When I put my mind to it I can, sadly, become a walking cliché of an Englishman with great ease. Sometimes I forget that I am in an amazing part of the world where beaches and natural beauty lay on my doorstep and I slip into my old pre-university days of getting drunk for the thrill of it. (I recall years one and two of university going the same way, too).
Last weekend, (14/3) I found myself become that cliché as I went to a mate's place located next to the beach at Maroubra Bay, where I had a BBQ, drunk copious amounts of alcohol and spent the day in front of the TV watching football. All that was remaining for me to complete the 'Complete guide to being English' was to wear a football top, get sun burnt, buy a kebab and throw the half I don't want on a stationary car and then kick off one of the wing mirrors. I did none of this; I also failed to take a pee in the street while declaring my love for the nearest person next to me. University, it has to be said, provided me with a tangible learning experience as well as a textbook based education.
So much for the sights and delights I have encountered so far. So much for all the culture I have induced, but every now and then a blast to the past can be justified - as it was last weekend. I enjoyed drinking cider in the sun followed by a football binge. To the next time....!
Moving on, I haven't sustained my binge drinking and become something of a Twiggy figure (the obese one from the Royal Family), for I have been taking in more Australian experiences. The weekend previous (7/3) Lysey and I attended the annual and world famous Mardi Gras, which took over the streets of Sydney.
Opening with the famous 'Dykes on bikes', the parade - lasting well over four hours - was an eye opening festival. Not afraid to stoke controversey, the liberal thoughts and images on show were not only entertaining, but highly thought provoking. I have never attended a gay parade before, but I have attended many street festivals as well as a number of carnivals. The predominant purpose of the carnivals I have attended is usually to raise money for local charities. However, the Mardi Gras is anything but a fundraiser: nearly all the floats and participants were conveying a political message about gay rights. Moreover, the theme for this year's parade was 'United Nations', where the intention was to raise awareness about the countries where it is illegal to be gay. According to some of the posters on show, it is illegal in seven countries, and within these borders being gay means going to jail, or in some cases, death.
Provoking my thoughts, I undertook my own research to find out the names of these countries. Using possibly the most unreliable source known to man, Wikipedia, I uncovered a list that was more substantial than just seven countries. Most of these countries were located within the Middle East, and if I were a practicing homosexual I wouldn't be lured on discovering this region. (Two weeks in Iran, anyone?) Moreover, as a practicing heterosexual I have no great desire to head to this region. However, it's important to stress my findings were found on Wikipedia; if I have defamed the Middle East I am sorry. To make amends, when I do reach the region anyone who's offended can kick back and have a Gay Time with me. (Incidentally, a Gay Time is a popular ice cream in Australia, apparently popular back in the 1980's, but they're making a come back. To promote their reemergence they have launched a TV advert which has a jingle that goes: "It's so hard to have a Gay Time on your own. Smutty)
The majority of the floats at the Mardi Gras were basically sticking two fingers up to the anti-gay establishment. For example, a number of these floats depicted religion in a most derogatory way, often making a mockery of Jesus or the Pope. (One float, solely made up of a large banner which stated 'fuck homophobic religions' underlined the general vibe of the parade) Furthermore, the parade also highlighted human rights' issues, including matters relating to Aboriginals and also to Tibet. To me, it was apparent that everyone associated with the parade was armed with a no fear agenda.
Furthermore, to some organistaions the Mardi Gras provided a perfect opportunity for some PR offerings. The fire service, police, lifesavers, and the ambos - they were all present and joined in with the parade. Although these organisations weren't associated with any of the aforementioned political stances, their presence was a welcome sight to all. To me it added weight to the idea of a 'United Nations' as these organisations are obviously all open minded to the idea of employing gays and lesbians. However, there were a number of conglomerates who joined the feel-good bandwagon, who in my mind simply offered nothing but to promote their own needs and wants of their respective company's. ANZ (Australia and New Zealand Bank, who was whored by Joan Rivers), Virgin Blue (an Australian airline) and Foxtel (cable TV) were the guilty parties.
I thoroughly enjoyed the whole parade, but neither Lysey nor myself had the stamina to see it all. To get a decent vantage point we had arrived about two-and-a-half-hours before its start, so come the end we were both feeling the effects of being on our feet for so long. In my summary I would say the floats were nowhere near as good as anything you'll likely to see at something like Bridgewater Carnival (that's the only time I, or anyone else for that matter, will compare or contain the words 'Bridgewater' and 'Sydney' within the same sentence), but the costumes were worthy of Broadway. People go to so much effort, and not to gain money, but to promote something they feel strongly about.
Moving on. We had good reasons to return home early from the Mardi Gras, as we were due at the airport the following morning. Having had a few hours sleep due to the Tottenham match (our fixture against Sunderland kicked off at 2am, of which I watched on some dodgy internet stream via South Africa. It was so bad I missed both goals) we both awoke early that Sunday (8/3) to head to the airport. Our destination, for what was only going to be a 24-hour trip, was Melbourne. Our reason for going was to celebrate Lysey's parents wedding anniversary.
Her dad came up with the idea that we both make the journey as Lysey's sister and her boyfriend were doing the same from New Zealand. They initially had reasons to leave New Zealand and be in Melbourne as the pair of them was attending a wedding, of which Lysey’s parents were aware. However, her mother (and her sister and her boyfriend) was none-the-wiser about our arrival, so they looked a little shocked when we both met up early that Sunday morning. (It was about 11am, but we had been on the move since 5am. Unsurprisingly, her dad wasn't shocked as he organised and paid for us to be there)
The intention of the day, once the greetings and surprise was out of the way, was to have lunch and then go for a few drinks somewhere in the city. Our choice of cuisine was Chinese - not my most favourite, but I am a top faker (I gave Lysey instructions not to tell anyone that I don't like Chinese. I did not want to make a scene, so I went with the flow). Instantly, they could probably tell the concept and the food was a little alien to me; my fingers became my choice of cutlery replacing my chopsticks. I don't know why, but when I have Chinese I struggle using chopsticks, yet when I have sushi I find them simple to use.
One hour later, having consumed an ample amount of Chinese dumplings, we left China Town and made our way to a pub on the other side of Melbourne. Disappointingly, my geographical knowledge of Melbourne is virtually non-existent. I say it's disappointing because as a lad turned 26-year-old man I have had a fetish to read maps. (As soon as I sit down in a plane, for example, I instantly pick up the magazines that come as standard and study the maps and the routes the particular airline operates. I have never seen anyone read these magazines, apart from myself. However, some people must read them as the Sudoko in my magazine that very Sunday morning was half complete. I was not amused - either finish it or don't start it.) Therefore, I had no great idea where we were in Melbourne, but I was more than happy to be in a pub where I could have a pint or five.
To my knowledge, Victoria is the only state in Australia where pints are regularly served (you can get them in NSW and other states, but most pubs tend to serve in schooner glasses - roughly just over half a pint). A few hours later I sensed that we were all getting in the mood, but that's where out night ended. As we had been up since 5am tiredness was overtaking the effects of the alcohol. Moreover, we were due to rise at 5am the following day so we could make it back to work on time, so we opted to head back to the comfort of our air-conditioned hotel where a plush bed awaited me.
Our flight home the following day (Monday 10th) was problem free, apart from one tiny glitch. We flew back with Qantas and I was happy about because unlike all other domestic airlines in Australia, Qantas serves breakfast as part of the ticket. (The Sudoko in the magazine wasn't complete either) However, the aforementioned airline has had a few recent problems with safety: nothing tragic has occurred, but a few of their planes have dipped a few thousand feet whilst in transit, meaning they have been under the media limelight for a while. Anyway, during the standard safety chat where they tell you how to fasten your seat belt and what to do if a mask appears in front of you, (by the way, I cannot be the only one who would love to jump out of a crashed plane onto one of those inflatable slides that emerge from the doors. The chances of this happening are slim, so if it does ever happen I won't take the advice of the airline, which is to gently lean over and glide down the shute. Oh no, I will be taking a running jump, just to further remember the experience) the video they were using to portray this message cut out. One of the stewardess' had to convey the rest of the video over the tannoy, which I found amusing given their recent safety record.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Friday, March 6, 2009
The missus and I, we are both risk takers. Personally speaking, I am usually a Royal Gala man, but from time to time - often without much thought - I would switch to a Pink Lady. I make snap decisions on my variety of apple just like I do in everyday life. That's why, literally with a drop of a hat, Lysey and I attended the Celebrity Twenty20 cricket match held at the SCG in support of the bushfire victims (22/2).
Minding our own that sunny Sunday, we received a phone call from one of Lysey's friends who informed us that she had two spare tickets to the aforementioned event. I realise that bagging free tickets to a charity event is pretty low, but I more than made up for it with my spends at the bar that evening.
To put the bums on seats, famous sports stars, all of them Australian, plus a few celebrities, donned the whites. Seeing Steve Waugh at the SCG is akin to seeing Bobby Moore at Wembley to the average Australian, and I can now say I've witnessed him. For one of the teams, a young lad was playing, but he had no celebrity background yet he took the wicket of Steve Waugh. I found out, a few days after the match, that he had in fact lost his siblings along with his grandparents in the fire, and from the family house he was the only one to survive. (His parents were out of town at the time hence them being with their grandparents.) It's a tragic story, but I think the 20330 of us who turned up managed to put a smile on his face.
The relief effort is continuing simply because the fires are still no extinguished. The generosity of the public however has never waned – money continues to pour in.
Moving on, I am literally over the notion of work. Because of my visa stipulations I only have a few weeks left before I need to seek pastures new (I could continue, but it's the sort of thing that would come back to bite me in the proverbial, which is hardly conducive to any potential de facto visa's I could later apply for. However, I am resigned to the fact that I know I will miss the job when I leave, especially now jobs are hard to come by. Thank you, global economic crisis). Therefore, facing the prospect of being at work on my own (26/2) and fearing the potential bludgeoning of someone else’s workload (I struggle enough with my own), I was desperately seeking an excuse to duck out of the office. As luck had it a big boat by the name of the Queen Mary II had docked in the city that day and I, plus half of the city, made headway towards the dock.
Initially, the prospect of staring aimlessly at a massive ship didn't appeal, but having witnessed it close up my original thought process of only going to see it to sneak out of work was replaced with amazement for this thing is MASSIVE! It's so big it could not fit into the traditional dock of Circular Quay, so instead it was marooned at the nearby navy base. Moreover, I was unable to actually fit the boat into any decent photograph (those LED screens on the average digital camera just aren't big enough), so I spent the remainder of that afternoon scrawling the city for a decent vantage point. I had to move quickly because she was en route from Auckland to Tokyo and she was only in town for 24 hours. One hour, two blisters, and a number of kilometers later, I was still no better off, though, so I gave up. I will make a point of visiting the street venders who sell paintings on a Sunday near the Opera House so I can get a copy.
I don't actually know when I will get a chance to visit these venders, though, as I seem to be a social butterfly come the weekends. Saturday (28/2) Lysey and I embarked on a road trip south from Sydney to the seaside resort of Huskisson (roughly three - four hours drive). En route we stopped off in the seaside town of Kiama, famous for its blowhole. How do I best describe a blowhole? Basically, it's a hole that has been formed, presumably by coastal erosion, in the rocks. Every time the waves crash into the rocks seawater squirts forth making the effect of a blowhole. The weekend we travelled coincided with the start of autumn, yet the blowhole was still drawing a crowd. It's something I have neither heard of nor seen before, so I was keen to check it out. Even though it may just be a blowhole (yet definitely the best blow hole I have ever seen) I would highly recommend one paying a visit to it.
Huskisson, or Hussky as it's affectionately known as in Australian, reminded me of a typical British seaside resort, yet the horizon wasn't polluted with arcades and adolescents loitering outside. It's a small town consisting of two pubs and five or six different restaurants (yet dozens of motels) which oozed a family atmosphere. I have never headed south of Sydney along the coast before and I was more than happy with our chilled out surroundings, which were largely made up by the beach.
Wanting to explore some more, I was keen when Lysey suggested we head further south for a short drive to visit Greenpatch Beach. This stretch of sand belongs in a national park so we had to pay $10 to enter, but it was one of the best ten dollar notes I have ever exchanged for entry; the beach was simply stunning, easily on par with the best beach I had the pleasure of visiting, which was in the Whitsunday Isles called White Haven. The white sand, the type that doesn't stick to you when you exit the water and is apparently good for cleaning jewelry with, stretched for miles. It felt like I was walking on flour for it didn't scold my feet despite having been sun baked all day. Furthermore, the seawater glowed an appealing blue, making a dip a necessity. Unfortunately, I didn't take my camera so you'll need to type Greenpatch Beach, NSW into Google maps to see for yourself.
Continuing with the comparisons of a British seaside resort, Hussky was quiet during the night. Besides, it struck me as being the sort of place one wouldn't visit in order to create drunken carnage. I certainly wasn't after that, and neither was Lysey, so during the evening we were both happy having ordered some fish and chips. Abetted nicely with a few bottles of cider, we sat on the harbour and watched the world go by.
To break up our homeward journey we decided to stop off in another seaside town (1/3). Gerringong, where on face value it appeared no one under the age of 50 resided, was our choice of destination. Again, we were treated by another tranquil beach which continued past the horizon. Lysey, having obviously driven both ways, was keen to recharge the batteries, and our 20-minute dip in the Pacific Ocean achieved that. A little fresh at first, we both acclimatized and had a splash before setting off home.
I had plenty to be excited about when we arrived back in Sydney: the match for England's first domestic trophy of the season was being played that Sunday night, of which Tottenham were contesting. Prior to the League Cup final (where we were to play Manchester United) I have witnessed all the games leading to up to Sunday's finale at the same pub. For the majority of these fixtures I have been the only one in attendance (it was almost the same when we played against Hull, but four others joined me on that occasion. I bet the management were rubbing their hands together at the boost in numbers), so therefore I feel I should have been entitled to a seat at the bar, or anywhere else of my choosing. I have a moral obligation in life to give up my seat for those who are pregnant, disabled or elderly and I would like that ethos to continue when it comes to watching sporting events in any watering hole.
My thought process can be replicated during any major tournament. Sadly, during such events the pubs are awash with people, mainly women it must be said, who thought otherwise to watch the World Cup qualifier between England vs. Georgia in Tbilisi on a cold Wednesday afternoon because they simply had something better to do. However, come the World Cups they're there in their hoards, making incessant chants of 'Rooney, Rooney, Rooney'. I must admit that not all fans, along with not woman, can be labeled with such a defamatory tag. (I really want to emphasise that) However, the majority of these ‘fans’ can; call it misogynistic, call it a stereotype if you like - I will call it fact.
Sadly, we lost the football on penalties, which is akin to losing on the toss of a coin. Tottenham chose heads whereas Man Utd chose tails. (Tails never fails - we should have chosen tails!) Personally and neutrally speaking, I thought we were the better team throughout, but it wasn't to be. I am surprised I can cast such an aspiration as for the duration of that night (it started at 2am and finished at something like 4.45am) I was a complete wreck. I had no ambitions to get drunk, but sadly I fell into the trap of being oh-so-easily-led.
To aid my encouragement I got speaking to an Australian chap, Todd, who was much like me as he was watching the game on his own. Conveniently, or inconviently, this chap happened to know someone who was working the bar so he continuously kept getting me free pints of cider. (He said that he doesn't drink pints because the liquor inside gets warm. This is a definite trait of an Aussie; who else would worry about a warm beer?) Come match time the pub was rammed with a probable 55/45 split in Tottenham's favour (where were these people when we beat Watford of Burnley I ask?) and Todd at this time was getting free drinks for a number of Tottenham fans' we were talking to. Talk about taking liberties, but good on him for doing it.
Come the end of the game I was gutted. My feelings were not helped by a bunch of gloating Man Utd fans, especially one girl who kept giving it all the chat. Was she there on Thursday morning when there was virtually a full list of fixtures? Was she f#$%! I eventually stumbled home at 5.25am where I soon made the conscious decision that I wouldn't be attending work that Monday. (I usually wake at 5.40am to get myself ready) What did I say about being a risk taker?
I have dedicated too much of this installment on football, so I will end with more pressing matters about Lysey’s and mine immediate future plans. As of June 4th 2009 I need to evacuate Australia, so that leaves me with little less than three months. Lysey still hasn’t found a job over the ditch, and the prospects of finding one look slim. Focusing on the here and now, we have a leaving party to plan, or as Lysey's friends put it, 'we should arrange Elyse's leaving party soon'. (Yeah, don't worry about me. My mate(s) and I will have a whale of time elsewhere). It has been mooted that we are going to have our party at one of Lysey's mates' parents high rise apartments in York Street, slap bang in the middle of Sydney's CBD. (Apparently, it cost a few hundred dollars a night to hire) However, this very location is 14 floors high and it has what I would class as 'extremely low walls on the balcony'. Looking over the edge sober is scary enough so therefore maybe I will go elsewhere with all of my mate(s).
Minding our own that sunny Sunday, we received a phone call from one of Lysey's friends who informed us that she had two spare tickets to the aforementioned event. I realise that bagging free tickets to a charity event is pretty low, but I more than made up for it with my spends at the bar that evening.
To put the bums on seats, famous sports stars, all of them Australian, plus a few celebrities, donned the whites. Seeing Steve Waugh at the SCG is akin to seeing Bobby Moore at Wembley to the average Australian, and I can now say I've witnessed him. For one of the teams, a young lad was playing, but he had no celebrity background yet he took the wicket of Steve Waugh. I found out, a few days after the match, that he had in fact lost his siblings along with his grandparents in the fire, and from the family house he was the only one to survive. (His parents were out of town at the time hence them being with their grandparents.) It's a tragic story, but I think the 20330 of us who turned up managed to put a smile on his face.
The relief effort is continuing simply because the fires are still no extinguished. The generosity of the public however has never waned – money continues to pour in.
Moving on, I am literally over the notion of work. Because of my visa stipulations I only have a few weeks left before I need to seek pastures new (I could continue, but it's the sort of thing that would come back to bite me in the proverbial, which is hardly conducive to any potential de facto visa's I could later apply for. However, I am resigned to the fact that I know I will miss the job when I leave, especially now jobs are hard to come by. Thank you, global economic crisis). Therefore, facing the prospect of being at work on my own (26/2) and fearing the potential bludgeoning of someone else’s workload (I struggle enough with my own), I was desperately seeking an excuse to duck out of the office. As luck had it a big boat by the name of the Queen Mary II had docked in the city that day and I, plus half of the city, made headway towards the dock.
Initially, the prospect of staring aimlessly at a massive ship didn't appeal, but having witnessed it close up my original thought process of only going to see it to sneak out of work was replaced with amazement for this thing is MASSIVE! It's so big it could not fit into the traditional dock of Circular Quay, so instead it was marooned at the nearby navy base. Moreover, I was unable to actually fit the boat into any decent photograph (those LED screens on the average digital camera just aren't big enough), so I spent the remainder of that afternoon scrawling the city for a decent vantage point. I had to move quickly because she was en route from Auckland to Tokyo and she was only in town for 24 hours. One hour, two blisters, and a number of kilometers later, I was still no better off, though, so I gave up. I will make a point of visiting the street venders who sell paintings on a Sunday near the Opera House so I can get a copy.
I don't actually know when I will get a chance to visit these venders, though, as I seem to be a social butterfly come the weekends. Saturday (28/2) Lysey and I embarked on a road trip south from Sydney to the seaside resort of Huskisson (roughly three - four hours drive). En route we stopped off in the seaside town of Kiama, famous for its blowhole. How do I best describe a blowhole? Basically, it's a hole that has been formed, presumably by coastal erosion, in the rocks. Every time the waves crash into the rocks seawater squirts forth making the effect of a blowhole. The weekend we travelled coincided with the start of autumn, yet the blowhole was still drawing a crowd. It's something I have neither heard of nor seen before, so I was keen to check it out. Even though it may just be a blowhole (yet definitely the best blow hole I have ever seen) I would highly recommend one paying a visit to it.
Huskisson, or Hussky as it's affectionately known as in Australian, reminded me of a typical British seaside resort, yet the horizon wasn't polluted with arcades and adolescents loitering outside. It's a small town consisting of two pubs and five or six different restaurants (yet dozens of motels) which oozed a family atmosphere. I have never headed south of Sydney along the coast before and I was more than happy with our chilled out surroundings, which were largely made up by the beach.
Wanting to explore some more, I was keen when Lysey suggested we head further south for a short drive to visit Greenpatch Beach. This stretch of sand belongs in a national park so we had to pay $10 to enter, but it was one of the best ten dollar notes I have ever exchanged for entry; the beach was simply stunning, easily on par with the best beach I had the pleasure of visiting, which was in the Whitsunday Isles called White Haven. The white sand, the type that doesn't stick to you when you exit the water and is apparently good for cleaning jewelry with, stretched for miles. It felt like I was walking on flour for it didn't scold my feet despite having been sun baked all day. Furthermore, the seawater glowed an appealing blue, making a dip a necessity. Unfortunately, I didn't take my camera so you'll need to type Greenpatch Beach, NSW into Google maps to see for yourself.
Continuing with the comparisons of a British seaside resort, Hussky was quiet during the night. Besides, it struck me as being the sort of place one wouldn't visit in order to create drunken carnage. I certainly wasn't after that, and neither was Lysey, so during the evening we were both happy having ordered some fish and chips. Abetted nicely with a few bottles of cider, we sat on the harbour and watched the world go by.
To break up our homeward journey we decided to stop off in another seaside town (1/3). Gerringong, where on face value it appeared no one under the age of 50 resided, was our choice of destination. Again, we were treated by another tranquil beach which continued past the horizon. Lysey, having obviously driven both ways, was keen to recharge the batteries, and our 20-minute dip in the Pacific Ocean achieved that. A little fresh at first, we both acclimatized and had a splash before setting off home.
I had plenty to be excited about when we arrived back in Sydney: the match for England's first domestic trophy of the season was being played that Sunday night, of which Tottenham were contesting. Prior to the League Cup final (where we were to play Manchester United) I have witnessed all the games leading to up to Sunday's finale at the same pub. For the majority of these fixtures I have been the only one in attendance (it was almost the same when we played against Hull, but four others joined me on that occasion. I bet the management were rubbing their hands together at the boost in numbers), so therefore I feel I should have been entitled to a seat at the bar, or anywhere else of my choosing. I have a moral obligation in life to give up my seat for those who are pregnant, disabled or elderly and I would like that ethos to continue when it comes to watching sporting events in any watering hole.
My thought process can be replicated during any major tournament. Sadly, during such events the pubs are awash with people, mainly women it must be said, who thought otherwise to watch the World Cup qualifier between England vs. Georgia in Tbilisi on a cold Wednesday afternoon because they simply had something better to do. However, come the World Cups they're there in their hoards, making incessant chants of 'Rooney, Rooney, Rooney'. I must admit that not all fans, along with not woman, can be labeled with such a defamatory tag. (I really want to emphasise that) However, the majority of these ‘fans’ can; call it misogynistic, call it a stereotype if you like - I will call it fact.
Sadly, we lost the football on penalties, which is akin to losing on the toss of a coin. Tottenham chose heads whereas Man Utd chose tails. (Tails never fails - we should have chosen tails!) Personally and neutrally speaking, I thought we were the better team throughout, but it wasn't to be. I am surprised I can cast such an aspiration as for the duration of that night (it started at 2am and finished at something like 4.45am) I was a complete wreck. I had no ambitions to get drunk, but sadly I fell into the trap of being oh-so-easily-led.
To aid my encouragement I got speaking to an Australian chap, Todd, who was much like me as he was watching the game on his own. Conveniently, or inconviently, this chap happened to know someone who was working the bar so he continuously kept getting me free pints of cider. (He said that he doesn't drink pints because the liquor inside gets warm. This is a definite trait of an Aussie; who else would worry about a warm beer?) Come match time the pub was rammed with a probable 55/45 split in Tottenham's favour (where were these people when we beat Watford of Burnley I ask?) and Todd at this time was getting free drinks for a number of Tottenham fans' we were talking to. Talk about taking liberties, but good on him for doing it.
Come the end of the game I was gutted. My feelings were not helped by a bunch of gloating Man Utd fans, especially one girl who kept giving it all the chat. Was she there on Thursday morning when there was virtually a full list of fixtures? Was she f#$%! I eventually stumbled home at 5.25am where I soon made the conscious decision that I wouldn't be attending work that Monday. (I usually wake at 5.40am to get myself ready) What did I say about being a risk taker?
I have dedicated too much of this installment on football, so I will end with more pressing matters about Lysey’s and mine immediate future plans. As of June 4th 2009 I need to evacuate Australia, so that leaves me with little less than three months. Lysey still hasn’t found a job over the ditch, and the prospects of finding one look slim. Focusing on the here and now, we have a leaving party to plan, or as Lysey's friends put it, 'we should arrange Elyse's leaving party soon'. (Yeah, don't worry about me. My mate(s) and I will have a whale of time elsewhere). It has been mooted that we are going to have our party at one of Lysey's mates' parents high rise apartments in York Street, slap bang in the middle of Sydney's CBD. (Apparently, it cost a few hundred dollars a night to hire) However, this very location is 14 floors high and it has what I would class as 'extremely low walls on the balcony'. Looking over the edge sober is scary enough so therefore maybe I will go elsewhere with all of my mate(s).
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Apologies, again, for the procrastinating. Simply put, I have been enjoying the end of our summer, despite the overbearing dull with wet patches conditions we have been enduring as of late.
If I had have written last week I would have started with my damming condemnation of the worldwide con that is Valentine's Day. I do not need any nod of the head from Clinton Cards, or any other card shops out there, to show affection towards Lysey; for anyone out there that does believe in the marketing wet dream you're a literal moron. Last year Lysey received her first ever card (I only bought her a card as she made such a point about never receiving one. It was a blank card however - I did not conform to Clinton's aims) so this year I went back to being myself and I bought her nothing. Maybe I could blame the timing; it was her birthday and our anniversary last week so she's been inundated with gifts. On that note, imagine my glee when I informed her that my present buying for her in 2009, bar Christmas, which is so close to 2010 I've conveniently rounded up, is over. She wasn't happy upon hearing this declaration, but what can I do about it?
The escapade that is St. Valentine’s Day annoys me. Everywhere I looked that Saturday it seemed apparent that men were running around trying to appease their other-halves. Even in the cinema, arguably the least lit arena for any lovebirds, people were still pandering. To me, the buying of random gifts on a date not predetermined by marketing forces is much more significant. Like I said, though, my present buying for 2009 is over!
We did venture to the cinema during the day, not to mark Valentine's Day, but because it was raining and we both wanted to see Ricky Gervais' new flick, Ghost Town. What a disappointed that turned out to be. Gervais plays a character that goes to hospital for a routine operation but he dies momentarily on the table. Consequently, upon making a miraculous return to full health, he has the ability to communicate with ghosts and throughout the film he is harassed constantly by this love-rat male who tries to relay his thoughts and fears for his ex wife. Not a new concept, I know; it was like Ghost, that cheesy flick starring Patrick Swayze, on crack. The script, vastly short on substance, was predictable and for all the talent Gervais has, he is becoming too two-dimensional. Do something new Ricky.
Because of her work rota, Lysey has been working the majority of recent Sundays, so therefore my hands were tied when it came to doing something during the night. The Mardi Gras opening ceremony began on the 14th, but the appeal of taking her to the world's largest gay and lesbian celebration was not withstanding. (Not because I am a homophobe - I am anything but. We are both going to the carnival parade in March, but the idea of celebrating Valentine's Day at a gay fest doesn't sound right). Therefore, I ventured into town to go to a few pubs and onto a club with a mate of mine from my hostel days.
Our final destination for the night was going to be the Chinese Laundry, where current superstar DJ Deadmau5 was playing. However, come 10pm - early for Sydney, the queue to the club was already stretching around the corner. Post haste, we joined it, but after 45 minutes' of waiting, coupled with the fact that it was monsooning upon us, we had had enough. I was literally drenched from head-to-toe, but I wasn't in the mood to head home so we all went to another of the city's clubs - Tank. Besides, Deadmau5 was due to play an encore set the following Friday (20/2), simply because of demand. However, I wasn't to go because the organisers sold out; they firstly put the ticket prices up from $25 to $40 and then they moved venues - from a decent club in the middle of the city to a stadium on the outskirts where transport links are virtually non-existent.
Anyway, I have heard many a decent report about Tank, but for one reason or another I have never actually ventured inside. I was immediately impressed with the open planned set up and the relaxed attitude of the bouncers (people were wearing wellington boots because of the rain; you wouldn't be allowed in many venues donning such a commodity). Despite resembling a drowned rat for the duration of the evening, I still managed to have a good time.
Moving on, the nation is still grieving over the bushfires that have raged through Victoria. The public support has been amazing - over $100ml has been raised in donations. The death toll has past 200 now and over 1000 homes have been destroyed or affected. Money cannot fix everything, but that sum sums up the nation's response to the disaster. Indeed, during a recent one-day cricket match between Australia and New Zealand, over $5.5ml was raised on the day. Corporate donations were coming thick and fast during the action, but the Australian players were doing the rounds of the Adelaide Oval during the day's play. By walking around with the buckets they raised over $25,000 alone.
The worldwide attention the disaster has received even amazes me. I heard that the 'fires were front-page news in the New York Times, displacing Obama's stimulus plan. Moreover, I gather having spoken to a few folks back home, the British press has been dominated by the events. This may not sound significant, but from my journalism studies and having a keen eye for all world news and current affairs, Australian news virtually fails to get a mention anywhere outside the Pacific region. For example, and I realise I am back dating here but this story is worthy to dominate the news coverage in all four corners of the world, in 1967 the Australian Prime Minister, Harold Holt, disappeared while swimming off the coast of Melbourne. A frantic search, as you would imagine, began, but two days later the police announced: "The search has come to a dead halt". His body has never been found. Bill Bryson, in his excellent book Down Under, comments on the news flow emanating from Australia, and he mentions that the west were virtually unaware that this had occurred. Furthermore, from his individual studies, he found this not to be a rarity. These findings appear in the beginning of the aforementioned book, so if you’re ever browsing in Waterstones read the first chapter. I cannot recommend it enough. (Moreover, there were rumours that Harold Holt was the first Australian Prime Minister to travel to the Antarctic, but these were never verified!)
On a more personal note, I have been granted my working holiday visa for New Zealand. Valid until February 2010, I have to enter the country before that deadline and once inside I am entitled to stay, work and travel for 12 months. As it stands, we're still unsure of our departure date; Lysey has heard nothing about potential jobs over the ditch (that's how Australians affectionately describe the Tasman Sea) plus she has her graduation ceremony in May this year, despite completing her course last year. I can now begin the process of job-hunting, but I tend to find this sort of thing more rewarding when actually being there (wherever 'there' is. We could still end up in Auckland, Wellington or Christchurch, thus rendering my job search pointless). Moreover, my aim is to arrive in NZ with a decent amount of money so I am not panicked if I am unable to find work immediately. However, my plans of arriving with a decent sum of cash depend on how long we are hanging around in Australia for; because of my visa I have to leave my current job at the end of March, and then my mate from my winery days, Jason, and I are planning a road trip. Sydney to Perth, some 4500 km's has been muted, but it's only at a planning stage.
Considering I hold intentions of raising a decent sum of money before I leave, I have subjected myself to the pitfalls of Australian TV. The nation's television schedule does reflect the consummate outdoors' lives of the average Australian; during the summer the airwaves are filled with repeats, but as autumn sets in new series of an array of different shows arrive. (There is a popular joke in Australia that goes as follows: during the Melbourne Open tennis championship, most games/sets were interrupted with television commercials advertising the new shows that were soon to appear. These adverts would conclude with the line ".... coming to the station after the tennis". Hilarious) Now that the tennis has concluded we're inundated with crap television, ala the Farmer Wants a Wife. Recently, I was thinking about the scheduling over here and the television directors remit to virtually give money to any production. I would like to make my own show(s), and I reckon they would be popular. Firstly, I'd suggest a new reality TV program called Osama Wants a Wife. Self-explanatory this one: I get bin Laden to appear on TV and he has to choose a wife(s) from anyone willing to be his other half. I would pay to watch that. Secondly, and this runs along a similar style, I would propose: A Backpacker Wants a Wife for Immigration Purposes. Again, a little self-explanatory, but I would watch it.
Like I said, bar a few exceptions, Australian TV isn't all that. Instead, I am keeping with my tradition of watching Tottenham play, usually at some ungodly hour in the morning, and usually on a non-English Internet stream. I recently woke at 5.30am to watch us play Shaktar Donnestk in a European match via some Turkish outlet. The game was awful and the commentary mind numbing. Couple that with the fact we lost and it didn't make a great start to my day.
Hopefully, I will have something to distract me from developing square eyes as the girls' football season should recommence soon. I haven't had word on anything, but as we're now staying until May I would be available to take up the mantle of coaching Marouba United under 12s once more. (That's if they haven't already found a permanent replacement for me). Moreover, I suppose we'll have a leaving party to arrange soon. I commented to Lysey that if there was to be a banner at the party signaling our goodbyes it would read as follows: “Goodbye Lysey”, and in the corner of the poster, inverted in tiny little brackets it would say: “plus him”. Of course, all of her friends are nearby, but mine are of the travelling-and-not-remaining-in-one-place variety, so it could be a one-sided affair.
If I had have written last week I would have started with my damming condemnation of the worldwide con that is Valentine's Day. I do not need any nod of the head from Clinton Cards, or any other card shops out there, to show affection towards Lysey; for anyone out there that does believe in the marketing wet dream you're a literal moron. Last year Lysey received her first ever card (I only bought her a card as she made such a point about never receiving one. It was a blank card however - I did not conform to Clinton's aims) so this year I went back to being myself and I bought her nothing. Maybe I could blame the timing; it was her birthday and our anniversary last week so she's been inundated with gifts. On that note, imagine my glee when I informed her that my present buying for her in 2009, bar Christmas, which is so close to 2010 I've conveniently rounded up, is over. She wasn't happy upon hearing this declaration, but what can I do about it?
The escapade that is St. Valentine’s Day annoys me. Everywhere I looked that Saturday it seemed apparent that men were running around trying to appease their other-halves. Even in the cinema, arguably the least lit arena for any lovebirds, people were still pandering. To me, the buying of random gifts on a date not predetermined by marketing forces is much more significant. Like I said, though, my present buying for 2009 is over!
We did venture to the cinema during the day, not to mark Valentine's Day, but because it was raining and we both wanted to see Ricky Gervais' new flick, Ghost Town. What a disappointed that turned out to be. Gervais plays a character that goes to hospital for a routine operation but he dies momentarily on the table. Consequently, upon making a miraculous return to full health, he has the ability to communicate with ghosts and throughout the film he is harassed constantly by this love-rat male who tries to relay his thoughts and fears for his ex wife. Not a new concept, I know; it was like Ghost, that cheesy flick starring Patrick Swayze, on crack. The script, vastly short on substance, was predictable and for all the talent Gervais has, he is becoming too two-dimensional. Do something new Ricky.
Because of her work rota, Lysey has been working the majority of recent Sundays, so therefore my hands were tied when it came to doing something during the night. The Mardi Gras opening ceremony began on the 14th, but the appeal of taking her to the world's largest gay and lesbian celebration was not withstanding. (Not because I am a homophobe - I am anything but. We are both going to the carnival parade in March, but the idea of celebrating Valentine's Day at a gay fest doesn't sound right). Therefore, I ventured into town to go to a few pubs and onto a club with a mate of mine from my hostel days.
Our final destination for the night was going to be the Chinese Laundry, where current superstar DJ Deadmau5 was playing. However, come 10pm - early for Sydney, the queue to the club was already stretching around the corner. Post haste, we joined it, but after 45 minutes' of waiting, coupled with the fact that it was monsooning upon us, we had had enough. I was literally drenched from head-to-toe, but I wasn't in the mood to head home so we all went to another of the city's clubs - Tank. Besides, Deadmau5 was due to play an encore set the following Friday (20/2), simply because of demand. However, I wasn't to go because the organisers sold out; they firstly put the ticket prices up from $25 to $40 and then they moved venues - from a decent club in the middle of the city to a stadium on the outskirts where transport links are virtually non-existent.
Anyway, I have heard many a decent report about Tank, but for one reason or another I have never actually ventured inside. I was immediately impressed with the open planned set up and the relaxed attitude of the bouncers (people were wearing wellington boots because of the rain; you wouldn't be allowed in many venues donning such a commodity). Despite resembling a drowned rat for the duration of the evening, I still managed to have a good time.
Moving on, the nation is still grieving over the bushfires that have raged through Victoria. The public support has been amazing - over $100ml has been raised in donations. The death toll has past 200 now and over 1000 homes have been destroyed or affected. Money cannot fix everything, but that sum sums up the nation's response to the disaster. Indeed, during a recent one-day cricket match between Australia and New Zealand, over $5.5ml was raised on the day. Corporate donations were coming thick and fast during the action, but the Australian players were doing the rounds of the Adelaide Oval during the day's play. By walking around with the buckets they raised over $25,000 alone.
The worldwide attention the disaster has received even amazes me. I heard that the 'fires were front-page news in the New York Times, displacing Obama's stimulus plan. Moreover, I gather having spoken to a few folks back home, the British press has been dominated by the events. This may not sound significant, but from my journalism studies and having a keen eye for all world news and current affairs, Australian news virtually fails to get a mention anywhere outside the Pacific region. For example, and I realise I am back dating here but this story is worthy to dominate the news coverage in all four corners of the world, in 1967 the Australian Prime Minister, Harold Holt, disappeared while swimming off the coast of Melbourne. A frantic search, as you would imagine, began, but two days later the police announced: "The search has come to a dead halt". His body has never been found. Bill Bryson, in his excellent book Down Under, comments on the news flow emanating from Australia, and he mentions that the west were virtually unaware that this had occurred. Furthermore, from his individual studies, he found this not to be a rarity. These findings appear in the beginning of the aforementioned book, so if you’re ever browsing in Waterstones read the first chapter. I cannot recommend it enough. (Moreover, there were rumours that Harold Holt was the first Australian Prime Minister to travel to the Antarctic, but these were never verified!)
On a more personal note, I have been granted my working holiday visa for New Zealand. Valid until February 2010, I have to enter the country before that deadline and once inside I am entitled to stay, work and travel for 12 months. As it stands, we're still unsure of our departure date; Lysey has heard nothing about potential jobs over the ditch (that's how Australians affectionately describe the Tasman Sea) plus she has her graduation ceremony in May this year, despite completing her course last year. I can now begin the process of job-hunting, but I tend to find this sort of thing more rewarding when actually being there (wherever 'there' is. We could still end up in Auckland, Wellington or Christchurch, thus rendering my job search pointless). Moreover, my aim is to arrive in NZ with a decent amount of money so I am not panicked if I am unable to find work immediately. However, my plans of arriving with a decent sum of cash depend on how long we are hanging around in Australia for; because of my visa I have to leave my current job at the end of March, and then my mate from my winery days, Jason, and I are planning a road trip. Sydney to Perth, some 4500 km's has been muted, but it's only at a planning stage.
Considering I hold intentions of raising a decent sum of money before I leave, I have subjected myself to the pitfalls of Australian TV. The nation's television schedule does reflect the consummate outdoors' lives of the average Australian; during the summer the airwaves are filled with repeats, but as autumn sets in new series of an array of different shows arrive. (There is a popular joke in Australia that goes as follows: during the Melbourne Open tennis championship, most games/sets were interrupted with television commercials advertising the new shows that were soon to appear. These adverts would conclude with the line ".... coming to the station after the tennis". Hilarious) Now that the tennis has concluded we're inundated with crap television, ala the Farmer Wants a Wife. Recently, I was thinking about the scheduling over here and the television directors remit to virtually give money to any production. I would like to make my own show(s), and I reckon they would be popular. Firstly, I'd suggest a new reality TV program called Osama Wants a Wife. Self-explanatory this one: I get bin Laden to appear on TV and he has to choose a wife(s) from anyone willing to be his other half. I would pay to watch that. Secondly, and this runs along a similar style, I would propose: A Backpacker Wants a Wife for Immigration Purposes. Again, a little self-explanatory, but I would watch it.
Like I said, bar a few exceptions, Australian TV isn't all that. Instead, I am keeping with my tradition of watching Tottenham play, usually at some ungodly hour in the morning, and usually on a non-English Internet stream. I recently woke at 5.30am to watch us play Shaktar Donnestk in a European match via some Turkish outlet. The game was awful and the commentary mind numbing. Couple that with the fact we lost and it didn't make a great start to my day.
Hopefully, I will have something to distract me from developing square eyes as the girls' football season should recommence soon. I haven't had word on anything, but as we're now staying until May I would be available to take up the mantle of coaching Marouba United under 12s once more. (That's if they haven't already found a permanent replacement for me). Moreover, I suppose we'll have a leaving party to arrange soon. I commented to Lysey that if there was to be a banner at the party signaling our goodbyes it would read as follows: “Goodbye Lysey”, and in the corner of the poster, inverted in tiny little brackets it would say: “plus him”. Of course, all of her friends are nearby, but mine are of the travelling-and-not-remaining-in-one-place variety, so it could be a one-sided affair.
Monday, February 9, 2009
As of the 7/2 (Saturday) I have been on the road for two years. Lysey regularly points out that 'I am no longer on the road' as I am settled, but still, I have been away from home for 731 days now. How much more 'on the road' can I get?
On the subject of all things home, I must say, for the first time in a long time, I have been envious of the weather back in Blighty. The aforementioned day of my anniversary happened to be the day when NSW was officially deemed the hottest place on the planet. (Take that plains of Africa and deserts of the Middle East). Baking in 47degrees heat is ridiculous, and unlike England who has witnessed a couple of snowflakes, we don't get time off work.
I have not stopped banging on about the snow back home. I have been keeping abreast of the weather, especially in Somerset, for the past week and I read that my old secondary school - Heathfield - closed because of the severity. Why did that never happen when I was there? Moreover, on the Beeb's Somerset news section, there are a number of webcams allowing viewers to watch the world go by from a variety Somerset townships. I know, it's a little intrusive, but for all the saddos out there (yes, I fall into this category) it offers a great way to pass the time whilst at work. (I remember, in a previous job for which I will not mention, I along with a colleague, watched the on-goings from the main street in Burnham-on-sea for over an hour. It was shocking, and the job wasn't much better).
Anyway, during my working week in the blistering heat, I logged on to the Richard Huish College webcam available on the aforementioned website. Lo and behold, the roofs were covered in snow, but because of the angle of the camera and the darkness, not a lot else was going on. (Not much happens on the bike-shed roof, especially at 2.36am, which was 1.36pm my end) I stopped watching after twenty minutes and returned to my work.
As you may have witnessed, Australia, and in particular the state of Victoria, is currently awash with bushfires. Tragically, over 170 people have died; having read their various tales it left me feeling numb – a feeling echoed by the entire nation. The worst of the fires, according to a few media outlets, was over 80km's long and it swarmed people's properties in minutes. With the gusting winds spreading the firing embers people also noted how it was literally raining fire. During my stay here of almost two years I have never known Australia suffer any disaster, but the national response has been overwhelming. I would draw comparisons to the response effort that occurred during the tsunami. Admittedly, it seems that only Australians have been affected, but the parallels between the response then and now can definitely be drawn. (Moreover, the worldwide attention it has received highlights this, plus America are sending experts in planning and reconstruction) Hopefully the forecasted rains will arrive soon.
On the subject of rain, the state of Queensland has been battered by cyclones and severe rain. Again, there have been loses of lives, and because of the raising waters crocodiles have been spotted in some towns. (A five-year-old boy, searching for his dog in a burst lake, was taken by a crocodile this weekend) It's amazing to think that on the south of the country they are fighting the worst bushfires in the nation's history, yet at the north-eastern side of the land they are battling a completely contrasting disaster. Admittedly, to fly from Melbourne (Victoria's capital) to Brisbane (Queensland's equivalent) would take roughly four-five hours; if one was to fly from London for such a similar amount of time they would end up in Egypt - a different continent. That offers a scale of how big Australia is. Being in NSW (where Sydney reigns as its capital) I am bang in the middle of the two; we've had a fair few bushfires within the state, but most of them have occurred in forests away from urban areas. The rain is due this week, and my incessant bleating aside of complaining about the climate, the whole of NSW and Victoria needs it badly. Queensland, on the other hand, needs no more.
K Rudd, or Kevin 747 as he's affectionately known to his detractors (simply because he's always abroad) has been, as you can assume, appearing in the news for a variety of reasons. Firstly, the PM showed a responsive approach to the bushfires by immediately enlisting the army's help, and providing $10ml in aid. (I suspect this figure will rise within time, especially as he public donations have so far exceeded $14ml) He has also been dealing with another on-going crisis - the economy. Earlier last week, in a bold attempt to stimulate the ailing economy, he introduced a $42bl stimulus plan with the intention of creating jobs and providing Australia with the opportunity to work itself out of the global downturn. He has also appealed to the average Joe Bloggs, too, by giving every tax-paying Australian (or student) a $950 cash bonus. The words 'every Australia' act as my downfall even though I have paid tax along with the rest of society. Opinions are divided amongst my social circle as to whether I will actually receive anything. I am not holding my breath, but I know Lysey will qualify for it. Politicians are divided on the issue too; the opposition are fearing that everyone will go and blow it on either plasma's or in the pokies, but I suppose you could argue that if they do just that they're stimulating the economy.
Politics aside, Lysey reached the grand old age of 24 last week (3/2 - a day after our first year anniversary. I'll never forget either dates that's for sure). One of her requests was that I cooked a meal, which I duly obliged in doing so. However, as I am no Gordon Ramsey in the kitchen I had to enlist the help of our housemate, who is a culinary genius. (However, I am better than her at telling people to **** off!) The meal, something involving pasta and prawns, tasted superb if I don't mind saying so myself. I cooked for four, and I think they were all in agreement with my biased assessment.
Another request of hers was to have an ice cream cake for dessert. Considering I have never heard of it before I wasn’t going to attempt to make one, so instead I bought one. The most appealing one on offer at the supermarket was a Freddo the Frog cake, but I don't think anyone minded. Besides, if I had have made one I only would have decorated it in frogs.
On the day she received a silver ring, a gold chain, a Trans-Siberian Lonely Planet plus some other stuff from yours truly. I have also ordered a few DVD's online, but because Australia is so behind the times, I wasn't allowed to get them sent directly to Sydney; one nameless DVD is yet to be released here, and as Amazon put it, 'this title isn't available in your region'. Therefore, I had to get them sent to my parent's house in England with the intention mother would forward them. However, because of the snow they were first delayed in arriving, and as I gather, mother has suffered because of the same conditions. Therefore, by the time Lysey receives them they probably will be 'available in our region'. (I am not having a dig at anyone - the snow cannot be helped. Mother, I really do appreciate you posting them on to us, you know I do.)
To also help celebrate, Saturday (7/2) the pair of us spent the day at Coogee Beach. The mercury has constantly been between 30-40 degrees during the summer, but this was the first time we have been to the beach. Nonetheless, the water was still freezing - and I mean freezing. We both struggled in the tepid temperature and an hour later I was getting annoyed the sand was sticking to me (which is definitely the reason why this was my first venture to the beach this summer) so we left. However, we had a good reason to do so - we were going out in Kings Cross with six of her friends to further celebrate.
Starting at a pizza restaurant, the eight of us all had a great time. We duly ended up in some back street joint in Sydney's red-light district (it's not as bad as it sounds, honestly) where we drunk the night away. Feeling slightly hung over the following day (8/2) we both went to the cinema, largely to escape the predicted 47 degree heat, and secondly to watch a film. Our choice of flick was the Changling; after leaving the cinema I commented to Lysey that the film was literally bleeding Oscars, such was the quality of the film and the acting. Set in America in the 1920s the film depicts the kidnapping of a boy and the corrupt attempts made by the police to help trace the lad. I could talk and talk about the storyline, but I don't want to say much more as I would reveal the plot to anyone who intends to see it. (However, because I watched it in 'our region' the Changling probably appeared in British cinemas in 2008).
On the subject of all things home, I must say, for the first time in a long time, I have been envious of the weather back in Blighty. The aforementioned day of my anniversary happened to be the day when NSW was officially deemed the hottest place on the planet. (Take that plains of Africa and deserts of the Middle East). Baking in 47degrees heat is ridiculous, and unlike England who has witnessed a couple of snowflakes, we don't get time off work.
I have not stopped banging on about the snow back home. I have been keeping abreast of the weather, especially in Somerset, for the past week and I read that my old secondary school - Heathfield - closed because of the severity. Why did that never happen when I was there? Moreover, on the Beeb's Somerset news section, there are a number of webcams allowing viewers to watch the world go by from a variety Somerset townships. I know, it's a little intrusive, but for all the saddos out there (yes, I fall into this category) it offers a great way to pass the time whilst at work. (I remember, in a previous job for which I will not mention, I along with a colleague, watched the on-goings from the main street in Burnham-on-sea for over an hour. It was shocking, and the job wasn't much better).
Anyway, during my working week in the blistering heat, I logged on to the Richard Huish College webcam available on the aforementioned website. Lo and behold, the roofs were covered in snow, but because of the angle of the camera and the darkness, not a lot else was going on. (Not much happens on the bike-shed roof, especially at 2.36am, which was 1.36pm my end) I stopped watching after twenty minutes and returned to my work.
As you may have witnessed, Australia, and in particular the state of Victoria, is currently awash with bushfires. Tragically, over 170 people have died; having read their various tales it left me feeling numb – a feeling echoed by the entire nation. The worst of the fires, according to a few media outlets, was over 80km's long and it swarmed people's properties in minutes. With the gusting winds spreading the firing embers people also noted how it was literally raining fire. During my stay here of almost two years I have never known Australia suffer any disaster, but the national response has been overwhelming. I would draw comparisons to the response effort that occurred during the tsunami. Admittedly, it seems that only Australians have been affected, but the parallels between the response then and now can definitely be drawn. (Moreover, the worldwide attention it has received highlights this, plus America are sending experts in planning and reconstruction) Hopefully the forecasted rains will arrive soon.
On the subject of rain, the state of Queensland has been battered by cyclones and severe rain. Again, there have been loses of lives, and because of the raising waters crocodiles have been spotted in some towns. (A five-year-old boy, searching for his dog in a burst lake, was taken by a crocodile this weekend) It's amazing to think that on the south of the country they are fighting the worst bushfires in the nation's history, yet at the north-eastern side of the land they are battling a completely contrasting disaster. Admittedly, to fly from Melbourne (Victoria's capital) to Brisbane (Queensland's equivalent) would take roughly four-five hours; if one was to fly from London for such a similar amount of time they would end up in Egypt - a different continent. That offers a scale of how big Australia is. Being in NSW (where Sydney reigns as its capital) I am bang in the middle of the two; we've had a fair few bushfires within the state, but most of them have occurred in forests away from urban areas. The rain is due this week, and my incessant bleating aside of complaining about the climate, the whole of NSW and Victoria needs it badly. Queensland, on the other hand, needs no more.
K Rudd, or Kevin 747 as he's affectionately known to his detractors (simply because he's always abroad) has been, as you can assume, appearing in the news for a variety of reasons. Firstly, the PM showed a responsive approach to the bushfires by immediately enlisting the army's help, and providing $10ml in aid. (I suspect this figure will rise within time, especially as he public donations have so far exceeded $14ml) He has also been dealing with another on-going crisis - the economy. Earlier last week, in a bold attempt to stimulate the ailing economy, he introduced a $42bl stimulus plan with the intention of creating jobs and providing Australia with the opportunity to work itself out of the global downturn. He has also appealed to the average Joe Bloggs, too, by giving every tax-paying Australian (or student) a $950 cash bonus. The words 'every Australia' act as my downfall even though I have paid tax along with the rest of society. Opinions are divided amongst my social circle as to whether I will actually receive anything. I am not holding my breath, but I know Lysey will qualify for it. Politicians are divided on the issue too; the opposition are fearing that everyone will go and blow it on either plasma's or in the pokies, but I suppose you could argue that if they do just that they're stimulating the economy.
Politics aside, Lysey reached the grand old age of 24 last week (3/2 - a day after our first year anniversary. I'll never forget either dates that's for sure). One of her requests was that I cooked a meal, which I duly obliged in doing so. However, as I am no Gordon Ramsey in the kitchen I had to enlist the help of our housemate, who is a culinary genius. (However, I am better than her at telling people to **** off!) The meal, something involving pasta and prawns, tasted superb if I don't mind saying so myself. I cooked for four, and I think they were all in agreement with my biased assessment.
Another request of hers was to have an ice cream cake for dessert. Considering I have never heard of it before I wasn’t going to attempt to make one, so instead I bought one. The most appealing one on offer at the supermarket was a Freddo the Frog cake, but I don't think anyone minded. Besides, if I had have made one I only would have decorated it in frogs.
On the day she received a silver ring, a gold chain, a Trans-Siberian Lonely Planet plus some other stuff from yours truly. I have also ordered a few DVD's online, but because Australia is so behind the times, I wasn't allowed to get them sent directly to Sydney; one nameless DVD is yet to be released here, and as Amazon put it, 'this title isn't available in your region'. Therefore, I had to get them sent to my parent's house in England with the intention mother would forward them. However, because of the snow they were first delayed in arriving, and as I gather, mother has suffered because of the same conditions. Therefore, by the time Lysey receives them they probably will be 'available in our region'. (I am not having a dig at anyone - the snow cannot be helped. Mother, I really do appreciate you posting them on to us, you know I do.)
To also help celebrate, Saturday (7/2) the pair of us spent the day at Coogee Beach. The mercury has constantly been between 30-40 degrees during the summer, but this was the first time we have been to the beach. Nonetheless, the water was still freezing - and I mean freezing. We both struggled in the tepid temperature and an hour later I was getting annoyed the sand was sticking to me (which is definitely the reason why this was my first venture to the beach this summer) so we left. However, we had a good reason to do so - we were going out in Kings Cross with six of her friends to further celebrate.
Starting at a pizza restaurant, the eight of us all had a great time. We duly ended up in some back street joint in Sydney's red-light district (it's not as bad as it sounds, honestly) where we drunk the night away. Feeling slightly hung over the following day (8/2) we both went to the cinema, largely to escape the predicted 47 degree heat, and secondly to watch a film. Our choice of flick was the Changling; after leaving the cinema I commented to Lysey that the film was literally bleeding Oscars, such was the quality of the film and the acting. Set in America in the 1920s the film depicts the kidnapping of a boy and the corrupt attempts made by the police to help trace the lad. I could talk and talk about the storyline, but I don't want to say much more as I would reveal the plot to anyone who intends to see it. (However, because I watched it in 'our region' the Changling probably appeared in British cinemas in 2008).
Monday, February 2, 2009
A little while back I put myself through two hours of so called acting when I watched Point Break, the film based on a group of President, mask-wearing bandits who rob banks, and the emotional conflict endured by one member of the gang who is in fact a policeman attempting to infiltrate their efforts. Before the credits were rolling it had made my list of 'worst film ever', which, at the time, solely compromised of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Last Action Hero.
However, I recall, as a child (an impressionable one at that) watching Keanu and Swayze in the same film and thinking it was fantastic. So what's changed? Keanu has always been a bad actor, and the film hasn't deteriorated over time (it was as awful then as it is now), so that leads me to believe that I have changed. Here is where my incessant rambling comes to ahead, as last weekend, to highlight my change, I experienced something new - something as a child I could never envisage doing: I went to the Sydney Symphony Orchestra.
I have always told myself that, later in life, I'd like to attend the Last Night of the Proms. I annually tune into the Beeb's coverage, just to see and hear the patriotism oozing around the Royal Albert hall. Moreover, I actually enjoy the music, and last Saturday (24th) I couldn't let pass the symphony orchestra's appearance at the Domain, a massive stretch of green grass situated near the Opera House and Harbour Bridge. I am not going to lie, I am not at the stage yet of being able to dissect the two hour show, but I know what I like and we both enjoyed what we heard. To help us through the night we took a picnic and some plonk, and come the end we joined the thousands of others who gave a standing ovation as one of Tchicosky’s numbers’ was playing. (See what I mean about not being at the dissecting stage?)
My newly found sense of culture was shortly undone, however. For the past two Saturday nights I have stumbled out of the pub past 4am, what with either the football to keep me occupied or many of Sydney's pubs. The first Saturday (24th) I caught up with a few mates and we duly managed to get wasted. (One of my mates - who shall remain nameless - was already wasted as he had been on the biscuits. All of this occurred immediately after the opera so you can see why my culture intake had been erased).
The second of these two debauched Saturdays (31st) followed a meal I had with Lysey and her parents (it would be a bit weird of it was just me and them) as we celebrated her birthday. Even though it's not until the 3/2 - one day after our first year anniversary - we took advantage of the weekend. To celebrate we went to a Brazilian all-you-can-eat BBQ. I know very little about Brazilian culinary, but I certainly didn't leave that place feeling hungry (or sober). Round two of the night proceeded to take place in a nearby watering hole and the drinking continued at a fast pace, especially between her dad and myself. Come the end of the night he was a mess.
During the night, we were talking away and we got onto the subject about my non-existent ability to drive. On my first visit to the family home in Goulburn her dad, who is mad on cars, took me out for a spin in his Subaru. The streets of Goulburn, for those five minutes or so, were transformed from a leafy residential area to Silverstone. Prior to putting my seatbelt on he was telling me that he added a 'HFJ 56 to the carburetor' or a FGNF32 to the exhaust - basically stuff I know nothing about, but I assumed he wasn’t aware of this. (I am aware that none of the above actually exists. In fact, I don’t know that for sure, so if they do it’s nothing more than a sheer coincidence). Because I was attempting to please him I nodded and added to the conversation as best I could. However, on the Saturday night, and after he had a few beers he told me he knew I had no clue about cars. Clearly, my attempts to keep the conversation going were awful.
Nonetheless, it was a really good night, but I wasn’t ready for bed. Having walked Lysey home I went back into town to catch up with a mate of mine, who has had a desire to go to a proper nightclub in Sydney. Of course, he came to the right man, as I took him to a place that has been voted in the top 100 ‘clubs of the world (I think Dellers polled at 98 in that list, two spots behind Shout) – the Chinese Laundry. The place, a former laundry would you have guessed it, regularly hosts’ international acts and DJs and that weekend (31/1) was no exception: Paul Woolford, a bloody British legend, was headlining and all in attendance (that would be a lot of us) lapped it up.
I haven’t been in many laundries in my life, but the main room is known as the Cave, simply because of its appearance. The low ceilings and underground aura add something extra to a nightclub in my opinion, and I reckon not many laundries would be similar in appearance.
Besides, I was more than happy to go underground because on the surface it’s too hot here in Australia. I gather there has been some news coverage shown back home of the severe heats currently being experienced in Australia. We also take a fair share of news about the snow in Britain, and believe me, I would swap places with you tomorrow. I am over waking up sweating, or walking to work at 630am in blazing sunshine. Like I say to people here, if one is cold you can put a jumper on, but if that very person is hot there isn’t a lot one can do. To give you an indication of how hot it is, my hair product – Dax Wax, a tough putty – literally turned into liquid last weekend (24th) even though it is stored in the bathroom cupboard. This image, I am sure you’ll agree, is much more fitting than any bush fire the media reports.
Moving on, project New Zealand is most definitely a goer, but there is still many a hurdle to clear. To be honest, it's starting to stress me out. To start with, I required a chest x-ray in order to complete my visa application as prior to coming to Australia I spent three months in Asia. As I filled in my application I was tempted to lie about my travels, but if anyone from NZ immigration glanced at the various passport stamps inside I would have some explaining to do (and I'd probably be on the next plane home for lying to immigration). The only positive I can find in this rigmarole (I had to wait a week for the ray and a further week for my results, thus delaying my application further) is that I haven't got TB, the very thing they were searching for. As I collected my results on Wednesday (28th - directly after leaving the pub as I was watching the Tottenham Stoke game) I asked the lass behind the counter if I had passed, to which she said yes.
The actual x-ray itself set me back $84. I was nervous that morning, as I am with anything doctor related (I think I have a phobia. I don't like the way a stranger can dictate one's life with the simplest piece of information) so I was relieved that it only took two seconds to complete. All I had to do was take my top off, stand against a board and breathe in. In total I have paid $204 (about 90 quid) for my visa, which isn't too bad considering I paid over 100 quid for my Australian visa.
In hindsight, my application has proven to be the easiest part. Lysey, who let's face it, is only going to New Zealand because of me, is struggling to find work. Her current employer, IHG (a hotel brand) have invested time and money in her, so rightly they want to see a return on that. Therefore, she has been seeking a transfer from Sydney to any branch over the Tasman. However, because of the economic climate, jobs are sparse, and the only one available required her to fulfill an interview. That took over an hour and a half, and she is not guaranteed the job in the Auckland branch because there are strong internal candidates vying for the job of reservations manager. She should have been informed of an outcome last Thursday (29th), but they have been very slack; they failed to inform her that they are awaiting a final interviewee. Therefore, they are going to make a decision on Tuesday (3/2).
Understandably, it's clear to see the stress I am encountering. Furthermore, if Lysey does get the job she may be required to start on the 9/2. How can she prepare her life in such a short space of time? Moreover, I doubt I will have my visa through by then. On the flip side, if she doesn't get the job I don't know what she'll do over there. Her current contract ended at the start of February, but they have offered her a casual contract for a month. After that, if she doesn't get the job in NZ, who knows what will happen. Like I said, there are too many variables.
However, I recall, as a child (an impressionable one at that) watching Keanu and Swayze in the same film and thinking it was fantastic. So what's changed? Keanu has always been a bad actor, and the film hasn't deteriorated over time (it was as awful then as it is now), so that leads me to believe that I have changed. Here is where my incessant rambling comes to ahead, as last weekend, to highlight my change, I experienced something new - something as a child I could never envisage doing: I went to the Sydney Symphony Orchestra.
I have always told myself that, later in life, I'd like to attend the Last Night of the Proms. I annually tune into the Beeb's coverage, just to see and hear the patriotism oozing around the Royal Albert hall. Moreover, I actually enjoy the music, and last Saturday (24th) I couldn't let pass the symphony orchestra's appearance at the Domain, a massive stretch of green grass situated near the Opera House and Harbour Bridge. I am not going to lie, I am not at the stage yet of being able to dissect the two hour show, but I know what I like and we both enjoyed what we heard. To help us through the night we took a picnic and some plonk, and come the end we joined the thousands of others who gave a standing ovation as one of Tchicosky’s numbers’ was playing. (See what I mean about not being at the dissecting stage?)
My newly found sense of culture was shortly undone, however. For the past two Saturday nights I have stumbled out of the pub past 4am, what with either the football to keep me occupied or many of Sydney's pubs. The first Saturday (24th) I caught up with a few mates and we duly managed to get wasted. (One of my mates - who shall remain nameless - was already wasted as he had been on the biscuits. All of this occurred immediately after the opera so you can see why my culture intake had been erased).
The second of these two debauched Saturdays (31st) followed a meal I had with Lysey and her parents (it would be a bit weird of it was just me and them) as we celebrated her birthday. Even though it's not until the 3/2 - one day after our first year anniversary - we took advantage of the weekend. To celebrate we went to a Brazilian all-you-can-eat BBQ. I know very little about Brazilian culinary, but I certainly didn't leave that place feeling hungry (or sober). Round two of the night proceeded to take place in a nearby watering hole and the drinking continued at a fast pace, especially between her dad and myself. Come the end of the night he was a mess.
During the night, we were talking away and we got onto the subject about my non-existent ability to drive. On my first visit to the family home in Goulburn her dad, who is mad on cars, took me out for a spin in his Subaru. The streets of Goulburn, for those five minutes or so, were transformed from a leafy residential area to Silverstone. Prior to putting my seatbelt on he was telling me that he added a 'HFJ 56 to the carburetor' or a FGNF32 to the exhaust - basically stuff I know nothing about, but I assumed he wasn’t aware of this. (I am aware that none of the above actually exists. In fact, I don’t know that for sure, so if they do it’s nothing more than a sheer coincidence). Because I was attempting to please him I nodded and added to the conversation as best I could. However, on the Saturday night, and after he had a few beers he told me he knew I had no clue about cars. Clearly, my attempts to keep the conversation going were awful.
Nonetheless, it was a really good night, but I wasn’t ready for bed. Having walked Lysey home I went back into town to catch up with a mate of mine, who has had a desire to go to a proper nightclub in Sydney. Of course, he came to the right man, as I took him to a place that has been voted in the top 100 ‘clubs of the world (I think Dellers polled at 98 in that list, two spots behind Shout) – the Chinese Laundry. The place, a former laundry would you have guessed it, regularly hosts’ international acts and DJs and that weekend (31/1) was no exception: Paul Woolford, a bloody British legend, was headlining and all in attendance (that would be a lot of us) lapped it up.
I haven’t been in many laundries in my life, but the main room is known as the Cave, simply because of its appearance. The low ceilings and underground aura add something extra to a nightclub in my opinion, and I reckon not many laundries would be similar in appearance.
Besides, I was more than happy to go underground because on the surface it’s too hot here in Australia. I gather there has been some news coverage shown back home of the severe heats currently being experienced in Australia. We also take a fair share of news about the snow in Britain, and believe me, I would swap places with you tomorrow. I am over waking up sweating, or walking to work at 630am in blazing sunshine. Like I say to people here, if one is cold you can put a jumper on, but if that very person is hot there isn’t a lot one can do. To give you an indication of how hot it is, my hair product – Dax Wax, a tough putty – literally turned into liquid last weekend (24th) even though it is stored in the bathroom cupboard. This image, I am sure you’ll agree, is much more fitting than any bush fire the media reports.
Moving on, project New Zealand is most definitely a goer, but there is still many a hurdle to clear. To be honest, it's starting to stress me out. To start with, I required a chest x-ray in order to complete my visa application as prior to coming to Australia I spent three months in Asia. As I filled in my application I was tempted to lie about my travels, but if anyone from NZ immigration glanced at the various passport stamps inside I would have some explaining to do (and I'd probably be on the next plane home for lying to immigration). The only positive I can find in this rigmarole (I had to wait a week for the ray and a further week for my results, thus delaying my application further) is that I haven't got TB, the very thing they were searching for. As I collected my results on Wednesday (28th - directly after leaving the pub as I was watching the Tottenham Stoke game) I asked the lass behind the counter if I had passed, to which she said yes.
The actual x-ray itself set me back $84. I was nervous that morning, as I am with anything doctor related (I think I have a phobia. I don't like the way a stranger can dictate one's life with the simplest piece of information) so I was relieved that it only took two seconds to complete. All I had to do was take my top off, stand against a board and breathe in. In total I have paid $204 (about 90 quid) for my visa, which isn't too bad considering I paid over 100 quid for my Australian visa.
In hindsight, my application has proven to be the easiest part. Lysey, who let's face it, is only going to New Zealand because of me, is struggling to find work. Her current employer, IHG (a hotel brand) have invested time and money in her, so rightly they want to see a return on that. Therefore, she has been seeking a transfer from Sydney to any branch over the Tasman. However, because of the economic climate, jobs are sparse, and the only one available required her to fulfill an interview. That took over an hour and a half, and she is not guaranteed the job in the Auckland branch because there are strong internal candidates vying for the job of reservations manager. She should have been informed of an outcome last Thursday (29th), but they have been very slack; they failed to inform her that they are awaiting a final interviewee. Therefore, they are going to make a decision on Tuesday (3/2).
Understandably, it's clear to see the stress I am encountering. Furthermore, if Lysey does get the job she may be required to start on the 9/2. How can she prepare her life in such a short space of time? Moreover, I doubt I will have my visa through by then. On the flip side, if she doesn't get the job I don't know what she'll do over there. Her current contract ended at the start of February, but they have offered her a casual contract for a month. After that, if she doesn't get the job in NZ, who knows what will happen. Like I said, there are too many variables.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Henry VIII only wanted one thing in life – a boy to succeed him at the helm. Currently, I would only like one thing – a permanent Australian visa. Henry got his wish when Jane Seymour dropped Edward (who in turn became Edward VI), but he died at the age of 15, so his wish was only partially granted. I have been here for almost two years now, so like Edward, my stay has been short but I hope to one day have permanent residency. In the meantime, however, I am preparing myself for a trip across the Tasman where I intend to stay for a further year. More about that later, though.
As it’s been a blinder of a summer here, my writing duties have been put aside. I apologise, but I would understand if it was the other way round (that would require England to experience heat above 20 degrees for a prolonged amount of time, however. The chances are slim). I have found plenty to keep me occupied, nonetheless.
The first weekend of the year in Sydney signals the start of the Sydney Festival, which usually lasts for three weeks and compromises of everything across the board in the field of arts and entertainment. As a curtain raiser, the organisers always hold a free day to start the proceedings and that very Saturday (10th) saw me, plus a reported 299,999 turn the streets of Sydney into a massive party.
As far as freebies go, this was amazing. I suppose London has its equivalent in the Notting Hill Carnival, but as I have never attended I cannot make a comparison. Therefore, I shall inform you of my first ever Sydney Festival free of any potential bias.
The headline act was Grace Jones, but throughout the duration of the night I found myself sandwiched between 500 people or so at the front and about 15,000 people behind me at the dance stage. The headline act, sadly, was Santagold and to be honest, she isn’t my cup of tea. All the gold earrings, shell suites and Ali G-esque bling hand motions emanating from the stage weren’t getting me going. Happily, she only played for 30 minutes, and from there Canadian DJ A-Trax and Australian dance duo The Bag Raiders kept me tapping my toes until the late hours that very Saturday.
Sadly, as it was a free event, many of Sydney’s Richard Craniums were out in force. A special mention should go to one chap who saw fit to climb a lamppost; that may not sound too peculiar, but considering there was no security at all in attendance, people were taking the law into their own hands to get him down. Initially they started hailing mostly plastic bottles at him, but then people began launching glass bottles in his direction – with a few smashing centimeters above his head. With all this glass flying about, people were getting hit in the cross fire, and I in fact came across a lass who was bleeding from the head – presumably caused by one of the bottles.
We were literally packed in like sardines, so there wasn’t any room for security anyway. I think the police and organisers vastly underestimated the amount of people who would turn up, ala Brighton Beach and Fatboy Slim’s concert back in the early naughties. Despite the idiotic actions of a few, the night was great and I for one hope to return to a future Sydney Festival.
Intentionally, the rest of that week was quiet as both Lysey and I had our eyes focused on our trip to Melbourne, in aid of our first year anniversary. (For anyone counting, the trip was about two weeks premature, but for the fact it’s Lysey’s birthday on the 3/2 we decided to go away earlier for our anniversary).
Our first port of call upon arriving into Melbourne was the MCG, or as it’s affectionately known, The G. (Or for anyone who hasn’t a foggiest what I am banging on about, the Melbourne Cricket Ground). Walking towards this magnificent stadium, The G imposes itself on the horizon. Dotted around the outside are statues dedicated to past Australian sporting heroes who have lit up the MCG, and I had my picture taken with Dennis Lillee. To get a view of the inside, however, we went on an organised tour around the stadium, which was followed by a visit to the National Sports Museum.
The ground holds 100,000 – not bad for a cricket stadium I am sure you’ll agree. The night before, Australia hosted South Africa, but some mere ten hours after the ground was spotless (the pitch was looking great, too. The grounds men were on their second grass cutting of the day as we entered). During that match, the commentators were making regular comments about the temperature and how much it had dropped. At the time I was still in Sydney, where it had been pushing 35-40 degrees, so I found it hard to believe. However, during our tour we all experienced the ‘MCG chill’, where the wind haunted the ground and made us instantly feel cold regardless of the actual temperature.
Our tour was hosted by a chap called Alan, who is deemed a big deal in Melbourne circles for he used to play AFL football for Hawthorn, which is a suburb of Melbourne. Indeed, throughout the tour, people were coming up to him and saying ‘Hi, Alan’. However, no one amongst our group actually knew him. He gave me some grief for being a Pom, but I didn’t mind; he was a good character and he knew the answers to all our questions. From it, I gathered the largest crowd ever inside was over 130,000 who witnessed Billy Graham, an evangilatist, perform. Also, it has hosted an Olympic Games (1956) and a Commonwealth Games (2006). (Again, not bad for a cricket ground.)
During our tour we ventured into the changing rooms; it was evident that there was a game on last night as game plans were still on the board. From their not-so-master-class-plans (Australia lost - again) I managed to decipher all the nicknames allocated to the Australian team. They were sitting were I was some ten hours previous and I felt great knowing that. However, I saved the best for last as we also paid the media centre a visit; knowing that Richie Beneaud (legend. If Australia does become a Republic, he should stand for presidency) was in the room made me feel like a kid at Christmas.
Furthermore, we also paid a visit to the National Sports Museum. Here there were displays of every past Olympic Games ever held, showing a history and memorabilia from each host city. They also had a section for the Australian pastime of AFL, and an equally bigger section for cricket. (Football, or soccer as it was labeled, had a small cabinet, but I predict that will grow into a side unit in years to come). The cricket section also paid homage to one of Victoria’s favourite sporting sons – Shane Warne. They have devised a cinematic hologram of Warnie which retraces his career, and rightly the display does him justice.
Lysey, rather unjustly in my opinion, gives me a lot of grief for my passion for stadiums. As I explained to her, they represent so much more than bricks and water; they embody patriotism, nationalism, hope, history, the past, the future and I always make a beeline for one in any city that I visit. (When I landed in Sydney on my own, desperately short of cash and not knowing anyone or anything, I first went to the Sydney Cricket Ground before job hunting.)
It’s worth noting that Australia has applied to host the football World Cup, be it in 2018 or 2022. I know that they’d do a fantastic job as the whole country is fanatical about sport. It would be interesting, though, to see where the final would be hosted if they were to win the vote. In all the cases I know about, the capital city has hosted the final, but Canberra wouldn’t even host a group match currently (by my reckoning, Australia would need to build another three stadiums so if they build something amazing then maybe they could host it, however I think it’s severely unlikely as it doesn't have the sporting culture synonymous with either Melbourne or Sydney).
It’s fair to say that Sydney is the glamour capital of Australia, so to any neutrals based outside of Australasia they’d expect the finale to be hosted there. However, Melbourne, it has to be said, is the sport capital of Australia, and with the MCG they’re ready to host it tomorrow (although Sydney has the Homebush Stadium, which is where the 2000 Olympic Games was held). Indeed, the rivalry between the two would be interesting to watch as there has been many a furor between the two when it comes to sport. The most recent example I recall was when David Beckham’s LA Galaxy toured last year; Melbourne wanted to host the game, but Sydney won the rights (I think the two clubs are linked behind the scenes with their respective owners).
In retaliation, Melbourne hosted a friendly with Juventus after the conclusion of the Serie A last season. The media built this game up to be massive, but because Euro’ 2008 was imminent, and that their season had just finished, no decent players attended. (Nonetheless, the Italians still won 4-1). In my humble opinion, neither Sydney nor Melbourne are the best team in Australia. Adelaide recently lost in the Asian Champions League final, so technically they’re the second best team in the region. (However, they also recently finished 5th in the World Club Cup tournament, but I don’t think they’re the fifth best team on the planet). However, Queensland Roar are the best I have seen this season, and I would expect them to win the A-League this year and then take the Asian Champions League by storm.
Neither Adelaide nor Queensland are capable of hosting the football World Cup final (although Brisbane – the home to the Roar – recently hosted the rugby league World Cup final so they have the stadium for it) simply because neither city is glamorous enough to host such an event. I would like Sydney to host it if they were to host the World Cup, but I suspect Melbourne would have the accolade, simply because they are the capital of sport and they already have a stadium that holds 100,000. (How many World Cup final stadiums have held over 80,000?)
To further emphasise this, Melbourne also hosts the only tennis ‘slam in the southern hemisphere – The Australia Open. Being as keen as I am on sport, we paid a visit to the tennis on the opening day (Monday 19th). To be honest, I am not overly keen on tennis, simply because of the snooty British attitude that has denied us of anything worthy of note to boast about. Tim Henman is a pompous public school boy, but because of his heritage he fitted the mould of what British tennis is/was after. Can you imagine if Wayne Rooney was blessed with a tennis racquet? Because of his Liverpool routes he’d be castigated against and would probably be a docker. Moreover, take the Williams sisters; they’re both from Compton – one of the roughest parts of LA. If they were English the most they wouldn’t be holding racquets for a living. (They'd probably be butterflies of the night)
When in Rome and all that, however; as we were in Melbourne during the first Grandslam of 2009 I was insistent we attended, despite my grievances with British tennis. To make myself feel better, we watched a British lass lose in the first round, and we also watched some unknown Australian lose. We bought $29 ground passes which entitled us to entry to any of the 19 courts apart from the Rob Laver Court and the Hisense Court. However, both Lysey and I managed to sneak into the Laver Court towards the end of the day’s play. The stadium was bowl shaped and the fans were stacked on top of each other, probably making for a unique atmosphere.
We were entitled to stay there all day and night (unlike Wimbledon, Melbourne has floodlights and the last game of the night usually begins at 10pm), so it was a bargain for the price. However, we left come 5pm simply because it was too hot. The court where we spent the majority of our day had sections of shelter, but this was nothing more than a sheet of tarpaulin, so it’s effectiveness was virtually non-existent. With the mercury pushing above 35 degrees this British lad couldn’t take the heat anymore so we headed back to our air-conditioned room after watching our third game for the day. (My Australian lass also cannot tolerate the heat; being as white as she is she burns within minutes – no exaggeration.)
Away from the sport, we also partook in things that are of interest to Lysey. Notably, this was going to see the show Wicked, which is based on the Wizard of Oz. Prior to attending, I was warned that anyone who had not seen the aforementioned film before would struggle with the show we were going to watch. Sadly, I fall into that demographic, so I was fearing the possibility that I would be making up my own story line in my head. In honesty, there were times when I didn’t have a clue what was going on, but for every time a puzzled gaze appeared on my face, Lysey would explain everything I needed to know.
I enjoyed the show, nonetheless. The lead actress was superb and she rightly received a standing ovation. Would I recommend it however? I don’t know. I still don’t really know what happened so I can hardly critique it in depth. Let’s just say this: if you’re in Melbourne with a spare $100 in your pocket and you haven’t got anything planned for the evening, go and see Wicked. Moreover, if you want to find out how the Wicked Witch of the West became so Wicked then go and see this play. (Incidentally, she isn't that Wicked after all).
As it was our anniversary we made a point of going for a meal to celebrate. (Thanks nan for the Christmas money – it was spent well). We headed to the area that is deemed the trendy party of Melbourne – St. Kilda. Our restaurant of choice, a random pick along a strip of many, offered us a bit of everything, plus it was all washed down some fantastic wine. Afterwards, with us both ready to pop after consuming one too many clams, we hit it up at many of the nearby bars.
Much to my delight, the state of Victoria serves alcohol in the pint measurement. I couldn’t believe my eyes – I haven’t ordered a pint for such a long time as they’re very rare in New South Wales. (NSW tends to serve alcohol in schooners – just over half a pint. To anyone traveling from NSW to Victoria who doesn’t fancy a pint they can order a ‘pot’, which is half a pint). Of course, I took advantage of my newfound joy to the maximum. It’s amazing how easily pleased I really am.
Getting drunk in a foreign city, despite how many times in did it in Asia, always throws me. In Melbourne the main method of transport is the tram, so when drunk and crossing the road one has to look out for any oncoming trams. They glide almost in silence, so you need to have your wits about you. Of course, I learnt my lesson at a young age when I watched Rita’s husband (his name escapes me, but my mum would know it) in Coronation Street sprint after her in Blackpool. He ran into the path of an oncoming tram and died.
Television taught me a valuable lesson that day, and on the subject of TV, Neighbours is filmed on location in Melbourne. Subsequently, many of the backpackers haunts host regular trips to Ramsey Street where you’re able to meet some of the stars and take a look around the street. I for one did not attend it, and I feel better for avoiding this cliché of an attraction. It amazes me the amount of people I have met along the way who have come to Australia with the intention of heading to Ramsey Street, yet I ask them in return if they’ve been to Ayers Rock and they usually look glumly back at me.
Finally, we headed back to Sydney on Tuesday (20th). It seemed that both cities had been basking in similar temperatures so I hope that vindicates the delay in this posting. As I write I am putting my finishing touches to my New Zealand visa application and hopefully by the next time I write (that could be any time as next Monday is Australia Day – a national bank holiday and the weather promises to be awesome once more) I will have heard some news of the good variety regarding it.
As it’s been a blinder of a summer here, my writing duties have been put aside. I apologise, but I would understand if it was the other way round (that would require England to experience heat above 20 degrees for a prolonged amount of time, however. The chances are slim). I have found plenty to keep me occupied, nonetheless.
The first weekend of the year in Sydney signals the start of the Sydney Festival, which usually lasts for three weeks and compromises of everything across the board in the field of arts and entertainment. As a curtain raiser, the organisers always hold a free day to start the proceedings and that very Saturday (10th) saw me, plus a reported 299,999 turn the streets of Sydney into a massive party.
As far as freebies go, this was amazing. I suppose London has its equivalent in the Notting Hill Carnival, but as I have never attended I cannot make a comparison. Therefore, I shall inform you of my first ever Sydney Festival free of any potential bias.
The headline act was Grace Jones, but throughout the duration of the night I found myself sandwiched between 500 people or so at the front and about 15,000 people behind me at the dance stage. The headline act, sadly, was Santagold and to be honest, she isn’t my cup of tea. All the gold earrings, shell suites and Ali G-esque bling hand motions emanating from the stage weren’t getting me going. Happily, she only played for 30 minutes, and from there Canadian DJ A-Trax and Australian dance duo The Bag Raiders kept me tapping my toes until the late hours that very Saturday.
Sadly, as it was a free event, many of Sydney’s Richard Craniums were out in force. A special mention should go to one chap who saw fit to climb a lamppost; that may not sound too peculiar, but considering there was no security at all in attendance, people were taking the law into their own hands to get him down. Initially they started hailing mostly plastic bottles at him, but then people began launching glass bottles in his direction – with a few smashing centimeters above his head. With all this glass flying about, people were getting hit in the cross fire, and I in fact came across a lass who was bleeding from the head – presumably caused by one of the bottles.
We were literally packed in like sardines, so there wasn’t any room for security anyway. I think the police and organisers vastly underestimated the amount of people who would turn up, ala Brighton Beach and Fatboy Slim’s concert back in the early naughties. Despite the idiotic actions of a few, the night was great and I for one hope to return to a future Sydney Festival.
Intentionally, the rest of that week was quiet as both Lysey and I had our eyes focused on our trip to Melbourne, in aid of our first year anniversary. (For anyone counting, the trip was about two weeks premature, but for the fact it’s Lysey’s birthday on the 3/2 we decided to go away earlier for our anniversary).
Our first port of call upon arriving into Melbourne was the MCG, or as it’s affectionately known, The G. (Or for anyone who hasn’t a foggiest what I am banging on about, the Melbourne Cricket Ground). Walking towards this magnificent stadium, The G imposes itself on the horizon. Dotted around the outside are statues dedicated to past Australian sporting heroes who have lit up the MCG, and I had my picture taken with Dennis Lillee. To get a view of the inside, however, we went on an organised tour around the stadium, which was followed by a visit to the National Sports Museum.
The ground holds 100,000 – not bad for a cricket stadium I am sure you’ll agree. The night before, Australia hosted South Africa, but some mere ten hours after the ground was spotless (the pitch was looking great, too. The grounds men were on their second grass cutting of the day as we entered). During that match, the commentators were making regular comments about the temperature and how much it had dropped. At the time I was still in Sydney, where it had been pushing 35-40 degrees, so I found it hard to believe. However, during our tour we all experienced the ‘MCG chill’, where the wind haunted the ground and made us instantly feel cold regardless of the actual temperature.
Our tour was hosted by a chap called Alan, who is deemed a big deal in Melbourne circles for he used to play AFL football for Hawthorn, which is a suburb of Melbourne. Indeed, throughout the tour, people were coming up to him and saying ‘Hi, Alan’. However, no one amongst our group actually knew him. He gave me some grief for being a Pom, but I didn’t mind; he was a good character and he knew the answers to all our questions. From it, I gathered the largest crowd ever inside was over 130,000 who witnessed Billy Graham, an evangilatist, perform. Also, it has hosted an Olympic Games (1956) and a Commonwealth Games (2006). (Again, not bad for a cricket ground.)
During our tour we ventured into the changing rooms; it was evident that there was a game on last night as game plans were still on the board. From their not-so-master-class-plans (Australia lost - again) I managed to decipher all the nicknames allocated to the Australian team. They were sitting were I was some ten hours previous and I felt great knowing that. However, I saved the best for last as we also paid the media centre a visit; knowing that Richie Beneaud (legend. If Australia does become a Republic, he should stand for presidency) was in the room made me feel like a kid at Christmas.
Furthermore, we also paid a visit to the National Sports Museum. Here there were displays of every past Olympic Games ever held, showing a history and memorabilia from each host city. They also had a section for the Australian pastime of AFL, and an equally bigger section for cricket. (Football, or soccer as it was labeled, had a small cabinet, but I predict that will grow into a side unit in years to come). The cricket section also paid homage to one of Victoria’s favourite sporting sons – Shane Warne. They have devised a cinematic hologram of Warnie which retraces his career, and rightly the display does him justice.
Lysey, rather unjustly in my opinion, gives me a lot of grief for my passion for stadiums. As I explained to her, they represent so much more than bricks and water; they embody patriotism, nationalism, hope, history, the past, the future and I always make a beeline for one in any city that I visit. (When I landed in Sydney on my own, desperately short of cash and not knowing anyone or anything, I first went to the Sydney Cricket Ground before job hunting.)
It’s worth noting that Australia has applied to host the football World Cup, be it in 2018 or 2022. I know that they’d do a fantastic job as the whole country is fanatical about sport. It would be interesting, though, to see where the final would be hosted if they were to win the vote. In all the cases I know about, the capital city has hosted the final, but Canberra wouldn’t even host a group match currently (by my reckoning, Australia would need to build another three stadiums so if they build something amazing then maybe they could host it, however I think it’s severely unlikely as it doesn't have the sporting culture synonymous with either Melbourne or Sydney).
It’s fair to say that Sydney is the glamour capital of Australia, so to any neutrals based outside of Australasia they’d expect the finale to be hosted there. However, Melbourne, it has to be said, is the sport capital of Australia, and with the MCG they’re ready to host it tomorrow (although Sydney has the Homebush Stadium, which is where the 2000 Olympic Games was held). Indeed, the rivalry between the two would be interesting to watch as there has been many a furor between the two when it comes to sport. The most recent example I recall was when David Beckham’s LA Galaxy toured last year; Melbourne wanted to host the game, but Sydney won the rights (I think the two clubs are linked behind the scenes with their respective owners).
In retaliation, Melbourne hosted a friendly with Juventus after the conclusion of the Serie A last season. The media built this game up to be massive, but because Euro’ 2008 was imminent, and that their season had just finished, no decent players attended. (Nonetheless, the Italians still won 4-1). In my humble opinion, neither Sydney nor Melbourne are the best team in Australia. Adelaide recently lost in the Asian Champions League final, so technically they’re the second best team in the region. (However, they also recently finished 5th in the World Club Cup tournament, but I don’t think they’re the fifth best team on the planet). However, Queensland Roar are the best I have seen this season, and I would expect them to win the A-League this year and then take the Asian Champions League by storm.
Neither Adelaide nor Queensland are capable of hosting the football World Cup final (although Brisbane – the home to the Roar – recently hosted the rugby league World Cup final so they have the stadium for it) simply because neither city is glamorous enough to host such an event. I would like Sydney to host it if they were to host the World Cup, but I suspect Melbourne would have the accolade, simply because they are the capital of sport and they already have a stadium that holds 100,000. (How many World Cup final stadiums have held over 80,000?)
To further emphasise this, Melbourne also hosts the only tennis ‘slam in the southern hemisphere – The Australia Open. Being as keen as I am on sport, we paid a visit to the tennis on the opening day (Monday 19th). To be honest, I am not overly keen on tennis, simply because of the snooty British attitude that has denied us of anything worthy of note to boast about. Tim Henman is a pompous public school boy, but because of his heritage he fitted the mould of what British tennis is/was after. Can you imagine if Wayne Rooney was blessed with a tennis racquet? Because of his Liverpool routes he’d be castigated against and would probably be a docker. Moreover, take the Williams sisters; they’re both from Compton – one of the roughest parts of LA. If they were English the most they wouldn’t be holding racquets for a living. (They'd probably be butterflies of the night)
When in Rome and all that, however; as we were in Melbourne during the first Grandslam of 2009 I was insistent we attended, despite my grievances with British tennis. To make myself feel better, we watched a British lass lose in the first round, and we also watched some unknown Australian lose. We bought $29 ground passes which entitled us to entry to any of the 19 courts apart from the Rob Laver Court and the Hisense Court. However, both Lysey and I managed to sneak into the Laver Court towards the end of the day’s play. The stadium was bowl shaped and the fans were stacked on top of each other, probably making for a unique atmosphere.
We were entitled to stay there all day and night (unlike Wimbledon, Melbourne has floodlights and the last game of the night usually begins at 10pm), so it was a bargain for the price. However, we left come 5pm simply because it was too hot. The court where we spent the majority of our day had sections of shelter, but this was nothing more than a sheet of tarpaulin, so it’s effectiveness was virtually non-existent. With the mercury pushing above 35 degrees this British lad couldn’t take the heat anymore so we headed back to our air-conditioned room after watching our third game for the day. (My Australian lass also cannot tolerate the heat; being as white as she is she burns within minutes – no exaggeration.)
Away from the sport, we also partook in things that are of interest to Lysey. Notably, this was going to see the show Wicked, which is based on the Wizard of Oz. Prior to attending, I was warned that anyone who had not seen the aforementioned film before would struggle with the show we were going to watch. Sadly, I fall into that demographic, so I was fearing the possibility that I would be making up my own story line in my head. In honesty, there were times when I didn’t have a clue what was going on, but for every time a puzzled gaze appeared on my face, Lysey would explain everything I needed to know.
I enjoyed the show, nonetheless. The lead actress was superb and she rightly received a standing ovation. Would I recommend it however? I don’t know. I still don’t really know what happened so I can hardly critique it in depth. Let’s just say this: if you’re in Melbourne with a spare $100 in your pocket and you haven’t got anything planned for the evening, go and see Wicked. Moreover, if you want to find out how the Wicked Witch of the West became so Wicked then go and see this play. (Incidentally, she isn't that Wicked after all).
As it was our anniversary we made a point of going for a meal to celebrate. (Thanks nan for the Christmas money – it was spent well). We headed to the area that is deemed the trendy party of Melbourne – St. Kilda. Our restaurant of choice, a random pick along a strip of many, offered us a bit of everything, plus it was all washed down some fantastic wine. Afterwards, with us both ready to pop after consuming one too many clams, we hit it up at many of the nearby bars.
Much to my delight, the state of Victoria serves alcohol in the pint measurement. I couldn’t believe my eyes – I haven’t ordered a pint for such a long time as they’re very rare in New South Wales. (NSW tends to serve alcohol in schooners – just over half a pint. To anyone traveling from NSW to Victoria who doesn’t fancy a pint they can order a ‘pot’, which is half a pint). Of course, I took advantage of my newfound joy to the maximum. It’s amazing how easily pleased I really am.
Getting drunk in a foreign city, despite how many times in did it in Asia, always throws me. In Melbourne the main method of transport is the tram, so when drunk and crossing the road one has to look out for any oncoming trams. They glide almost in silence, so you need to have your wits about you. Of course, I learnt my lesson at a young age when I watched Rita’s husband (his name escapes me, but my mum would know it) in Coronation Street sprint after her in Blackpool. He ran into the path of an oncoming tram and died.
Television taught me a valuable lesson that day, and on the subject of TV, Neighbours is filmed on location in Melbourne. Subsequently, many of the backpackers haunts host regular trips to Ramsey Street where you’re able to meet some of the stars and take a look around the street. I for one did not attend it, and I feel better for avoiding this cliché of an attraction. It amazes me the amount of people I have met along the way who have come to Australia with the intention of heading to Ramsey Street, yet I ask them in return if they’ve been to Ayers Rock and they usually look glumly back at me.
Finally, we headed back to Sydney on Tuesday (20th). It seemed that both cities had been basking in similar temperatures so I hope that vindicates the delay in this posting. As I write I am putting my finishing touches to my New Zealand visa application and hopefully by the next time I write (that could be any time as next Monday is Australia Day – a national bank holiday and the weather promises to be awesome once more) I will have heard some news of the good variety regarding it.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Being organised is soooo 2008! Welcome to 2009, the era of mismanagement and poor timekeeping. Embrace it people, for I have in earnest.
Realising that '08 could possibly be my last New Year in Sydney for a while, I wanted to go out on a bang. However, Sydney's events have an annoying habit of selling out almost instantly. This is never the case back home, but here everything for the 31st sold out as early as October. (Glastonbury didn't even sell out this year I gather, but the Kings of Leon sold out in six seconds over here.)
I am not alone in my newfound lackadaisical approach; Lysey has also embraced the New Year in similar style as she managed to lock her car keys in her vehicle (30/12), thus costing her $150. To get them back she had to call out a locksmith, and at $150 a pop she managed to spend the money given to her from her Nan for Christmas. The money my Nan gave us is in my account, but it’s not awaiting her next lapse in concentration (that money is being saved for a pending trip to Melbourne).
Back on subject, as of lunchtime on the 31st I was frantically scrolling through the pages on eBay trying to do myself justice. I fancied either Shore Thing at Bondi Beach or Field Day, which was held on the 1st but because of the size of the event one would pass it off as being a worthwhile New Year's celebration. However, for both events sellers were demanding over $350 a ticket. I had managed to justify the sum in my head, but I was too late in bidding. On informing Lysey of my intentions she began demanding an excellent birthday present on par with my ticket. (It's not until February 3rd, but I am not spending $350 on her as I didn't get a ticket in the end.)
I suppose it was a blessing I didn't bag a ticket. I only say that because, according to the receptionist where I work, she said I would need to buy my drugs on top, thus making my day even more expensive. Recently, when I went to Global Gathering, there was a drugs bust and 52 people were arrested, and after hearing about it she wanted to know if I was one of them. Ha, I didn't know what to say; if I protested too much it could look like I was acting suspiciously and denying my habit, yet if I said nothing I would perhaps look sheepish. I did the latter, but I am no druggy.
So, instead of attending something big for maybe my last New Year's in Sydney for a while, I went for a meal with Lysey instead. At $95 a head, I would argue that this was worthy of being labeled 'big'. (They did throw in a free glass of bubbly though - how generous). Because of the timing, our restaurant of choice was offering a ’12 course grazing degustation menu’. When I made the booking I had no clue what the lass on the other end meant by ‘degustation’, and for anyone else out there who is none-the-wiser, it means a meal where there is a set amount of plates – and in our case, we had 12 to get through.
I imagine Rick Waller would enjoy a degustation. As for me, by the fifth serving – a tamari marinated soft shell crab – I was ready to pop. From that dish onwards I was taking one bite per serving and then saying to the waiter ‘next’! Consequently, I didn’t digest enough of the proceeding dishes of deep sea scallops, sweet potatoes and coriander dumplings, slow cooked pork belly, a sirloin of beef, Tunisian brik pastry cigars, raspberry sorbet and amaretto poached peaches to give them a rating. However, I must say the dishes that I did manage to put away – Pacific oysters, a baby spinach leaves salad, king prawns and Peking duck were excellent. You can see my point in why I reckon Waller would like to eat at Rubyos in Newtown.
Surprisingly, all the grub didn’t take long to get through, meaning we still had 30 minutes or so until 2009 was upon us. In search for a watering hole that looked half decent (it seems universal that places tend to charge patrons for entry to anything deemed ‘too decent’ on the 31st) we stumbled across a bar that had a live cover band playing. Once inside, I quickly gathered that Lysey was probably the youngest person inside, and I was probably the third or fourth.
The band was doing its best to get all in attendance in the mood for the big count down. It probably would have been useful then if they, or someone behind the bar, had a clock. There must have been 200+ people inside, yet nobody knew the exact time. After trying her best for a few minutes, the lead singer of the band instigated a random count down to bring in the New Year. At this time I glanced at my phone and to my amusement it said 00.03, so she was three minutes out. I find it amazing that on the one night of the year when it’s important to know the time, no one thought to bring a watch.
Anyway, to me, the New Year doesn't begin until the big hand has crossed the 11am mark, which is the exact time when England celebrates. (Fair play to Lysey, she sent me a text shortly after 11 to wish me a happy new year). I always sense that London attempts to compete with Sydney for the most spectacular fireworks, and in 2008 I would say that London was the winner. However, having watched Sydney's 2009 efforts on TV the next day I think London was doomed before they even lit their fuses. Simply put, Sydney's efforts were awesome. At a cost of $5ml what else would you expect? The NSW Premier and his cronies defended the decision to spend so much by means of a simple math’s equation: over one million were present in and around the Harbour Bridge come midnight so it roughly worked out at $4 per head. When you put it like that it seems money well spent in my opinion.
It might be worth pointing out that Sydneysiders, along with the vast majority of Australia, only get to see fireworks once a year. Mention the words 'Guy Fawkes' to any Aussie and they will usually look at you glumly. There is no such thing as 'remember remember the 5th of November' over here. In fact, the only place where one can buy fireworks legally in Australia is in the ACT (Australia Capital Territory - home to Canberra and not a lot else). Bizarrely, the ACT is also the only place in Australia where one can legally buy pornography. What a combination. Can you imagine buying those two in a shop? Would you hide the porn mag in the box of fireworks not to bring attention to yourself whilst queuing up, or would it be the other way round? I suppose you wouldn't need to bother, though.
Anyway, to get a glimpse of what was going on in the Big Smoke, I watched a synopsis of New Year celebrations from around the world. Ha, the BBC video reel rightly started in Auckland - the first major city to welcome 2009 - and having seen their efforts I would honestly describe the fire works I used to witness at Monkton Heathfield's bonfire night when I was a teenager as being better than those of New Zealand's second city. It's a strong possibility that we'll be there for them next year and I for one cannot wait! For the record, London’s efforts weren’t bad, but they also looked like Monkton Heathfield’s display in comparison to Sydney.
As it happened, New Years Day was spent indoors - and I for one was the main benefactor. The mercury must have been pushing the late 30's in the degree measurement, so I would have fried in such conditions. Moreover, on the night of the 1st there was a large fire in a chocolate factory in Sydney's inner-west (Marrickville to be precise, and we live in nearby Petersham). Inconveniently, the factory is located next to an electrical substation and as the fire soared that night the authorities took the decision to turn off the juice. 35,000 homes were affected, including ours, and as a consequence I had to sleep without the aid of a fan. As you may imagine, I didn't sleep too much that night because of the humidity, and to compound things further, we couldn't open the window for the waft of the smoke.
Moving on, 2009 has already bought about a new experience for me, and the year was only three days old when I went to my first ever cricket Test Match. I, along with seven others - three Australians and four South Africans - spent the day (Saturday 3rd) at the Sydney Cricket Ground for the Third Test, and I must say I had a great time. The only thing that would have made me happier was if England was the opposition, but seeing as the Saffas have managed to already beat Australia in the series (it’s their first home defeat in 16 years) I had plenty to smile about.
Sadly, inside the SCG they have banned the sale of full strength beer (the stuff that is roughly around 5% in strength). One of the lasses from our group put this down to the fact 'Australian men cannot be trusted'. I had to snigger at her tongue-in-cheek statement, but I felt discriminated against as, after all, I am an Englishman. (I wanted the strong stuff for I can be trusted.) Therefore, we had to make do with mid strength beer (3.5%), but it didn't seem to deter all of those in attendance; many people, presumably lightweights, were showing the showing the signs of intoxication come the end of play at 6pm. Nonetheless, it ensured a great atmosphere at the ground, and the 37,901 fans all went home happy (although some of that number were escorted for doing nothing more than being rowdy. The security on the day was on a serious power trip. Throughout the day there were loads of beach balls being thumped around the ground, but as soon as a security guard caught hold of any they would put a knife in them.)
It's worth noting that the total in attendance that Saturday surpassed any crowd at White Hart Lane, which is a little depressing. (I was knocking on the door of the pub at 6.30am on the very day, pleading with them to let me in to watch Tottenham beat Wigan in the FA Cup). Unlike any football match I have been to though I managed to get sun burnt even though we had overcast conditions for the entire day. They really should fix that whole in the ozone layer above Australasia before someone, such as me, gets seriously hurt.
Realising that '08 could possibly be my last New Year in Sydney for a while, I wanted to go out on a bang. However, Sydney's events have an annoying habit of selling out almost instantly. This is never the case back home, but here everything for the 31st sold out as early as October. (Glastonbury didn't even sell out this year I gather, but the Kings of Leon sold out in six seconds over here.)
I am not alone in my newfound lackadaisical approach; Lysey has also embraced the New Year in similar style as she managed to lock her car keys in her vehicle (30/12), thus costing her $150. To get them back she had to call out a locksmith, and at $150 a pop she managed to spend the money given to her from her Nan for Christmas. The money my Nan gave us is in my account, but it’s not awaiting her next lapse in concentration (that money is being saved for a pending trip to Melbourne).
Back on subject, as of lunchtime on the 31st I was frantically scrolling through the pages on eBay trying to do myself justice. I fancied either Shore Thing at Bondi Beach or Field Day, which was held on the 1st but because of the size of the event one would pass it off as being a worthwhile New Year's celebration. However, for both events sellers were demanding over $350 a ticket. I had managed to justify the sum in my head, but I was too late in bidding. On informing Lysey of my intentions she began demanding an excellent birthday present on par with my ticket. (It's not until February 3rd, but I am not spending $350 on her as I didn't get a ticket in the end.)
I suppose it was a blessing I didn't bag a ticket. I only say that because, according to the receptionist where I work, she said I would need to buy my drugs on top, thus making my day even more expensive. Recently, when I went to Global Gathering, there was a drugs bust and 52 people were arrested, and after hearing about it she wanted to know if I was one of them. Ha, I didn't know what to say; if I protested too much it could look like I was acting suspiciously and denying my habit, yet if I said nothing I would perhaps look sheepish. I did the latter, but I am no druggy.
So, instead of attending something big for maybe my last New Year's in Sydney for a while, I went for a meal with Lysey instead. At $95 a head, I would argue that this was worthy of being labeled 'big'. (They did throw in a free glass of bubbly though - how generous). Because of the timing, our restaurant of choice was offering a ’12 course grazing degustation menu’. When I made the booking I had no clue what the lass on the other end meant by ‘degustation’, and for anyone else out there who is none-the-wiser, it means a meal where there is a set amount of plates – and in our case, we had 12 to get through.
I imagine Rick Waller would enjoy a degustation. As for me, by the fifth serving – a tamari marinated soft shell crab – I was ready to pop. From that dish onwards I was taking one bite per serving and then saying to the waiter ‘next’! Consequently, I didn’t digest enough of the proceeding dishes of deep sea scallops, sweet potatoes and coriander dumplings, slow cooked pork belly, a sirloin of beef, Tunisian brik pastry cigars, raspberry sorbet and amaretto poached peaches to give them a rating. However, I must say the dishes that I did manage to put away – Pacific oysters, a baby spinach leaves salad, king prawns and Peking duck were excellent. You can see my point in why I reckon Waller would like to eat at Rubyos in Newtown.
Surprisingly, all the grub didn’t take long to get through, meaning we still had 30 minutes or so until 2009 was upon us. In search for a watering hole that looked half decent (it seems universal that places tend to charge patrons for entry to anything deemed ‘too decent’ on the 31st) we stumbled across a bar that had a live cover band playing. Once inside, I quickly gathered that Lysey was probably the youngest person inside, and I was probably the third or fourth.
The band was doing its best to get all in attendance in the mood for the big count down. It probably would have been useful then if they, or someone behind the bar, had a clock. There must have been 200+ people inside, yet nobody knew the exact time. After trying her best for a few minutes, the lead singer of the band instigated a random count down to bring in the New Year. At this time I glanced at my phone and to my amusement it said 00.03, so she was three minutes out. I find it amazing that on the one night of the year when it’s important to know the time, no one thought to bring a watch.
Anyway, to me, the New Year doesn't begin until the big hand has crossed the 11am mark, which is the exact time when England celebrates. (Fair play to Lysey, she sent me a text shortly after 11 to wish me a happy new year). I always sense that London attempts to compete with Sydney for the most spectacular fireworks, and in 2008 I would say that London was the winner. However, having watched Sydney's 2009 efforts on TV the next day I think London was doomed before they even lit their fuses. Simply put, Sydney's efforts were awesome. At a cost of $5ml what else would you expect? The NSW Premier and his cronies defended the decision to spend so much by means of a simple math’s equation: over one million were present in and around the Harbour Bridge come midnight so it roughly worked out at $4 per head. When you put it like that it seems money well spent in my opinion.
It might be worth pointing out that Sydneysiders, along with the vast majority of Australia, only get to see fireworks once a year. Mention the words 'Guy Fawkes' to any Aussie and they will usually look at you glumly. There is no such thing as 'remember remember the 5th of November' over here. In fact, the only place where one can buy fireworks legally in Australia is in the ACT (Australia Capital Territory - home to Canberra and not a lot else). Bizarrely, the ACT is also the only place in Australia where one can legally buy pornography. What a combination. Can you imagine buying those two in a shop? Would you hide the porn mag in the box of fireworks not to bring attention to yourself whilst queuing up, or would it be the other way round? I suppose you wouldn't need to bother, though.
Anyway, to get a glimpse of what was going on in the Big Smoke, I watched a synopsis of New Year celebrations from around the world. Ha, the BBC video reel rightly started in Auckland - the first major city to welcome 2009 - and having seen their efforts I would honestly describe the fire works I used to witness at Monkton Heathfield's bonfire night when I was a teenager as being better than those of New Zealand's second city. It's a strong possibility that we'll be there for them next year and I for one cannot wait! For the record, London’s efforts weren’t bad, but they also looked like Monkton Heathfield’s display in comparison to Sydney.
As it happened, New Years Day was spent indoors - and I for one was the main benefactor. The mercury must have been pushing the late 30's in the degree measurement, so I would have fried in such conditions. Moreover, on the night of the 1st there was a large fire in a chocolate factory in Sydney's inner-west (Marrickville to be precise, and we live in nearby Petersham). Inconveniently, the factory is located next to an electrical substation and as the fire soared that night the authorities took the decision to turn off the juice. 35,000 homes were affected, including ours, and as a consequence I had to sleep without the aid of a fan. As you may imagine, I didn't sleep too much that night because of the humidity, and to compound things further, we couldn't open the window for the waft of the smoke.
Moving on, 2009 has already bought about a new experience for me, and the year was only three days old when I went to my first ever cricket Test Match. I, along with seven others - three Australians and four South Africans - spent the day (Saturday 3rd) at the Sydney Cricket Ground for the Third Test, and I must say I had a great time. The only thing that would have made me happier was if England was the opposition, but seeing as the Saffas have managed to already beat Australia in the series (it’s their first home defeat in 16 years) I had plenty to smile about.
Sadly, inside the SCG they have banned the sale of full strength beer (the stuff that is roughly around 5% in strength). One of the lasses from our group put this down to the fact 'Australian men cannot be trusted'. I had to snigger at her tongue-in-cheek statement, but I felt discriminated against as, after all, I am an Englishman. (I wanted the strong stuff for I can be trusted.) Therefore, we had to make do with mid strength beer (3.5%), but it didn't seem to deter all of those in attendance; many people, presumably lightweights, were showing the showing the signs of intoxication come the end of play at 6pm. Nonetheless, it ensured a great atmosphere at the ground, and the 37,901 fans all went home happy (although some of that number were escorted for doing nothing more than being rowdy. The security on the day was on a serious power trip. Throughout the day there were loads of beach balls being thumped around the ground, but as soon as a security guard caught hold of any they would put a knife in them.)
It's worth noting that the total in attendance that Saturday surpassed any crowd at White Hart Lane, which is a little depressing. (I was knocking on the door of the pub at 6.30am on the very day, pleading with them to let me in to watch Tottenham beat Wigan in the FA Cup). Unlike any football match I have been to though I managed to get sun burnt even though we had overcast conditions for the entire day. They really should fix that whole in the ozone layer above Australasia before someone, such as me, gets seriously hurt.
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