Sunday, July 31, 2005
Having a wonderfully rum time of things
Soundtrack: "Blur" by Blur
Good evening this evening.
And I come to you from Singapore. As predicted, my aunt has super-fast broadband, so here I am writing this entry. The house really is massive - there are four bedrooms, and each is more like a bedsit, as they're all divided into two sections and each has its own ensuite bathroom. Downstairs is just one vast, cavernous area, and unlike the house in Brisbane, there really is a grand piano. I haven't played it yet, because there's always somebody sleeping in this house when I'm home: wank. Ah well, no worries, eh? I've already gone over a month without playing, I'm sure I can go a little bit longer. Oh yeah, and guess what, the daughter's also got an upright in her own bedroom upstairs. Bloody hell.
So the ECB have decided to go with the same 12-man squad for the Edgbaston Test, then. For heavens' sake! Paul Collingwood is the man that we need. I'm always right about these things. All those old men making fun of me for the original Bring Back Thorpe campaign (it came with a sign) were eating their words of mockery by the time the Oval Test came round that summer. After that, they all started asking me my opinion on who should be playing. Ha.
Incidentally, that steak dinner at Brekky Creek was totally totally ace.
Brisbane Airport was a bit of a bugger. Stingy, evil Qantas only let you have 25kg maximum, and I had 28kg, so the check-in lady was going to charge me $60. Fortunately, she took pity on me, seeing that my hand luggage was little, and she let me unpack and take out the 3kg to put in a separate bag to bring on with me. I already had to carry my big winter coat that i'd bought in Melbourne, and my FF scarf, as I didn't have any room for them. Along with that, I bought the Boy a bottle of Bundaberg rum from the duty free place, as it's really nice stuff and it's a very typical Australian, especially Queensland, drink. It was a pain to lug all that stuff around.
I was met in Singapore by the Old Man (that's my father, for the uninitiated), and my Aunty Hui Suan and my Uncle Matthias. We had a late dinner, and then I went to bed. Everybody thought I was a bit mad, but then I explained that although it was only 10pm here, it was 12am in Queensland.
This morning when we got up, I wanted to show the Old Man the rum that I'd bought the Boy.
"What?!" he exclaimed. "You bought so much?!"
I took a closer look at the bottle. It was a 1125ml bottle, and I thought that I'd only bought a 500ml. No wonder it was so bloody heavy. But think about it. I got 625ml of Bundy rum for free! How good is that? It's going to kill my weight limit, though. Dad's got this plan that he's going to buy me a business class Malaysia Airlines ticket between Sibu and Kuching so that a) I have a higher weight limit and b) they'll let me check my bags all the way to London, even though I'll be switching airlines at Singapore. I hope it works.
Today, Dad and I just randomly walked around the city. We got off the underground at Raffles Place, which is right in the heart of the CBD. We soon found the river, and we had a brief look around there, before I spotted a giant building in the shape of a durian and so, we headed off that way. I think that Singapore is a lot like HK - some of the old colonial influences are still visible in the some of the architecture, but mostly, it's just modern buildings, with lots and lots of shopping plazas and malls. The heat is much more intense here, though. At least in HK there's smog to block out the full glare of the sun, but it just seems to be a lot hotter here, and it makes you feel really lethargic and sluggish. Serves us right, though: only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun and all that.
On the way to the giant durian building, we found ourselves in Merlion Park. If you click on the link, the merlion in the picture is actually the one from said park. It spouts out a jet of water from its mouth as well. We crossed the bridge outside the park to get to the gaint durian building, and on the way, we bought $1 ice-creams, which are sold to you sandwiched into a piece of pink-and-green-dyed bread. How crazy is that? It tasted bloody good, though. Once we got to the giant durian building, it turned out that it was just a concert hall and theatre (it was actually two giant durians, like in the photo, as a matter of fact), so we decided to go and have a look round the Raffles Hotel.
My goodness, that place is swanky. You can actually go and have a look inside the foyer, and you can smell the wealth. They also have a high-class shopping centre inside one of the wings, so I dragged Dad into all sorts of silly shops like Tiffany's and Swarovsky and Louis Vuitton. I do keep on seeing these shops whever I go, but it's hard to go into them when you're on your own and dressed trashily. Today, I was actually looking pretty cool in my all-black outfit, plus I had the Old Man with me, and shop assistants always think that when you go shopping with your father then he'll have a whole bunch of plastic in his wallet. My dad does actually have a Diners Club Card, which he once applied for because he thought that it looked cool.
Finally, we walked up to Orchard Road, which is a swanky shopping centre in the city. No more shopping for me, but it was fun just to look at stuff. One end of the road has stuff like Topshop and is more like Oxford Street, and at the other end is stuff like Salvatore Ferragamo and it's more like Regents Street. We also had a look round Wang's, which is the Singapore version of Selfridges. My God! It was so tiring just to randomly walk around, as the climate is just so oppressive. I feel really sleepy now, but I doubt that I'll be able to sleep. I think that the Old Man's got lost in the house - he wandered off ages ago to go and look for people, but he wasn't successful. Then he left again after reporting back to me. Maybe I should go and check on him.
Good evening this evening.
And I come to you from Singapore. As predicted, my aunt has super-fast broadband, so here I am writing this entry. The house really is massive - there are four bedrooms, and each is more like a bedsit, as they're all divided into two sections and each has its own ensuite bathroom. Downstairs is just one vast, cavernous area, and unlike the house in Brisbane, there really is a grand piano. I haven't played it yet, because there's always somebody sleeping in this house when I'm home: wank. Ah well, no worries, eh? I've already gone over a month without playing, I'm sure I can go a little bit longer. Oh yeah, and guess what, the daughter's also got an upright in her own bedroom upstairs. Bloody hell.
So the ECB have decided to go with the same 12-man squad for the Edgbaston Test, then. For heavens' sake! Paul Collingwood is the man that we need. I'm always right about these things. All those old men making fun of me for the original Bring Back Thorpe campaign (it came with a sign) were eating their words of mockery by the time the Oval Test came round that summer. After that, they all started asking me my opinion on who should be playing. Ha.
Incidentally, that steak dinner at Brekky Creek was totally totally ace.
Brisbane Airport was a bit of a bugger. Stingy, evil Qantas only let you have 25kg maximum, and I had 28kg, so the check-in lady was going to charge me $60. Fortunately, she took pity on me, seeing that my hand luggage was little, and she let me unpack and take out the 3kg to put in a separate bag to bring on with me. I already had to carry my big winter coat that i'd bought in Melbourne, and my FF scarf, as I didn't have any room for them. Along with that, I bought the Boy a bottle of Bundaberg rum from the duty free place, as it's really nice stuff and it's a very typical Australian, especially Queensland, drink. It was a pain to lug all that stuff around.
I was met in Singapore by the Old Man (that's my father, for the uninitiated), and my Aunty Hui Suan and my Uncle Matthias. We had a late dinner, and then I went to bed. Everybody thought I was a bit mad, but then I explained that although it was only 10pm here, it was 12am in Queensland.
This morning when we got up, I wanted to show the Old Man the rum that I'd bought the Boy.
"What?!" he exclaimed. "You bought so much?!"
I took a closer look at the bottle. It was a 1125ml bottle, and I thought that I'd only bought a 500ml. No wonder it was so bloody heavy. But think about it. I got 625ml of Bundy rum for free! How good is that? It's going to kill my weight limit, though. Dad's got this plan that he's going to buy me a business class Malaysia Airlines ticket between Sibu and Kuching so that a) I have a higher weight limit and b) they'll let me check my bags all the way to London, even though I'll be switching airlines at Singapore. I hope it works.
Today, Dad and I just randomly walked around the city. We got off the underground at Raffles Place, which is right in the heart of the CBD. We soon found the river, and we had a brief look around there, before I spotted a giant building in the shape of a durian and so, we headed off that way. I think that Singapore is a lot like HK - some of the old colonial influences are still visible in the some of the architecture, but mostly, it's just modern buildings, with lots and lots of shopping plazas and malls. The heat is much more intense here, though. At least in HK there's smog to block out the full glare of the sun, but it just seems to be a lot hotter here, and it makes you feel really lethargic and sluggish. Serves us right, though: only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun and all that.
On the way to the giant durian building, we found ourselves in Merlion Park. If you click on the link, the merlion in the picture is actually the one from said park. It spouts out a jet of water from its mouth as well. We crossed the bridge outside the park to get to the gaint durian building, and on the way, we bought $1 ice-creams, which are sold to you sandwiched into a piece of pink-and-green-dyed bread. How crazy is that? It tasted bloody good, though. Once we got to the giant durian building, it turned out that it was just a concert hall and theatre (it was actually two giant durians, like in the photo, as a matter of fact), so we decided to go and have a look round the Raffles Hotel.
My goodness, that place is swanky. You can actually go and have a look inside the foyer, and you can smell the wealth. They also have a high-class shopping centre inside one of the wings, so I dragged Dad into all sorts of silly shops like Tiffany's and Swarovsky and Louis Vuitton. I do keep on seeing these shops whever I go, but it's hard to go into them when you're on your own and dressed trashily. Today, I was actually looking pretty cool in my all-black outfit, plus I had the Old Man with me, and shop assistants always think that when you go shopping with your father then he'll have a whole bunch of plastic in his wallet. My dad does actually have a Diners Club Card, which he once applied for because he thought that it looked cool.
Finally, we walked up to Orchard Road, which is a swanky shopping centre in the city. No more shopping for me, but it was fun just to look at stuff. One end of the road has stuff like Topshop and is more like Oxford Street, and at the other end is stuff like Salvatore Ferragamo and it's more like Regents Street. We also had a look round Wang's, which is the Singapore version of Selfridges. My God! It was so tiring just to randomly walk around, as the climate is just so oppressive. I feel really sleepy now, but I doubt that I'll be able to sleep. I think that the Old Man's got lost in the house - he wandered off ages ago to go and look for people, but he wasn't successful. Then he left again after reporting back to me. Maybe I should go and check on him.
Friday, July 29, 2005
My last full day in Australia
Soundtrack: "Running Girl" by Ooberman
Good evening this evening.
And I think I shall open this entry with a little something about tea:
Bubble tea is iced Chinese red or green tea shaken with natural juices and puree, first invented in Taiwan in the early 90s. Also known as pearl milk tea, 'chen zhu nai cha,' 'pao pao nai cha' or 'QQ,' to mean the chewy tapioca 'pearls' which are a main characteristic of the refreshing iced beverage.
These pearls are made from cassava plant juice and are so addictive that they've been called the faux opium of the Orient.
Too bloody right. Ever since Melbourne (okay, I got it wrong then. They're Taiwanese, not Korean), I've been addicted to the stuff. I know it's fundamentally wrong, but it tastes so good. Therefore, today, my last full day in Australia, I drank lots and lots of lovely refreshing bubble tea. Mmm. I also ate lots and lots of lovely sushi, and I went to see a film at the IMAX one last time (come on, it is only $6). It was "The Island," and it wasn't anywhere near as bad as I thought that it was going to be. The script was written by Alex Kurtzmann and Roberto Orci of "Alias," which was what made me want to go and see it in the first place. I kept on seeing the trailer and being put off because it said: "From the makers of Armageddon and Pearl Harbor," but once you get past that, it's not too bad. Okay, parts of it are very very violent (unnecessarily, I feel), but the actual concept itself was good. It scared the crap out of me, actually, which is good, so hopefully it'll give a big pious message out to those people who are after designer cloning. I think it addressed the moral issues presented by cloning pretty well, and I hope that it makes people think about it a little more.
So that was Brisbane then, so that was Australia then. Michael and Renee are taking me out to Brekky Creek Hotel tonight for a proper Aussie steak dinner. Apparently, this is some legendary hotel that everybody in Brisbane knows. We shall see.
Normally at this point I'd say that I'm not sure what my internet access is going to be like from here on in. However, this time I do know. Actually, I don't know what it'll be like in Singapore (but my aunty's rich and her son's a major geek so we'll probably have broadband). My dad's internet connection is frustratingly slow, so the blog'll probably be pretty erratic from here on in. I will try and update it, though, and I'll probably be patient and be on the computer every day during the Test matches anyhow. If not, then I'll update it properly when I get home.
Hmm. I should really finish that packing now. Urgh.
Good evening this evening.
And I think I shall open this entry with a little something about tea:
Bubble tea is iced Chinese red or green tea shaken with natural juices and puree, first invented in Taiwan in the early 90s. Also known as pearl milk tea, 'chen zhu nai cha,' 'pao pao nai cha' or 'QQ,' to mean the chewy tapioca 'pearls' which are a main characteristic of the refreshing iced beverage.
These pearls are made from cassava plant juice and are so addictive that they've been called the faux opium of the Orient.
Too bloody right. Ever since Melbourne (okay, I got it wrong then. They're Taiwanese, not Korean), I've been addicted to the stuff. I know it's fundamentally wrong, but it tastes so good. Therefore, today, my last full day in Australia, I drank lots and lots of lovely refreshing bubble tea. Mmm. I also ate lots and lots of lovely sushi, and I went to see a film at the IMAX one last time (come on, it is only $6). It was "The Island," and it wasn't anywhere near as bad as I thought that it was going to be. The script was written by Alex Kurtzmann and Roberto Orci of "Alias," which was what made me want to go and see it in the first place. I kept on seeing the trailer and being put off because it said: "From the makers of Armageddon and Pearl Harbor," but once you get past that, it's not too bad. Okay, parts of it are very very violent (unnecessarily, I feel), but the actual concept itself was good. It scared the crap out of me, actually, which is good, so hopefully it'll give a big pious message out to those people who are after designer cloning. I think it addressed the moral issues presented by cloning pretty well, and I hope that it makes people think about it a little more.
So that was Brisbane then, so that was Australia then. Michael and Renee are taking me out to Brekky Creek Hotel tonight for a proper Aussie steak dinner. Apparently, this is some legendary hotel that everybody in Brisbane knows. We shall see.
Normally at this point I'd say that I'm not sure what my internet access is going to be like from here on in. However, this time I do know. Actually, I don't know what it'll be like in Singapore (but my aunty's rich and her son's a major geek so we'll probably have broadband). My dad's internet connection is frustratingly slow, so the blog'll probably be pretty erratic from here on in. I will try and update it, though, and I'll probably be patient and be on the computer every day during the Test matches anyhow. If not, then I'll update it properly when I get home.
Hmm. I should really finish that packing now. Urgh.
Steph's Aussie dictionary
Soundtrack: "Sing When You're Winning" by Robbie Williams
Good morning this morning again.
Since this is my final full day in Australia, I thought I'd put together a little dictionary of all the terms that I've picked up in my three months here:
Good morning this morning again.
Since this is my final full day in Australia, I thought I'd put together a little dictionary of all the terms that I've picked up in my three months here:
- Thongs = Flip-flops (you don't know how confusing that one can get)
- Root = Shag
- Bogan = Chav
- Bevan = Chav (Queensland only)
- Footie = Aussie rules
- Footie = Rugby league (Queensland only)
- Football = Aussie rules (Queensland only)
- Soccer = Football
- Holden Barina = Vauxhall Corsa
- Hungry Jacks = Burger King
- Pants = Trousers
- 24C = Freezing cold
- 99c/litre for unleaded petrol (around 40p) = Very very expensive
- Dancing With The Stars = Strictly Come Dancing
- Chip = Crisps
- Hot chips = Chips
- Persimmon = Sharonfruit
- Zucchinni = Courgette
Actually, that's about all I can think of at the moment. It's no use, there's no more putting-off packing any more. Best get going.
Sun, sea, Surfers Paradise
Soundtrack: "The Man Who" by Travis
Good morning this morning.
I took a trip to the Gold Coast yesterday, because it's just one of those things that you have to do. Just like taking a trip to the Blue Mountains is one of those things that you have to do, and I nearly fell down a mountain and died. But there we are. The weather really was lovely - not too hot, not to cool, and there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. I've now got a crappy-looking tan - only my face and lower arms are tanned, because I was wearing a t-shirt and jeans. And I've got a watch-mark and Make Poverty History-mark on my left wrist. Classy.
There's not actually much to do in Gold Coast apart from bum around on the beach, go shopping, or go to a theme park. Therefore, I ended up bumming around on the beach - I must've walked up and down for around three or four hours. It was lovely, because it's winter and the beach had hardly any people on it - the only people there were Europeans and some psycho Aussie surfers. I kept on walking far too close to the water and getting soaked every time a big wave came in, but what's the point of being beside the sea if you don't get wet? It reminded me of those Norway reunions on the beach, and how they totally weren't like yesterday. The Australian seaside is nowhere near as cheesy as the British one, but I suppose that that's because Australia actually has good beaches, and you don't need to have lots of stuff on the side to distract you from how awful they are.
It's my last day in Brisbane today, and then I fly to Singapore for a couple of days to meet up with my dad and to stay with my Aunty Hui Suan. She married a very rich man and my Aunty Anne (from Essex) went to stay with her last summer, and came back saying that she had a huge palace of a house, so my father, old woman that he is, wants to check it out. After that, we'll spend a coule of days in his luxury condo in Kuching (the state capital of Sarawak), which he keeps for when he's up in Kuching to compete in triathlons. My final stop of this big walkabout will be a week-and-a-half in Sibu, where my parents grew up and where my father went back to work after living in England for so long. I can't wait for the food there - it's going to be top notch.
You know, I woke up this morning, and my first thought wasn't: "Oh, it's my last day in Brisbane." Oh no. It was: "Shit! Kevin Pietersen's probably going to score at least one century in the next three Tests, and I'm not going to be able to see any of it." And then I thought: "But then again, he'll need all the other batsmen to actually get good and support him, or else he'll be stranded on 60-something again." Finally, I thought: "Hang on, that was a really bizarre dream. Oh bollocks! I've started having my saving-the-world dreams again! I hope it's just because I was reading lots of Harry Potter. Apparating through time as well as space, Steph? Your subsconscious mind has some twisted genius."
I really am quite mad.
Good morning this morning.
I took a trip to the Gold Coast yesterday, because it's just one of those things that you have to do. Just like taking a trip to the Blue Mountains is one of those things that you have to do, and I nearly fell down a mountain and died. But there we are. The weather really was lovely - not too hot, not to cool, and there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. I've now got a crappy-looking tan - only my face and lower arms are tanned, because I was wearing a t-shirt and jeans. And I've got a watch-mark and Make Poverty History-mark on my left wrist. Classy.
There's not actually much to do in Gold Coast apart from bum around on the beach, go shopping, or go to a theme park. Therefore, I ended up bumming around on the beach - I must've walked up and down for around three or four hours. It was lovely, because it's winter and the beach had hardly any people on it - the only people there were Europeans and some psycho Aussie surfers. I kept on walking far too close to the water and getting soaked every time a big wave came in, but what's the point of being beside the sea if you don't get wet? It reminded me of those Norway reunions on the beach, and how they totally weren't like yesterday. The Australian seaside is nowhere near as cheesy as the British one, but I suppose that that's because Australia actually has good beaches, and you don't need to have lots of stuff on the side to distract you from how awful they are.
It's my last day in Brisbane today, and then I fly to Singapore for a couple of days to meet up with my dad and to stay with my Aunty Hui Suan. She married a very rich man and my Aunty Anne (from Essex) went to stay with her last summer, and came back saying that she had a huge palace of a house, so my father, old woman that he is, wants to check it out. After that, we'll spend a coule of days in his luxury condo in Kuching (the state capital of Sarawak), which he keeps for when he's up in Kuching to compete in triathlons. My final stop of this big walkabout will be a week-and-a-half in Sibu, where my parents grew up and where my father went back to work after living in England for so long. I can't wait for the food there - it's going to be top notch.
You know, I woke up this morning, and my first thought wasn't: "Oh, it's my last day in Brisbane." Oh no. It was: "Shit! Kevin Pietersen's probably going to score at least one century in the next three Tests, and I'm not going to be able to see any of it." And then I thought: "But then again, he'll need all the other batsmen to actually get good and support him, or else he'll be stranded on 60-something again." Finally, I thought: "Hang on, that was a really bizarre dream. Oh bollocks! I've started having my saving-the-world dreams again! I hope it's just because I was reading lots of Harry Potter. Apparating through time as well as space, Steph? Your subsconscious mind has some twisted genius."
I really am quite mad.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Paul Collingwood
Soundtrack: "Know Your Enemy" by Manic Street Preachers
Good arvo this arvo.
This isn't really a post about Paul Collingwood, but I used it as the title for added effect. Basically, I was really rather pleased to read this article just now, even if it did mean that Somerset still really really suck at cricket. Okay, so this one is rather worrying, and Lardy Robert Key is actually averaging more than Colly, with three 100s and four 50s to Colly's four 100s, but he's already proven that he doesn't have the temperament, especially against the Aussies. The other thing that I feel that Colly could add is an extra dimension to the fielding. Let's face it, England's fielding was awful at Lord's, and with somebody like The QGO to save boundaries and take stunning catches, it would buoy the team. They'd probably waste him by shoving him in at short leg, though.
I did indeed go and see "Monster-In-Law" yesterday, and it was truly dire. Michael Vartan was adorable, though. Especially without a shirt on the 25m screen. [Incidentally, I checked, and the popcorn costs thus: Small $2.50, Medium $3.50, Large $4.50, so even that's cheap.] That's two chick-flicks I've seen in a row, and I came out of the cinema with a horrified look stuck on my face. What the hell was I doing, punishing myself so? I did enjoy "Bewitched" immensely, but to follow it up with that monstrosity... The worst bit was sitting in a cinema full of girlies who made all the right noises in all the right places: they laughed at the unfunny jokes, they made swooning noises every time Vartan came on-screen... And therefore, I needed tea and cake, and I needed it bad.
A couple of doors down from the cinema is a cute little British-colonial-in-India-style coffee shop, with an attached gift store, and it's absolutely gorgeous. I sat in there for two hours, eating amazing cake (sweet and savoury) and drinking rose-infused tea, which was lovely. Underneath ornamental ceiling fans and to a soundtrack of Twenties parlour records, I re-read Harry Bloody Potter/Half-Blood Prince and treated myself for having sat through two hours of dross previously. And then I went to meet Michael back at the cinema and we went to see "Sin City," which was just what I needed.
Yes, it was violent. Yes, there were lots of scantily-clad young ladies. But I didn't care. After all that sugariness, I needed some dark and edgy without too happy an ending. The cinematography looked fantastic, and Bruce Willis and Clive Owen have perfect faces for comic book characters. Sorry, graphic novels [she says, giving a nod to Seth Cohen.] The reviewer in the local paper hated it, but that's because she's one of those uber-feminist types, and she was on and on about how it repressed women and just treated them as objects. I completely disagree: I thought it empowered women, and the Old Town storyline was great because it showed that they weren't just dumb whores, they were kick-arse bitches who could take care of themselves.
It's a beautiful day. I can't be arsed to do anything constructive, but I think I might go for a walk just for the sheer joy of going for a walk.
Come on, The Quiet Ginger One!
Good arvo this arvo.
This isn't really a post about Paul Collingwood, but I used it as the title for added effect. Basically, I was really rather pleased to read this article just now, even if it did mean that Somerset still really really suck at cricket. Okay, so this one is rather worrying, and Lardy Robert Key is actually averaging more than Colly, with three 100s and four 50s to Colly's four 100s, but he's already proven that he doesn't have the temperament, especially against the Aussies. The other thing that I feel that Colly could add is an extra dimension to the fielding. Let's face it, England's fielding was awful at Lord's, and with somebody like The QGO to save boundaries and take stunning catches, it would buoy the team. They'd probably waste him by shoving him in at short leg, though.
I did indeed go and see "Monster-In-Law" yesterday, and it was truly dire. Michael Vartan was adorable, though. Especially without a shirt on the 25m screen. [Incidentally, I checked, and the popcorn costs thus: Small $2.50, Medium $3.50, Large $4.50, so even that's cheap.] That's two chick-flicks I've seen in a row, and I came out of the cinema with a horrified look stuck on my face. What the hell was I doing, punishing myself so? I did enjoy "Bewitched" immensely, but to follow it up with that monstrosity... The worst bit was sitting in a cinema full of girlies who made all the right noises in all the right places: they laughed at the unfunny jokes, they made swooning noises every time Vartan came on-screen... And therefore, I needed tea and cake, and I needed it bad.
A couple of doors down from the cinema is a cute little British-colonial-in-India-style coffee shop, with an attached gift store, and it's absolutely gorgeous. I sat in there for two hours, eating amazing cake (sweet and savoury) and drinking rose-infused tea, which was lovely. Underneath ornamental ceiling fans and to a soundtrack of Twenties parlour records, I re-read Harry Bloody Potter/Half-Blood Prince and treated myself for having sat through two hours of dross previously. And then I went to meet Michael back at the cinema and we went to see "Sin City," which was just what I needed.
Yes, it was violent. Yes, there were lots of scantily-clad young ladies. But I didn't care. After all that sugariness, I needed some dark and edgy without too happy an ending. The cinematography looked fantastic, and Bruce Willis and Clive Owen have perfect faces for comic book characters. Sorry, graphic novels [she says, giving a nod to Seth Cohen.] The reviewer in the local paper hated it, but that's because she's one of those uber-feminist types, and she was on and on about how it repressed women and just treated them as objects. I completely disagree: I thought it empowered women, and the Old Town storyline was great because it showed that they weren't just dumb whores, they were kick-arse bitches who could take care of themselves.
It's a beautiful day. I can't be arsed to do anything constructive, but I think I might go for a walk just for the sheer joy of going for a walk.
Come on, The Quiet Ginger One!
Monday, July 25, 2005
Some random thoughts that have just occurred to me
Soundtrack: "OK Computer" by Radiohead
Good arvo this arvo again.
My random thoughts:
Good arvo this arvo again.
My random thoughts:
- They used to make harmonicas in the shape of boomerangs.
- When I went on the ferry the other day, I saw this guy who looked just like Darz, except he was Chinese. I nearly fell over laughing when he took out his digital camera.
- Come on, The Quiet Ginger One.
Merry Christmas in July
Soundtrack: "The Bends" by Radiohead
Good arvo this arvo but not really because of the cricket. I knew it was going to happen. I bloody knew it was going to happen, and still I'm depressed and moping because that's just what you do when you're an England supporter. When they were 80-0 on Saturday night, I really thought we even had a shot at the highest ever winning run-chase. Fat bloody chance. Our batting is as solid as a hammer made of jelly (lime jelly, Toby, not lemon), apart from Kevin Pietersen, who I want to marry, despite the nasty hair, lame three lions tatoo and earring. I'm not sure about Ian Bell at all, and now that Graham Thorpe has now left us in the lurch (though to be fair, the selectors left him in the lurch first), we really need somebody similar to replace him, cue Paul Collingwood AKA The Quiet Ginger One. It's not going to happen, though, because Michael Vaughan was all "No, we're not panicking" when Mike Atherton interviewed him at the presentation ceremony.
I think I'd better try to do this in some sort of semblance of order, even though my head's still in a mess. I've had scant little sleep these past four nights due to cricket, but I still punished myself because I'm an idiot.
On Friday, I met up with Jez Coates, a chap who used to go to my church in Trowbridge. Him and his wife Laura upped their family and left to come and live in Cleveland, an east-side suburb of Brisbane that's right next to the Pacific Ocean. When I contacted them to let them know that I was in town, they kindly invited me to spend Christmas in July with them. How could I turn down an offer like that? So, on Saturday, I was treated to a Christmas lunch, complete with random drunk ex-pats with screaming children. Oh yes, and not content with Stormy the cat, when Jez and Laura were taking the fridge to be repaired on Saturday morning, they got sidetracked and ended up buying a puppy (urgh - smelly and requires more attention that I could be arsed). They named him Boomer, short for Boomerang, but I thought that it was a crap name and decided to try to give the dog an identity crisis. Therefore, he now answers to Doggie, Rang, Snowdrop (he's dark brown) and Wee Jimmy. I just can't understand why people want pets. We had fish, but when Ludwig, the last one, died, my mother got so depressed that she said we weren't allowed any more pets because she couldn't take the heartache. My brother and I stood at the kitchen windown laughing at her as she buried Ludwig in the back garden.
Because it was Christmas in July, I ended up watching a whole bunch of films that I'd normally never even dream of watching, and "Ferris Bueller's Day Off." Honestly: "Love Actually" (again - gah!), "Shark Tale," the remake of "The Italian Job," "National Treasure." Oh dear oh dear oh dear. And I think I'm going to go and see "Monster-In-Law" tomorrow or Wednesday, because even though I know for a fact that it's going to be excruciatingly bad, I can't turn down the opportunity to see Michael Vartan on a 25m IMAX screen for only $6. Come on, the popcorn's more expensive.
So, the cricket, then. You know, I watched it intently for those four nights, and I only found out that Thorpey had retired when I read Toby's comment on my last post. Shocked, I decided to check it out on a cricket site, and it turns out that the announcement came on Friday. Nobody on Sky said anything about it, not even Nasser Hussain, and Thorpey was his best buddy on the team, along with Athers. I'm not sad and depressed like I was for Nass's retirement, though: when Nass's announcement came, I sat and listened to the entire press conference on Five Live and cried the whole way through, but I knew that Thorpey's retirement was coming. Oh well. Come on, The Quiet Ginger One.
Good arvo this arvo but not really because of the cricket. I knew it was going to happen. I bloody knew it was going to happen, and still I'm depressed and moping because that's just what you do when you're an England supporter. When they were 80-0 on Saturday night, I really thought we even had a shot at the highest ever winning run-chase. Fat bloody chance. Our batting is as solid as a hammer made of jelly (lime jelly, Toby, not lemon), apart from Kevin Pietersen, who I want to marry, despite the nasty hair, lame three lions tatoo and earring. I'm not sure about Ian Bell at all, and now that Graham Thorpe has now left us in the lurch (though to be fair, the selectors left him in the lurch first), we really need somebody similar to replace him, cue Paul Collingwood AKA The Quiet Ginger One. It's not going to happen, though, because Michael Vaughan was all "No, we're not panicking" when Mike Atherton interviewed him at the presentation ceremony.
I think I'd better try to do this in some sort of semblance of order, even though my head's still in a mess. I've had scant little sleep these past four nights due to cricket, but I still punished myself because I'm an idiot.
On Friday, I met up with Jez Coates, a chap who used to go to my church in Trowbridge. Him and his wife Laura upped their family and left to come and live in Cleveland, an east-side suburb of Brisbane that's right next to the Pacific Ocean. When I contacted them to let them know that I was in town, they kindly invited me to spend Christmas in July with them. How could I turn down an offer like that? So, on Saturday, I was treated to a Christmas lunch, complete with random drunk ex-pats with screaming children. Oh yes, and not content with Stormy the cat, when Jez and Laura were taking the fridge to be repaired on Saturday morning, they got sidetracked and ended up buying a puppy (urgh - smelly and requires more attention that I could be arsed). They named him Boomer, short for Boomerang, but I thought that it was a crap name and decided to try to give the dog an identity crisis. Therefore, he now answers to Doggie, Rang, Snowdrop (he's dark brown) and Wee Jimmy. I just can't understand why people want pets. We had fish, but when Ludwig, the last one, died, my mother got so depressed that she said we weren't allowed any more pets because she couldn't take the heartache. My brother and I stood at the kitchen windown laughing at her as she buried Ludwig in the back garden.
Because it was Christmas in July, I ended up watching a whole bunch of films that I'd normally never even dream of watching, and "Ferris Bueller's Day Off." Honestly: "Love Actually" (again - gah!), "Shark Tale," the remake of "The Italian Job," "National Treasure." Oh dear oh dear oh dear. And I think I'm going to go and see "Monster-In-Law" tomorrow or Wednesday, because even though I know for a fact that it's going to be excruciatingly bad, I can't turn down the opportunity to see Michael Vartan on a 25m IMAX screen for only $6. Come on, the popcorn's more expensive.
So, the cricket, then. You know, I watched it intently for those four nights, and I only found out that Thorpey had retired when I read Toby's comment on my last post. Shocked, I decided to check it out on a cricket site, and it turns out that the announcement came on Friday. Nobody on Sky said anything about it, not even Nasser Hussain, and Thorpey was his best buddy on the team, along with Athers. I'm not sad and depressed like I was for Nass's retirement, though: when Nass's announcement came, I sat and listened to the entire press conference on Five Live and cried the whole way through, but I knew that Thorpey's retirement was coming. Oh well. Come on, The Quiet Ginger One.
Friday, July 22, 2005
Too little too late, but what the hell, something's better than nothing
Soundtrack: The Bring Back Thorpe chant. It goes like this: "BRING BACK THORPE! BRING BACK THORPE! BRING BACK THORPE! BRING BACK THORPE! Who do we want? THORPEY! When do we want him? BATTING AT FIVE, WITH PIETERSEN MOVING UP TO FOUR AND BELL GOING HOME TO WARWICKSHIRE!" Clear?
Good arvo this arvo or maybe not because we were 92-7 at stumps. The England cricket team are like the worst boyfriend EVER. You look at him and you see how handsome and talented he is, and you wonder how you ever found something so wonderful. And then he lets you down and breaks your heart. And you're so bloody stupid that you just keep on taking him back, again and again, and you justify it by saying: "But it'll be worth it for the good times!"...
...Vegemite's horrible. Nothing compared to Marmite. I expect it's another of those things where Australians are just obsessed with it because it's Australian, and even if there's a better international version of it, they'll still go with the shitty Aussie version because it's Australian...
...Do you know what's really getting to me? I hate Glenn McGrath so much, because he's an amazing bowler, he completely decimated out batting line-up last night, and I can't help but find him unbelieveably attractive. The cheekbones, the dimples, the long long powerful legs, the hair that's just the right length, how Brandom Flowers used to have it around the time of "Mr Brightside" and "Somebody Told Me." What the hell is wrong with me? As soon as a guy turns 35, I seem to start fancying him. That's probably why I think Stephen's so great: he was born 40 and aged onwards...
...I thought I'd take a trip up Chinatown and Fortitude Valley on Wednesday. It looked like quite a-ways to walk on the map from Queen Street Bus Station, which is the last stop on the 454 route, which is the only one that I can take from here, but it was surprisingly easy to get there. Chinatown was a bit rubbish - like the one in Adelaide. They call it Chinatown, but it's actually just a couple of streets with Asian restaurants and a couple of Chinese supermarkets. And a place selling pirate Cantonese DVDs - there's always one of those as well. The locals shorten "Fortitude Valley" to "The Valley," I think to make it sound like LA. It was full of real-life characters from "Nathan Barley" - idiotic, pretentious types whose adherence to "fashion" just made them look a bit daft, really. Unfortunately, there weren't any people with geek pie hair, which would've made my day. I get the impression that Queensland is the slightly less cool version of California: everything's really laid-back and relaxed, and the place is full of groovy-arty-bohemian-hippy-types. Queensland's nowhere near as trendy as California, though. Two things that never went out of style here were the mullet and the hideous Merv Hughes/Yosemite Sam moustache...
...I was very happy to hear Mike Atherton (we get the live Channel 4 feed here, which is cool because we get the Analyst) say that he thought that Graham Thorpe should've been an automatic selection. He said that it should've been betwen Ian Bell and Kevin Pietersen, which is what I was saying all along. I was going to reserve judgment on the BBT issue until we batted, and after that, I can safely say that a) KP's ace and b) get rid of Bell - he just looks like a little boy. Even if we don't play Thorpey, play Paul Collingwood - he loves a scrap. And for God's sake, don't play Lardy Robert Key...
...I think I might do this "21 Grams" stylee, where everything just randomly jumps around until by the end it all makes sense. My head's in a bit of a mess this afternoon...
...Sunsets over Mount Ommaney remind me of Paradiso Lego. That was the one with only white bricks to build the houses, the ladies all had high ponytails and red red lips, and the horses weren't horses, they were white ponies. I know all of this not because I had Paradiso Lego, but because I didn't have it because my mother only let us have Lego Basic for years. But anyway, the boxes always used to come with a pinky-peace sunset in the background, and that's what Mount Ommaney looks like. Again, it isn't actually a mountain, but it doesn't really look like much of a hill either. It's just a fairly high-class suburb. Maybe it's like Mountstevens, but not a now-defunct chain of bakeries...
...I am very much not liking the new England Test strip. That navy piping! It's just so horribly retro, and not in a cool Franz Ferdinand way, but in a disgusting naff Seventies way. The ECB is all about fashion mistakes, I suppose - those training vests were a mistake from the offset, especially since most of the players don't have wonderful toned arms. The only people who those things look vaguely good on are The Quiet Ginger One and Simon Jones, and even then, they just look like wannabe gay icons. And the ODI kit just makes them all look like pizza delivery boys. The Kiwis have definitely got the best kit - all black. Why can't our kit just be all navy without all those crappy bits?...
...Yesterday was spent in the Spiegeltent catching more live music. Sadly, they've cottoned on, and have started charging for drinks, which I didn't realise until the girl charged me $3 for a lemonade. First up was a generic country singer called Gemma Doyle, who just made me fall asleep because she was nothing special, even though everybody had talked her up, probably because she was a Queenslander. And her bassist was so so behind. Later, she said that he was a temporary addition to the band, but that's no excuse. Even if you don't know the music, you should still play in time. Thinking about it, though, I'd hate to be a bassist in a country band. It would be so bloody boring. Next up was Neil Murray, who I get the feeling is a bit of a legend round these parts. He was really cool - he sang loads of Australian folky stuff, and his guitarist also did some hardcore ukulele solos, which was totally totally ace. Third, a jazz-funk trio called Misinterpretato, who were really funny when they were talking and their music was pretty smart, but not my cup of tea, really. Finally, a woman called Megan Shorey, who (like Martha Wainwright) seems really lovely and well-adjusted when she's talking normally, but when she starts singing she turns out to be really really angry and passionate. Her songs weren't really that great, but her voice was amazing, which rather made up for it. That afternoon, I also went to see a display of the history of Australian sheet music. It was amazing - all this crazy old sheet music, like themes for advertising campaigns and comedy songs about beer. And 78 gramophones, which I was well impressed by...
...All together now:
BRING BACK THORPE!
BRING BACK THORPE!
BRING BACK THORPE!
BRING BACK THORPE!
Who do we want?
THORPEY!
When do we want him?
BATTING AT FIVE, WITH PIETERSEN MOVING UP TO FOUR AND BELL GOING HOME TO WARWICKSHIRE!
BRING BACK THORPE!
BRING BACK THORPE!
BRING BACK THORPE!
BRING BACK THORPE!
I think it could catch on.
Good arvo this arvo or maybe not because we were 92-7 at stumps. The England cricket team are like the worst boyfriend EVER. You look at him and you see how handsome and talented he is, and you wonder how you ever found something so wonderful. And then he lets you down and breaks your heart. And you're so bloody stupid that you just keep on taking him back, again and again, and you justify it by saying: "But it'll be worth it for the good times!"...
...Vegemite's horrible. Nothing compared to Marmite. I expect it's another of those things where Australians are just obsessed with it because it's Australian, and even if there's a better international version of it, they'll still go with the shitty Aussie version because it's Australian...
...Do you know what's really getting to me? I hate Glenn McGrath so much, because he's an amazing bowler, he completely decimated out batting line-up last night, and I can't help but find him unbelieveably attractive. The cheekbones, the dimples, the long long powerful legs, the hair that's just the right length, how Brandom Flowers used to have it around the time of "Mr Brightside" and "Somebody Told Me." What the hell is wrong with me? As soon as a guy turns 35, I seem to start fancying him. That's probably why I think Stephen's so great: he was born 40 and aged onwards...
...I thought I'd take a trip up Chinatown and Fortitude Valley on Wednesday. It looked like quite a-ways to walk on the map from Queen Street Bus Station, which is the last stop on the 454 route, which is the only one that I can take from here, but it was surprisingly easy to get there. Chinatown was a bit rubbish - like the one in Adelaide. They call it Chinatown, but it's actually just a couple of streets with Asian restaurants and a couple of Chinese supermarkets. And a place selling pirate Cantonese DVDs - there's always one of those as well. The locals shorten "Fortitude Valley" to "The Valley," I think to make it sound like LA. It was full of real-life characters from "Nathan Barley" - idiotic, pretentious types whose adherence to "fashion" just made them look a bit daft, really. Unfortunately, there weren't any people with geek pie hair, which would've made my day. I get the impression that Queensland is the slightly less cool version of California: everything's really laid-back and relaxed, and the place is full of groovy-arty-bohemian-hippy-types. Queensland's nowhere near as trendy as California, though. Two things that never went out of style here were the mullet and the hideous Merv Hughes/Yosemite Sam moustache...
...I was very happy to hear Mike Atherton (we get the live Channel 4 feed here, which is cool because we get the Analyst) say that he thought that Graham Thorpe should've been an automatic selection. He said that it should've been betwen Ian Bell and Kevin Pietersen, which is what I was saying all along. I was going to reserve judgment on the BBT issue until we batted, and after that, I can safely say that a) KP's ace and b) get rid of Bell - he just looks like a little boy. Even if we don't play Thorpey, play Paul Collingwood - he loves a scrap. And for God's sake, don't play Lardy Robert Key...
...I think I might do this "21 Grams" stylee, where everything just randomly jumps around until by the end it all makes sense. My head's in a bit of a mess this afternoon...
...Sunsets over Mount Ommaney remind me of Paradiso Lego. That was the one with only white bricks to build the houses, the ladies all had high ponytails and red red lips, and the horses weren't horses, they were white ponies. I know all of this not because I had Paradiso Lego, but because I didn't have it because my mother only let us have Lego Basic for years. But anyway, the boxes always used to come with a pinky-peace sunset in the background, and that's what Mount Ommaney looks like. Again, it isn't actually a mountain, but it doesn't really look like much of a hill either. It's just a fairly high-class suburb. Maybe it's like Mountstevens, but not a now-defunct chain of bakeries...
...I am very much not liking the new England Test strip. That navy piping! It's just so horribly retro, and not in a cool Franz Ferdinand way, but in a disgusting naff Seventies way. The ECB is all about fashion mistakes, I suppose - those training vests were a mistake from the offset, especially since most of the players don't have wonderful toned arms. The only people who those things look vaguely good on are The Quiet Ginger One and Simon Jones, and even then, they just look like wannabe gay icons. And the ODI kit just makes them all look like pizza delivery boys. The Kiwis have definitely got the best kit - all black. Why can't our kit just be all navy without all those crappy bits?...
...Yesterday was spent in the Spiegeltent catching more live music. Sadly, they've cottoned on, and have started charging for drinks, which I didn't realise until the girl charged me $3 for a lemonade. First up was a generic country singer called Gemma Doyle, who just made me fall asleep because she was nothing special, even though everybody had talked her up, probably because she was a Queenslander. And her bassist was so so behind. Later, she said that he was a temporary addition to the band, but that's no excuse. Even if you don't know the music, you should still play in time. Thinking about it, though, I'd hate to be a bassist in a country band. It would be so bloody boring. Next up was Neil Murray, who I get the feeling is a bit of a legend round these parts. He was really cool - he sang loads of Australian folky stuff, and his guitarist also did some hardcore ukulele solos, which was totally totally ace. Third, a jazz-funk trio called Misinterpretato, who were really funny when they were talking and their music was pretty smart, but not my cup of tea, really. Finally, a woman called Megan Shorey, who (like Martha Wainwright) seems really lovely and well-adjusted when she's talking normally, but when she starts singing she turns out to be really really angry and passionate. Her songs weren't really that great, but her voice was amazing, which rather made up for it. That afternoon, I also went to see a display of the history of Australian sheet music. It was amazing - all this crazy old sheet music, like themes for advertising campaigns and comedy songs about beer. And 78 gramophones, which I was well impressed by...
...All together now:
BRING BACK THORPE!
BRING BACK THORPE!
BRING BACK THORPE!
BRING BACK THORPE!
Who do we want?
THORPEY!
When do we want him?
BATTING AT FIVE, WITH PIETERSEN MOVING UP TO FOUR AND BELL GOING HOME TO WARWICKSHIRE!
BRING BACK THORPE!
BRING BACK THORPE!
BRING BACK THORPE!
BRING BACK THORPE!
I think it could catch on.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Touristy stuff
Soundtrack: "This Is My Truth Tell Me Yours" by Manic Street Preachers
Good morning this morning.
I thought I'd take a trip to the Commisariat Stores yesterday, as they're the second oldest remaining structure in Queensland. You see, Brisbane was basically a prison colony (it being a swamp and everything), so there wasn't much here until around the 1830s, and then, everybody wanted to hide that their town used to be a prison colony, so they pulled all the cool stuff down. I broke into the Commisariat through the back door and joined a tour, and the two old-timers leading the tour didn't seem to think anything of it, so I tagged along and learnt all about the prisoners, which was really interesting, actually. It was also cool to see what Brisbane was like in the colonial days. The lead guide kept on saying things like: "If you stand outside Myer [the Aussie version of Marks and Spencer] in Queen Street Mall, opposite you will be where the prisoners were kept." We ended the tour at the main entrance, where I saw that I should've actually paid an entrance fee of $4, so I ran away before anybody noticed that I'd got in for free.
I'd also been recommended to take a trip on the City Cat river ferry by Michael, so I obliged. Because it's actually part of Translink, the price for a round trip is very reasonable as normal people have to use it all the time (for example, there's a stop at University of Queensland where all the students get on and off). That was really good fun, because the different parts of the river in downtown Brisbane are all pretty different. The most downriver stretch is full of tasteless mansions (one of them was painted pink, for heavens' sake) with pontoons and boathouses onto the river. The centre of town was filled with the tall bank buildings, and then, the swampy bits around the botanical gardens. [Incidentally, the botanical gardens used to be where the prisoners used to grow their vegetables.] Upriver, there's lots of tropical vegetation around the river, and lots of wooden houses up on the banks, equipped for jungle living. It wasn't really the best thing to attempt in only short-sleeves, though, as it got pretty bloody cold when the boat was travelling fast. Oh well.
The day was ended with a trip up to the windmill, which is the oldest remaining sturcture in Queensland. It was a bit of a disappointment, though, because it's badly in need of restoration, and it's missing its sails and observation deck-type-thing. They don't even open it up so that you can go inside and have a look at the shell of the thing. Apparently, they spent the money on a new footie stadium instead. What a typically Australian move to make.
Good morning this morning.
I thought I'd take a trip to the Commisariat Stores yesterday, as they're the second oldest remaining structure in Queensland. You see, Brisbane was basically a prison colony (it being a swamp and everything), so there wasn't much here until around the 1830s, and then, everybody wanted to hide that their town used to be a prison colony, so they pulled all the cool stuff down. I broke into the Commisariat through the back door and joined a tour, and the two old-timers leading the tour didn't seem to think anything of it, so I tagged along and learnt all about the prisoners, which was really interesting, actually. It was also cool to see what Brisbane was like in the colonial days. The lead guide kept on saying things like: "If you stand outside Myer [the Aussie version of Marks and Spencer] in Queen Street Mall, opposite you will be where the prisoners were kept." We ended the tour at the main entrance, where I saw that I should've actually paid an entrance fee of $4, so I ran away before anybody noticed that I'd got in for free.
I'd also been recommended to take a trip on the City Cat river ferry by Michael, so I obliged. Because it's actually part of Translink, the price for a round trip is very reasonable as normal people have to use it all the time (for example, there's a stop at University of Queensland where all the students get on and off). That was really good fun, because the different parts of the river in downtown Brisbane are all pretty different. The most downriver stretch is full of tasteless mansions (one of them was painted pink, for heavens' sake) with pontoons and boathouses onto the river. The centre of town was filled with the tall bank buildings, and then, the swampy bits around the botanical gardens. [Incidentally, the botanical gardens used to be where the prisoners used to grow their vegetables.] Upriver, there's lots of tropical vegetation around the river, and lots of wooden houses up on the banks, equipped for jungle living. It wasn't really the best thing to attempt in only short-sleeves, though, as it got pretty bloody cold when the boat was travelling fast. Oh well.
The day was ended with a trip up to the windmill, which is the oldest remaining sturcture in Queensland. It was a bit of a disappointment, though, because it's badly in need of restoration, and it's missing its sails and observation deck-type-thing. They don't even open it up so that you can go inside and have a look at the shell of the thing. Apparently, they spent the money on a new footie stadium instead. What a typically Australian move to make.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Factoids! (II)
Soundtrack: "Lost In Translation OST" by various people
Good morning this morning again, and here's todays helping of useless trivia:
Good morning this morning again, and here's todays helping of useless trivia:
- You share your birthday with at least 9 million other people in the world.
- The shortest war in history was between Zanzibar and England in 1896. Zanzibar surrendered after only 38 minutes.
- Babies are born without knee caps. They don't appear until the child reaches 2-6 years of age.
- Because of the rotation of the Earth, an object can be thrown further if it is thrown West (well duh).
- The average human body contains enough fat to make seven bars of soap.
- An ostrich's eye is bigger than its brain (heard that one on Blue Peter years ago).
- By law, every child in Belgium must take harmonica lessons at primary school.
I reckon I'm going to start re-reading HP6 now. I might notice something that I didn't pick up on when I was trying to find out what happened as quickly as possible, though I doubt it. Here's hoping.
The Spiegeltent
Soundtrack: "Like You Do... The Best Of The Lightning Seeds" by The Lightning Seeds
Good morning this morning.
The Spiegeltent has set up in town for the Queensland Music Festival. Apparently, QMF is the largest in Australia, and the largest in the world in terms of the area of land that it's spread over. Now, the Spiegeltent is this Belgian tent that travels all over the world to act as a live venue for all sorts of different types of music (I believe the Cat Empire played in it for a couple of years at the Edinburgh Festival). It's all decked out Art Deco style, and the interior walls are completely lined with mirrors, so it looks as if the tent just goes on and on for all infinity, which is very cool indeed.
I turned up yesterday to see the two live acts that were open to the public. They were actually showcases for scouts from other festivals to pick up these acts, but they let in the public so it felt like a real crowd, and they gave us free drinks, which is always good. The first act was an Aborigine group called Yilila, and though they got off to a slow start, things soon picked up with the Aborigine version of ska. Yay for ska! It was basically ska, but with a didjiridoo and traditional Aboriginal singing added in, which was cool. And then they did one that sounded like Dire Straits: the first half was like one of those long, drawn-out atmospheric instrumentals from "Brothers In Arms," and then the tempo picked up and it sounded like "Sultans Of Swing." I couldn't help but smile.
The second act was on in the afternoon, a fairly good jazz group called the Tom Vincent Trio. Mr Vincent himself was a bit eccentric, like all proper jazz musicians should be, I suppose, and he kept on having to pull himself back onto the piano stool. The drummer was also really getting into it. The bassist just stood there with this smile on his face as if he didn't really take it all seriously and was trying not to laugh at the other two, which I can really relate to. I really enjoyed myself, sitting there in a tent covered in mirrors, listening to jazz in the afternoon, watching that guy fall off his piano stool.
Good morning this morning.
The Spiegeltent has set up in town for the Queensland Music Festival. Apparently, QMF is the largest in Australia, and the largest in the world in terms of the area of land that it's spread over. Now, the Spiegeltent is this Belgian tent that travels all over the world to act as a live venue for all sorts of different types of music (I believe the Cat Empire played in it for a couple of years at the Edinburgh Festival). It's all decked out Art Deco style, and the interior walls are completely lined with mirrors, so it looks as if the tent just goes on and on for all infinity, which is very cool indeed.
I turned up yesterday to see the two live acts that were open to the public. They were actually showcases for scouts from other festivals to pick up these acts, but they let in the public so it felt like a real crowd, and they gave us free drinks, which is always good. The first act was an Aborigine group called Yilila, and though they got off to a slow start, things soon picked up with the Aborigine version of ska. Yay for ska! It was basically ska, but with a didjiridoo and traditional Aboriginal singing added in, which was cool. And then they did one that sounded like Dire Straits: the first half was like one of those long, drawn-out atmospheric instrumentals from "Brothers In Arms," and then the tempo picked up and it sounded like "Sultans Of Swing." I couldn't help but smile.
The second act was on in the afternoon, a fairly good jazz group called the Tom Vincent Trio. Mr Vincent himself was a bit eccentric, like all proper jazz musicians should be, I suppose, and he kept on having to pull himself back onto the piano stool. The drummer was also really getting into it. The bassist just stood there with this smile on his face as if he didn't really take it all seriously and was trying not to laugh at the other two, which I can really relate to. I really enjoyed myself, sitting there in a tent covered in mirrors, listening to jazz in the afternoon, watching that guy fall off his piano stool.
Monday, July 18, 2005
Factoids!
Soundtrack: "Generation Terrorist" by Manic Street Preachers
Good morning this morning again.
I'm having withdrawal symptoms from Radio 2, so here are some factoids to give me a bit of a Steve Wright-esque fix:
Good morning this morning again.
I'm having withdrawal symptoms from Radio 2, so here are some factoids to give me a bit of a Steve Wright-esque fix:
- The strongest muscle in the body is the tongue (hang on, I knew that one. What a lousy start).
- People say "Bless you" when you sneeze, because when you sneeze your heart stops for a millisecond.
- It is physically impossible for pigs to look up at the sky.
- A polar bear's skin is black. Its fur is not white but actually clear (I knew this one too).
- More people are killed annually by donkeys than die in air crashes.
- You burn more calories sleeping than you do watching television.
- 35% of people who use personal ads for dating are already married.
- Leonardo da Vinci invented scissors.
- Lemons contain more sugar than strawberries.
- Boanthropy is a disease in which a person thinks they're an ox.
- Reindeer like to eat bananas.
- Mosquito repellents don't repel. The spray blocks the mosquitos' sensors so they don't knwo you're there.
- In 4000BC Egypt, men and women wore glitter eye shadow made from the crushed shells of beetles (I knew that - yay for Year 5).
- Butterflies taste with their feet (knew that too).
- 0.3% of all road accidents in Canada involve a moose.
- The average person laughs about fifteen times a day.
- 50,000 cells in your body will have died and been replaced by new cells while you have been reading this sentence (I knew that one as well).
- You are more likely to get attacked by a cow than a shark.
- The largest cell in the human body is a female reproductive cells, the ovum. The smallest is the male sperm (okay, whoever did biology at some point at school should know that one).
- In the course of an average lifetime you will, while sleeping, eat 70 assoted insects and 10 spiders.
- The pupil of an eye expands as much as 45% when a person looks at something pleasing.
Aren't you feeling enlightened now?
Le Weekend Dernier
Soundtrack: "Cockahoop" by Cerys Matthews
Good morning this morning.
So so so. I thought I'd post a little roundup of the past few days, seen as Michael was working on the computer all weekend. Here goes nothing.
I know I made a post on Friday morning, but as soon as I left the house I was reminded of a dream I'd had that morning that was absolutely bloody hilarious, but I'd forgotten to write it down here. I dreamt that I was with this really evil vindictive guy (possibly Blake), and we were having a scary amount of fun by torturing this cockatoo. We'd managed to glue it to its perch using spray glue, and then we decided that we'd spray the whole bird with the stuff and we stuck fruit loops all over it. [Fruit loops are a type of cereal - they're like Cheerios, but lots of different "fruity" colours. I haven't tried them, but I suspect that they're just Cheerios covered in food colouring, and have zero fruit content.] The whole time, this awful bird kept on caw-ing, which just made us want to punish it more. We were just about to set it alight when I woke up, because the crow outside my window had finally managed to wake me up. At this point, I realised that I had been able to hear the crow noises through my sleep, and my subconscious had invented that dream to cope with it. Crazy stuff, and I'm still laughing thinking about it.
I went to the art gallery. Overall, the collection wasn't as good as those of the SA and NSW state galleries, but the building was much nicer: the main hall was a cavernous chamber that was bright and airy, and it had a few big water features, which I liked. They did have a really cool display of litho cuts, which I spent ages looking at. But then, an art gallery is an art is an art gallery. A museum is a museum is a museum. A state library is a state library is a state library. I need to stop being lazy and go and look for the Commisariat, which apparently has a display of convicts' fingertips. But I'm going to go and sit in the Spiegeltent today, so maybe tomorrow.
On Saturday morning, Michael drove the two of us out to Mount Glorious, which is actually just a moderately-sized hill. People in Queensland call their hills mountains. If all the names round here weren't British, I would've thought that the place was colonised by the Dutch or something. It was a really lovely walk, as all the vegetation on the hill is semi-tropical, so there were lots of strangler figs and crows nest ferns growing halfway up big tall trees. We then went to the hospital where Michael works as an occupational therapist to pick up some of his textbooks, as he's starting some new course this week. Occupational therapy looks a bit crap, really, so I'm glad I'm going to be a doctor. I mention going to the hospital basically because of the name of the road we took there: it's called Rode Road. How good is that?!
Saturday was, of course, the release date of "Harry Potter And The Half-Blood Prince." I finished reading it at 2am, as I only started reading it at 3pm, and I reckon I could've finished it in around 6-7 hours if I'd read it straight and hadn't gone around doing loads of stuff in-between. This in-betweening constituted shopping for paella ingredients at the supermarket, eating lunch, making several cups of tea, helping Michael cook dinner, eating dinner with Michael and Renee, watching "Red Dwarf," having a shower, and randomly crocheting. So there. And I could've gone to pick it up from the bookshop at 9.01am, but I was walking around Mount Glorious. I must say that by 2am on Sunday, I was a bit annoyed that JK Rowling had gone and done the two most obvious things that everybody said she was going to do. Up until then, I'd been desperately hoping that she wouldn't, not because I liked the characters (I cried when Sirius died, but I really wasn't that bothered by the Major Climactic Death And Betrayal this time round) but because it was so expected. Everything's well set-up for the last book, though. I'm not sure if it'll be able to be classed as a kiddies' book, though, because this one was pretty gory. That sectumsempra would be pretty horrible to see in the film.
Sunday was spent recovering.
Good morning this morning.
So so so. I thought I'd post a little roundup of the past few days, seen as Michael was working on the computer all weekend. Here goes nothing.
I know I made a post on Friday morning, but as soon as I left the house I was reminded of a dream I'd had that morning that was absolutely bloody hilarious, but I'd forgotten to write it down here. I dreamt that I was with this really evil vindictive guy (possibly Blake), and we were having a scary amount of fun by torturing this cockatoo. We'd managed to glue it to its perch using spray glue, and then we decided that we'd spray the whole bird with the stuff and we stuck fruit loops all over it. [Fruit loops are a type of cereal - they're like Cheerios, but lots of different "fruity" colours. I haven't tried them, but I suspect that they're just Cheerios covered in food colouring, and have zero fruit content.] The whole time, this awful bird kept on caw-ing, which just made us want to punish it more. We were just about to set it alight when I woke up, because the crow outside my window had finally managed to wake me up. At this point, I realised that I had been able to hear the crow noises through my sleep, and my subconscious had invented that dream to cope with it. Crazy stuff, and I'm still laughing thinking about it.
I went to the art gallery. Overall, the collection wasn't as good as those of the SA and NSW state galleries, but the building was much nicer: the main hall was a cavernous chamber that was bright and airy, and it had a few big water features, which I liked. They did have a really cool display of litho cuts, which I spent ages looking at. But then, an art gallery is an art is an art gallery. A museum is a museum is a museum. A state library is a state library is a state library. I need to stop being lazy and go and look for the Commisariat, which apparently has a display of convicts' fingertips. But I'm going to go and sit in the Spiegeltent today, so maybe tomorrow.
On Saturday morning, Michael drove the two of us out to Mount Glorious, which is actually just a moderately-sized hill. People in Queensland call their hills mountains. If all the names round here weren't British, I would've thought that the place was colonised by the Dutch or something. It was a really lovely walk, as all the vegetation on the hill is semi-tropical, so there were lots of strangler figs and crows nest ferns growing halfway up big tall trees. We then went to the hospital where Michael works as an occupational therapist to pick up some of his textbooks, as he's starting some new course this week. Occupational therapy looks a bit crap, really, so I'm glad I'm going to be a doctor. I mention going to the hospital basically because of the name of the road we took there: it's called Rode Road. How good is that?!
Saturday was, of course, the release date of "Harry Potter And The Half-Blood Prince." I finished reading it at 2am, as I only started reading it at 3pm, and I reckon I could've finished it in around 6-7 hours if I'd read it straight and hadn't gone around doing loads of stuff in-between. This in-betweening constituted shopping for paella ingredients at the supermarket, eating lunch, making several cups of tea, helping Michael cook dinner, eating dinner with Michael and Renee, watching "Red Dwarf," having a shower, and randomly crocheting. So there. And I could've gone to pick it up from the bookshop at 9.01am, but I was walking around Mount Glorious. I must say that by 2am on Sunday, I was a bit annoyed that JK Rowling had gone and done the two most obvious things that everybody said she was going to do. Up until then, I'd been desperately hoping that she wouldn't, not because I liked the characters (I cried when Sirius died, but I really wasn't that bothered by the Major Climactic Death And Betrayal this time round) but because it was so expected. Everything's well set-up for the last book, though. I'm not sure if it'll be able to be classed as a kiddies' book, though, because this one was pretty gory. That sectumsempra would be pretty horrible to see in the film.
Sunday was spent recovering.
Friday, July 15, 2005
The South Bank
Soundtrack: "Transmissions From The Satellite Heart" by The Flaming Lips
Good morning this morning.
Brisbane's South Bank complex is pretty bloody ace. It was the site of Expo '88, apparently, and when all that was over and done with, they did it up pretty nicely. The cultural centre is clustered around the start of the Victoria Bridge, and it consists of the museum, the art gallery, the state library, the playhouse and the concert hall. I only had a quick look inside the museum (because heaven knows I'm getting a bit fed up of them), but it seemed much nicer than the Museum of SA, which was, quite frankly, really rather scary and unnerving.
As you keep on walking east along the river, you come to the Arbour, which curves its way along the bank for around 2km, and there's all sorts of stuff along the way: lots of lots of different places to eat, a rainforest walk, ornamental gardens, and a beach. Yes, an artificial beach - I had to look twice. There's a lagoon, and a fairly deep (1.8m - deeper than I am tall) pool, complete with sand and palm trees and everything. Crazy, but lovely all the same.
The best bit is definitely the IMAX, though. They don't actually use it to show IMAX films any more - they just show regular mainstream films on the gigantic screens. For $6 during the day on weekdays. Unbelieveable, so I ended up going to see "Bewitched," because I figured that if I didn't like it, it wouldn't matter because I was paying, like, just under three quid for it. It turns out that all the indie kids work down the IMAX. As I was purchasing my ticket, the girl who was serving looked at my FF t-shirt and said: "Ooh, have you seen Franz Ferdinand live?"
"Yes, twice. And I got to the front at Wolverhampton."
"Wow!"
And the guy who checked my ticket said: "Screen Five, on your right." And then admiringly: "Cool shirt!"
They didn't even get my "Yeah, the Austro-Hungarian archduke" joke back in Adelaide.
The sun had set by the time I got on the bus back from town, and the river looks gorgeous at night. The bridges are all lit up, and as well as the neon lights of the city, are reflected in the rippling water. Pretty.
Good morning this morning.
Brisbane's South Bank complex is pretty bloody ace. It was the site of Expo '88, apparently, and when all that was over and done with, they did it up pretty nicely. The cultural centre is clustered around the start of the Victoria Bridge, and it consists of the museum, the art gallery, the state library, the playhouse and the concert hall. I only had a quick look inside the museum (because heaven knows I'm getting a bit fed up of them), but it seemed much nicer than the Museum of SA, which was, quite frankly, really rather scary and unnerving.
As you keep on walking east along the river, you come to the Arbour, which curves its way along the bank for around 2km, and there's all sorts of stuff along the way: lots of lots of different places to eat, a rainforest walk, ornamental gardens, and a beach. Yes, an artificial beach - I had to look twice. There's a lagoon, and a fairly deep (1.8m - deeper than I am tall) pool, complete with sand and palm trees and everything. Crazy, but lovely all the same.
The best bit is definitely the IMAX, though. They don't actually use it to show IMAX films any more - they just show regular mainstream films on the gigantic screens. For $6 during the day on weekdays. Unbelieveable, so I ended up going to see "Bewitched," because I figured that if I didn't like it, it wouldn't matter because I was paying, like, just under three quid for it. It turns out that all the indie kids work down the IMAX. As I was purchasing my ticket, the girl who was serving looked at my FF t-shirt and said: "Ooh, have you seen Franz Ferdinand live?"
"Yes, twice. And I got to the front at Wolverhampton."
"Wow!"
And the guy who checked my ticket said: "Screen Five, on your right." And then admiringly: "Cool shirt!"
They didn't even get my "Yeah, the Austro-Hungarian archduke" joke back in Adelaide.
The sun had set by the time I got on the bus back from town, and the river looks gorgeous at night. The bridges are all lit up, and as well as the neon lights of the city, are reflected in the rippling water. Pretty.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
In the city
Soundtrack: "Salt Rain" by Susheela Raman
Good morning this morning.
Yesterday: what a palaver. I thought that having just sat around the house the previous day that it was about time that I ventured into the city. Michael had given me the vaguest instructions ever for getting into town: "Just search for the Queensland Transport site on the Internet, and they'll tell you what to do. They've got maps and everything." Maps my arse. So anyway, he'd driven us past the bus stop the night before, and I thought I could remember how to get there without a map, so after looking up the bus times, I set off in good time for the next bus, leaving Wendouree Crescent. After walking around for twenty minutes, I came back to Wendouree Crescent, but a different entrance. Wank! It hadn't occurred to me that it was actually a crescent, and I'd just walked in a big circle. I decided to return to base and had a peruse on multimap.com.au to figure out exactly where I was going. I ended up at a completely different bus stop to the one we'd driven past, but it was okay, because it was still on the same route, and this one was actually much easier to get to.
That over with, I finally caught the bus into town, one lunch and two hours later. [I'm still eating dip sandwiches, bytheway, but with olive ham and cheese as well. It's because the butter's rock solid and it's easier just to use the dip instead.] I like Brisbane. Maybe it's because it's sunny, which is just such a change to SA and NSW, and it feels like a proper summer holiday now. Everything's very new here, because Queensland was the last state to be properly colonised. Basically, Brisbane is just a big swamp, but you know those pioneers, they'd build stuff on anything. The Brisbane river runs right through downtown, and I spent a goodly proportion of the afternoon just strolling along it, which was lovely. I also had a walk around the city centre (but no more shopping for me) and I pre-bought my copy of HP6, then it was time to go home because I was exhausted, suffering the effects of cricket lag. Just as well I've got a week to recover before the First Test starts, then, eh?
Renee cooked us rogan josh for dinner, which was totally totally ace. I've been eating predominantly Chinese food since mid-May, what with Uncle Peter's restaurant in Adelaide (rich food that makes you dread to think of it after a while) and Aunty Ivy's traditional Chinese cooking in Sydney (lots of bones bones bones, which I got fed up of after a while, because I just wanted to eat, instead of choke. It tasted great, though, and it was free, so I can't really complain). But anyway, after that, it was nice to taste something different, for a change.
I installed my hit counter thing yesterday, and I was amazed by the quirky little things thrown up by StatCounter. For instance, I didn't even realise that this blog was read by any search engines, but my "Leaving Adelaide" post came up in a search for Foxtel, oddly enough. It's a funny old thing, this Internet malarky.
Good morning this morning.
Yesterday: what a palaver. I thought that having just sat around the house the previous day that it was about time that I ventured into the city. Michael had given me the vaguest instructions ever for getting into town: "Just search for the Queensland Transport site on the Internet, and they'll tell you what to do. They've got maps and everything." Maps my arse. So anyway, he'd driven us past the bus stop the night before, and I thought I could remember how to get there without a map, so after looking up the bus times, I set off in good time for the next bus, leaving Wendouree Crescent. After walking around for twenty minutes, I came back to Wendouree Crescent, but a different entrance. Wank! It hadn't occurred to me that it was actually a crescent, and I'd just walked in a big circle. I decided to return to base and had a peruse on multimap.com.au to figure out exactly where I was going. I ended up at a completely different bus stop to the one we'd driven past, but it was okay, because it was still on the same route, and this one was actually much easier to get to.
That over with, I finally caught the bus into town, one lunch and two hours later. [I'm still eating dip sandwiches, bytheway, but with olive ham and cheese as well. It's because the butter's rock solid and it's easier just to use the dip instead.] I like Brisbane. Maybe it's because it's sunny, which is just such a change to SA and NSW, and it feels like a proper summer holiday now. Everything's very new here, because Queensland was the last state to be properly colonised. Basically, Brisbane is just a big swamp, but you know those pioneers, they'd build stuff on anything. The Brisbane river runs right through downtown, and I spent a goodly proportion of the afternoon just strolling along it, which was lovely. I also had a walk around the city centre (but no more shopping for me) and I pre-bought my copy of HP6, then it was time to go home because I was exhausted, suffering the effects of cricket lag. Just as well I've got a week to recover before the First Test starts, then, eh?
Renee cooked us rogan josh for dinner, which was totally totally ace. I've been eating predominantly Chinese food since mid-May, what with Uncle Peter's restaurant in Adelaide (rich food that makes you dread to think of it after a while) and Aunty Ivy's traditional Chinese cooking in Sydney (lots of bones bones bones, which I got fed up of after a while, because I just wanted to eat, instead of choke. It tasted great, though, and it was free, so I can't really complain). But anyway, after that, it was nice to taste something different, for a change.
I installed my hit counter thing yesterday, and I was amazed by the quirky little things thrown up by StatCounter. For instance, I didn't even realise that this blog was read by any search engines, but my "Leaving Adelaide" post came up in a search for Foxtel, oddly enough. It's a funny old thing, this Internet malarky.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Late-night idiocy
Soundtrack: "Shorley Wall EP" by Ooberman
Good morning this morning.
Well, not really. I stayed up until 3am (again) to watch us lose the cricket. You would've thought that since Australia won with fifteen overs to spare then they would've done it a bit quicker, time-wise. No. They had to keep me up just as long, bastards. I should've gone to bed once Kevin Pietersen got out, but part of me (okay, most of me) told myself that this would all be on pay-TV back home, so I may as well take advantage of the free-to-air-ness of it all. Idiot.
Channel 7 actually shows the live feed from Sky over here, so joy of all joys, I get to listen to Nasser Hussain commentate, which is wonderful. There was quite a funny bit where he said that he didn't like the new rules, and that if you were going to make a change, you had to do something drastic like convert sixes to tens or allow the batting side to elect an over that would be counted for double its value. I haven't been reading Tim DeLisle's column since I've been away, so Nass's crazy ideas reminded me what I'd been missing.
The thing about Sky is that you'e got loads of idiot commentators as well, such as Paul Allott and Darren Lehmann. Thank goodness the Channel 7 coverage cut back to an Australian studio instead of to bloody Charles Colville, who I cannot bear. Then again... In the Oz studio was a guy called Tony Squires who was quite good, keeping the peace and generally being a calming influence. Then there was Stuart Macgill, who comes across as a really intelligent and witty guy. Unfortunately, he's totally biased against England, so I just could've take him seriously. Finally, Kerry O'Keeffe is bloody hilarious, and he's probably worth staying up for alone.
Look at me. My brain's become addled by late-night cricket. I reckon I should look up the bus times and routes so I can get into town today, or else I'll go mad. It's lovely and sunny and warm in Brisbane (obviously not as warm as Dahn Sahf back home), and maybe I can start wearing my crazy skirts again.
Good morning this morning.
Well, not really. I stayed up until 3am (again) to watch us lose the cricket. You would've thought that since Australia won with fifteen overs to spare then they would've done it a bit quicker, time-wise. No. They had to keep me up just as long, bastards. I should've gone to bed once Kevin Pietersen got out, but part of me (okay, most of me) told myself that this would all be on pay-TV back home, so I may as well take advantage of the free-to-air-ness of it all. Idiot.
Channel 7 actually shows the live feed from Sky over here, so joy of all joys, I get to listen to Nasser Hussain commentate, which is wonderful. There was quite a funny bit where he said that he didn't like the new rules, and that if you were going to make a change, you had to do something drastic like convert sixes to tens or allow the batting side to elect an over that would be counted for double its value. I haven't been reading Tim DeLisle's column since I've been away, so Nass's crazy ideas reminded me what I'd been missing.
The thing about Sky is that you'e got loads of idiot commentators as well, such as Paul Allott and Darren Lehmann. Thank goodness the Channel 7 coverage cut back to an Australian studio instead of to bloody Charles Colville, who I cannot bear. Then again... In the Oz studio was a guy called Tony Squires who was quite good, keeping the peace and generally being a calming influence. Then there was Stuart Macgill, who comes across as a really intelligent and witty guy. Unfortunately, he's totally biased against England, so I just could've take him seriously. Finally, Kerry O'Keeffe is bloody hilarious, and he's probably worth staying up for alone.
Look at me. My brain's become addled by late-night cricket. I reckon I should look up the bus times and routes so I can get into town today, or else I'll go mad. It's lovely and sunny and warm in Brisbane (obviously not as warm as Dahn Sahf back home), and maybe I can start wearing my crazy skirts again.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
A first for the Wonderful World Of Steph
Soundtrack: “Live At The BBC” by The Beatles
Michael has no food in the house, so today, for lunch, I had: a dip sandwich, three ginger nuts and a cup of tea. Strangely delicious. And now I’m up-to-date. Yay. Incidentally, this comes to six pages of tiny type on Word. My goodness.
Michael has no food in the house, so today, for lunch, I had: a dip sandwich, three ginger nuts and a cup of tea. Strangely delicious. And now I’m up-to-date. Yay. Incidentally, this comes to six pages of tiny type on Word. My goodness.
Leaving Sydney
Soundtrack: “Thank You” by Jamelia
Yesterday. I didn’t ditch as much as I had originally anticipated, but having rearranged the contents of my bags, I was still amazed when I managed to fit it all in. As I was wearing all my heaviest clothes as well, at check-in I was only 7kg overweight, as opposed to the 9kg of the other day. It didn’t matter though, because I was flying Qantas instead of Virgin Blue, so they use international regulations for all their domestic flights and I’m actually allowed 32.5kg from now on. I’m probably not going to do any more shopping in Australia, though, because I’d rather get quirky, dirt-cheap clothes in Malaysia. The other good thing about Qantas is that they give you complementary snacks and booze, which was a treat after flying on budget airlines.
Michael and his girlfriend Renee picked me up from the airport. They’re both occupational therapists at the same hospital, which is how they met. Occupational therapy strikes me as a bit crap, because you’ve still got to do lots of work, but you don’t get the recognition that doctors do. I’m so glad I’m going to med school. At least as a doctor if I decide that I can’t be arsed to deal with people, then there’s pathology. Michael’s a bit depressed at the moment, because he only just that his mother’s friend, who was like a second mother to him, very suddenly died. Oh dear.
Yesterday. I didn’t ditch as much as I had originally anticipated, but having rearranged the contents of my bags, I was still amazed when I managed to fit it all in. As I was wearing all my heaviest clothes as well, at check-in I was only 7kg overweight, as opposed to the 9kg of the other day. It didn’t matter though, because I was flying Qantas instead of Virgin Blue, so they use international regulations for all their domestic flights and I’m actually allowed 32.5kg from now on. I’m probably not going to do any more shopping in Australia, though, because I’d rather get quirky, dirt-cheap clothes in Malaysia. The other good thing about Qantas is that they give you complementary snacks and booze, which was a treat after flying on budget airlines.
Michael and his girlfriend Renee picked me up from the airport. They’re both occupational therapists at the same hospital, which is how they met. Occupational therapy strikes me as a bit crap, because you’ve still got to do lots of work, but you don’t get the recognition that doctors do. I’m so glad I’m going to med school. At least as a doctor if I decide that I can’t be arsed to deal with people, then there’s pathology. Michael’s a bit depressed at the moment, because he only just that his mother’s friend, who was like a second mother to him, very suddenly died. Oh dear.
The storm is coming
Soundtrack: “Strangers” by Ed Harcourt. The opening track is called “The Storm Is Coming,” incidentally.
Sunday 10th July. A grey, windy day. As walked along, I was constantly buffeted by the wind, nearly being thrown into the path of cars. Apparently, somebody died as a result of the wind, so I count myself lucky. Early afternoon, and I went on a guided tour of St Mary’s Catholic Cathedral. It was a bit of a letdown, really. They’d really built up the mosaic on the crypt floor, which granted, was beautiful, but not as impressive as I was expecting. The same goes for the main church, which was just he same as every other Anglican cathedral anywhere, even though it’s Catholic. That’s what you get when you let an Englishman design your church, I suppose.
It turned out that the Art Gallery of NSW was free (hardly anything else in Sydney is), which was a relief. I really enjoyed myself there, sheltering from the wind. They had a really good set of Sidney Nolans on display, and there was this amazing piece by a man called Matthew Jones, where he’d copied out an entire edition of the New York Times from 1969 by hand. Text, images, advertisements and all. It’s the sort of completely pointless thing that I’d do for fun, and the meticulous attention to detail fascinated me to the core. The gallery is huge and there’s plenty to look at, so I restricted myself to the modern art, some aboriginal art, and watching the Indian dance troupe. A good afternoon.
Once more, I stayed up all night, only to watch us get hammered by seven wickets by Australia. What a massive waste of time and energy.
Sunday 10th July. A grey, windy day. As walked along, I was constantly buffeted by the wind, nearly being thrown into the path of cars. Apparently, somebody died as a result of the wind, so I count myself lucky. Early afternoon, and I went on a guided tour of St Mary’s Catholic Cathedral. It was a bit of a letdown, really. They’d really built up the mosaic on the crypt floor, which granted, was beautiful, but not as impressive as I was expecting. The same goes for the main church, which was just he same as every other Anglican cathedral anywhere, even though it’s Catholic. That’s what you get when you let an Englishman design your church, I suppose.
It turned out that the Art Gallery of NSW was free (hardly anything else in Sydney is), which was a relief. I really enjoyed myself there, sheltering from the wind. They had a really good set of Sidney Nolans on display, and there was this amazing piece by a man called Matthew Jones, where he’d copied out an entire edition of the New York Times from 1969 by hand. Text, images, advertisements and all. It’s the sort of completely pointless thing that I’d do for fun, and the meticulous attention to detail fascinated me to the core. The gallery is huge and there’s plenty to look at, so I restricted myself to the modern art, some aboriginal art, and watching the Indian dance troupe. A good afternoon.
Once more, I stayed up all night, only to watch us get hammered by seven wickets by Australia. What a massive waste of time and energy.
Matinee at the Opera House
Soundtrack: “HMS Pinafore” and “Trial By Jury” by WS Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan
Saturday 9th July. I went back to the Opera House to watch “HMS Pinafore” and “Trial By Jury,” performed by the Sydney Opera Company. The lead tenor really was fine: excellent cheekbones, tight arse… You didn’t think I was talking about his voice, did you? Hooray for having another ridiculously good-looking person to feast my eyes upon. But anyway, both productions were very good fun, and that’s what Miranda’s Notts G&S company have to compare themselves to next year when they do “Pirates.” As I was strolling out of the building, I overheard two old ladies raving about how David Hobson (the hot lead tenor) was always that great. Regulars, lucky things.
I spent the late afternoon searching for a second-hand bookshop that would buy “The Crash Of Hennington” by Patrick Ness from me to no avail. I traipsed the whole length of George Street only to be denied by evil Iranian and Cantonese book dealers, and the best that I could do was exchange if for a credit note from some bookshop halfway to Bondi, which I spent on “Mrs Dalloway” by Virginia Woolf because it was the thinnest and lightest book that I could find in the shop. Life’s so difficult when you’re me.
Saturday 9th July. I went back to the Opera House to watch “HMS Pinafore” and “Trial By Jury,” performed by the Sydney Opera Company. The lead tenor really was fine: excellent cheekbones, tight arse… You didn’t think I was talking about his voice, did you? Hooray for having another ridiculously good-looking person to feast my eyes upon. But anyway, both productions were very good fun, and that’s what Miranda’s Notts G&S company have to compare themselves to next year when they do “Pirates.” As I was strolling out of the building, I overheard two old ladies raving about how David Hobson (the hot lead tenor) was always that great. Regulars, lucky things.
I spent the late afternoon searching for a second-hand bookshop that would buy “The Crash Of Hennington” by Patrick Ness from me to no avail. I traipsed the whole length of George Street only to be denied by evil Iranian and Cantonese book dealers, and the best that I could do was exchange if for a credit note from some bookshop halfway to Bondi, which I spent on “Mrs Dalloway” by Virginia Woolf because it was the thinnest and lightest book that I could find in the shop. Life’s so difficult when you’re me.
Fantastic
Soundtrack: “Fantastic Four OST” by dint of watching the film
Friday 8th July. I thought that I’d try to have a proper look at the city, but I just couldn’t be arsed because I was feeling terrible about what happened in London and the weather had turned grey and a bit rainy and I wandered around downtown thinking that once you got away from the harbour, Sydney’s just like any other city, generic as anything. I ended up paying an extortionate amount to go and watch “Fantastic Four,” a film packed full of ridiculously good-looking people to make up for Michael Chiklis. As I’d been waiting for it to come out for ages, and I was feeling slightly down, I really enjoyed myself.
I had a look around Darling Harbour, which I preferred to the Quay because there’s a merry-go-round and you can see all the children playing and having fun and it reminded me of my own childhood. It’s sad to think that all of that’s over, now. I can’t really get away with being a child now that I’m 19, but I suppose when I take my glasses off I can half-price fares in some places… And for the benefit of Gorgeous Stephen, I tried some of that non-sushi sushi, namely, a spinach hand roll. As much as I like spinach, it doesn’t really compare to raw fish, in my estimates.
Friday 8th July. I thought that I’d try to have a proper look at the city, but I just couldn’t be arsed because I was feeling terrible about what happened in London and the weather had turned grey and a bit rainy and I wandered around downtown thinking that once you got away from the harbour, Sydney’s just like any other city, generic as anything. I ended up paying an extortionate amount to go and watch “Fantastic Four,” a film packed full of ridiculously good-looking people to make up for Michael Chiklis. As I’d been waiting for it to come out for ages, and I was feeling slightly down, I really enjoyed myself.
I had a look around Darling Harbour, which I preferred to the Quay because there’s a merry-go-round and you can see all the children playing and having fun and it reminded me of my own childhood. It’s sad to think that all of that’s over, now. I can’t really get away with being a child now that I’m 19, but I suppose when I take my glasses off I can half-price fares in some places… And for the benefit of Gorgeous Stephen, I tried some of that non-sushi sushi, namely, a spinach hand roll. As much as I like spinach, it doesn’t really compare to raw fish, in my estimates.
Bitter ironies
Soundtrack: Channel 7 news
Thursday 7th July. Up again early once more to catch the train up to the Blue Mountains. It’s a two-hour journey that pierces through the north-western suburbs before reaching the mountains, and my goodness, they really are blue. Apparently, the blue comes from a reaction between the sunlight and a vapour given off by the gum trees, which makes me think that it’s something to do with a UV-catalysed reaction, like all that free-radical ozone stuff. I’m sure Stephen or somebody else can enlighten us all. Once I arrived in Katoomba, I hopped on the Explorer bus, which is an old London red bus that’s been shipped over here to ferry tourists around the Blue Mountains. It was the easiest way to get around, but I still did an awful lot of walking, allowing me to see all the wonderful valleys and rock formations that make up the range. It was hard work, but I’m glad that I went, because seeing all the dramatic scenery laid out before me was a special experience.
I came home early to recover before another all-nighter watching the cricket. At 7.30pm, I turned on Channel 7 to watch the live feed from British Sky, and Tony Squires, the Australian presenter, was saying that we’d be kept informed of the explosions in London. It was such a surreal sentence that I didn’t believe it until they cut to the live pictures. It had been nearly two hours since the first explosions, and as I watched, I felt sick and scared. Nobody’s safe now. The irony was that I had spent the day riding around in a red London bus, and now one had been blown up. Staying up all night isn’t easy (I admit that sometimes I black out for passages of play), but that night, even if there hadn’t been cricket, I wouldn’t have had a hope in hell of sleeping.
Thursday 7th July. Up again early once more to catch the train up to the Blue Mountains. It’s a two-hour journey that pierces through the north-western suburbs before reaching the mountains, and my goodness, they really are blue. Apparently, the blue comes from a reaction between the sunlight and a vapour given off by the gum trees, which makes me think that it’s something to do with a UV-catalysed reaction, like all that free-radical ozone stuff. I’m sure Stephen or somebody else can enlighten us all. Once I arrived in Katoomba, I hopped on the Explorer bus, which is an old London red bus that’s been shipped over here to ferry tourists around the Blue Mountains. It was the easiest way to get around, but I still did an awful lot of walking, allowing me to see all the wonderful valleys and rock formations that make up the range. It was hard work, but I’m glad that I went, because seeing all the dramatic scenery laid out before me was a special experience.
I came home early to recover before another all-nighter watching the cricket. At 7.30pm, I turned on Channel 7 to watch the live feed from British Sky, and Tony Squires, the Australian presenter, was saying that we’d be kept informed of the explosions in London. It was such a surreal sentence that I didn’t believe it until they cut to the live pictures. It had been nearly two hours since the first explosions, and as I watched, I felt sick and scared. Nobody’s safe now. The irony was that I had spent the day riding around in a red London bus, and now one had been blown up. Staying up all night isn’t easy (I admit that sometimes I black out for passages of play), but that night, even if there hadn’t been cricket, I wouldn’t have had a hope in hell of sleeping.
Bumming around town
Soundtrack: “Editor’s Recommendation EP” by Half Man Half Biscuit
Wednesday 6th July. I slept till mid-morning, then I got the train into the city. Whilst on the train, this bogan guy got onto the train and started talking to anther bogan guy who was already on the train. Once their conversation had finished, the bogan who had just got on made to walk down the train to sit down (they were in the standing room only section), but then the first guy called him back with the sentence: “Do you have any weed, mate?” And the second guy just sold him the drugs, there, in broad daylight, on the train! Sin city indeed.
I went back to Circular Quay to visit the Museum of Contemporary Art, but I wasn’t impressed as it was just filled with pretentious bollocks that wasn’t good enough to go into the Art Gallery of New South Wales. Before I got bored, though, it was time for me to go and meet up with Richard, the guy I met on the Ghan up to Alice Springs. We spent the afternoon bumming around Sydney and talking up England’s chances of regaining the Ashes, which was just lovely. There was a real holiday atmosphere around the Quay, as the sun was out and there were children playing everywhere because of the school hols. But anyway, clearly, I’m having Toby withdrawal symptoms, and Richard’s obviously just a replacement figure until I get home…
Wednesday 6th July. I slept till mid-morning, then I got the train into the city. Whilst on the train, this bogan guy got onto the train and started talking to anther bogan guy who was already on the train. Once their conversation had finished, the bogan who had just got on made to walk down the train to sit down (they were in the standing room only section), but then the first guy called him back with the sentence: “Do you have any weed, mate?” And the second guy just sold him the drugs, there, in broad daylight, on the train! Sin city indeed.
I went back to Circular Quay to visit the Museum of Contemporary Art, but I wasn’t impressed as it was just filled with pretentious bollocks that wasn’t good enough to go into the Art Gallery of New South Wales. Before I got bored, though, it was time for me to go and meet up with Richard, the guy I met on the Ghan up to Alice Springs. We spent the afternoon bumming around Sydney and talking up England’s chances of regaining the Ashes, which was just lovely. There was a real holiday atmosphere around the Quay, as the sun was out and there were children playing everywhere because of the school hols. But anyway, clearly, I’m having Toby withdrawal symptoms, and Richard’s obviously just a replacement figure until I get home…
Daytripping
Soundtrack: “A Rush Of Blood To The Head” by Coldplay
Tuesday 5th July. I got up at 6.15am again to get the same 7.07am train, but getting off at Strathfield instead of in the city so that I could join the Chinese tourists’ Canberra day-trip. [The lady at the Chinese travel agents somehow managed to pronounce “Strathfield” as “Sheffield,” which I thought could have been a likely name because there are loads of northern place names around Sydney e.g. Newcastle, Liverpool, Birkenhead Point. Just as well I looked at the receipt the night before, or else I don’t know where I would’ve ended up.] Now, I know that I’m fairly naff, but I’ve got nothing on other Chinese people – they’re so uncool! I’m bloody Gwen Stefani compared to them. But no worries. I’m fine when left to my own devices and they all have a herd mentality, so it was pretty easy to distance myself from them.
The drive down was through some lovely scenery – under a blue, cloudless sky, we drove down through the Southern Highlands, then went through the Canberra Hills to the reach the capital itself. Before going into town, we stopped at a model village called Cockington Green, which sounds like some sort of stoner-porn flick. I didn’t fancy paying $13.50 to wander around randomly after the excesses of the day before, so I ended up having lunch in a mock Tudor pub, which was quite surreal, especially as the landlord had hung a selection of chamber pots from the ceiling. After stopping for everybody else to have lunch at a Chinese restaurant, we finally went to see interesting stuff. First stop was a huge fountain thing shooting out of a lake. And then, the National Mint, which isn’t really worth writing about apart from to whinge. We were there for twenty minutes, so I rushed to the factory floor’s viewing gallery, but hardly anybody was working and it was crap. And then a tour of the embassies, which, wonderfully, are all built in national style. My favourites were the Thai embassy (pretty, intricate, immaculately decorated buildings) and the Papua New Guinea embassy (a big longhouse type-thing). An honourable mention goes to the NZ embassy, which has statues of cows on its front lawn.
And then, to the Parliament. Comparing it to the Scottish Parliament (because they were both built around the same time), the Aussie one was nicer on the outside and in the reception area, but the chambers themselves were crap – even the SA Parliamentary chambers were better. This is the direct opposite to the Scottish ones, so one-all, but I’m going to let the Scottish ones win because of the views of the hills around Edinburgh from the main chamber. And then, a moving trip to the War Memorial (I dragged myself out before I ended up crying at the futility of war and the needless waste of human life), and then it was time for a long drive back north.
It was a day of “and then”s, which I wouldn’t let wind me up. I’m not very good at this tour malarky – I like to have the freedom to do my own thing in my own time, instead of being told that I only had fifteen minutes to look at the big fountain thing (there was a really interesting exhibition centre behind it that I could’ve spent a fair while in) and twenty minutes at the War Memorial (there was a museum there that I could also have a spent a fair while in). On the other hand, I was the cool kid, which was odd.
Tuesday 5th July. I got up at 6.15am again to get the same 7.07am train, but getting off at Strathfield instead of in the city so that I could join the Chinese tourists’ Canberra day-trip. [The lady at the Chinese travel agents somehow managed to pronounce “Strathfield” as “Sheffield,” which I thought could have been a likely name because there are loads of northern place names around Sydney e.g. Newcastle, Liverpool, Birkenhead Point. Just as well I looked at the receipt the night before, or else I don’t know where I would’ve ended up.] Now, I know that I’m fairly naff, but I’ve got nothing on other Chinese people – they’re so uncool! I’m bloody Gwen Stefani compared to them. But no worries. I’m fine when left to my own devices and they all have a herd mentality, so it was pretty easy to distance myself from them.
The drive down was through some lovely scenery – under a blue, cloudless sky, we drove down through the Southern Highlands, then went through the Canberra Hills to the reach the capital itself. Before going into town, we stopped at a model village called Cockington Green, which sounds like some sort of stoner-porn flick. I didn’t fancy paying $13.50 to wander around randomly after the excesses of the day before, so I ended up having lunch in a mock Tudor pub, which was quite surreal, especially as the landlord had hung a selection of chamber pots from the ceiling. After stopping for everybody else to have lunch at a Chinese restaurant, we finally went to see interesting stuff. First stop was a huge fountain thing shooting out of a lake. And then, the National Mint, which isn’t really worth writing about apart from to whinge. We were there for twenty minutes, so I rushed to the factory floor’s viewing gallery, but hardly anybody was working and it was crap. And then a tour of the embassies, which, wonderfully, are all built in national style. My favourites were the Thai embassy (pretty, intricate, immaculately decorated buildings) and the Papua New Guinea embassy (a big longhouse type-thing). An honourable mention goes to the NZ embassy, which has statues of cows on its front lawn.
And then, to the Parliament. Comparing it to the Scottish Parliament (because they were both built around the same time), the Aussie one was nicer on the outside and in the reception area, but the chambers themselves were crap – even the SA Parliamentary chambers were better. This is the direct opposite to the Scottish ones, so one-all, but I’m going to let the Scottish ones win because of the views of the hills around Edinburgh from the main chamber. And then, a moving trip to the War Memorial (I dragged myself out before I ended up crying at the futility of war and the needless waste of human life), and then it was time for a long drive back north.
It was a day of “and then”s, which I wouldn’t let wind me up. I’m not very good at this tour malarky – I like to have the freedom to do my own thing in my own time, instead of being told that I only had fifteen minutes to look at the big fountain thing (there was a really interesting exhibition centre behind it that I could’ve spent a fair while in) and twenty minutes at the War Memorial (there was a museum there that I could also have a spent a fair while in). On the other hand, I was the cool kid, which was odd.
Some absurdly expensive cups of tea
Soundtrack: “Echoes: The Best Of Pink Floyd (Disc Two)” by Pink Floyd
Monday 4th July. I got up at 6.15am to walk to the station with Belinda, so that on her way to work, she could show me where to go. The station is five minutes’ walk from the house, so that was all fine, but Dundas station is on the Carlingford line, and trains only run every hour, and every half-hour a bit later on in the day. Annoyingly, the connection between the Carlingford line and the other lines into the city has a very short time between the two trains, so it’s very easy to miss the train and end up sitting in rubbish Clyde station for another hour. The trains in Sydney are so damn inefficient. And the same lines, confusingly have different names, which never helps. And when you get to stations, it’s always really unclear which platform you’re meant to get which train from. Double-decker trains sort-of make up for it, but not really.
There really isn’t anything to do in town at 8am – not even the cafes are open. Therefore, I walked across the Harbour Bridge (I wasn’t climbing that thing for shit). It took me a while to find the start of it, though, so by the time I’d ambled across to Milsons Point, it was coffee time. Back on the other side, I strolled around the Rocks (the oldest part of town) for a bit and had a look at Cadman’s Cottage, which is the oldest remaining building in Sydney. Strolling along Circular Quay, I spotted a booth selling tickets for a harbour cruise company: $14.50 for the morning coffee cruise. $14.50 for a cup of tea: a bit steep, but the views made up for it, as well as just plain being on the water. On the boat, I met a nice guy called Tom, who’s reading dentistry at Manchester. We sat around talking on random benches around Circular Quay for ages, and I took him shopping for a birthday present for his sister. It may surprise you, but I’ve become rather an expert at shopping in Australia. That’s what all the time in Adelaide did for me, I suppose.
Only in the Wonderful World Of Steph: I came across a crazy street performer with a Bristol accent plying his trade beneath Circular Quay railway station. I stood there for ages and I recognised a few of his jokes, so I reckon I must’ve seen him in Bath before. I didn’t want to ask him in case he managed to get more money out of me, though. From there, I made my way to the Opera House for a tour, which came with a free cup of tea. It really is a truly fantastic building, and inspired, I bought myself a ticket for the Saturday matinee performance of “HMS Pinafore” and “Trial By Jury.” $23 for a cup of tea, though.
Monday 4th July. I got up at 6.15am to walk to the station with Belinda, so that on her way to work, she could show me where to go. The station is five minutes’ walk from the house, so that was all fine, but Dundas station is on the Carlingford line, and trains only run every hour, and every half-hour a bit later on in the day. Annoyingly, the connection between the Carlingford line and the other lines into the city has a very short time between the two trains, so it’s very easy to miss the train and end up sitting in rubbish Clyde station for another hour. The trains in Sydney are so damn inefficient. And the same lines, confusingly have different names, which never helps. And when you get to stations, it’s always really unclear which platform you’re meant to get which train from. Double-decker trains sort-of make up for it, but not really.
There really isn’t anything to do in town at 8am – not even the cafes are open. Therefore, I walked across the Harbour Bridge (I wasn’t climbing that thing for shit). It took me a while to find the start of it, though, so by the time I’d ambled across to Milsons Point, it was coffee time. Back on the other side, I strolled around the Rocks (the oldest part of town) for a bit and had a look at Cadman’s Cottage, which is the oldest remaining building in Sydney. Strolling along Circular Quay, I spotted a booth selling tickets for a harbour cruise company: $14.50 for the morning coffee cruise. $14.50 for a cup of tea: a bit steep, but the views made up for it, as well as just plain being on the water. On the boat, I met a nice guy called Tom, who’s reading dentistry at Manchester. We sat around talking on random benches around Circular Quay for ages, and I took him shopping for a birthday present for his sister. It may surprise you, but I’ve become rather an expert at shopping in Australia. That’s what all the time in Adelaide did for me, I suppose.
Only in the Wonderful World Of Steph: I came across a crazy street performer with a Bristol accent plying his trade beneath Circular Quay railway station. I stood there for ages and I recognised a few of his jokes, so I reckon I must’ve seen him in Bath before. I didn’t want to ask him in case he managed to get more money out of me, though. From there, I made my way to the Opera House for a tour, which came with a free cup of tea. It really is a truly fantastic building, and inspired, I bought myself a ticket for the Saturday matinee performance of “HMS Pinafore” and “Trial By Jury.” $23 for a cup of tea, though.
Lazy day
Soundtrack: “Who Killed The Zutons?” by The Zutons. “Sunday afternoon, not a lot to do…”
Sunday 3rd July. Terrence took me out at 10am, having had around four-and-a-half hours’ sleep altogether. Urgh. We went out to South Head, which is one side of the mouth to the harbour. There were stunning views of the city beneath a cloudless sky, and I felt glad that I was in Sydney. Afterwards, he took me to see another of Dad’s old classmates, Andrew Chew. However, Dr Chew was out, so that was that plan scuppered. I spent the rest of the afternoon reading and crocheting at home. In a thoroughly ill-advised move, I kept myself awake to watch the shitting Australian highlights of Live 8. Everything’s so bloody commercial here – there were ads every ten minutes, even though the major message of the concerts was “Make Poverty History.” Infuriating. I don’t regret staying up, though. Normally, it doesn’t get much better than Richard Ashcroft singing “Bittersweet Symphony” with Coldplay, but you just cannot beat Paul McCartney singing “Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” with U2. And Pink Floyd reunited! Ace! It was just a shame that FF couldn’t play, though: it was Nick McCarthy’s wedding.
Sunday 3rd July. Terrence took me out at 10am, having had around four-and-a-half hours’ sleep altogether. Urgh. We went out to South Head, which is one side of the mouth to the harbour. There were stunning views of the city beneath a cloudless sky, and I felt glad that I was in Sydney. Afterwards, he took me to see another of Dad’s old classmates, Andrew Chew. However, Dr Chew was out, so that was that plan scuppered. I spent the rest of the afternoon reading and crocheting at home. In a thoroughly ill-advised move, I kept myself awake to watch the shitting Australian highlights of Live 8. Everything’s so bloody commercial here – there were ads every ten minutes, even though the major message of the concerts was “Make Poverty History.” Infuriating. I don’t regret staying up, though. Normally, it doesn’t get much better than Richard Ashcroft singing “Bittersweet Symphony” with Coldplay, but you just cannot beat Paul McCartney singing “Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” with U2. And Pink Floyd reunited! Ace! It was just a shame that FF couldn’t play, though: it was Nick McCarthy’s wedding.
Arriving in Sydney
Soundtrack: “Parallel Lines” by Blondie
Saturday 2nd July. Aunty Wendy dropped me at the airport, half-an-hour before my flight was due to leave. Normally, this would be ample time to get on the plane for a domestic flight. Unfortunately, it was the first day of the school holidays, and there was a queue for check-in the length of the Nile. I stood there, shitting myself, thinking that I was going to miss my flight, but then the guy behind me told me to push to the front and say that my flight was leaving in fifteen minutes, which I did, and everything worked out fine. I got to the gate in time for the last call. Phew.
I was picked up at Sydney Airport by “Aunty” Ivy and “Uncle” Terrence. Aunty Wendy is my mother’s sister, and Ivy is Uncle Peter’s sister, so I wasn’t actually staying with relatives, but I’m not complaining because I had free accommodation, and they gave me breakfast and dinner as well. They are so Chinese. They live in a rather Asian part of town, they only drive Asian cars, and Terrence is obsessed with China. The children are very westernised, though. Even though the parents only speak to them in Foochow (a Chinese dialect), they talk to each other in English with strong Sydney accents. Belinda is 27 and works insane hours at Citibank, so I barely saw her as she left for work early and came home stupidly late. Nicholas is 25, and is training to be a surgeon. Josephine is the youngest and has just turned 20, and she’s studying commerce at the University of NSW. Funnily enough, Terrence went to school with my dad. He remembered the Old Man fine (most people do because he swam for Malaysia), but the Old Man had a hard time remembering who Terrence was. He spent days thinking about it, and it was only until he dug out his old school photo that he remembered who he was.
Terrence took me down the Chinese travel agents to book me a day trip to Canberra. I wasn’t much looking forward to that, because I was going to have to be ferried to the capital with a coachload of Chinese tourists. There wasn’t much of a choice, though, because there’s not an easy way to get to Canberra for a lame-o like me who can’t drive (I’ve already made up my mind: when I get home, I’m going to book some driving lessons for myself, I really am). I stopped Terrence from booking me a trip to the Blue Mountains with the same company, because I knew that I could take the train up on my own and that would be fine thank you. Afterwards, he took me to have a look at the Olympic Park, and we went inside the Aquatic Centre, which was very impressive.
I stayed up until 4am to watch the final of the NatWest series between England and Australia. At one stage, when England were 33-5 chasing 197 for victory, I was seriously regretting my decision to stay up all night. However, I knew that Paul Collingwood would save us… and he damn well nearly did. Then he ran himself out, and I can’t help thinking that if he’d stayed in, as well as Geraint Jones, we would’ve won. But hey, a tie’s fine, because all we really deserved was to lose, with a batting performance as terrible as that.
Saturday 2nd July. Aunty Wendy dropped me at the airport, half-an-hour before my flight was due to leave. Normally, this would be ample time to get on the plane for a domestic flight. Unfortunately, it was the first day of the school holidays, and there was a queue for check-in the length of the Nile. I stood there, shitting myself, thinking that I was going to miss my flight, but then the guy behind me told me to push to the front and say that my flight was leaving in fifteen minutes, which I did, and everything worked out fine. I got to the gate in time for the last call. Phew.
I was picked up at Sydney Airport by “Aunty” Ivy and “Uncle” Terrence. Aunty Wendy is my mother’s sister, and Ivy is Uncle Peter’s sister, so I wasn’t actually staying with relatives, but I’m not complaining because I had free accommodation, and they gave me breakfast and dinner as well. They are so Chinese. They live in a rather Asian part of town, they only drive Asian cars, and Terrence is obsessed with China. The children are very westernised, though. Even though the parents only speak to them in Foochow (a Chinese dialect), they talk to each other in English with strong Sydney accents. Belinda is 27 and works insane hours at Citibank, so I barely saw her as she left for work early and came home stupidly late. Nicholas is 25, and is training to be a surgeon. Josephine is the youngest and has just turned 20, and she’s studying commerce at the University of NSW. Funnily enough, Terrence went to school with my dad. He remembered the Old Man fine (most people do because he swam for Malaysia), but the Old Man had a hard time remembering who Terrence was. He spent days thinking about it, and it was only until he dug out his old school photo that he remembered who he was.
Terrence took me down the Chinese travel agents to book me a day trip to Canberra. I wasn’t much looking forward to that, because I was going to have to be ferried to the capital with a coachload of Chinese tourists. There wasn’t much of a choice, though, because there’s not an easy way to get to Canberra for a lame-o like me who can’t drive (I’ve already made up my mind: when I get home, I’m going to book some driving lessons for myself, I really am). I stopped Terrence from booking me a trip to the Blue Mountains with the same company, because I knew that I could take the train up on my own and that would be fine thank you. Afterwards, he took me to have a look at the Olympic Park, and we went inside the Aquatic Centre, which was very impressive.
I stayed up until 4am to watch the final of the NatWest series between England and Australia. At one stage, when England were 33-5 chasing 197 for victory, I was seriously regretting my decision to stay up all night. However, I knew that Paul Collingwood would save us… and he damn well nearly did. Then he ran himself out, and I can’t help thinking that if he’d stayed in, as well as Geraint Jones, we would’ve won. But hey, a tie’s fine, because all we really deserved was to lose, with a batting performance as terrible as that.
Getting my shit together (once again)
Soundtrack: “Hot Fuss” by The Killers. I’ve been listening to this a lot recently – my weakness. It’s good fun, but totally totally samey. I’ll get bored by the second album.
Good arvo this arvo.
So here I am in Brisbane. I’m staying with my cousin Michael in his parents’ mansion (his father is currently working in Ohio). I thought Aunty Wendy’s house was a mansion, but that was simply just a reasonably-sized house on the hill. This is a mansion in the heart of one of Brisbane’s mansion districts. It’s like the Cohens’ house in ‘The OC,’ minus infinity pool because, well, we’re not on the side of a hill. And there isn’t a pool house, but I’m not complaining, because Michael’s put me in the master bedroom, I’m assuming because he couldn’t be arsed to clean all the crap out of the guest bedrooms. There isn’t a piano (which even if I couldn’t play, I’d just have if I had a house like this), but there is a Fender Strat, which I suppose will have to do. No worries.
So, I’m going to try and update this monster now.
Good arvo this arvo.
So here I am in Brisbane. I’m staying with my cousin Michael in his parents’ mansion (his father is currently working in Ohio). I thought Aunty Wendy’s house was a mansion, but that was simply just a reasonably-sized house on the hill. This is a mansion in the heart of one of Brisbane’s mansion districts. It’s like the Cohens’ house in ‘The OC,’ minus infinity pool because, well, we’re not on the side of a hill. And there isn’t a pool house, but I’m not complaining, because Michael’s put me in the master bedroom, I’m assuming because he couldn’t be arsed to clean all the crap out of the guest bedrooms. There isn’t a piano (which even if I couldn’t play, I’d just have if I had a house like this), but there is a Fender Strat, which I suppose will have to do. No worries.
So, I’m going to try and update this monster now.
Friday, July 01, 2005
Leaving Adelaide
Soundtrack: "Lipstick Traces (Disc Two)" by Manic Street Preachers
Good evening this evening.
Today was my last day in Adelaide, and it feels funny to be finally leaving this old town for good. It rained all afternoon, but I still went into town because I couldn't face packing. Packing really was a nightmare. I hadn't realised how much utter crap I'd bought here, and even though I now have an extra bag to fit it all into, it was still a bit of a bother working out how to get everything in. I'm going to have to ditch some stuff when I get to Sydney and Brisbane, I suspect.
Actually, it's a bit sad to be leaving here, because as I've said before, it really does feel like home here. Sydney and Brisbane are exciting prospects, though. It'll be odd staying with random people who I don't know, but that's okay as long as I don't have to stay in bedbug-ridden backpackers. Plus I'll have a television to watch the cricket. Apparently, they're not showing Live8 on terrestrial over here - I need Foxtel for that. All together now: "Rupert Murdoch is a twat..." At least the Natwest Final's on Channel 7.
I'm not at all sure what my internet access is going to be like from here on in until I get to my dad's in Sibu, where I know for sure that it's slow and annoying. Therefore, the blog may end up taking a backseat from here. No worries. I know that it'll never be as good as Stephen's, because his is full of musings and discussions, whereas mine is pretty much just a direct account of my life, which half the time is nowhere near as interesting.
I'm going to go to bed in a minute: early start tomorrow morning.
Night all.
Good evening this evening.
Today was my last day in Adelaide, and it feels funny to be finally leaving this old town for good. It rained all afternoon, but I still went into town because I couldn't face packing. Packing really was a nightmare. I hadn't realised how much utter crap I'd bought here, and even though I now have an extra bag to fit it all into, it was still a bit of a bother working out how to get everything in. I'm going to have to ditch some stuff when I get to Sydney and Brisbane, I suspect.
Actually, it's a bit sad to be leaving here, because as I've said before, it really does feel like home here. Sydney and Brisbane are exciting prospects, though. It'll be odd staying with random people who I don't know, but that's okay as long as I don't have to stay in bedbug-ridden backpackers. Plus I'll have a television to watch the cricket. Apparently, they're not showing Live8 on terrestrial over here - I need Foxtel for that. All together now: "Rupert Murdoch is a twat..." At least the Natwest Final's on Channel 7.
I'm not at all sure what my internet access is going to be like from here on in until I get to my dad's in Sibu, where I know for sure that it's slow and annoying. Therefore, the blog may end up taking a backseat from here. No worries. I know that it'll never be as good as Stephen's, because his is full of musings and discussions, whereas mine is pretty much just a direct account of my life, which half the time is nowhere near as interesting.
I'm going to go to bed in a minute: early start tomorrow morning.
Night all.
