Times are tough, people. Gone is my regular and better-than-warranted income courtesy of the fire brigade, (thank you, visa stipulations) only to be replaced by the uncertainty and degrading low pay of the temporary work market. Furthermore, prior to becoming just another unemployed statistic, (there seems to be an ever increasing few of us over here) I was struggling to be honest, just with my everyday costs.

Throughout the duration of my stint at the fire brigade I had been walking to work in attire more suited to a tramp, for my right shoe has had a 50pence sized hole in the bottom, and my work trousers are annoyingly three inches too short. (I seriously need to put some jam on my shoes and invite my trousers down for tea - it's that ridiculous). I can hear my old man now saying something along the lines of....’son, I used to walk 10 miles to school everyday and we only got one pair of shoes a year.... I used to put cardboard in my soles when they became threadbare.... I also had to wear my big brother's trousers once he finished with them.'

All of the thoughts of my father may be true, but interestingly, I have recently found out that this very man has just spent a couple hundred quid on a 'dog whisperer' as Jol, our boarder collie who was named aptly after that great Tottenham manager, has a fearless streak that is landing him in a lot of bother. Apparently, his behaviour is not acceptable at dog club and he's being threatened with eviction as he continually attacks the other dogs. Call me cynical, but I would love to see a dog whisperer in action; what exactly do they do? Lift one of his ear and whisper, 'Jol, stop attacking other dogs'. Like anything, it needs to judged on results - and I for one hope to eat a fat slice of humble pie, but one thing is clear: frugality has been replaced by frivolity in the eyes of my old man.

Having completed 819 hours', or six months, work at the fire brigade, I have been frantically searching for work - and to be honest it's been partially successful. However, 'partially' is the not the bill paying guarantee I currently seek; things, however, haven't got to the stage where I am putting a bowl around my head for a haircut. Oh no, I still managed to fork out $35 for a trim. There's a quote from the imitable David Brent that sums up the situation better than any analogy that I could think of: "Does a struggling salesman start turning up on a bicycle? No, he turns up in a newer car - perception, yeah?" Maybe I should buy some new work clothes then.

Continuing on a money related theme, last month I encountered some strange on-goings with my Australian bank account. I have no direct debits for the aforementioned account, but mysteriously I noticed $97.94 had gone walking from it. Apparently, I had ordered something from England as a conversion rate was included within the amount, but the description within my bill was too ambiguous to discover what, if anything, I had actually ordered; it stated I paid money to a 'Prime Member Fee', which I instantly put down as a fraud. Credit to ANZ, the bank of which I deal with, as they also knew something dodgy was going on as nothing was authorised by myself. They promptly gave me my money back, but they kept $10 for their trouble which I thought was a bit cheeky.

To counter their sheer nerve, I had the opportunity to get a free flu' jab courtesy of the fire brigade. Now that the clocks have gone back (we're now 9 hours ahead of England, which I am rejoicing about as a 3pm football kick off will now begin at midnight) it signals the start of winter. Although we never dip to anything comparable to England when it comes to mercury readings, the houses are not insulated against the elements so the soft people out here get their fair share of colds. (Seriously, Down Under we Brits are regularly referred to as 'whinging poms', but I have never heard anyone moan so much about the cold as an Australian national. They even put my mother to shame - and that's saying something believe me) However, I reluctantly refused my free jab as I suffer from latrophobia. I'm sure you all know what that means, so I won't patronise any reader. It's a self diagnosis, but I don't like the notion that a stranger can have so much control over you with often the simplest pieces of information.

Like I said, my search for work has landed me a few jobs. The first of these roles was working in a large department store (27/3 - the same day my contract expired at the fire brigade. I was forward thinking enough to realise that work opportunities cannot be sniffed at) where I was a 'retail assistant'. Not being retail's biggest fan, I was happy to be tucked away at the back of the store where my duties included hiding from a persistent boss and preparing stock. As I had already put a full day in elsewhere, I was grateful that this job was only four hours long.

The second, and currently, last of the jobs I have found since last Friday was a cash in hand number, but the pay on offer hardly had dollar signs twinkling in my eyes. Digressing slightly, Lysey is now working back at the hostel in order to get some money together, and daily I send her texts asking if there are any jobs on the notice board. As luck had it one job was on offer working at a wine and fashion show, with the bulk of the duties consisting of setting up and preparation, and I duly made contact with the organisers who in turn took me on (31/3).

The work was due to last me three days, and for that time I, plus a group of other chaps, were expected to prepare the fashion side of the show. Amusingly, after one day the other chaps had all resigned (11 of them) leaving me as the sole bloke. Their reasons - and I had similar thoughts going round my head - were because of the insulting pay and long hours. We were all on $10 an hour (roughly £4.50 - an absolute joke), which is drastically short of the minimum wage Down Under. We were not even earning $100 a day despite often working 9-10 hours a day, with our shifts consisting of heavy lifting.

Because of my financial predicament, plus the fact I am forward thinking enough to realise that job opportunities are at a minimum at the moment, I decided to stick it out. With day one out of the way the majority of the heavy lifting was complete; the remaining two days were spent preparing the stock and displaying it for the hoards of customers predicted for the three week show, so the boss bought in about half a dozen women to help with the preparations.

Annoyingly, being the only bloke meant that whenever anything heavy needed moving the bosses would always yell my name. Regardless of how heavy or awkward the object was, I was expected to deal with it whilst all the woman put the clothes out. I took some revenge, however, when the boss had to make a trip to Kings Cross to pick up a rental car. As no one within management knew the area, I had the job of directing them to the other side of the city. According to Google Maps, to get to William St, Kings Cross from Doody Street, Alexandria, it would take 14 minutes along one major road. Of course, I knew this, but I also knew that they didn't know the area, so we didn't go the Google Map way - we went my way. My way was the scenic way via as many traffic lights as possible and via the city centre. Over an hour had past and we still weren't back at the warehouse; moreover, when we eventually returned my day was near an end.

Those last two days were akin to working in a Calcutta slum. The illegal pay, the hours, the demands of the boss - everything resembled what I would assume working in an Indian sweatshop would be like. Indeed, my Facebook status at the very time mentioned that I was going to return to my Indian sweatshop. Sadly, one of my Indian friends, I think, has taken offence to my comments. I only say 'I think' because I haven't replied or attempted to justify my statement.

Amusingly, I found out during my three days that the boss, who's toured Australia with the fashion show idea, moved apartments because his previous place would cost him $30 in a cab. This amount, despite the fact he was paying us an illegal wage and that he would make a fortune on the thousands of items on sale, was too high. His new place was considerably closer than the previous place, which was a whopping 3km's from the site.

I have calculated that if I work for the month of April I will have sufficient funds for the remainder of my days in Australia, assuming of course that I am unable to find anything substantial and I continue on the temporary merry-go-round. Granted, April consists of a number of national holidays, but these have also been taken into consideration. Moreover, I have also included the wages I have made since leaving the fire brigade, but believe me, this amount is laughable and it hardly gives me any financial reassurances.

Moving on, Lysey provided me with a moment of great hilarity (28/3) when she managed to miss out on seeing Groove Armada. It sounds wrong to laugh at someone's misfortune, but she had a free ticket to see the British dance group, who were touring NSW and playing at Wagga Wagga, Wollongong and Sydney. (That's akin to Daft Punk touring England and playing Taunton, Swindon and London - highly laughable in itself). The gigs were all free, but to obtain a ticket you needed to apply online well in advance. Anyway, someone within the hostel hierarchy had done just this and he gave Lysey a ticket to the Sydney event. In order for her to gain entry she needed to fill in the online ticket application with name, address etc, but to do this you required a specific code - something that was provided by the hostel hierarchy.

Anyway, as she was about to enter her information (by this stage her unique code had been entered) she was due to start work, so she had to log off. However, because she had switched off without entering any of her information she wasn't able to return to the page. (There was no ‘save’ option on the page, so in all fairness the website is to blame and not Lysey) The organisers must have assumed that anyone lodging their ticket application would complete it all in one go (an easy assumption to make, so why wouldn't they?). Without a contact page or a complaint forum, she was screwed and subsequently spent that Saturday night in with me.

Of course, she wasn't downbeat about spending an evening with yours truly. Moreover, (30/3) she was pretty grateful that I am her other half as her rear left tyre had suffered a puncture. I have never managed to change a tyre beforehand (my record prior to that Monday was attempted tyre changes, two. Successful tyres changed, nil), but we both got the job done with great ease. I overheard her later during that week on the phone to her sister in New Zealand where she told her that it was team effort. It wasn't, unless you call me completing 60% of the work as a team effort. Nonetheless, I surprised myself and I think I even surprised Lysey.

Finally, I can announce that I am coming home - and I am bringing a certain someone with me. Lysey and I have been planning this for a while and the initial plan was to rock up and surprise everyone. However, I had to apply some logic to my decision - especially after I spoke with my family on Skype recently where mother informed me that due to the on-going renovations in the house the spare room was anything but a bedroom. I was set on the idea of surprising the family, but having put the thoughts of everyone back home before myself, I now realise it makes more sense.

Prior to informing them, I sent a text to my mother that said something along the lines of: "Mum, can you call me as I have something I need to tell you. Don't worry, it's good news x" Being the comedian that I informed mother, who sounded a little apprehensive on the phone, that Lysey was pregnant. Interestingly, she took the news very well, but I think that was down to the fact that my younger brother - Ben - had already suggested that this was the reason of my text.

Nonetheless, her apprehension was soon erased as I went into detail about our plans. We leave Sydney on May 7th where we both fly to Bangkok. Lysey wants to meet up with a friend here, so we've agreed to stay in Thailand (predominantly in Bangkok because of short stay) for five nights. Having spent three months' in and around south-east Asia before flying to Australia I met a few folks in Bangkok, so it will be good to see them again, too. Our plans for our stay consist of relaxing by the pool, catching up with various people, and having plenty of Thai massages.

We arrive in England on May 12th and I depart on June 7th. Lysey, on the other hand, leaves England on June 4th as she wants to spend some time with the same friend we're meeting in Bangkok in her adopted home of Singapore. I was invited, but believe me, I would prefer to spend a few extra days in Somerset than in Singapore, or Disneyland with the death penalty as it's referred to in the Lonely Planet Guide. (That’s Singapore, not Somerset)

Like I said, it makes more sense that people know of our plans. We are constructing a busy itinerary that includes visits to Bristol and London, but we plan to see everyone back home so we'll have plenty of time in the big T. Moreover, everyone in the family can take time off work, and Samuel - my nephew who I have yet to see - can pay us a visit. Furthermore, we can fine-tune our sleep arrangements.

So to reconfirm: Lysey is not pregnant and we will both be home on May 12th.