Global credit crisis? What crisis? Things for me on this side of the world are grand, and I've probably never been better off financially. This year I have had two holidays, one to Port Douglas in northern Queensland, and another to the Gold Coast for my birthday. (The former, however, was just deserts for the hardest working pattern I have ever undertaken of six days a week, 12 hours a day at the winery.) Furthermore, both Lysey and I are heading to Fiji next week for a two week sojourn, and then we're both heading to New Zealand next year. I have to take my hat off to the forward thinking Australian government in this respect; they recently cut interest rates by 1% and passed on .8% to the consumer, meaning spending is still rife here. Indeed, en route to work I pass four building development sites, a clear sign that the economy is going strong, as by British equivalents a majority of housing development companies have gone bust. 

I do not want to brag, however, about how good life is over here. For our forthcoming trip to Fiji both Lysey and I have started the planning process, and we have both realised that the ailing US dollar could hinder our budget, but to what extent we don't know. Most Fijian resorts tend to advertise in US dollars, and because of the fluctuating value it's hard to know what we're actually paying. To make things more confusing, some resorts advertise prices in their own currency - the Fijian dollar, and others advertise in Australian dollars. Therefore, it's difficult to predict the extent of any potential financial difficulties we may encounter, but having weighed it all up we're both expecting to go vastly over budget (thus contradicting my opening paragraph. Indeed, if we both suffer I'm sure you'll all hear about it as I am not shy of a whinge or two). 

With the planning process comes the preempt holiday excitement. For some reason, for each country I visit I always make a point of paying a visit to its capital city, but it looks like that may not be the case in Fiji. We fly into Nadi, some four hours by car from the capital - Sauva. The time distance does not put me off, nor does what I am about to tell you all, but Lysey on the other hand isn't so keen to pay it a visit. The Lonely Planet guide states that Nadi at night is not a safe place; indeed, they say "you'd be mad to travel more than 300 meters at night along the city streets". I have always taken what the Lonely Planet says as no more than a guide, but some people refer to it as a bible, so such words would have an effect on the capital. Personally, I am not put off by the prospect of going to Sauva (especially as I help write the Lonely Plant. That's perhaps a slight exaggeration) and to appease Lysey I have suggested we get taxi's at night - something of which I despise. (They are for fat bastards only, I once said in jest, and over here in Sydney the drivers do not know their arse from their elbow, so they don't help the cause). 

My suggestions seem to fallen on deaf ears, and they have not been aided by something that happened to one of Lysey's work colleagues who used to work in Sauva. During one of the many military coups that have occurred, this chap (a chef at her hotel now, but at the time was working for an alternative hotel with the Intercontinental chain in Sauva) was held up in the hotel whilst anarchy was going on around him. He was approached by a member of the British Embassy who was obviously keen to remove him to safer grounds, but that would have required him swimming some of the distance. However, this chap was unable to swim so he therefore remained in the hotel and was responsible, in a Hotel Rwanda-esque way, for the Fijian members of staff. Moreover, the dogs in the surrounding gardens were all shot dead (for anyone who has a film knowledge of the atrocities that occurred in Rwanda they can perhaps see parallels in this story) but he received a medal for his efforts. No one was injured and as far as I am aware, everything ended peacefully, but Lysey still doesn't seem keen. 

In the working world, things have continued to remain normal, apart from yours truly suffering from a stomach bug last week (Monday 20th). That very night I sat up watching Eastenders with the door wide open allowing me easy, yet regular access to the dunny. By my own admission, watching such dire TV was a clear indication of my illness (along with regularly throwing up every ten minutes).  Incidentally, I have been informed that Australia is something like 6 months' behind the schedule, but I saw that the programme is still full of air-headed, loud mouthed, uncouth peroxide haired, suicidal ****wits as before. Sadly, things didn't get better (I am talking about me now) as the following day I lasted a pathetic hour at work before sickness returned. It took me an hour to get ready, along with 45 minutes to make it to work. I spent more time preparing myself that I did at work - pathetic indeed.

On the issue of all things work related, I have recently heard from a Scottish friend of mine who I worked alongside at the winery. He has decided to come back out to Australia, perhaps in the search for work, as back home he informed me that the job market has considerably dried up. He did, however, inform me that he has been editing my CV and passing it off as his own. Upon hearing this, I was in stitches; in order to be considered at the winery we needed to knock up a CV, and I already had mine saved on file. He, however, didn't have one so I agreed to let him re-edit mine in order for us to both get work. Anyway, he saved the original and this time round he just changed a bit of the work history, and obviously the personal details, and passed if around to local companies. From his admission that he is coming back out here I take it he was unsuccessful (he should be careful as he could have ended up in one of any of my previous crap jobs, a la the bank), but he did get employed before me when it came to the winery. Maybe it's good for something after all...?

Before departing England all those months ago, I made a strategic decision to visit an optometrist, with my mindset correctly operating on the basis that sepcs in Asia will be considerably cheaper than in England. Considering I am leaving for Fiji this weekend I decided a check-up was required so I could take advantage of cheaper glasses once more. (Also, it had been some 20 months or so since my last test so I was due a visit regardless.) As luck had it, Australia is blessed with Spec Savers (I say blessed with because they sorted my eyes out many moons ago), but as I set off in search for the shop in the heart of Sydney's central business district, it took me three walks of the very street where they were located to find it - a definite sign that an eye test was required as the shop itself was huge!

Unlike England, residents in Australia are entitled to free eye tests, but as I am anything but I had to pay ($64 - about 30 quid). This, I didn't mind as I would have had to have paid for if I was back home, but I wasn't too thrilled with what was about to come. Luckily, the chap giving my eyes the once over was one of the funniest chaps I had met in a while, so it cushioned the blow. He informed me that 'lumps' were developing under my eye lids, and he put this down to a possible reaction to the current contact lense prescription I am wearing. His suggestion of throwing them away wasn't greeted too well by yours truly, especially as I only recently shelled out $270 on six months' worth of lenses. I suggested that we try a different contact solution as my current stuff is of the cheap and nasty variety. (Perhaps the clue is in the bottle; the decent stuff costs $12 but comes in a small bottle, whereas the stuff I buy comes in a huge bottle - and it will last me for over a month compared to a week on the alternative - but it costs $3.95). Therefore, I have to return for a check-up when I return from holiday, which will cost me another $64. Like I said, I only went in there to get a prescription so I could find cheap glasses whilst away, but instead I left with a bill for a future appointment, and some free solution. 

Anyway, worse was the come. As I had my glasses with me (these are my DKNY's from Vietnam - a cherished possession of mine) he wanted to take a look to see if they were doing me any favours. As I told him of their origin, he called them DKNYY's, which I thought was golden! He knew that anything hailing from Vietnam claiming to be designer label was anything but, and he went further on his damming, yet hilarious description. On passing him the case, that being the case that clearly states DKNY on the outside, he took the glasses out only to find the inside of the case had peeled away. He reiterated that DKNY cases wouldn't fall apart like thus, but I explained that I never show anyone the case. (I concede that he does have a valid point, however.) Like I said, he wanted to test the strength of the glasses, and he soon informed me "that these are massively under strength for my eyes". He went on to point out that I need stronger glasses, despite the DKNY's being based on the prescription I was issued with prior to leaving England.

I left the store practically blind as by this time I had taken my contact lenses out - these being the ones he suggested I throw away. Moreover, I didn't want to look foolish and put my DKNYY's on as they're under strength. As I departed, however, I was carrying a large amount of shopping (all holiday supplies such as new trainers, boardies, plus some other clothes) and I quipped that I hardly spend money on myself so I thought I'd stock up for Fiji. He quickly fired back, in consummate dryness, I do spend money on myself - on cheap Asian glasses. Again, I thought it was hilarious, as by this time I had revealed my plan of wanting to buy some cheap glasses in Fiji, and that I had also previously bought some cheaper glasses in Bangkok. When I return he can tell me how under strength they happen to be, along with any purchases I decide to make in Fiji.

Anyway, as I headed away from the shop I did indeed put my DKNY's back on, just to prevent me walking into the path of any oncoming buses.

The following day, Saturday 25th, both Lysey and I continued our respective shopping sprees. I had, however, bought everything I needed inside an hour or so the previous day, and happily Lysey didn't take much longer. (We're both excellent shoppers as neither of us have time for one of the most overrated experiences known to man - window shopping.) However, as it was a Saturday every dick and the dog was out on the streets, making me crave a beer of five. Fortuitously, the Australian Beer Festival was on going besides the Rocks (which overlooks the Opera House), and we duly made haste to sample everything that Australia had to boast. I don't know why, but like all other beer festivals I have attended, every tipple tasted the same. Moreover, like every beer festival I have attended the adage of 'if it's wet, drink it' came into play, so one learns to deal with the repetitive taste. That Saturday afternoon we were both joined by a chap who I worked with at the bank, Kieron, and his missus, Rachale. (It's not Rachel, so no need to excuse the spelling mishap this time). The climate was stunning; it must have been hitting 30degrees plus, and all who attended seemed to have a good time.

That very night, both Lysey and I went to what was a first for me - a Korean BBQ. We were meeting her sister who was paying Sydney a visit from New Zealand, and a friend of hers - a French girl who lives in London. They had both been travelling around the Whitsunday Isles, and various other parts of Queensland, and they were both due to fly home the following morning to their respective destinations. Following the meal I can now add Korean as a new favourite of mine, and I will be back. (The pork and various vegetables went down a treat).

Finally, I have two things I want to end on. An award winning restaurant by the name of Coogee Bay Hotel has recently found itself in hot water over allegations that a customer was served ice cream containing human faeces. (I am almost chucking writing this. It's a good job it didn't happen last week, the very time when I was regularly throwing up). Of course, the Hotel has denied all allegations (it's not the sort of thing you admit to, is it?), and it's making big news in these shores. Yeah, mum, nan and myself ate there during their stay. I must say, in defence of the hotel, the proscuitto I had didn't taste like crap!

Also, as I will be in Fiji come this Saturday (1/11) I will be back on the book and pen as MAC is staying at home. Therefore, I do not know when I will update next, but I am looking forward to writing about something other than Sydney for a few weeks.

Nan's still a little bit racist. Apparently, on the plane coming over 'all the chinks were wearing slippers'. Now, I know she is no neo-nazi - more like an aged sole who would have gotten away with such diatribe in the past, but the world - and what can and cannot be accepted vocally - has changed. I suppose the politically correct term for people hailing from the Far East would be 'orientals', but I cannot see my nan using that collective noun.

Frivolity aside, I am going to miss them both. The past 18 days have flown by and they are now back in Blighty (they left these shores on Saturday 18th). For the duration of their stay I had been popping over their place or I would meet them beside the Opera House, always after a day at the office (which happens to be the same time when I appreciate a nap, so I was never full of beans). Nevertheless, I always enjoyed hearing the tales of their daily adventures. Furthermore, these stories were usually aided by a scooner or three. Now they have gone I am back in the boring routine of going home from work and doing little with my afternoons until Lysey returns from work. Like I said, I am definitely going to miss their company and I have been pestering them both (along with more members of the family) to fly out again and see me, but by the time they have saved up I do not know where in the world I will be. If I was a betting man (and I am; my Ladbrokes account is empty once more and I lost some money this weekend on the Caulfield Cup - a big meet in Melbourne) I would say New Zealand.

One perk of my current job is the fact that I can make endless amounts of personal phone calls, and for the past two weeks I have been milking it. (I could probably phone England if I so desire to give anyone an early morning wake up call.) On the very day they visited the zoo (16th) I was interested to hear if they had come across any unusual animals by English standards, but when I spoke to mother she informed me that they were in fact both browsing the farm section. Imagine my reaction: they come all this way to Australia and they were looking at chickens. I told them to go and see some crocs or a cassowary; the last time I checked neither were present in England.

I had also managed to find plenty to do with them at the weekends. Last Saturday (11th) the four of us, Lysey included, went to one of my favourite eateries - a Mexican in the heart of Sydney. Before leaving England I could never have envisaged the three of us sitting down over a Mexican, but I am a changed man. Nonetheless, the faces on both mum and nan were of a blank expression when they both glanced at the menu, but they both tried it, and to my knowledge they both enjoyed it. However, nan later confessed to having burnt her tongue on one of the various spicy dips on offer.

Furthermore, the following Sunday (12th) saw both mum and nan, along with myself, pay a visit to the Old Government House, located in the Botanical Gardens of Sydney. I have seldom ventured into that part of the world, but they both knew the area having explored it a few times previous. Therefore, they were showing me things in Sydney and I was happy to seek and learn. The Government House itself was interesting; it offered plenty of British history, and the grounds were stunning. Everything was beautifully maintained, from the gardens to the very room where Johnnie Howard hosted all the leaders of the Apec nations last year. 

That very night, Lysey had suggested we all stay in her hotel on Coogee, and considering I never tire of the Crown Plaza who was I to refuse? For a spring day it was still pushing 30 degrees and the sunset/sunrise that greeted us from our balcony overlooking the beach was stunning (we weren't all sharing a room if that's what you're thinking). Having breakfast at 6 am on the balcony was a great start to the working week and I look forward to doing it again sometime soon. More importantly, though, both mum and nan were extremely chuffed with the place. As it was their last weekend in Australia I was happy knowing that they both enjoyed themselves.

Fast forwarding seven days later to the day of their departure, the both rocked up to the airport vastly overweight (that's their luggage, not them personally), and I was well aware of this fact long before I lugged both cases onto the scales at Kingsford Smith. How did I know this? Because I had to carry their luggage down two flights of stairs en route to the airport. I didn't mind the exercise as after all I managed to carry them both to their room (although they seemed lighter going up). Anyway, they were facing the prospect of a hefty fine for being so overweight as for each kilo from Sydney to Seoul was to cost them $34 ($272), and from Seoul to London they were looking at $70 per kilo ($560, making a grand total of $832 between them, or 400 quid once roughly translated into stirling). Luckily, and I do not know how this worked out, they only received a fine of $210 between them (100 quid) for their eight extra kilos so it worked out well.

Anyway, moving on. Perhaps I should apologise for having the English of an illiterate moron as last week I know I managed to misspell notoriously and phenomenon. I feel I have a valid excuse, but before I plead my case I felt so dirty for having posted it knowing that it resembled the work of an eight year old: I was in an internet cafe at the time frantically making changes to my installment and my money was counting down. I soon realised I had a fair bit of editing to make, but I was beaten by the clock. I do realise that I could have put some more money in the machine, but that would have meant packing up my entire bag (has anyone got a harder life?) and breaking into a $50 note. Therefore, and considering my two biggest fans were waiting for me at the Opera House, I decided to post it, but I have felt dirty ever since.

Since their departure, I have been finding ways to keep busy. Luckily, Lysey is in the midst of a keep fit frenzy so she suggested we go rock climbing once more - some three months or so since our last visit. I was more than willing to get chalked up, however, but we both struggled. I maintain that rock climbing is 60% strategy and 40% strength; well, my strength hasn't diminished that much since my last attempts, but my technique has gone out the window. Like I said to Lysey at the time, I don't think I'll be making the next series of Gladiators. At the rock climbing centre they have a times wall, not to dissimilar to the one in size in the TV show, and it took me 132 seconds to get to the top. If I was to appear on the show I would need a ten minute head start, and not a lousy not a ten second one to get ahead of any preying Gladiator. (Shadow would have ate me for breakfast, but he was usually of his tits on coke).

Lysey has also been generating some extra income via eBay in the past few weeks, which is great for our forthcoming trip to Fiji. She has been left in charge of selling off all her nan's furniture (she has recently moved into an old persons home), and I have always escorted her when meeting the buyers, just in case one of them turned out to be a Norman Bates. Well, that very Saturday she was meeting a couple who had agreed to buy a side unit from her. Interestingly, they, or rather him (an old chap in his 50's who it seemed from his bleating had a history of a dodgy back) came rather under prepared for the piece. They were travelling in a tiny red car (that's the extent of my car knowledge) and they had no one to help remove the unit, which must have been 6"x6". Therefore, muggins here had to help out, and along the way I managed to pull up the carpet and break the hinge off the door. (The couple buying also managed to break the garden gate making Lysey more than animated.) As you can imagine, all this rigmarole ensured I was far from chuffed and it left Lysey fuming. The atmosphere between the four of us soon became fractious, but we eventually managed to get the unit into the car (we broke it down so half of it went on the roof). It's fair to say it was the most troublesome $30 she perhaps has ever made, but she gave me all the proceeds for my efforts. Once we ring up the damage I made to the property, however, I think I will be out of pocket. 

Naiviety is an underrated expression. Being English and only living here for the past two years, I am indeed naive about certain aspects of Australia, but I am learning.

Once such area of my inexperience is Australian past tv stars'. Indeed, I had the pleasure of growing up with Pat Sharp of Fun House fame and Andy Peters, but my knowledge of the Aussie equivilants is non-existant. Or at least it was, up until last Saturday (4th) when I met up with an Australian who was famous back in the 90's by the name of the Sandman. I still know nothing about him, but at the time (I was smashed and with a group of Aussies who were all debating whether the man in question was who he was suppsoed to be) I followed him into the toilets of an RSL Club (it's a place where booze is cheap) and asked away.

Like I say, naivety is underrated. If I had spotted Pat Sharp or Andy Peters I wouldn't have followed them into the toilets (especially Andy Peters. That may sound homophobic, but I am in Sydney remember) to confirm their identity, but I had no qualms about quzzing the Sandman. I had a right to ask him in my opinion, just because I knew nothing of him.

I was polite, but I managed to insult him; I informed him that I heard he was big in the 80's, but he hastily corrected me and said he was big in the 90's. What he did during his heyday, I am still vague of (he provided voices for radio and tv commercials/stations I'm led to believe) and what he does now is anyone's guess. Still, nice chap, but he didn't wash his hands.

Maybe I should have started this installment by informing you all that my mum and my nan (perhaps the only two visitors to this site) arrived safely. However, considering I have been writing about myself for the past 20 months' or so, I am unlikely to change. Moreover, if they are indeed the only readers as I may suspect, what does it matter?

Anyway, they arrived safely, but more about that later...

The weekend when I was following strange, c-list Australina celebraties into the toilet happened to be the last Bank Holiday weekend in these shores until Christmas, and I managed to make the most of it. Saturday (still the 4th) evening saw me head to the Sydney Football Stadium once again to watch my adopted football team - Sydney FC - in action in the A-League. This time, however, I took Lysey (it wasn't to be her first football match; she has been in the VIP boxes of the same stadium to watch the same team - a most boring experience I reckon. In a stadium that holds 42,000 but roughly attacts 12,000-14,000 per week, sat amongst dignatries and suites wouldn't imrpove the atmosphere), and we were joined by two other couples - all friends of hers, but I have known them for over a year myself.

The match, or what I remember of it, was highly frustrating. We (note the 1st person plural pronoun I use for Sydney) only drew 1-1, but my concentration of the game was hindered by the copious amounts of 'frosties' I was consuming. Amongst the six of us was a South African lad by the name of Lloyd and he certainly knows how to hold his drink. We both went round for round and come the end of the night I was a staggering mess. (Perhaps the writing was on the wall the weekend prior when both Lysey, myself and her housemate attended Lloyd's significant other's house for brunch. He wanted to get on it at 11am on a Sunday morning, but I reluctantly refused at the time.) I have always stated that drinking inside a stadia is great from a social point of view, especially as one cannot take drinks to their seat in a football match back home, but there is drinking and then there is drinking. On this occasion we were drinking drinking!

As it was the Bank Holiday weekend, I suppose it's justified. On the very Friday (3rd) my mother, nan and I went to one of my favouite watering holes overlooking the Opera House and Harbour Bridge (find me another pub anywhere in the world with two more iconic sights), but nan managed to fall asleep in the pub, which led to a mausacline bouncer to enquire about her welfare. He soon explained that if she fell asleep again she would be asked to leave. She was only on tonic water, but I now see where my younger brother, Ben, gets it from.

These past two weeks have also seen me return to my former employer of three months' or so last year, the NSWFB. The beauty of this, apart from the flexible hours (I can practically come and go as I like, which is ideal now the clocks have gone back and consequently buggered up the English football kick off's), is that I can once again tell people 'I work for the fire brigade'. For every nine out ten times I explain my employment to someone, I am automatically asked 'am I a fireman?' Of course, who am I to correct them? I can see why it's an easy assumption to make, however given my work situation. (I am of course refering to my athletic build and not my work abode that leads them to put two and two together to make 22).

My workload, however, has increased ten fold since my last sojourn here. Besides the fact that I have, naturally, forgotten most of what I was taught, the new projects are more intense than last time. This definitely appeals; I get paid to use my brain once more and it keeps me on my toes. Furthemore, I am welcome to stay here for the foreseeable, meaning I have something to return to when I get back from Fiji in November. (I can also save a decent amount of money, too, for the aforementioned holiday).

Like I previously mentioned, both my mum and nan arrived safely on the Tuesday previous (30/9). Initially, their arrival resembled a pantomine; Kingsford Smith (Sydney Airport to you and I) listed the wrong arrival gate, meaning I was becoming frustrated awaiting their arrival from Seoul (Seoul being their stop-off). My nan soon cheered me up, however, when she noted that it was light for 9 o'clock. She was still in the world of Britain and assumed it was 9pm and not the 9am on Tuesday morning, Australian winter time. Prior to their arrival, I was joking with Lysey that I was grateful for not having a racist nan (some people have racist grand parents, I know this for a fact) as Sydney is extremely multi-cultural, but I think she may have changed in the 20 months since I last saw her: she was explaining that she wasn't happy about the prospect of eating 'worms' on their flight from Korea to Sydney so maybe she has changed. FYI, worms is noodles and I've never known of any race to eat worms.

To combat their jetlag I devised a thoughtful, but a little tiresome plan. According to their bodyclocks it was bedtime Monday night but I explained it was benefical to fight through it and sleep in accordance to the Australian time. Therefore, I took them both to the Opera House and Harbour Bridge before they both met Lysey for the first time. Some people make issues of first impressions, but neither Lysey or my family did, and for the record, I have been told that both mother and nanny are fans of my significant other. Excellent praise indeed.

Sadly, I was only able to take that one day off from work for their arrival. Therefore, I had mentally overloaded them both with things to see and do with the intention of them both being occupied during the day and then I'd walk to see them after work. Through a variety of activites, but most consisting of firstly visiting the Opera House, they managed to stay out of trouble, and at the weekend (the bank holiday weekend as already mentioned) I went into tour guide mode once again. I love playing that role; there's a sense of satisfaction when I take someone for the first time to the Opera House, Harbour Bridge or Coogee Beach.

Before the football shenanigans that Saturday I took them both around Darling Harbour and onto Paddy's Market. Sadly, it was chucking down, and a complete contrast to the day of their arrival when it must have been high 20's to low 30's. (Not bad for spring.) The following day (5th) both Lysey and I were on enternaing duty and we both cooked them a meal at Lysey's place (it had to be her place over mine. The cockroaches still reign supreme in my place and the potential ear-ache that would have produced was not worth it, so we opted for a safe bet). This was a first for me - cooking for my family, but I like to think I have changed a little since leaving Blighty. It was only spag bol washed down with some wine, but it's a massive development.

The next day (Monday 6th - and an unpaid day off for me) was the day we were planning to don our hiking boots and trek from Coogee to Bondi. I have completed this picturesque walk twice and I am always open to the idea of doing it again, solely because the views are stunning. Anyway, that very day we were about a third of the way round when the heavens opened, and the three of us were stopped in our tracks. (Luckily, we managed to find shelter and a taxi home.) I suppose the weather over here fails to dispell any myths about bank holiday weather back in England; natourisly, the weather leading up to a bank holiday back home is pleasent only for the extended weekend to be washed out, and that was duly the case over here in Aus.

Of course, I am not representing the whole of Australian in my weather report, but the whole of Australia did not benefit from the bank holiday. Only NSW, South Australia and ACT had the day off, leaving the remaining 4 states/terratories to slave away. More confusingly, the clocks went forward an hour here in NSW last weekend, but remained the same elsewhere, including the landlocked ACT (landlocked by NSW). The other states will catch up in time, apart from Queensland who are not open to the notion of 'day light savings' so they remain an hour behind NSW throughout summer (despite directly being located above NSW in the longtitude lines). I recall the president of Venuzela, Hugo Chavez, changing the times last year in his country without prior warning to the nation. I suppose the Australian way is democratic, but it's just as confusing for anyone on their travels.

Anyway, before the family arrived, I took Lysey on a long over due 'date'. Many moons ago (the exact time frame escapes me, but if you pressed Lysey I am sure she'll be able to provide a definite answer) we promised to take each other on a date, just to act like kids, but also to arouse some random excitement, and I duly delivered on Saturday (27/9). Opting for something other than a meal and a walk home, I booked us both an hour's Thai massage, followed by a visit to the cinema, but in the Gold Class section. The massage was just what the doctor ordered. For 60 minutes I was manhandled, squeezed and pressed back into shape and I felt revitalised leaving the parlour (it wasn't one of those 'parlours' before anyone assumes. Indeed, there was a sign pointing out that 'no happy endings' were offered here. Why do they need a sign? I assume someone had asked for one in the past, or maybe they have been constantly asked for. Either way, there was a sign illustrating that no hanky-panky was to be offered).

The cinema, probably the worst suggestion anyone can make for a first date, was our next destination. Luckily, I am past all the uncomfortbale silences/taking her to the most expensive resturant just to impress her situations synominous with a first date, so the cinema seemed ideal to me. (You're never going to build up a rapport sitting in silence for two hours, umming and arrighing whether to put your arm around her now are you?) We opted to upgrade, however, to what's a recently rejuvinated phonenmom over here to Gold Class. (Recently rejuvinated because of a national tv advertising campaign to get more people through the door and it worked on me). Sadly, we had to watch Step Brothers as nothing else was on, but during the film we managed to have nachos, chocolate sundaes and drinks bought to our already reclining, plush chairs. For the record, the film was highly riduculous and not particuarly funny, unless you have the mentle age of an 8-year-old.