Iggy Pop once sang about having a 'Lust For Life'. Well, for the past two weeks of my life I haven't.

Firstly, I should explain/apologise about the delay in updating; basically, I have been working flat out, often rising at 4.45 am, and from that point onwards I have spent my days at a keyboard and monitor, so updating my blog didn't appeal. I've also come down with a cough and a cold, but more about both later.

Many moons ago (Monday 15th August to be precise), my early morning antics were put into practice when I arose at 5 am to watch some crap football team attempt to play the beautiful game. (I am vowing never to write about them again) At this particular time of my life I was still working for my ever-oh-so-appreciative boss in my soulless admin role, but at the time I was satisfied knowing that the end was neigh. For that week I only had two days to put up with him and his antics as I was to starting a twelve day project working on the local election the following day (Wednesday 17th). Alas, I wasn't going to embark on any political lobbying, but instead I, along with some 250 others, were in charge of counting the votes. 

Before I go on to explain the debacle that was to follow at my forthcoming employment opportunity, that very Monday in question had the potential to cause me great bother, solely because the Sydney CBD was due to be closed for the Olympic homecoming parade. I happen to work on the very street which was due to be closed (George Street) and four years ago, after their successful exploits in Athens some 100,000 people turned up to welcome them home. Imagine my anguish when finding this out: I had to endure a boss in a role I needed but disliked, but I potentially faced not making it to work for something I couldn't care about. Luckily, however, the green and gold fared less well shall we say (I could use a number of expletives, as I regularly do to Lysey about her nation's Olympic performance) and the numbers were not that of four years ago. Moreover, this potential hazard turned out to be a massive bonus; the streets were deserted meaning this proud Englishman, knowing we beat Australia and sundry in the medal tables, could stroll around the city in the roads.

After those two days I was bracing myself on becoming a social recluse for the next two weeks, because my daily routine would take on the following: arise at 4.45 am, get two trains to work to begin at 7 am, finish at 2.30 pm, and return home about 4 pm - 5 hours before bed time. I am not expecting a medal for my working exploits - I know of many people who work similar hours and I never read blog sites of their daily routines. (These people are computer illiterate, however. You know who you are.) I also know people have got it much tougher than me - after all, all I have to do is arise at 4.45 am, but people in Darfur for example have much more to endure, but again, you never see blogs appearing from anyone in Sudan so I'll continue. 

Despite my negative outlook I was actually looking forward to the role because I was going to be working alongside some 200 other people, so I viewed it as a social opportunity. However, as soon as I entered the warehouse that was going to be my office for the next twelve days my demeanour soon changed for the worse. Once I stepped inside the dusty, but extremely spacious warehouse, the organisation was terrible; picture 200+ people gathered around a desk consisting of four informants (all from the employment agency in charge of recruiting for the project - and they must have chosen the four dumbest people on their books) and they were calling out the names, much like a school register, and they were informing them what team they would be assigned to. Unlike the school registers I was use to in England, however, people in this place didn't have your regular names of Steve, John, or a Clive. Instead, they were dealing with people who originated from Vietnam, China, or anywhere in the Far East (globalisation hadn't taken a hold on Taunton during my school days), so they were phonetically pronouncing their names, which sounded hideous, or spelling them out character by character. 

As you can imagine, this was most time consuming. Why not put a sign up listing all the names' of the people due to work, and alongside designate them a team and an area to report to? Not rocket science, I know, and I, along with a dozen or so people were moaning about the mismanagement. At this stage I was rather polite about my views despite slating everything that the employment agency in question stood for, mainly because I talking to a lass from South Africa and another from Vietnam. However, the agreeing and subtle tone shared by the three of us was soon broken when I heard, in a Mancunian accent, a chap bleat: "This is shit!" I had to laugh about how brazen and northern this particular person was, but he was only saying what we were all thinking.

Anyway, after an hour or so of complete mayhem, some 200+ people were allocated their seats, leaving about 15 of us, including yours truly and my Mancunian mate, awaiting a desk or some sort of outcome. At this time the morons from the agency were trying to judge how many computers were available to see if they could get us to make up the numbers. (That 'us' being the people who had risen at 4.45 am and had travelled an hour or so to be told this.) I could tell from my vantage point how many computers were free just by subtracting the number of people who had failed to turn up against the amount of computers in operation, but my common sense approach seemed oblivious to all and sundry. I soon explained my theory to my expletive Lancastrian friend, along with my suggestion that they could have made the whole registration process user friendly with some simple signage, and he responded by suggesting I work for the agency and run the show. I told him that my nephew could do a better job running this pantomime and he's only 1 and-a-half-years-old (I think).

Lo and behold, I was sent home an hour or so after arriving. I was far from happy about the situation, as you may imagine, but a number of hours later that day (Wednesday 17th) I had a phone call from the same agency guarantying me work, on the election, the next day. I was also told that the work would last for the duration - up until Friday 26th. So, it was back to the early nights, but I didn't mind as I knew I would be sat at a computer on easy street. (That's how the work was described to me, anyway.)

However, when I rocked up the next day I was told I would be working as a labourer, preparing and collating the ballot sheets. Again I was far from happy, especially as my new title was operating on less pay in comparison to the computer work, and I was also not dressed for lugging sacks around a warehouse. All that was required was some basic communication - an alien concept to this agency - informing me of my specific role and I wouldn't have minded. At least this way I would have worn proper shoes, and not the dap-type shoes I decided to wear for a job working on a computer.

The upside of this particular work, however, was the overtime and the nonsensical chat. The place was one big anomaly; on the one hand they were paying us overtime on the Friday (19th), but on the other, the Thursday, they were getting us to work slowly because there simply wasn't enough to keep us occupied for the day. We did manage to stay busy for that Thursday (18th), however - all thanks to our deliberate time wasting. My method of choice was being taught how to count in Nepalese as I was working alongside someone from Kathmandu (I remember the number six was 'toh', but that was about it. Their language, as it seemed to me, had a French dialect, but I wasn't any good at that either), and I also got speaking to someone in depth who was on Ramadan. This particular person wasn't allowed to eat or drink during sunlight, and on those two days it was 30 degrees+, so I felt sorry for the lad every time I took a sip of water. It was interesting hearing his viewpoints while he was explaining his devoutness and sacrifices, nonetheless.

My sacrifices in getting up an ungodly hour paid off on Saturday (20th) when I was plucked from the cesspit of labour and promoted to the computer. I can see why it was labeled 'easy street' by one of my fellow colleagues; the job was a doddle inputting the results and then checking them to ensure they were correct. Luckily, the job lasted for the Sunday, too - both days offering overtime rates, but that's where the luck ran out as we were all given the boot that very day (21st) because we managed to get all the work done. Our efficiency was our own downfall, despite promises from the inept agency that the work would last until the following Friday. 

In Australia it is law that everyone has to vote otherwise they get a $50 fine. In my opinion, there are pros and cons to this approach; one pro is that nobody can complain about who's in charge as everyone has voted, but the one con in contrast is do people take it seriously or are they voting to avoid a fine? It's fair to say not everyone took the voting process seriously, but that's all I can as I am sworn to secrecy - and we all know what happened the last time I spoke out. 

Anyway, enough on a brief guide to Australian politics as I was back on the unemployment heap come the start of the week (Monday 22nd). Expecting some 200 or so people to be bombarding the agency I decided to hold fire until later that day when I made a call (why did I rely on the same agency? They've given me nothing but trouble so I don't know what I was thinking) and luck had it (or bad luck as I am about to explain) that I found work starting the next day - Tuesday 23rd. 

My new role was an admin role, and like most beforehand, it was soulless. I was working for a international watch maker and my job was to input various bits of paperwork relating to on-going repairs and to also deal with customers over the phone about the progress of their watches. It's not my type of work at all - I have never worked in a call centre type environment and I never want to. I do not have the required customer service skills for such a role, and I see that as being a reason why I don't want to return.

Before setting off on that Tuesday I read of an adage about attitudes. It stated: 'Attitudes are contagious - is yours worth catching?" Well, I was working alongside a German who had never heard of Lynx or any other brand of deodorant and an Irish lass who slagged off every customer she dealt with. It's fair to say neither attitude was worth catching, but I ironically caught a cold from the German who was teaching me the ropes. I have since been off work as I have come down with a virus and I expect my contract to be terminated. One other downfall of the job was that the office had no air conditioning; I had drank all my water inside 20 minutes and with summer looming I can't see myself tolerating the heat of that place.

I was, however, working alongside an Aussie who's soon going to be teaching English to immigrants. She definitely had an attitude worth catching, and I would love to do that kind of work. In order to be considered I'd need to complete three months of further education training, which is not possible on my current visa (I would need a student visa meaning I could only work for 20 hours a week. On my current visa - a working holiday visa - I am not entitled to any form of education). If I was to return to these shores with Lysey to set up shop I may consider working in such a field.

Anyway, I received my first piece of luck in the work related arena on my very first day at the new job. It was a windy lunch time, and I was pondering whether to return or not when I checked my answer phone messages', and I had indeed received one from the fire brigade - my employers for four months or so last year. They were asking me to return this Monday (29th) and I have agreed to do so. In my previous stint at the fire brigade I was employed by the same morons as those who found me the election role, but this time around I was advised to apply with a different agency as the brigade no longer deal with the company I was initially with. To my great surprise, through this new agency I am on $4 more an hour than I was with the previous clowns, thus justifying my reason why I owe them nothing. I haven't informed them that I have found a new job and I don't think I will. I have told them I have been ill, which is true, but I didn't tell them I wasn't enjoying my new role and that I have no intentions to return. While at the election role one of the informants told me I am too honest and that I should lie more often in order to find work, so consider me doing as I am told. The irony.

As I have been off work since Tuesday I am attempting to get myself fit for my mother and my nan who both arrive this Tuesday (30th). It's been something like 20 months' since I last saw them, and Skype or MSM Messenger aren't the same, so I am looking forward to their company and to showing them the place I consider to be my current home. I have plenty in store for their three week holiday so it promises to be good.

In order to aid my battle to be fit I have been enjoying some Miso soup. For all of those not in the know, Miso soup comes with sushi and it is packed with plenty of goodness, such as tofu and seaweed. Before leaving Blighty I could never picture myself eating such foods, but I swear by it. The next time you're ill reach for the Miso and not the Lucozade. (Why was that deemed good for you whenever you were ill?)

Finally, just to emphasise how much of a different man I am from the time I left England, both Lysey and I got a joint bank account this week (Thursday 25th). We need this for our forthcoming trip to Fiji, and it's a big step I know, but I trust her and I think she trusts me. 

You are reading the work of someone who has been accredited in the Lonely Planet South East Asia on a Shoestring 2008 book. That's right, this very person whilst exploring Asia, wrote to the 'travellers bible' to offer a suggestion on a town in Laos called Pak Beng, which had previously no mention. 

Before I mention my efforts, I'll offer a little background information: Pak Beng, for all of those not in the know, appears off the beaten track, but all backpackers heading from Thailand to the Laotian city of Luang Prabang would pay it a visit, solely because it's the stop off point from Hue Xu (located on the Thai/Laos border) to the stunning city of Luang Prabang, located in the north of Laos. In order to reach the latter one would usually take a two day slow boat trip along the Mekong River (it takes so long because it's too dangerous to take on this river at speed. Indeed, many boats have capsized attempting to do so, resulting in fatalities) and en route, the boat would stop off at the town of Pak Beng. Surprisingly, the previous Lonely Planet guide (the 2006 version - the very one I used when cruising through south east Asia) had no mention about the place so I made it a mission of mine to report my findings. 

My findings, it should be said, were of a destitute place where the electricity went off at 8pm (which was a blessing, believe me. I say this because once we awoke the following morning we could see before us what we had spent the night in. The Ritz it most definitely was not; the stain ridden mattress and sheets I shared with Mike that night would have struggled for a single star, but at least the mosquito net did its job. Moreover, we were given a free breakfast the next day of toast, which we had to spread the butter with the aid of a spoon - a common table mannerism in Asia, and a cuppa), and where there were no more than three options for a meal that night. We did, however, find something edible at a restaurant that was powered by a generator, and it offered gorgeous views of the Laos landscape. Yours truly wrote to the LP explaining that the town was roughly equidistant between Hue Xu and Luang Prabang and that one should 'stock up' on any comforts. My piece wasn't printed word for word, but the next time you're in a good bookshop (or indeed a rubbish one - they'll probably stock the book) check for me in the 'contributors' section in the back of South East Asia on a Shoestring and you'll see my name in print.  

Furthermore, despite its apparent backwardness, Pak Beng did provide me with one of my most memorable moments in Asia: as we were travelling along the Mekong we stopped off along the way to pick up a pregnant lady, who had presumably hoped would hang on until we arrived at something resembling normality in order for her to give birth. However, soon after she stepped on board she dropped, and I was sat no more than 10 meters from the whole event. Fair play to the lass, she did it quietly! 

Back to the here and now, and life in Sydney has been business as usual. By that, I mean the sun has returned (more of which later) and I am still stuck in a job with my Marxist of a boss. Alas, though, I only have to put up with him and his office for two more days as I have found a new job beginning this Wednesday (17th). (As it stands, I do not know much about the new role, but come this time next week I'm sure I'll be filling you in, probably in a negative tone). Anyway, throughout the duration of my time in my current role I have been working alongside a fellow temp, and this week Karl Marx himself offered this person the chance to stay on for the company - for $15 an hour. To anyone reading thinking that's a good wage, it's not - it's an insult, and I almost fell off my chair when I heard of this. 

The reason why the wage is an insult is simple: we're currently employed through a recruitment agency, where with the aid of an educated guess (a guess made safe in the knowledge that the majority of my employment history has come courtesy of temping agencies), we're both being paid roughly $30 an hour. Tax, commission, and the formalities aside, we take home two thirds of that sum, so therefore to offer $15 an hour is theoretically halving our hourly wage. The person in question didn't take the job, and sadly, he didn't offer me the position either!

Anyway, all this work and no play mentality that I have been deploying for the past few weeks went out the window this weekend (Saturday 13th), as I went to the annually, and world wide, celebrated Earth Dance festival. However, unlike last year's event where they hosted it on a Sunday, they decided to host it on a Saturday - and it had negative repercussions as the event had to be closed down early. I was far from happy about the decision because at the time I was baking in the 30 degrees heat (not bad for the start of spring. Folks back home are lucky if the mercury rises to such highs in the height of summer), enjoying the music on offer - awesome house with the aid of an overwhelming sound system, I was bopping away with Lysey, plus a few of her mates and a group of mates I had made, and I was well intoxicated. 

Anyway, the reason given for turning the tunes off was because of over crowding, which seems plausible as it was free festival, and there must have been over 20,000 people in attendance. However, still fuming about the decision, and with a lukewarm beer in hand, I decided to ask a group of policeman what was happening, and this one idiot said the reason for it being shut down was because people were trying to gatecrash the fences.

I call this policeman an idiot simply because the event was a freebie, so why would people climb the fences if they didn't have to pay a fee? He said the event organisers wanted to shut it down early to prevent any trouble, and I suppose that is a credible reason as the event was about promoting peace. However, the real reason why I branded him a idiot is because I said it was a shame to close it all down early, to which he replied that he didn't care as he could get off home earlier. Nevertheless, the three of four hours I spent near the front of one of the main stages was superb, and the best bit is that it marks the start of festival season over here. 

I really cannot stoop to such shallow levels, especially after my birthday treat. Of course, I am talking about that school-ground chestnut of finishing with the missus once her birthday approaches, and then after a few days to think about one's actions, I would ring her up explaining I'd made a terrible mistake and that I wanted to get back together. Such kidology, some may argue, would be justified in my case: Lysey's birthday is February 3rd, our anniversary is February 2nd, and Valentine's Day soon follows. (I know, what was I thinking? I'd save a fortune, though) However, after the three days we spent together for my 26th birthday on the Gold Coast, such contemplation goes out the window. (If indeed I can even call it contemplation).

That's simply because the whole experience was superb - from the beginning when we rocked up to the airport, where I was still none-the-wiser to our forthcoming destination last Monday (1st), to spending my actual birthday in the theme park of Warner Brothers Movie World. On the subject of the airport, we arrived far too early - and by that I mean our flight had not even appeared on the departures board. This was a nightmare; Lysey wouldn't spill the beans and the board seemed stuck on yesterday's departures. (I think I compared the situation to being a bigger tease than the ten minute preview one can find on the Adult Channel!) Alas, however, it soon became evident that destination sunshine was on the horizon.

In just over an hour's flight we had left the drizzle of Sydney and arrived in the summer of Surfers Paradise. The state of Queensland, it must be said, hardly suffers from a cold climate, and the flip flops and sunnies got their first outing on what promises to be a scorcher of a summer (once it reaches our neck of the woods, of course. Stroll on October/November...) The heat was also aided by a controllable amount of visitors to the Gold Coast for our three days; as it's not yet 'peak-season' strolling around at night was a canter and queuing for rides at Movie World (Tuesday 2nd) was a breeze. Moreover, the hotel we stayed at (going out with someone who works in the trade certainly has its benefits) offered stunning views of the beach and landscape, which could be described as being similar to something of a popular British seaside resort. 

Turning such a grand age initially didn't hit me. However, it was recently pointed out that in 14 years time I will be 40 and now I feel less cheerful. Furthermore, as an indication that I am getting old, it took me two days to get over the massive bender that Lysey had in store for me; we managed to paint the town red and I remember very little. Apparently, I rang home to say thanks for all the gifts and cards I had received, but I do not recall any of the conversation. I hope old age isn't bringing the rigours of early alzheimers! I must remember, though, that I have to try and top Lysey's efforts for her 24th birthday next February.

Moving on, I should apologise for another change I made to my blog this week. I promise to stick to the current domain, but I felt compelled to change it because I feared the 'Thought Police' were after me once again. (The previous blog - that would be the second blog - contained too much personal information.) In my attempts to find some peace of mind I have been weighing up my options; either I could dumb down on what I write, or I could find an alternative to write about. However, I then ask myself, 'why should I?' The issue of freedom of speech springs to mind, plus I have only ever spoken the truth so I'll continue to do so, but perhaps I'll change my angle. I had plenty of anxiety regarding the 'Thought Police' running through my head every time my current boss approached my desk for my two days at work this week (Thursday and Friday - the 4th and 5th). I was seriously expecting some kind of backlash regarding my views I expressed last week, but once again - I am just honest with the truth. It must be said, I am still not enjoying my time, but next week is my last in the role so I am in the process of finding alternative employment. Ha, to anyone who found my dismissal and demise of my blog amusing, I have since learnt about a former Liberal Leader in the state of Western Australia (they have gone to the polls this weekend) who was sacked after he was caught sniffing the chair of a female colleague. 

Before the frivolity of the three days away for my birthday, I had another football fix, but this time my superstitions took control. Last week I wrote that Tottenham's dreadful start to the season was solely down to the fact that Lysey had stayed over for both opening matches. Therefore, for the Chelsea match I decided that she wouldn't be allowed to stay, and lo and behold, we picked up a point. Moreover, that sporting anomaly of 'sometimes when you draw you actually win' springs to mind as I would have taken that at the start of the game. Getting a point against that lot was amazing - so much so that she's not staying for our forthcoming game against Aston Villa. (It's for the best as I am a happy man when my team wins).

Furthermore, I, along with my Polish housemate Alan, went along to watch the Sydney vs Perth A-League match that very Sunday (31/8). Gone are the tentative nerves of the opening round, only to be replaced by defensive blunders aplenty as it ended 5-2 to Sydney. That's the A-League I have grown to like - the one where tactical nouse is at a limit and where the goals are free flowing. It made for a much better spectacle than the opening 0-0, and this very fixture like the majority I have witnessed in Australia had its shortcomings, but I except it for what it is - a football fix. To be honest it annoys me when people make direct comparisons to the Premier League as they are comparing the uncomparable, but the league is ever improving. Look at their national result against the Dutch, for example.

Welcome to the new website for yours truely. If you are expecting fancy pop-ups, gimmicks or freebies you’ve come to the wrong place - what you see is what you get I’m afraid. Don’t be hasty in hitting that X icon in the top right hand corner just yet, though. Moreover, if you want to hear more of my tales then selected favourites and click on add. If you’re working on a MAC like moi, choose bookmarks instead. Incidentally, the domain of my new website, living-in-a-land-down-under is taken from the Men At Work classic Down Under. FYI, it went to number one in Britain back in 1981 and it’s a very patriotic song in these shores. Furthermore, it was even used in the closing ceremony of the Sydney Olympics in 2000 and that Hollywood blockbuster Crocodile Dundee in Los Angeles. If you haven’t heard it, download it, but do it for free.

Anyway, I feel that I have a tale to tell you.

As most of you reading will have known, mattontour2006 had to be removed (RIP in little buddy). The reason? Potentially defamatory remarks I may have made in my last instalment regarding my job at the time. Believe me, I’ve learnt a lesson and my initial shock reaction still remains, although I would love to be able to replace it with an almost childish snigger. Moreover, I certainly wasn’t laughing on Monday 11th August – the day I was given the boot, which is a first for me.

That very morning I was beavering away at the desk, helplessly I should add, but I was being productive in my own mind, when I was told to ‘pack my bag and report to the boss’. None the wiser as to what was about to happen, I had a feeling I was to be reprimanded, but for what, I did not know. However, as I was led into an office I was confronted by an angry manager who had a print out of my previous blog on the desk in front of him. I immediately knew what the problem was – and I was about to face the music for my actions. I had made the mistake of being far too blasé in my previous blog regarding the job, and I was told in no uncertain terms that I had until 5pm on that very day to remove the content of the website as they were considering pressing charges for defamation. Obviously I cannot republish what I said, but in my honest opinion 80% of it was based on personal opinion, and the other 20% was, perhaps, an attempt to gain some one-upmanship on the them and their regimes. Maths aside, I know that my comments were unprofessional and unjust, so I have apologised, almost grovelled in fact.

The whole incident was cringe worthy; with the threat ringing in my ears I knew what I had to do, and I was more than willing to do it. After all, who would have won if it had gone to court? Who has the most to lose? Before I was allowed to leave the building with my tail between my legs I was told that I had gone on record and that I would never work for the organisation again (oh no, anything but that for a punishment, please!) and I was also ordered to report to the employment agency whom I was employed with to inform them of the whole incident.

Going to the agency I wasn’t in fear. (To be honest I was happy to have five minutes to myself) I thought that I could explain my case, apologise vehemently as the repercussions were serious, and say that I never meant any harm. However, as soon as I was called into the office they, too, had a print out of my blog. It was facing me on the table, and again, it was cringe worthy. They were rightly annoyed, and I felt awful for them, because as far as agency’s go in Sydney, they have been one of the better ones. Since being dismissed they remain to be excellent – almost faultless – as they’ve liaised with me and advised me on what to do. As I explained in the meeting, with my head resting in my hands, it was probably 40% unfortunate and 60% idiocy on my behalf, but I wasn’t prepared to dwell on it as I really wanted to be out of the office.

As I made a hasty retreat for the exit I was told by one of the women from the agency that all associated were fuming with me. I have since learnt that the agency assumed my badmouthing had taken place on the very work computer I was provided with. (I know my actions were stupid, but I am not that stupid). She, or the agency I should say, had read a vast majority of my blog, too. How do I know this? Because when I left she told me that I might want to delete all the extracts regarding my time at Central Queensland University – another role provided by them. I knew instantly that I would not be gaining employee of the month, or that I wouldn’t be expecting a call asking to work for them anytime soon.

The whole experience shocked me, and I had so many questions I wanted to ask, but all my inquisitiveness was clouded by apologies and redemption. I would like to know, for example, how they found out. In the very meeting when I was given my orders it was explained to me that the organisation operate a computer search, and presumably they check for the name of the company against employees’ names. Moreover, and I would like to know the answer to this above the former, what did they think of my writing style? Did they rate it? Were there things I could have improved on? So many questions left unanswered, which ironically, was much like my time spent there. I have kept the extract, along with all other instalments, as I wasn’t prepared to delete my entire blog, as it has acted like my diary. As Mae West once wrote, ‘if you keep a diary one day it will keep you’, as after all, I may need it to defend myself if court action arises, plus, I want to look back on my travels one day for nostalgic sakes. Also, according to the word count provided by Microsoft Word, I had written 61,134 words and I wasn’t going to delete all of them on a whim.

Like I said, the whole experience has shocked me, and I do feel ashamed, but I have since calmed and I have certainly learnt a lesson. Or have I?

In order to keep my mind occupied (it was working overtime with all negative outcomes) I wanted to find some work – any work – and I duly did. For the Tuesday and Thursday of that week (12th and 14th) I worked in a large retail store lugging boxes and helping out behind the scenes as they were in the middle of a shop refit. To be honest the work was a doddle, but it wasn’t great pay. However, at the time I would have worked for free if it meant keeping my mind busy and away from thoughts consisting of deportation. Sadly, like some unnamed recent roles I have held, the place was scattered with the type of people who thought they were much bigger than their job title permitted them to be. I don’t know why, but I have very little respect for people in authority who make no effort to find out one’s name and instead resort to addressing temps as ‘mate’. Nevertheless, the work served its purpose.

Sandwiched between those two days of work arouse the opportunity to get back to football coaching – a job I’d willingly do full time, and you’ll never hear me say a bad word about it (Wednesday 13th). Before a ball was kicked I was deep in conversation with the fellow trainees, and I found out some amazing facts. Firstly, two of them have played professional football in Scotland. If my memory serves me correctly, one of the chaps mentioned both Queen of the South and Dundee as part of his work history. I was slightly star struck, and even nowadays he gets paid playing in the NSW Premier League – that’s amazing! To my amusement he asked me if I played, to which I explained the knee injury I sustained when I was about 18 and I haven’t kicked a ball since. He seemed convinced by it – and so he should have been as it was the truth – but I wasn’t going to tell him of my White Hart Reserves days in Division Four of the Taunton Saturday League. I use to put the nets up and collect the corner flags (being tall and playing full back – the closest position to one of the corner flags – was my downfall). He would never have completed such chores in his life.

However, to make myself feel better, I know that there is a massive difference between being a top-flight footballer and to that of a coach. When you’re teaching a bunch of eight-year-olds reputations go out of the window and if you cannot keep their minds inspired then you’re in trouble. I’d like to think the children that very afternoon enjoyed themselves as I put an emphasis on enjoyment and participation, regardless of age or ability.

All self inflicted doom and gloom was lifted come that very weekend (Saturday 16th) as my actual football fix had returned. The Australian A-League recommenced at the same time as that of the Premiership and I managed to make a night of it. This was aided by a startling revelation – Australia sells Scrumpy Jack Cider in tins. During my days at the bank I was informed of a national off-licence that imports a variety of British beers and spirits (I did learn something) and I duly stocked up on this little beauty as it had been 18 long months since my last tipple. I must admit, I probably looked like a wino as I bought them out of cider, but there were only 3 cans in the shop. (It cost me something like $13 for three cans, but it was money well spent). My carbon footprint in making this purchase is shocking, but I’ll be back for more. Furthermore, I recycled the cans to make amends.

Anyway, back to the football. The curtain raiser in the A-League between Sydney and Melbourne was a damp squib; it finished 0-0, and no, it wasn’t one of those classic nil nil’s. The standard was poor and it was played at a tentative pace typical of a first game in the season. However, I was expecting more from the start of the Premiership, and like it’s Australian counterpart, it was dreadful. Admittedly, I am speaking from a Tottenham point of view, but I am fed up with the season already. Two games in and two defeats – same old, same old really, but being the superstitious person that I am, I am always looking for potential reasons why it hasn’t gone to plan. My conclusion is that we lost because Lysey stayed the night on both occasions. Therefore, for the forthcoming Chelsea match I have told her that she cannot stay. I know, I am an amazing boyfriend, but there is some logic behind this: Chelsea are undefeated at home for over 100 games so our chances of winning are slim. Personally I believe she’ll be back over next week, but if we win there’s a massive bridge I may have to cross!

30/8/08

I just can’t help myself. I have reverted to writing about work, once again, and like before it’s not going to be glowing. I tell myself this, though: what else am I to write about? Work takes up 37.5 hours of my week, I sleep for something like 50plus hours, and my social life is hardly blossoming as I am in the process of saving for a holiday in Fiji. Therefore, I will write about the one thing that happens on a regular basis, but I’ll try to adjust it in order to avoid any court threats. My defence, your honour is as follows: the brain is like a muscle and if I don’t use it it’ll go flabby. My vocabulary will suffer to the point where I will be using fillers in every sentence such as ‘you know… umm… thingy-me-bob’, and to counter that I need to continue writing.

After getting the boot the previous Monday I made a hasty retreat home to delete all pages as well as feverously search for work. Lo and behold, I was offered a full time job the next day and I am still there! For how much longer though is anyone’s guess, but the positives out of all of this is that I was not out of work for long. Anyway, the role; I work at a place that sells health insurance (or at least that’s what I think they do), but my job is to scan in a bunch of files and also complete an array of data entry. Riveting it is not, but like I previously said, I intended to get back in the saddle to get my mind off things. It’s money and a means to an end as, like I already mentioned, both Lysey and I have booked our flights to Fiji. (Stroll on November 2nd – 12 days island hopping awaits me).

However, I am not enjoying myself. To make matters worse I work for a man, who, initially it seemed took pleasure in putting me down, either by bleating orders, or showing no respect or gratitude in return. I have been belittled more than once and to be honest thinking about it made me angry. Two weeks into the role though and he has gone up in my estimation considerably. I put this down to the fact I never retaliated to his put downs; if he said something unworthwhile I respond with one word answers. (It seems to have worked). Moreover, he has also worked alongside me for one afternoon and ever since he has, like I said, gone up in my estimation. Anyway, the only reason why I am persisting in the role is solely because of my forthcoming holiday, but I am active in my search for alternative employment. Notice how I am a little vague with the details, but there are a few reasons for that: notably, the job is so monotonous there is very little to tell; talking about it could make me angry, and finally, the last time I opened my mouth it ended acrimoniously. Nevertheless, it's serving its purpose of providing me with enough dough to head to Fiji, and the working environment is ever improving.

I have managed to maintain my happiness though. Not only have I gone back to writing, but I have also had evening upon evening of Olympic coverage to keep me occupied. In my previous blog I was very critical of the Australian coverage, and I still am, but Britain has more than managed to hold its own and that’s great kudos for a gloating Pommy. Moreover, my previous views of the Olympic coverage were as follows: ‘…I have a sports fix to provide me with my entertainment, what with the start of the football season and the Olympics. Starting with the latter, here in Australia we are only two hours behind Beijing, so I have that advantage over anyone watching from Britain. However, I would willingly swap that for the level of coverage you British receive courtesy of the Beeb. Even though I have not watched any world wide sporting event elsewhere before, I would argue that the BBC do it best, just because of their various media outlets: the website, Five Live, BBC One, BBC Two, the red button in the corner offering interactive coverage - does it get any more comprehensive? By an Australian equivalent, the coverage is laughable. The main media outlet shows the coverage in association with Bunnings Warehouse and Harvey Norman - there's a store near you. (By the way, they're both akin to B&Q and Debenhams). You just don't sell out when it comes to world wide events. Nobody wants to see or hear an advert.

Moreover, and this admission did not come as a surprise to me, the coverage is just 'too Australian'. By that I mean when checking the TV schedule for events I enjoy, such as badminton, they just focus on the Australians taking part. When watching Athens four years ago I got into badminton as I followed the progress of Gail Emms and Nathan Robertson, who bagged a bronze for Britain. However, when I tuned in to watch badminton the other day they showed some Australian versus some Spaniard. I couldn't give a **** who won! (By the way, the Spaniard won, but I didn't care.) Incidentally, I also enjoy sports where there is no British involvement, or if there is, we are not in medal contention, such as table tennis or gymnastics. Both events are yet to commence, but hopefully the coverage will be comprehensive enough not to solely focus on anyone not donning green and gold.’

The coverage, sadly, didn’t improve. I recall one night last week (I believe it was Wednesday 20th) when Britain was cleaning up at the cycling. Well, here in Australia we watched the softball semi-final between Australia and Japan. The match lasted for five hours as it kept going to sudden death. Seriously, I have never been so bored in my life when it comes to watching sport. (It made watching Tim Henman in action enjoyable). Thankfully, London 2012 has cut softball from the program. Nevertheless, I managed to make best of bad situation and I was constantly glued to any highlights of us winning gold after gold. Furthermore, now that it has finished I am little gutted as the TV schedule has returned to normal and we’re now saturated with Pop Idol. (They show it 5 times a week – why?) They should follow the trend set when they cut Big Brother if you ask me. I say this solely because Australians aren’t marketable when it comes to pop music. The airwaves here are polluted with past American and British idol winners, but as soon as an Aussie wins s/he falls into the abyss. There is not the chart setup here unlike England so they technically have nothing to play for. Perhaps this is a reason to persist – to prove people like myself wrong, but don’t bother. Moreover, and I feel compelled to share this with you, they were hosting regional heats around the major cities of Australia, ala Sydney, Melbourne, Perth etc, but they also held one in London. This is all true, and six people got through the heats and they all received a free flight home to Sydney! Could you imagine Simon Cowell flying to Sydney to recruit would be British hopefuls? I haven’t purchased a return flight yet, but I’m holding out on Cowell and his cronies to pay for my way home. To me, it just sums up how crap this show really is. For the record, I haven’t been watching this, I have just caught snippets between channel hopping. I’d prefer to watch someone sing on the karaoke machine in a pub; at least that way I can have a pint while some loser sings.

Anyway, I haven’t just developed square eyes in my spare time. This weekend (Friday 22nd) Lysey was on duty so to speak in her role as an I-Grad at her plush hotel located on the beach at Coogee. In her current role she had to audit the restaurant and that meant we had to act like guinea pigs and receive a free meal. It’s a tough life admittedly, but my baby snapper and free bottles of wine softened the blow somewhat. We also stayed that very night and our balcony overlooking the beach was stunning. It has easily become my favourite weekend retreat while residing here and I can’t wait to hit the beach in the forthcoming summer months.

On the theme of food, both Lysey and I partook in our long awaited cooking class (Sunday 24th), or should I say or bar-b-q class. This had been on the to-do-list for a matter of months, but for reasons out of my control we had to wait until the end of August. (I wasn’t stalling. I know I cannot cook, but I was eager to learn) I must admit, I was nervous about the prospect, but once there they put everything into layman terms and this very man managed to cook king prawns, baby octopus and sword fish. The latter, incidentally, was stunning, but it carries high levels of mercury. Therefore, one would not be advised to live of it for a longer than a month. Furthermore, pregnant ladies (they’re not likely to be men now) aren’t advised to eat it. I brought a giggle to the group when I enquired if Lysey was pregnant, but I was the one laughing as I watched her devour her swordfish.

All of the above were either entrees or nibbles as the main course, not cooked by us (there were something like a dozen would be cooks in attendance), was a whole snapper – my second for the weekend. Since discovering the underwater delight I simply cannot get enough of it. Who knows, when I return to England I may stage a welcome home party and I could cook snapper as a treat (although I do just live down the road from a Domino’s Pizza). To be honest, I do not know if, when, or where I will use my new culinary skills, but I’d be up for the challenge.

Finally (I will revert back to writing weekly from now on), next week sees me gain another year. I see it as nothing to celebrate – I am going to be 26 after all, but I have given the maths of the situation no thought at all (not because I am losing my memory through old age). This is solely down the birthday surprise Lysey has in store for me. All I know is that come Monday I need my passport as we’re going away somewhere for three days. I cannot remember the last time I was surprised in such a way, but I am thoroughly looking forward to it. All I do know is that it should be hot enough for me to wear my flip-flops. That means the tub of sun tan lotion may be getting a dusting down.

Indeed, happy birthday to me!