiastic, but hey, it's not that bad. This 'get on with it' spirit soon waned after I discovered that I'd misplaced our sleeping bag - the bedding Jen had loving and expertly created in the Blue Mountains by stitching together a K-Mart duvet and a sheet borrowed from a hostel. I unpacked almost the entire car before I admitted that I had in all probability forgotton to pack it that morning. We ended up spending the night in the car shivering under layers of clothing and a thin blanket, and thought things couldn't get any worse until we realised we'd ran the car battery flat by leaving the lights on for too long. How I haven't been dropped from the expedition completely by now I'll never know.

Bearing all this in mind, the night before last I had the most uncomfortable nights sleep I've possibly ever had, in the wonderful (ie. it's a wonder the place hasn't been condemned) confines of Melbourne's 'All Nations' backpackers. We opened the door of our dorm to be greeted with a stench all too familiar to anyone who has lived with Jeff Davies and his atomic socks. The rooms are small and cramped, the paint is peeling off, a solitary, unshaded bulb hangs from a high ceiling like a snot ready to drop, and the mattress felt like it was filled with electrical cables and forks (all pointing upwards), and nothing else. Every time I manouvered my body into a position that was marginally comfortable, another fork decided that my ribcage was a fine resting place, or that my buttocks could use some night time prodding.

Needless to say we complained the next morning and to the credit of the All Nations, we were instantly moved into a room that wouldn't look out of place in a horror movie. It's not like us to complain but it was pretty bad - even for someone who has lived with Jeff's atomic socks.

Into the outback

2007-05-02T09:27:00.000-07:00

We left Townsville in high spirits (as you would be too if you were leaving Townsville) and hit the road to begin our adventure last Thursday. It doesn't take long for everything to thin out, and although the first town on the road west, Charters Towers, was only 100 miles or so inland, it was becoming very apparent that you were in the middle of nowhere. We stopped for breakfast at a place aptly called Jen's Cafe, where I was denied a mouthwatering plate of beans on toast because they had run out of beans. I was half ready to dig a tin out of the boot of the car, but had toast and jam instead. I mean, what sort of cafe runs out of beans?! It's like running out of salt or something. We drove solidly for several hours, stopping only to refuel, for the outback is hot. There's two things you can say about the outback, it's hot and it is big. We arrived at a dusty looking village called Julia Creek at sunset and set up camp. It's not very wise to drive late in the afternoon in the outback, dusk is when kangaroos often come leaping on to the road making a mess of most cars unlucky enough to collide with them. Couple that with the sun's determination to block your view of the road by plonking itself annoyingly infront of you means that it's wise to get off the road before the sun sets.

On our second day we stopped at Mt. Isa, a mining town that claims you're not a real Australian until you get there. If being a real Australian means you swear at young British backpackers in a car park, or stare at them intently while they try to do some shopping, then they've definately achieved it. But I don't think that's what they're aiming for. It's an inert town in the middle of nowhere, and despite a visit to an old underground hospital which was bizarre and interesting, I won't be too quick to recommend Mt. Isa as anything other than a place for filling up the car and using the bathrooms.

So we continued on, and endless void surrounding the car in every directions. I've never seen so much of nothing. The stretch of road after Camooweal and just after crossing the Queensland-Northern Territory border is the emptiest stretch of road I have ever seen in my life. A giant sun beats down on an unforgiving blank of a desert - it's no wonder so many of the early explorers came a cropper here.

We spent the night in Tennant Creek, having driven 900 kilometers that day, and in the morning set off for Alice Springs. Perhaps we didn't see 'the Alice' in its best light, but I was not particularly impressed. It's a compact city, and appears almost as an oasis in the desert, but it looks just like everywhere else. You can eat in McDonalds or KFC, shop at K-Mart, and considering it's in a unique location, they could have made it look a bit nicer. Aboriginal people shuffle about the streets like zombies, shouting into the night giving the city center a threatening feel, and there's not much to occupy your time on a Saturday evening or Sunday morning. Still, we were happy to have made it that far. We'd driven 2000 kilometers in two and a half days, and we were proud of our achievement. Even better, we were going to see Ayers Rock the next day.

I'm not going to tell you all about Ayers Rock (or Uluru, to give it its traditional, more respectful title) because I'm running out of time, but I can tell you it was fabulous. It's one of those things you can't stop staring at, even after spending two days there. We hit the road again yesterday and pointed the car towards our final outback destination, the opal mining town of Coober Pedy.

And it is here in Coober Pedy that I write this, the big attraction here is the fact that most of the buildings are actually underground, the heat is so punishing in summer (over 50 degrees C) and the cold so unforgiving in winter (below freezing at night) that living underground gives the only respite. I'm underground right now. It's very weird.

Take zac!

2007-04-25T17:15:00.000-07:00

Today is ANZAC Day here in Australia, it's a bit like Rememberance Sunday back home except that here it's a proper holiday, everywhere is closed and the streets are dead. Luckily though we're back in Townsville, so there's pretty much no difference.

Boring name, boring town

2007-04-19T10:45:00.000-07:00

So, Townsville. What a strange little place. Our Lonely Planet said the city has a population of 150,000, but I'll be damned if I knew where they were. The place was deserted. We parked on the edge of town and walked in, the only person we passed was a tramp throwing up in a doorway of an abandoned shopfront, proceeding to walk past us with bits of vomit dangling from his beard. He looked a little like Santa Claus would if the toy business dried up, and he was wearing a t-shirt that said 'Welcome To Townsville'. He wasn't really, I made that bit up, but he might as well have been. We reached the river that runs through the city and I parted from the girls because I wanted to check out the maritime museum. I strode in the baking sun for about 600 meters past lovely little restaurants with tables outside. Palm trees lined the street and there wasn't a soul to be seen. It reminded me a little of Barcelona and the nocturnal inhabitants there, but it was about 10am and I expected it to be busier. The museum itself was nice enough. It also incorporates a model building club so many of the displays were built by amateurs, and they looked it. Still, I applauded the effort and spent a happy hour there before heading into town to meet up with the girls. When I found them they told me the only people they'd seen had been vagrants. Every bench on the main street had one, apparently. The only one I'd seen had been Santa, so I shrugged and we pressed on. We went to the Museum of Tropical Queensland which was pretty good, I have to say. Large, air-conditioned, informative, clean, and above all devoid of other people. The gift shop staff outnumbered the patrons two to one. We had lunch on a little terrace overlooking the main road and the marina, and all we could here was the sound of silence. There wasn't a car on the roads. It was very eerie, to say the least.

After the museum we headed back up town and did a little shopping. I was looking for a new t-shirt but the only ones I could find had those inane slogans on them, things like a picture of a cockerel and the words 'My Cock'll Do'. You see them in souvenir shops everywhere and they always have big stacks of them, presumably because only an idiot would wear them. Hot, tired and bored, we headed for the cinema. We saw Disturbia which is dumb but fun. Go and see it and count the number of times you can see the boom mic. It's really quite astonishing, particularly at the beginning of the film. It's based on Hitchcock's Rear Window, which I hadn't seen, so to me it was just based on the episode of The Simpsons where Bart breaks his leg. Still, it was a pretty enjoyable film. Afterwards the girls went to see the new Mr. Bean movie, which I couldn't face without a few beers first, so I passed. I found an internet place that was still open and got chatting to a guy there about Townsville in general. I asked him about the vagrants and he shrugged and said that it was just one of those things. I shouldn't have bothered asking him though, he was wearing a t-shirt with a picture of a cockerel and the words 'My Cock'll Do'.

My need for beer was becoming stronger so I went to the Great Northern Hotel where I noticed that my bottles of beer commemorated Australia Day 2007, something I hadn't seen on beer bottles since arriving here. That's because Australia Day was in January. Clearly, this wasn't the busiest of places. After about twenty minutes the bar staff outnumbered the customers two to one - there were two of them and one of me - and this was at 8pm! I asked the barman why it was so quiet and he shrugged and said "Just a Wednesday thing I guess. Should be good on Friday if you're going to be around, we've got a guy coming down who does some songs. Gets pretty packed. You should check it out if you're in town".
I feigned disappointment. "Och, we're heading north tomorrow" I said, and he looked pretty disappointed.

We spent the night back at the truck stop and headed back into town this morning to do some little jobs, and it's alot busier today. Must be a Wednesday thing after all. It's a nice place, vomiting vagrants aside, there's plenty to do and see but after a day it could get kind of boring. Oh, and better t-shirt shops wouldn't go amiss.

Rockhampton rocks

2007-04-16T14:40:00.000-07:00

We cruised out of Bundaberg in high spirits - we had clean clothes and plenty more space in the car - things no longer fell out of the boot when you opened it. We knew we weren't going to make it all the way to Airlie Beach (it was about 500 miles away - like driving from London to Fife) but there were a couple of free camp areas about half way that looked a safe bet.

When we got back out on to the Bruce Highway, we drove through several hundred kilometers of more or less nothing. The scenery was nice but I have rarely seen such a long stretch of road with no diversions. No towns, no service stations, no giant billboards - nothing. And we were still on the coast! Goodness knows what the outback will be like. By the time we reached Rockhampton, a large town that straddles the Tropic of Capricorn, we were pretty hungry. Rockhampton is famous for its cows and its beef, so I suggested to the girls we get some steaks. Their eyes lit up. We filled up the car at a BP garage and I asked the attendant for directions to the Criterion Hotel, which our Lonely Planet had described as being a good place to eat. He was friendly and helpful, but made it sound like not following his directions precisely would end in disaster.
"You go down to the river and turn right, then drive to the first bridge". At this point he leaned in as if to emphasize his next instruction. "But don't you go under that bridge, you hear? Don't you go under it or you'll pass the hotel". I began to wonder if there was another, more sinister reason he didn't want me to go under the bridge, after all I didn't think my dinner plans meant that much to him. But I thanked him, paid for the petrol and we set off to find the hotel. (Incidentally, petrol here works out at about 49 pence a litre.)

The guidebook was right - the hotel was excellent. Rockhampton itself looked very nice, lots of wide streets and old fashioned buildings, the town center was unspoilt - faded buildings with chipped paint - but it was very nice. The hotel itself was grand and welcoming and the steaks were juicy and very filling. I had also intended to see just what lay on the other side of the bridge, but I forgot. We got back into the car and drove for another hour until we came across our campsite, a large patch of grass at the back of a hotel in a tiny village called Marlborough, about a mile off the highway.

The sun woke us early the next day and we emerged from our ovens to begin another day on the road. The stretch of road from Marlborough to the next large town, Mackay, was largely desolate, but did provide a few diversions - my favourite being a freight train pulling 87 trucks (I counted). It would be inaccurate to say that the wildlife here was more abundant, because wildlife is everywhere in Australia. Even when standing in your own bathroom it's very easy to imagine David Attenborough finding plenty of exciting things to whisper about. The wildlife in this part of Australia is just a bit more obvious, especially from a moving vehicle. We had to dodge kangaroos, tortoises and frogs, all of which seemed to prefer the baking tarmac to the long grasses from which they had emerged to meet their flattened fate. While negotiating our way through a large creep of tortoises - and I bet you didn't know 'creep' was the collective noun for tortoises - Jen was very close to pulling the car over and attempting to rescue them.

We rolled into Mackay for lunch and made our way to the nearest shopping center. It's not that we particularly wanted to spend an afternoon in a large shopping center on the last Saturday of the Easter holidays - I'd sooner have gone to an opera - but that shopping center foodcourts are among the cheapest places for budget conscious travellers such as ourselves to eat. After this refuelling stop we hit the road again before arriving in Airlie Beach in the middle of the afternoon.

Airlie Beach is a bit like a miniature version of Byron Bay, only minus the beaches and the hippies. It's small, and the high street is jam packed with backpackers hostels and tour operators - the popular Whitsunday Islands are just off the coast. There also seems to be a larger portion of 'trendier' holiday-makers here. English people in their early twenties who look like they usually spend their summers in Ibiza or Tenerife. Unfortunately, when we arrived, there wasn't a single bed to be found in the hostels, and the campsites were way out of town. Eventually we had a mini-meeting and decided to treat ourselves to three nights in a motel - and a very well appointed one at that. After a month of camping it's wonderful having a fridge, a television, air conditioning and a shower that isn't coin operated. We've spent the last two days relaxing in our room watching movies and trash TV and eating junk food. It's been great. It'll be difficult camping again after this but I'm sure we'll survive. Tomorrow we'll begin our trek towards Cairns which is more or less as far north as you can go on the east coast, before coming back down to Townsville and heading into the outback. Cairns looks interesting, but I'll let you know about it when I get there.

Sun, sand, sea, and a pain in the ass

2007-04-13T12:55:00.000-07:00

Our three day 'holiday within a holiday' to Fraser Island finished yesterday, and I don't want to overstate it, but it is one of the most singularly beautiful places I've ever seen. It's the world's largest sand island, measuring about 120 kilometers from end to end, and about 1600 square kilometers by area. To put it in perspective, this is an island larger than Fife (1300 sq km) and it's made entirely of sand.

Our tour was booked through our hostel on the mainland, and it was a self drive tour where essentially we were camping and exploring the island with six strangers. There was no tour guide but we were given an outline of an itinerary that would enable us to see the best bits of the island. Fraser Island has no tarmac roads, so access is only accessible by four-wheel drive. The jeep that we hired (a Toyota Rustbucket, or similar) looked and sounded as if it was held together by rust and sand, but it held out for all three days, much to our surprise.

Usually in these 'forced group' situations there is a worry that you won't gel with your new travelling companions, but luckily everyone was friendly, aside from an English doctor called Carla. She was with her friend, also a doctor, called Amelia who was chatty and friendly but Carla was a thouroughly joyless character. She seemed to be more concerned with how long we spent at each place than actually enjoying herself, and didn't seem overly enamoured by camping on an island with a group of strangers.

Our first stop was at the campsite to pitch our tents and grab a spot of lunch before heading to Lake Birrabeen, one of the islands 200 plus lakes. The lakes are special because they are freshwater lakes, created by rainwater gathering on an impermeable layer of sand and leaves. When we emerged from the woods to the lakeside we were greeted by a picture postcard landscape. A clear blue lake surrounded by trees and pure white sand - it was gorgeous. We spent ages floundering around in the water until it was time to visit Lake McKenzie, which was no less beautiful but it started to rain so we didn't hang around there for too long. That night there was no cessation of the downpour so we were forced to eat our tea in the van in close to pitch darkness. Jen, Claire and I, and a few of the others were fine with this but I think it was too much for some and there were several grumpy faces in the morning. Luckily on our second day we were treated to a blazing sun and a cloudless sky as we jumped in the jeep and headed along the Eastern beach of the island. We stopped off first at Indian Head, a large volcanic rock formation a few hundred feet high which is normally a perfect vantage point for seeing whales and sharks, but we were informed that it was too windy for the creatures to venture towards the shore. On our way back down we stopped at the wreck of the S.S. Maheno, a former passenger ship that was beached there in 1935, as a storm stopped it from becoming scrap metal in Japan. Three stories of it are completely buried under sand, but it's still an amazing site, huge hunks of rotting metal poking out from the sand make for some interesting photographs if nothing else. I was also pleasantly surprised that the Maheno and I shared a country of birth - she was built in Glasgow in 1905. That night the rain stayed away and Jen treated us all to spaghetti bolognese, and the dampened spirits of the previous night were completely lifted.

On our last day we only had time to visit Lake Wabby, a smaller, grubbier looking lake notable for the fact that it is surrounded on three sides by rainforest, and on one side by a massive sand dune, which is encroaching on the lake at a rate of about three meters a year. We spent an hour or so in this unique location before heading back down the beach and to the mainland, our Fraser Island adventure over. Last night we drove a few hundred kilometers north to the town of Bundaberg, and I was amazed to learn that after two and a bit hours in the car, we were still only parallel with Fraser Islands' northern tip. Like I said, it's pretty big.

Anyway, I must go - I'm almost out of time and we've got a long drive ahead of us today. Our next stop is a place called Airlie Beach, which ironically is one of the few places that doesn't have a beach. I just know that Fraser Island will take a long time to leave me. I don't mean that in a metaphorical way - I mean it in a literal sense. There's sand everywhere, in my hair, in my bed and in my clothes. Hopefully the confusingly-named Airlie Beach will provide some respite!

Coffs Harbour

2007-04-09T14:42:00.000-07:00

After we left Port Macquarie on the 23rd, we pulled into a little town called Coffs Harbour which was only notable for two things. Firstly, it is home to the Big Banana, one of Australia's many 'big things', and secondly, our campsite not only contained a miniature Dutch village, but also a fully operative clog makers workshop. I tried to find out exactly why this little corner of the Netherlands was here, but nobody that worked at the caravan park seemed to know why.

Two days later we ended up in Byron Bay, which essentially looks like every other coastal town in New South Wales but it is a mecca for the 'alternative' traveller. Hippies on every bench and VW campers round every corner, it has a fabulous laid-back feel with everything you need. We liked it so much we were actually there for eight days. We stayed at a backpackers lodge called the Arts Factory, and pitched our tents in their jungle hideaway. It was a bit like being at a festival with the tents crammed together, and just incase we'd forgotton what a festival was really like it poured with rain for the first half of our stay. So Byron Bay was where Jen celebrated her 22nd birthday and where we took to the skies and spent a day hang-gliding. It was a fantastic week and there's plenty more stories to share, but they can wait for another day.

We rolled out of Byron and ended up across the border in Queensland - Australia only has six states so crossing into a new one is quite an event - and headed for Brisbane. None of us had anything we wanted to do in Brisbane so we headed for North Stradbroke Island, the Island my friend Cat Emberton lived on during her first stint out here. We only stayed one night, it was quite pricy to take the car across on the ferry, and besides we had three days of Gold Coast theme parks to look forward to. I was however quite surprised when I tried to find the cafe Cat worked at, I asked a girl in a backpackers where it was.
"Why, do you know someone there?" She asked.
"My friend used to work there, I just wanted to have a look" I replied.
"Was she Scottish?"
"Yeah..."
"Cat?" Small island, I thought.

The first theme park we went to was 'White Water World' and although it was small, the rides were excellent. Its parent park, Dreamworld was our next stop and was slightly disappointing, but by the time we made it to Warner Bros. Movie World, we'd all but forgotton Dreamworld and it's rather unimaginatively named rides. ("The Big Drop", "The Log Ride", "The Rapids" etc.) Movie World was fantastic. It's got one of the best roller coasters I've ever been on (Superman Escape) and had very convincing actors walking around dressed as all my favourite superheroes. It was a great day out and fun pretending I was twelve years old again.

The next day we drove a bit further north and visited Australia Zoo, famous for being the one owned and operated by the late, great Crocodile Hunter himself, Steve Irwin. We were slightly underwhelmed by it, we'd probably hyped it up too much in our heads but having said that it's still the best zoo I've ever been to, you can practically feel Stevo's presence everywhere you go.

Tired and hungry, we pulled into a truck stop and snuck into the truckie's showers - after four nights of sleeping by the roadside we were starting to smell a bit - and then rolled into Rainbow Beach, a small and rather unimpressive if friendly community, and it is here that I'm writing all this. We are only here because tomorrow we're going on a tour of Fraser Island, the largest sand island in the world. It's about 123 kilometers long, or about 75 miles, which is quite hard to imagine. I only hope the weather clears up, we've been here for two days and seen nothing but torrential rain.

Supersuckers

2007-03-23T15:28:00.000-07:00

A few nights ago we pulled into a nondescript little hamlet called Ellenborough, for the simple reason that there was a free camping ground there, and after staying in a nice holiday park for a few days in a relative lap of luxury we'd decided to save a few bucks and camp for free. By the time we found our campground it was around 8.30pm, long after the sun had gone down (it might be hot, but it's still autumn) and we pitched our tents in the glare of the car headlights so as to see what we were doing. When we woke up, we were surrounded by trees, beautiful hills and a gorgeous, clear river a few hundred yards away. We headed to the river almost immediately to have a bathe and a paddle, and generally clean ourselves up. The part where we swam was deep and calm, but it led straight to a shallow stretch where the river flowed much faster over some harmless looking rocks. Before too long, we were skidding down these rapids on our bottoms, which wasn't as painful as it sounds. Jen and Claire, weighing less than I, sped down to the bottom of the rapids, about 300 meters away. I meanwhile had become snagged on a large rock and was scared to move further incase I ruptured something I didn't want to be rupturing. I was busy holding on to my flip-flops with one hand and trying to free myself with the other, when I looked down stream and saw the girls shrieking, and with panicked expressions on their faces, running out of the water onto a little gravelly bank.

Now, put yourself in my position. Here you are, stuck to a rock in a river which seemed to be flowing faster by the second, trying desperately not to lose the flip-flops you'd bought only the day before, and you see your two companions screaming and flapping about, trying to get out of the water. Never mind that you are in a country where bites from simple creatures like spiders can kill you instantly, or where rivers and lakes are known to house no end of dangerous creatures. Never mind that your panicking companions have trekked through the Amazon, spent several months in Africa and would know danger if they saw it. Never mind that you can't go down stream because that is where the danger is, and never mind that going upstream, against the flow of the rapids could possibly take the best part of an afternoon. I turned myself round and hauled myself up the rapids, emerging only a few feet away on the bank covered in lichens, moss and a few scrapes but otherwise unharmed.
"What was all that screaming about?" I asked Jen when she came back upstream, trying not to let on that I had just spent twenty minutes trying not to soil myself.
"Leeches" she replied. "Hundreds of them, all over us!". And they were right. Upon inspection, I had a few dozen small black worms clinging to my legs and arms. But they were tiny and probably harmless, although if left undetected they will continue to suck on you until they are about the size of your finger. We headed back to the tents to dry off and calm down, and I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from saying something like "Leeches? That sucks..."

So we spent three happy, leech-free days in Port Macquarie, a pleasant sun-bleached town on the coast. It's rich in history, being the third penal colony in Australia after Sydney and Newcastle, and I happily explored the historic sites, including a quaint but informative little museum. We had a lovely sunset cruise up the river last night, and packed our bags today for another short jaunt up the coast. We also had the pleasure of sharing the camp ground with an amazing couple called John and Sandy, who travel around the country in a big old converted school bus, living off John's army pension. These guys are worthy of an entry all to themselves, but I'll just say that on our first evening we arrived back to find they'd cooked us dinner, and we stayed up for hours eating, drinking and sharing stories until the rain came on and we all went to bed.

So right now I'm sitting in Port Macquarie's library typing all this up, while Jen and Claire visit a Koala hospital nearby. They're coming back to pick me up for the drive up to Coffs Harbour, a few hours north of here. And hopefully, that's the last we've seen of the leeches.

Surfs up

2007-03-20T12:47:00.000-07:00

There are two reasons I haven't spent much time on beaches in my life. Firstly, I grew up in Scotland, and secondly, I look like I grew up in Scotland. So when we ended up on Sydney's famous Bondi Beach last week and Jen suggested we spend the day there, I was naturally concerned. It's not that I care about my appearance, I was more concerned that the glare from my lily-white back and chest might blind the pilots coming into land at the nearby airport. But I relented and decided to dig out the swimshorts. More problems arose when I discovered, much to my horror, that I couldn't squeeze myself into them anymore. It's only been a year since I wore them, but my stomach was putting up a hell of a fight and wouldn't let me get them on. So a quick trip to a beachwear shop was necessary, and once I was fully kitted out we hit the beach.

I don't know what it is about sand that is appealing to millions of people, I'd much rather the Pacific Ocean lapped up along a bank of nicely cut grass, but that's just me I guess. I knew that just by setting foot on the sand I was guarenteeing that for the next five or six weeks I'd be finding it everywhere. How does it do that? It was in my hair, my wallet, my camera, and most remarkably my shoes. Remarkable because I'd left them in the hotel across the road.

But we spent a good hour floundering around on Bondi Beach, not, it has to be said, one of Sydney's better beaches - it's quite crowded and very touristy, but I did start to enjoy myself after a while. When we bought our car it came with a free bodyboard - the main selling point for Jen - so we had fun trying to stay on that for longer than forty seconds.

We'd ended up back in Sydney after three days in the Blue Mountains - not, as I mentioned before, particularly blue or even technically mountains - but they were well worth the visit. The weather did a typically British thing when we got there - it changed without warning. But the skies cleared on our last day and we had a good few hours sightseeing before heading back to Sydney.

When we left last Friday, we intended on popping into Port Stephens on our way up the coast, as was recommended to us by a guest at the wedding we'd been invited to (it was in the most stunning of settings, right by the Opera House, but more about that another time) but we've enjoyed it here so much that we're still here. We've been in Australia for twenty days now and only made it a few hours north of Sydney. Still, I'm having fun despite the sunburnt legs I gained after a day of kayaking, and am currently quite content. Although that could be to do with the fact that I'm sitting in a lovely air-conditioned library, and the beach is miles away...