Welcome to the Wonderful World of Steph

The End

2005-09-22T14:20:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "So Long, Farewell" from "The Sound Of Music," by Rodgers and Hammerstein

I'm going to finish this up now. Thanks to the power of Google, this blog will remain on the web for, like, ever now, which is cool, and it will stand as testament to the past five months, which is also cool. If I kept it going from here, it would just be a whole bunch of boring ramblings about uni life, and heaven knows there are way too many of those in the world. No, I'll keep it to this, and maybe people will think that my life is still as exciting.

And what could be more exciting than learning medicine at the University of Liverpool anyway?

It's been a pleasure.

THE 100TH POST!

2005-09-22T14:18:00.000Z

Woo!

I am Michael Vaughan, I am Andrew Strauss, I am Freddie Flintoff. I could be Ricky Ponting, but I don't think anybody would want to be him at the moment.

What I did when I got home

2005-09-22T14:16:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "The Beginning Stages Of..." by The Polyphonic Spree

Now then now then now then.

When I got back, Mum picked me up from Heathrow and we went to stay with my Aunty Anne in Essex for a few days. And then I came back and did WSYO for a week. I nearly reached breaking point with all the shit and politics that came with it, but I dragged myself back because I sure as hell wasn't going to let those bastards win. However, it was ultimately pretty damn rewarding, and now I've got recording experience with an orchestra, which I'd otherwise never have the opportunity to do, what with being a medic not a musician. And we won the Trent Bridge Test in what shouldn't have been a nail-biting run-chase. As soon as I was done with WSYO, I worked at Scholars Trowbridge for a week, which did me in so much that I went to stay with Toby in Brum for a week. And then I came home and watched England win the Ashes, a moment I'd been waiting for for 82% of my life. I spent a week getting my shit together before I went off to uni, and now I'm here in Liverpool, sitting in B202 of Rankin Hall.

Cast your mind back to August, then...

2005-09-22T14:00:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Everything Must Go" by Manic Street Preachers

Good arvo this arvo.

This is going a to be a rather monumental task, but what the hell. I've got a whole day to kill.

Friday 12th August

The day of my third and final driving lesson in Malaysia, but hopefully ever. The standards are dreadfully low in Malaysia, as I discovered when I came home, my aunt in Essex let me drive, and my mother freaked out when I nearly drove into all the stuff on the side of the road. Anyway, Flying Leopard just told me to practise a lot, so Dad took me to the old airport and I drove up, down and around the disused runway in the Merc. Due to my laziness, I much prefer driving an automatic to a manual.

We had lunch at a Korean steamboat place with my father's younger sister. You have to eat with metal chopsticks so that they don't disintegrate or catch fire. The lamb and beef were gorgeous.

For those of you who want to relive (one more time) England's Ashes glory, this was my diary entry for day two of the Old Trafford Test:

"Freddie Flintoff and Geraint Jones were doing really well, but then a whole bunch of wickets fell rather rapidly, and England made 444, though everybody had through that the total would be in excess of 500. No worries, though, as Australia fell apart and closed on 210-4, the only major resistance coming from Shane Warne. Ashley Giles bowled Damien Martyn with the Ball Of The Century (albeit from a left-hander), and got two other excellent wickets to boot. We've all got to stop making fun of him now."

Saturday 13th August

Breakfast at the place opposite Rejang Medical Centre - char siew mee, which is just kampua mee with a type of barbecued pork as the meaty bit. Afterwards, Dad and I took his friend's manual car out for a drive down the disused runway, and driving the automatic the previous day really did me no good. I kept on forgetting to do things like shifting down when turing and depressing the clutch when stopping. I class driving with ironing: a necessary evil that puts me slightly on edge when I have to do it myself.

Here's day three:

"Manchester kicked in today. It started raining at 7am BST, there was half-an-hou'rs play, and then it started raining again just now. Shane Warne got his half-century (the only Australian to do so), anbd they reached 245-7, thus avoiding the follow-on. There's still time left for play, but if they keep on showing replayed highlights of 'glorious' Indian victories for much longer, then I shall have to turn in."

Sunday 14th August

We couldn't face another 9am Iban Mass, so Dad and I skipped church. According to Dad, the English Mass in the evenig isn't much better, except we can understand it all. If you're listening in the first place, that is. That night, the Old Man dragged me away from the cricket to attend Irene Chew's father's birthday dinner. It was one of those wonderfully typical Chinese affairs, with many many dishes: mee swah (a type of long, thin soup noodle), a seafood assortment, quail, big eff-off expensive fish, and abalone. I reckon there may have been a vegetable dish in-between the quail and the fish, but I can't really remember. During dinner, people actually get up on stage to sing karaoke - they're all really good because they practise for these such occasions. Mental. After the abalone was the cake, and then I made Dad quickly make excuses. As we made out exit, we narrowly avoided a pack of Chinese drunkards who'd been guzzling the free Tiger beer. Classy.

Day four:

"The previous night, I got fed up of watching Indian centuries from the 2002 series and went to bed. It was utterly bizarre looking at the England team from only three years ago, though. Andy Caddick, Dominic Cork, John Crawley, Ronnie Irani, Alex Tudor, Craig White... what a bunch of losers. But anyway, they actually managed to play some more after I went to bed, and Australia added 9 runs. Today, they reached 302, Shane Warne making 90. He's become quite the allrounder now, aged 35. It was then time for some rapid batting from England, and they scored 280-6 declared, with Andy Strauss making his maiden ton against Australia. The Aussies closed on 24-0, needing to bat 98 overs to save the Test."

Monday 15th August

We had brunch with Irene Chew, her son, her daughter, and her mother. The daughter is absolutely vast, like Shane Warne, like an elephant. She was a thoroughly disagreeable person to boot. That afternoon, I managed to get a fair bit of "The Two Towers" read. I actually managed to finish it this time round - fourth time lucky. Despite myself, I actually found it quite interesting, but in quite a detached, scientific way. I have zero emotion for any of the characters. It's more like reading "The Rise And Fall Of Modern Medicine" or "The Elegant Universe" instead of "American Gods" or "Jane Eyre."

And finally, day five:

"The cricket was an absolute bloody waste of time, as I knew it would be, and that's the beauty of it, I suppose. We just kept on taking wickets the whole day and getting my hope up, but we only managed to dismiss Ricky Ponting after he'd made an excellent century, which was far too late. They helf out with one wicket left, and the match was drawn. I was annoyed because we should've won and we blew it (chances went down, decisions didn't go our way, it rained for a day, Ashley Giles wasn't good enough on day five), but really, it's not so bad. I can't watch the fourth Test because of WSYO, so now I can watch the decider, which will be at the Oval."

Wednesday 17th August

My last day in Sibu. In the morning, we went for brunch at the seafood place across from the bus terminal, and Soo Lee Lee (one of Dad's girlie friends from the bank) came along for a drink as well. Afterwards, Dad and I went to hang out at the bank for a bit, and then we went to get a difital camera for me from the shop at the bottom of Premier House. We'd been looking around and getting price quotes for days, so it was satisfying to finally get the thing for myself. We immediately went back to the bank to show off the camera, and to take photos of Dad's girlie-friends on the Priority Banking sofas. The afternoon was spent packing. For ages, Dad kept on telling me that space wasn't an issue, and this only became apparent when he carted out this giant suitcase for me to shove all my collected crap into. It all came to 40kg in the end, which was okay because Dad bought me a business class ticket from Sibu to Kuching, and a first-class ticket(I couldn't tell the difference when it came to it) from Kuching to Singapore. This meant that I could check my luggage direct to London and avoid the overweight penalties. Dad and I had a quiet night in, as we had to get up early the next day.

Thursday 18th August

We didn't get off to the best of starts when we headed off for the airport far too late, and after belting it down the road, we managed to get there five minutes after final check-in. Fortunately, as I was travelling business class, Dad managed to get my bags checked to Kuching, but there wasn't time to check them to London. I said a rushed goodbye to Dad, and then ran to get on the plane. At Kuching, I sat chilling in the Golden Lounge for a couple of hours, which was terribly good fun. I also had to reclaim my bags and recheck them to London. It's just as well Dad bought me a first-class ticket to Singapore, or else I would've had to pay overweight fines in Kuching.

I enjoyed my flight to Singapore. The meal was sliver service, and even had a smoked salmon entree. It really is stupid, though. All these airlines go to all this trouble to prevent suicide hijackers taking control of their planes, but when you travel higher up than economy they give you metal cutlery anyway. Even worse, the French guy across the aisle from me asked if he could go and see the cockpit, and they just let him go, no questions asked. Bloody hell.

The saga continued at Singapore. I needed to get my boarding pass for London, so I went to the transfer desk to sort it out. However, I was in Terminal 2, and I needed to be in Terminal 1. I thought I'd take the skytrain, but it was all boarded up under refurbishment when I got there, so I had to walk instead. At T2, I went to the transfer desk, but as my flight was in twelve hours, it was too early to get a boarding pass. Sod it, I just thought I'd go and meet Aunty Hui Suan then. After leaving some of my stuff in left luggage, I went through immigration and went to look for the MRT terminal. It was in T2. Shit. Oddly, the skytrain was working from T1 to T2, though, so it wasn't so bad.

I stoot outside Orchard station ticket office for ages, when I was called by Aunty Hui Suan wondering the hell I was. She'd been standing outside passenger services, where you can also buy tickets. But I was right and she was wrong, so ha. We had some lunch and went to buy a couple of industrial steam irons (one for her and one for Aunty Betty), and then went home. I spent the afternoon playing the piano, and my attention span had greatly improved from two weeks before. Without the air con or even a fan on, I managed to get through a whole bunch of Chopin preludes and Haydn sonatas. Dinner and a cold shower, and then back to the airport to bum around for a couple of hours. That Singapore sling was good, if a bit sickly. Once on the plane, it was late already, and I was tired as-, so as soon as the seatbelt sign was off, I went to brush my teeth, and then I slept nearly all the way to London.

Back

2005-08-20T21:59:00.000Z

Soundtrack: Spurs v Middlesborough on Sky Sports 1 Today

Good evening this evening.

I see that there was a surge in pageloads on Thursday when it looked like I might actually be writing something new on here from my aunt's computer. Wrong. In fact, I'm probably suckering Big Jack right now, with his fancy updatey thing that he was demonstrating on the Team Elgar screenshot. But no, I don't think I'll write anything of any consequence this evening. Lucky, lucky, you're so lucky.

In fact, I think I might and go and watch some more music channels, though goodness knows I've watched far too much. Has anybody seen the Doves video? It's got lots and lots of tea in it, and ends with two big airships dropping a mansion into a gas holder shaped like a giant teacup. Bloody good stuff.

Howzat one then?

2005-08-11T17:05:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Bluebell Morning" by Ooberman

Good arvo this arvo. Right, well I'm now settled at my Old Man's place in Sibu, hiding from the heat, and my goodness, it's so very very hot. I've been putting off doing this for ages, because I know that the internet connection is infuriatingly slow, and the computer, which was once state-of-the-art, is now a dusty old relic that takes a million years to load up. I think the operating system is Windows 95. Therefore, though before I've broken these catch-up posts into separate posts for each day or big event or whatever, I'm going to shove everything into one big long post because it'll just take bloody ages to load everything up separately. I never thought I'd miss broadband so much.

Tuesday 2nd August

In the name of saving money, Dad and I took a taxi from Aunty Hui Suan's house across the Singapore-Malaysia border to Johor Bahru. This is because it's so much more expensive just to fly from Singapore Airport. Dad asked the driver to take us round JB city centre first, just so's that I could see what it's like, and it struck me as a pretty backwards place. JB Airport was rather scabby as well - they didn't even have western-style sit-down toilets. After a couple of hours there, we flew to Kuching to meet up with Dad's friend Irene and her son Ang Chien (that's how it sounded - it probably isn't spelt anything like that). The son was a thoroughly sour and sullen fellow and Dad could tell that it was embarrassing Irene, so we made a quick exit and sat chilling out in the Golden Lounge at the airport for another couple of hours.

The flight between Kuching and Sibu is very short - only around twenty-five minutes, so Dad usually buys Golden Club class tickets for that leg as a treat. Whilst sitting in the Golden Lounge for all that time, I sat vaguely watching CNN International, because that's what Tolkien makes me do, and I was completely shocked to discover that Max Foster has left the BBC to go and be their anchorman. Even more shocking is the fact that he's also got rid of his monobrow. Double NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! We finally got back to Sibu at around 9.30pm, to be picked up at the airport by my dad's friend Agatha (he's got a whole bunch of female friends who mother him). It was good to be back in a place that I'm familiar with, and it was also good not to have to be responsible for myself all the time anymore, as Dad is just looking after me now. Great for somebody as lazy as I am.

Wednesday 3rd August

A lazy day, to get me used to being here again. The thing that the reader must now bear in mind is that the best thing about Sibu is most definitely the food, and sometimes I may just get a tad carried away. We'll see, eh? So anyway, Dad took me for a late brunch in a coffee shop of kampua mee. Wherever you go in Singapore or Malaysia, there are a whole bunch of coffee shops everywhere, serving drinks as well as a range of rice and noodle dishes, plus some also serve some random stuff as well. Because of the heat, they're all built so that they have at least one side open onto the street to let in a breeze, and so the tables normally extend out onto the walkway as well. "Mee" is Chinese for "noodle," and "kampua" is the movement used to pick up the dry noodles with the chopsticks and a spoon. The noodles are dry, because they aren't soup noodles. Kampua mee, however, does actually come with soup in a separate bowl, and the entire dish is based on pork stock.

We popped into the bank to see all my dad's [female] friends there. The Old Man is the only person that I know who hangs out at the bank. He says that it's because a) it's got air conditioning; b) he's a priority banking customer, so they give him tea and coffee; and c) his friends give him sweets. Shoe shopping (everything's cheap here, and I ditched my last pair of summer shoes in Brisbane because they smelt and well, they fell apart), and then a relaxing afternoon at home. My father has free swimming for life, which extends to his family, as he swam for Malaysia when he wasn't the Old Man, so we went down the pool early evening. Out swim was rather quickly interrupted by a very heavy shower of rain, though.

After dinner, we took a trip to Pasar Malam. "Pasar" is Malay for "market," and "malam" is Malay for "night." Night Market. They have all sorts of stuff there - mostly food and bootleg goods. Kwai is the collective term for the small, sweet cakes and jellies made in this part of the world that are a lot like sweet dim sum. We picked up some peanut pancake-type kwai, as well as magnetite bracelets for RM3.50 each. ["RM" stands for "Ringgit Malaysia", the currency here, and there are around RM6.5 to the pound, which converts very well indeed.] I'd seen the same bracelets for $30 in Brisbane Airport, so that was pleasing.

Thursday 4th August

Dad drove me out to Mukah so that I could go and visit his project there with him. Sibu isn't actually geographically that far from Mukah, but the drive still takes over two hours because the road is so awful. I love the scenery, though - there are just kilometres and kilometres of oil palm plantations, interspersed with unkempt jungle, and it just looks absolutely amazing. Once we got to the site, an incinerator on a palm plantation used for burning the harvested fruit shells, Dad spent around an hour speaking to his workers and testing out the fans at the base of his incinerator. It was actually built to a slightly different design from his usual incinerators, as his clients wanted to be able to collect the ash after burning so that they could use it to fertilise the palms on the plantation. Therefore, there was a raised slatted base inside the chamber so that the ash could fall through the gaps and be collected after burning. We didn't stay for long, we just went because Dad understands the importance of making a show. By turning up, he demonstrated that he's in control, and he forced the workers to get their arses into gear, but but by not staying the whole day, he showed that he trusts the workers, giving tem a sense of responsibility and an incentive to work.

When that was done, we went into Mukah town itself, which is actually twenty minutes' additional drive and a ferry ride away from the site. We had a lunch of kampua mee and then picked up some fresh fish for Agatha, as Mukah is actually a coastal town on the South China Sea. The other thing that the town is famous for is tebaloi, a type of dried sago biscuit, as they grow lots of sago in the area. We bought a whole bunch of that as well. [My goodness, this keyboard is annoyingly clunky. Meh.] After driving back to Sibu, we went to visit my Aunty Sylvia's grave, as it will be five years since she died later this month. The Evil Bastard Mosquitos there bit me seven times: once on my left shoulder, twice on my left leg, and four times on my right leg. And all in the space of ten minutes. I bloody hate those EBMs. We then went for a walk in the Bukit Lima Forestry Park (in Malay, "bukit" means "hill" and "lima" means five: Five Hills), so we were shaded from the horribly strong sun by the trees. As soon as we got home, it was time for me to watch the cricket: Dad had subscribed (RM119.95 for all five Tests) without much persuasion as he knew that I'd be impossible to live with otherwise, as demonstrated two years ago when I missed the third and fourth Tests against South Africa as I was out here. It was an amazing day's cricket, but I came out thinking that if we could score 407 in one day's cricket, then the Aussies would probably come along and score 507, just to piss me off.

Friday 5th August

Dad took me out to Sungei Merah (in Malay, "sungei" means "river," and "Merah" is just a name: River Merah), a district of Sibu, for brunch. There's only one row of wooden shophouses left - all the other have been pulled down for redevelopment. I had char kway tiaow with tomato sauce. In Chinese, "char" means "fried," and Kway tiaow is a type of flat rice noodle. It normally comes "dry," i.e. without sauce, so you have to specify for the tomato sauce, but it does give the dish an extra tang, which is nice. It really is satisfying to be able to eat with chopsticks now. I think I always had the potential to be able to do it, but I just couldn't be arsed to teach myself. I was watching all those Americans using chopsticks on "The OC" that ashamed me into teaching myself before I came out here again. Afterwards, we went to the bank to deliver some of the coconut buns that we'd bought in Sg. Merah to Dad's friends. It's similar to a doctor buttering up their nurses. While we were in town, Dad also brought in my many films to be developed, and we went to the opticians so that I could choose a pair of sunglasses to be made up with prescription lenses.

Back home, I watched a pirate copy of "Mr and Mrs Smith." It wasn't all as bad as I thought it'd be (Richard said that he fell asleep at the ciname when he went to see it), but then again, it DID have Seth Cohen/Adam Brody (the two are synonymous) in it. I watched an hour of so of the cricket, and then Dad made me go swimming. I quickly swam 500m and we had a hurried dinner, then we rushed home so that I didn't miss too much of the cricket. I was surprised that the Australia first innings reply didn't even last the day, and even more surprised when Shane Warne's first ball turned at right-angles to bowl Andrew Strauss.

Saturday 6th August

We had brunch at the place opposite Rejang Medical Centre - a plain meal consisting of soup rice noodles with fish balls and seaweed - very healthy, and very tasty as well, with lots of lovely Sarawak white pepper. We picked up my sunglasses from town, which I really like because they're not pretty-pretty glasses like the woman in the shop was trying to pick for me. They give me rock star delusions, which is always fun. It's been a long time since I've worn sunglasses, and it makes me feel slightly cooler to have them again. Actually, I feel cool just byb eing in Sibu - I get people starind at me all over town because of my "oh-so-racy" dress sense.

I WAS going to just watch the cricket all night, but then Kevin Pietersen was incorrectly given out, leaving us 70-odd for five, and I got depressed and decided to go swimming. I managed 400m before the water did my teeth in, so then Dad and I went for another quick dinner and made it home in time for me to see Freddie Flintoff twatting the ball to all parts. I then got supremely excited when it looked as if we were going to finish the Aussies off that night, but even with the extra half-hour, it wasn't to be, and I went to bed at 1.40am, the cricket finishing slightly later over here because the live feed isn't live: it's delayed by five minutes.

Sunday 7th August

I made Dad take us to 9am Mass so that I didn't miss any of the cricket in the evening. I'd skipped church for the five previous Sundays, so consider it penance that we had to sit through an overly-long, hot, boring Iban Mass. At first, I felt rather guilty about missing so much church, but actually, I think that I needed to go when I was in Adelaide, but once I was away from all that Falun Gong shit, there was no longer any need for me to renew my faith every week. I had Foochow soup noodles (they're a bit thicker than regular noodles) with fish for brunch.

The cricket provided me with an utterly nerve-wracking two hours that nearly killed me, but ultimately ensued in extreme happiness. Two runs. Bloody hell. Shane Warne, Brett Lee and Mike Kasprowicz brought the Aussies scarily close to winning, and it got to the stage where I just couldn't watch, but forced myself to anyway. And then, when Steve Harmison got Kasprowicz caught behind with Australia requiring three runs for victory, I just could not cope, and lay screaming on the floor until Dad said that he was hungry and it was time for dinner.

Monday 8th August

Because of the cricket and the evil Malay people next door who turn on the radio early in the morning, I hadn't been getting enough sleep those past few days. You know, Malaysian pop music really is a massive pile of wank, whether it's in Malay or Mandrin. The tunes sound as if they were written by unimaginative 12-year-olds, and the backing tracks are cheesy as-. It doesn't help that the singers can't even hold a tune. If Big Jack has a problem with Alex Kapranos, he definitely should not listen to Malaysian pop music. I think that it's probably a very good thing that I can't understand any of the lyrics.

I had char kway tiaow for brunch, after which we went to pick up my holiday photos, as well as get a new set of passport photos done for me, as I needed to update my Malaysian passport and identity card to the new electronic ones. One we got home, I discovered that I was missing an undeveloped film, which just happened to be the one with all my photos of Uluru and Kata Tjuta, infuriatingly. During the afternoon, I felt so bloody tired that I had to have a sleep. I dreamt that the seventh film was close to my pink bag that I got in Melbourne, and lo and behold, once I found the bag, I found the film.

After an evening swim of 500m (my teeth can't take much more as the chemicals in the pool are completely messed up, even though my body can), Dad took me to have demengu for dinner, which was lovely. Demengu is a type of rice pancake served in soup, along with fish balls and black Chinese fungus-type thingers. We walked around Pasar Malam for a while, and bought a fair bit of kwai to boot. It was on the news that England's squad remains unchanged. Everybody's saying that Old Trafford will be a slow, turning pitch, so I'm thinking that Matthew Hoggard should be replaced with Paul Collingwood. If the Aussies are playing two spinner then it'll be good to have an extra batsman, plus his medium pace will add some more variation to the bowling attack. Here's hoping.

Tuesday 9th August

We left for Dad's site in Bintulu at around 7.10am. It's around the same distance from Sibu as Mukah - it only seemed like further when I was little because we were on that bus for hours on that terrible road. The drive to Bintulu is slightly different from the drive to Mukah in that the road is a bit better, and the oil palm plantation are replaced by pepper farms instead. Once we got there, we discovered that none of the sub-contractors' workers had turned up. Dad spent ages talking to the sub-contractors, trying to find out where the workers and five tonnes of materials had got to. With all that sorted out, he drove the two of us into town for me to have a look around. I couldn't remember any of it, so Dad drove us to the beach so that I could have another look around. I can remember being on the beach, but none of it seemed familiar.

Once rested back home, Dad took me to another Bukit Lima park, where the EBMs freshly bit me: two bites on my right calve, one on my left thigh, and one on my left elbow. I bloody hate mosquitos. The park used to be really quite shabby, but now it's been done up really nicely by one of the rich Foochow associations, Fukin, I think. All the stonework, benches, giant scary animal statues, replica pagoda, were imported from China - their obsession with being Chinese is bordering on fascism. We picked up some takeaway beef satay and sweet-and-sour fish with rice for dinner. Delicious.

Yesterday

I'd been putting this off for two-and-a-half years, but I had my first driving lesson yesterday morning. Yes, seriously. And I didn't crash, which I'm quite proud of. My instructor, a chap called Wee, kept me inside the test centre as I'd never driven before, but I wasn't arguing. The people here drive like psychos, and they don't indicate or anything, so you never really have a clue what's going on. I'm learning in a Perodua Kancil, which is the Proton version (Perodua's the little car division) of a Citroen Saxo. You can see all the kids driving souped-up boy-racer versions of the things at night. That done, Dad and I went to get our passports and ICs updated, which didn't take nearly as long as we'd anticipated. You're not allowed to wear pale-coloured shirts in the photos, so that was my Franz Ferdinand t-shirt out of the picture, but I swung the next best thing: I'm wearing my bright green Kaiser Chiefs t-shirt in both the photos instead.

Dad treated me to a big brunch for finally getting my arse into gear and starting driving lessons. We had kampua mee at one place, and then kompia, rojak and angtow beng at Thomson Corner. Kompia are small buns made from unleavened bread covered in sesame seeds, and can be served in a few different ways - we had ours toasted and served with a meat filling with a touch of gravy. Rojak is a type of Malay salad, consisting of fresh fruit and vegetables (like pineapples and cucumbers) and fried tofu, covered in a spicy peanut dressing. Angtow beng is a type of drink made from condensed milk with lots of crushed ice, and it has red beans in the bottom. Red beans are like mini kidney beans - the same shape and texture in miniature, but they're very sweet and tasty.

We had dinner with a couple of Dad's old school friends after our evening swim: Uncle Chris, who I did my obs and gynae work experience with a couple of summers ago, and another chap called Wong, who had inexplicably changed his name from Wee. It was thoroughly boring, as all these reminiscy dinners generally are (I'll totally forget if I ever have my own children to inflict them on, though). Once home, we ended up watching the crappy American version of "Faking It," but it redeemed itself by featuring lots of über-camp American gay guys working in fashion.

Earlier today

I had my second driving lesson this morning, and Mr Wee let me go out onto the road. I'm quite proud of myself for only having stalled once, but my clutch control is still pretty shoddy. Dad let me have a go on his automatic "vintage" Mercedes E-class when we got home, and I much preferred it because, hey, I'm too lazy to have to think about gears. The thing is pretty difficult to steer, though. I'm trying to figure out a way of persuading my parents to let me drive Mum's Merc back home if I pass, but I just don't see that happening, realistically.

Beef soup noodles for brunch today, which was good, because they also came with tripe. I love offal. Third Test starts in under half-an-hour - I can't wait. Regaining the Ashes now seems to be a likely possibility now, unlike my previous propaganda where I just went round telling everybody we were going to win with no justification whatsoever.

Miscellaneous

These past few afternoons, I've been watching some cartoon adaptations of Hans Christian Andersen fairytales, followed by Sesame Street. HCA stories really are depressing old things. I keep on getting really sad for inanimate objects, and though the stories are meant to have positive messages at the end, I'm still really sad that the Christmas tree got neglected and chucked on the bonfire, or that the old streetlamp was melted down. Sesame Street always used to scare me, and now I've figured out why, though it's a really bizarre reason. I really like the muppets, always have, but the cartoony bits still freak me out. I don't what it is about them that I don't like, but they make me feel distinctly uneasy. Maybe it's because they have satanic messages hidden in them subliminally or something.

I couldn't sleep one night, so I got thinking: if each member of the England squad that played at Edgbaston was a Harry Potter character, who would be who? I came up with this:

Marcus Trescothick = Ron Weasley (the big right-hand man)

Andrew Strauss = Hermione Granger (the smart one)

Michael Vaughan = Harry Potter (obviously)

Ian Bell = Dobby (I considered making him Colin Creevey, but if you think about it, all Bell does well is run around dedicatedly retrieving the ball for Vaughan)

Kevin Pietersen = Bill Weasley (earring… odd hair… good in a fight…)

Andrew Flintoff = Cedric Diggory (if any player was picked to represent the England team, it wold be Freddie, just like Diggory was picked to represent Hogwarts in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Let's face it, Fred's the ECB's poster boy)

Geraint Jones = Ginny Weasley (the pint-sized street fighter)

Ashley Giles = Arthur Weasley (the seasoned pro, who's oddness and eccentricities are just downright endearing)

Matthew Hoggard = Luna Lovegood (I considered making him Neville, but I reckon he's more like Luna because he goes around saying odd things that are actually quite funny)

Steve Harmison = Rubeus Hagrid (the friendly giant)

Simon Jones = Sirius Black (fiery, passionate, brilliant)

We'll just ignore the fact that two of them are dead. And statistical probability meant that a fair few of them would be Weasleys…

A very positive step in the Collingwood Saga

2005-08-02T10:43:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Lank Haired Girl To Bearded Boy" by It's Jo And Danny

And a very good morning this morning.

Yes! It's finally happened! David Graveney and company have seen the light and added Paul Collingwood to the squad for the second Test. The reasoning is here. Basically, I reckon Graveney got shit scared because our batting line-up is paper-thin, and he used the crappy weather as an excuse to do what he should've done in the first place. Now, I've just checked the 5-day forcast for Birmingham, and it says that it'll be sunny but cool on Thursday, overcast on Friday, and there'll be sunny intervals on Saturday. Therefore, I'm not sure whether they'll drop either Ashley Giles or Matthew Hoggard for Colly, if indeed, they decide to play him at all. I don't think that they'll drop the Wrong Ginger One (Ian Bell), but that's okay, because we still took twenty Aussie wickets at Lord's with both Hoggy and Gilo looking pretty innocuous. Plus Colly can bowl a bit - he's ace in the one-dayers.

It seems to be a day of backtracking and going back on previously set-in-stone decisions. After declaring that all their albums would be eponymously titled, Franz Ferdinand have come out saying that actually, they're going to call their second album "You Could Have It So Much Better." I'm quite glad about it, actually, because I really think that titles set the tone for an album. I think that if FF had named the new album "Franz Ferdinand 2" then it would've implied that they hadn't really made much progress since "Franz Ferdinand," which I don't think is really the case, having heard some of the new stuff played live at some of their most recent shows. And I like the idea that you could have it so much better if you just listened to their record.

I've really been letting myself go since I got back to South-East Asia. I've stopped using deodorant, because everybody else smells anyway and I just can't be bothered anymore, plus I've been taking loads and loads of showers in one day. I've stopped using conditoner on my hair as well, because there's so much moisture in the climate that my hair never dries out. For the same reason, I've stopped using face cream because my skin never dries out as well. My goodness.

So yeah, anyway, the rest of yesterday, then. That library was massive, like a cathedral of knowledge. Fourteen gargantuan floors of literature. Pretty impressive stuff. Oh yes, and the crap-looking tan has got crapper. I now have a secondary tan in the shape of my wifebeater, and on my finger where I was wearing my $5 mood ring that I bought at Brisbane Airport to use up my dollars (I gave the dregs to Unicef as well). I haven't had a mood ring since I was around seven, and it is terribly good fun. I've been alternating being in either a "romantic" or "lovable" mood. Reckon that's a good sign?

I had a go on Wen Qi's erhu last night (Wen Qi is Aunty Hui Suan's daughter). It's only got two strings, tuned in fifths like a violin, but you play it upright, like a cello or a bass. So first off, I couldn't do the fingering on the left hand well at all, because I kept on using my very proper double bass technique, which is so so wrong, if you look at the picture of the chick playing the erhu. [My dad laughed at me for calling a womana chick yesterday. I spent far too much time hanging around with Blake in Adelaide.] And then the bow is actually slotted between the two strings, so you put pressure up or down according to which string you want to play, which I just couldn't cope with - I kept on wanting to tilt the thing to play on a different string. It's the type of thing that I'd need to sit down and really concentrate on for a goodly amount of time, just to stop myself from trying to play it like a bass.

Wen Qi is like bloody Cordelia (not Cordelia from Buffy, from WSYO). Wen Qi did her Grade 8 piano the same year as me, except I was 13 and she was 10. Yes, 10. And she only went and got five more marks than me. That's just not natural, doing your Grade 8 aged 10. She sat her diploma a couple of years ago (aged 14), but she said that she failed every single section but one, and was so traumatised that she can't face resitting it. Well there we are.

We're flying to Sibu this afternoon. The Old Man said that his internet connection is slow as-, so I doubt I'll be posting much once I'm over there. I'll probably do some of those big catch-up posts at some point, so you'll have loads to look forward to, I'm sure. In other news, my dad said that he'll subscribe to the second Test for me, so that's good. I'm not sure if I can also persuade him to let me watch the third Test, but I think that knows I'll be insuffereable if I don't know what the score is. He found out last time I came out to visit him, and I missed the third and fourth Tests against South Africa, and that was just Saffers and not even the Ashes. And also, I think secretly, he's starting to quite enjoy cricket now, but he just can't understand why the slips don't do any running until after the ball has passed them by. I feel that it'll be an excellent time to demonstrate why when Glenn McGrath is bowling, but it won't be pleasant viewing for me.

Well then well then well then. Bye for now.

It ain't half hot

2005-08-01T22:09:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Tales Told" by Ian Broudie

Good evening this evening.

Most of the stuff to do in Singapore consists of shopping, shopping and shopping, so when Aunty Hui Suan took Dad and I out for lunch today, we ended up walking round the attached shopping mall whislt we waited for the restaurant to open. It was surreal, walking into Marks and Spencers and seeing all the biscuits sold at extortionate prices because they were imported from the UK. We had dim sum for lunch, but fortunately, it was at one of those places where you pre-order everything by ticking what you want on the menu (like in HK), so I didn't get any hot chicken feet spilt on me this time.

After lunch, we walked in the midday heat to the Asian Civilisations Museum on Armenian Street. There was quite an interesting exhibition on the Peranakan Chinese of Singapore, but we had gone to see the exhibition of Vatican artifacts. It turned out that they were actually at the Asian Civilisations Museum on Empress Place. Ah. So we gave up that one, then. Aunty Hui Suan then took us to the new national library of Singapore, which has only recently opened. It's really rather large, and I couldn't find Q anywhere inside it.

Right, I'm getting chucked off now. Farewell for now.

Having a wonderfully rum time of things

2005-07-31T19:08:00.000Z

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.

My last full day in Australia

2005-07-29T17:20:00.000Z

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.

Steph's Aussie dictionary

2005-07-29T09:13:00.000Z

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:

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

2005-07-29T09:07:00.000Z

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.

Paul Collingwood

2005-07-27T12:39:00.000Z

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!

Some random thoughts that have just occurred to me

2005-07-25T15:52:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "OK Computer" by Radiohead

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

2005-07-25T12:27:00.000Z

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.

Too little too late, but what the hell, something's better than nothing

2005-07-22T13:38:00.000Z

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.

Touristy stuff

2005-07-20T11:06:00.000Z

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.

Factoids! (II)

2005-07-19T10:02:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Lost In Translation OST" by various people

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

2005-07-19T09:58:00.000Z

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.

Factoids!

2005-07-18T09:39:00.000Z

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:

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

2005-07-18T09:31:00.000Z

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.

The South Bank

2005-07-15T10:21:00.000Z

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.

In the city

2005-07-14T09:56:00.000Z

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.

Late-night idiocy

2005-07-13T10:25:00.000Z

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.

A first for the Wonderful World Of Steph

2005-07-12T14:22:00.000Z

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.

Leaving Sydney

2005-07-12T14:21:00.000Z

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.

The storm is coming

2005-07-12T14:20:00.001Z

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.

Matinee at the Opera House

2005-07-12T14:20:00.000Z

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.

Fantastic

2005-07-12T14:19:00.001Z

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.

Bitter ironies

2005-07-12T14:19:00.000Z

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.

Bumming around town

2005-07-12T14:18:00.001Z

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…

Daytripping

2005-07-12T14:18:00.000Z

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.

Some absurdly expensive cups of tea

2005-07-12T14:17:00.000Z

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.

Lazy day

2005-07-12T14:16:00.001Z

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.

Arriving in Sydney

2005-07-12T14:16:00.000Z

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.

Getting my shit together (once again)

2005-07-12T14:15:00.000Z

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.

Leaving Adelaide

2005-07-01T23:28:00.000Z

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.

Jacob's Creek, innit

2005-06-30T22:25:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "The Cat Empire" by The Cat Empire. Contains "The Wine Song."

Good evening this evening for the last time tonight.

When I've told people how long I've been in Adelaide, they've always asked whether I'd been up to the Barossa. And I hadn't until today. Aunty Wendy took the day off work and we drove up to the Barossa Valley, where they grow all the nice wines. It being winter here, everything was brown and dead-looking, but that's okay - it's still pretty there. One vineyard's very much like the next, though.

I made Aunty Wendy take us to Jacob's Creek, though, just to say that I'd been there. I had a lovely steak lunch with their cab sav, which I thoroughly enjoyed. And then I thought of Father Jack, and laughed a little. And looked at the vines. And didn't do any wine tasting, because it would be wasted on me, really. And that was it, and we headed for the Whispering Wall.

The Whispering Wall is the dry side of the dam holding all the water into the Barossa Reservoir. I stood at one end and Aunty Wendy stood at the other, and when you whisper, the other person can hear everything clear as a bell. It's something to do with the crazy acoustics of the place, and very good fun. I think that it would be more fun with other people there, though, so you could just spout random nonsense and confuse the hell out of them.

Filth

2005-06-30T22:19:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "All About Chemistry" by Semisonic

Good evening this evening again.

So, yesterday was pretty weird. Elaine used to work full-time at this designed boutique in town called Miss Gladys Sym Choon, and they had their VIP winter sale last night, so they drafted her in as extra help. She asked me to come along in case I picked up any decent bargains, and I did. I got myself a designed dress for $20, reduced from over $100 or something absurd like that, and a pair of plastic shoes, $39 reduced from $109. 16 quid for Italian shoes ain't bad. I turned up at 6.10pm, ten minutes after the doors opened, and that place was completely packed: shopping war. Scary stuff.

I met up with Blake afterwards. He was in the menswear department next door, and he took a bloody age to decide what to get, and he even took my notoriously dodgy fashion advice. Admittedly, it was that he should give the cargo pants a miss, but then I would say that, because I like Franz Ferdinand, and therefore, I like pinstripe skinny trousers. Blake WAS going to give me a lift home (on the motorbike, because he couldn't be arsed to look for a park for the Shitmobile), but we spotted something going on at the shop across the road.

The shop's name is Naked, and we soon realised this when we walked in, noticed a distinct lack of women, apart from the topless waitress handing out free Coronas. [Bytheway, I've only just found out that you take Coronas with lime because the lime's meant to keep the flies away.] We were just harmlessly looking at some clothes when the topless waitress walked past us, and said to Blake: "Can I help you with anything?"

"Er, no," he stuttered.

"He was just looking at your breasts," I said cheerfully. They were rather large breats, after all.

"Are you his girlfriend?" she asked me.

"No!" I exclaimed, disgusted.

She grabbed Blake's hand and shoved it onto her left breast. He stood around grinning and telling random guys who he'd never met about what had just happened. This was until the manageress cleared the shop floor and everybody stood around the side to wait for the stripper. Apparently, she's Miss World Nude. I saw her advertised outside a club down Hindley Street, so I sort-of believe the surfer dude who told Blake and I this little snippet of information. And she really did take everything off, apart from her thigh-high white boots with see-through plastic platform heels. I've seen far too many vaginas to be impressed, though.

After the strip show, we got talking to the topless waitress again, and somehow got onto the subject of her riding her Harley naked. And then she declared that she never wore underwear?

"Really?" said Blake, incredulous.

She lifted up her miniskirt to show us. Urgh. I wish I'd drunk some of those free Coronas now.

Apparently, this was all a sales ploy, but I'm damned if I saw any of the guys who took advantage of the free booze and sleaze buy any overpriced designer clothes.

Adelaide

2005-06-30T21:36:00.001Z

Soundtrack: “Different Class” by Pulp

It’s funny, being back in Adelaide. I’ve just spent the past few days bumming around town and doing nothing and everything. Just little things, like shopping in the sales in Rundle Mall and reading Q in the State Library. Walking around, giving tourists extremely accurate direction to the train station, and then smiling and laughing to myself afterwards while people walking in the opposite direction look at me as if I’m crazy. And I probably am, because I think that I really genuinely love this town. No matter how much people diss this place, or how much I diss it, for that matter, it’s just going to be another one of those places, like Wiltshire, that I just can’t help liking for being itself. Coming back to Adelaide felt like returning home. I even have to use my own set of keys to open the door when we get home. Aunty Wendy and Blake have already told me that they don’t know how they’re going to cope when I’m gone for good on Saturday. Elaine doesn’t mind, because she’s actually got a life and spends her days being extremely busy. But I’ll be sad to leave this little country town, because it’s a haven from the fakes and try-hards that plague me elsewhere.

The Beanie Festival

2005-06-30T21:36:00.000Z

Soundtrack: “The Cat Empire” by The Cat Empire. It has a song called “Beani” about a guy who wears beanies all the time

After bloody 10am checkout and being laughed at by Stefan in reception, I set off down Larapinta Drive to search for the Araluen Gallery, where the Beanie Festival was being held. The mind boggles. Beanies everywhere, of every size, shape and colour. There was one with a palm tree and deck chairs beside a paddling pool on top of it, another with a big eff-off snake wound round it. I, myself, bought one of Penny’s creations: a fuchsia-and-purple beanie with flower-petal style edging around the top. I caught up with her, and she showed me how to finish off the beanies that I had started crocheting on the train.

I got on the Ghan back down to Adelaide at 2pm. It was a much quieter journey, as the train was half-empty and everybody had a row to themselves, which was lovely. I crocheted until I ran out of wool, and I read “A Town Like Alice.” I had dinner, and I got smashed on vodka-and-coke and watched “School Of Rock.” Then I watched “Spider-Man 2,” and managed to zonk out from sheer tiredness for the film’s major climactic scenes. When I came to, Kirsten Dunst was just leaving Tobey Maguire’s editor’s son at the altar. Ah well. I still managed to get six or seven hours’ sleep after that anyway. Yay for vodka.

King's Canyon

2005-06-30T21:34:00.000Z

Soundtrack: “Greatest Hits” by Queen

Friday 24th June. Our final 5am start, though strictly, it was a 5.30am start. Ooh, half-hour lie-in. Vic drove us out to King’s Canyon, and announced that the first part of the walk was an incline named Heart-attack Hill. Screw it, I thought, bit the bullet, and dragged myself up. It was a very hard walk indeed, but even so, it was the one that I enjoyed the most, because King’s Canyon is just such an amazing place to be. The rocks look fantastic, and in some places you can see fossilised beetle footprints and ripples made by the Great Inland Sea. There’s an oasis in the middle, a reservoir of clear, fresh water surrounded by trees, ferns and palms where the duckies and froggies live – they call it Garden of Eden. It’s so lovely and peaceful there: perfectly delightful. Then there’s the Valley of the Beanies (that’s my own name – you can tell), where there are piles upon piles of rocks that looks like beanies stacked one upon the other. Marvellous stuff.

After striking camp for the final time, we made out way back up to Alice Springs. We had a quick look at Rainbow Valley – Vic didn’t leave us much time for it as she said that it wasn’t really that great. I’m inclined to agree with her. Normally, we’re meant to walk all the way into the valley, but instead we stood and looked at it from a distance for a few minutes, then went back to the bus. I’m still not sure how red rocks and blue sky and water can constitute a rainbow, though.

A couple of hours of recuperation in Alice, then dinner at Bojangles, a hideous Western-themed saloon with (literally) roadkill stuck to the walls. I just couldn’t be arsed – all I wanted to do was crash. Idiot that I was, I hung around until the DJ played “Take Me Out” (I’ve got it on CD, for wank’s sake!) for me. The fool forgot, and didn’t play it until I reminded him at 1.30am. My final goodbyes said, I fell into bed at 2.20am. And bloody Melanka’s were hosting Ministry of Sound on tour. At least I was the only person in my room.

Kata Tjuta

2005-06-30T21:33:00.000Z

Soundtrack: “The Magic Treehouse” by Ooberman

Thursday 23rd June. Up at 5am again, so that we could go and watch sunrise at Kata Tjuta and beat the crowds. We reached the rocks just as the Sun was coming up above the land, and we got to see the “opera house” effect, as the Sun lit up the different rocks consecutively the higher that it rose. Majestic. Then, we walked around the rocks and through the Valley of the Winds. It was a fairly difficult walk, and we were all thoroughly exhausted by the end of it, but it was worth it. I was also quite pleased that I wasn’t the last person to come in. Past experience (Duke of Edinburgh’s Award, climbing that mountain in Bergen) has taught me not to expect too much of myself, and I was pleasantly surprised.

After Kata Tjuta, we went back to the campsite to strike out tents and have some lunch. With the bus and trailer safely packed, we drove north to King’s Creek Station, stopping on the way for a bumper firewood collection session. By then, we’d become particularly adept at finding small trees (though I myself couldn’t be arsed and always brought back an armful of crappy branches), and Sam and I dragged back a rather sizeable trunk that Marsha had found. At Kind’s Creek, we set up camp, this time with much greater ease as a) it was daylight and b) we knew how the tents worked now.

We then found that we had some dead hours on our hands, that Vic had wisely given us for relaxation. There’s plenty to do at Kind’s Creek, though. You can go on tours of the area, either by quad bike, Harley, or helicopter. Or, you can use the cheapest transportation method of the lot, and go on a camel ride, which is what Andy, Helen, Judith, Jeff, Sam, Julie and I decided to do. $7 for 5 minutes, but I wasn’t complaining. Before we got on, we had to sign a form saying that it wasn’t the camel company’s fault if we fell off and died, and then we had to strap on hefty safety helmets, which made me slightly worried, but it was unfounded in the end. I’ve never ridden a horse, pony or donkey (Mum was always worried about me, and very rightly so), and so I enjoyed myself immensely. The movement takes some getting used to, and I still hadn’t accustomed myself to it when my 5 minutes on Kenya the Camel were up. Camels are bloody great.

Uluru

2005-06-30T21:32:00.000Z

Soundtrack: “Just Like Blood” by Tom McRae

Wednesday 22nd June. We were up at 5am so that we could get to Uluru in sufficient time to watch sunrise. The colourplay through the sky was breathtaking, as was the way the Rock changed colour as the Sun gradually rose above the horizon. It was pretty bloody cold, though, and it didn’t help that I was surrounded by idiot tourists and disenchanted twentysomethings born under the constellation of Sky satellites. Therefore, there wasn’t any spiritual feeling or anything, but what would I expect? I’m not an Aborigine, and anyhow, an Aborigine wouldn’t be moved in the way that I am if they took a trip to Liverpool Cathedral.

Vic took us to the cultural center after that, and we all ended up deciding that we didn’t really give a shit about what the Aborigines thought, and we were going to climb the Rock. Then we got to the foot of it, saw the steep, gripless incline, and decided that a walk around the base was a much better idea if we didn’t want to die. We did see a lot more than if we’d climbed it, though. Julie, Stefan and I managed to get separated from everybody, and we got really worried because we thought that everybody had finished before us and that they’d be sending out a search party. As we walked along, I thoroughly enjoyed the amazing rock formations, making Stefan laugh at the eccentricities of my character, and getting Julie worked up because she couldn’t take photos of yet another sacred place at the foot of the Rock. Incidentally, we were third back, behind Jeff and Meredith, and then Keiko and Haruka.

A relaxed lunch, then a trip into the town (it’s just like the centre of Erinsborough), firewood collection, then back to the Rock. Vic told us a little bit of the history and folklore, then we drove out to sunset viewing spot. It was basically sunrise in reverse, but I preferred it for a few reasons. Firstly, it was warmer. Secondly, from where we were, you could see the Sun setting beside Kata Tjuta as well, which was lovely. Finally, there were less people, which somehow made things seem a lot more special. The reason for this was because everybody stayed down in the carpark either for barbecues, or in the case of the more upmarket tours, for Champers mit Lachsfisch or whatever.

Driving down to Uluru

2005-06-30T21:29:00.000Z

Soundtrack: “Songs About Jane” by Maroon 5. As if I’d own it. It was our guide Vic’s CD

Both of the girls in my room had to get up for 5.30am tours. The ugly Italian girl, however, hadn’t changed her watch properly, and woke us up at 4am, and I never recovered, which I was not pleased about after my sleepless night on the train. The morning was spent wandering aimlessly around Alice for a bit, and then my Wayward Tour Bus (driven by Vic) picked me up from bloody Melanka’s to go out to the outback. Also getting on at Alice were: Julie from Amersham; Judith from Somewhere In London; Jess from Manchester; Sam from Scarborough; Joss and Clemence from France; Stefan from Germany; Helen and Andy from Somewhere In London; Keiko from Japan; Marsha and Lisbeth from Holland; Haruka from Japan; and Monika from German Switzerland. From Alice Springs Airport, we picked up Monja and Jenny, who came from Italian Switzerland.

The drive down to Uluru was long, but full of landscape like I’d never seen in real life before. The earth is so red and the sky is so blue, and the light is so intense because there’s no industry there, and therefore no pollution to block out the sun. The land is very arid, but it manages to yield lots and lots of hardy trees and bushes. There’s roadkill all the way: dead kangaroos, dead wallabies, even dead cows. As a result, there are also a fair few rather large birds, like wedge-tailed eagles (which Alice locals call “wedgies”) and evil-looking buzzards. Scary creatures. Just before we got to camp, we also picked up Jenny and Monja’s friend Matheo from the airport, as well as some Americans called Jeff and Meredith.

We arrived at out campsite, around 20km from Uluru itself, as the Sun had nearly finished setting. The colours blending into one another above the Rock were beautiful, and I immediately felt a sense of calm and well-being having come into the desert. Julie and I struggled to set up out tent in the dark, but fortunately, Sam had spent the past few months camping on the west coast, and she helped us out. Andy and Joss did the whole alpha male thing and got the fire started, then we all sat around it drinking. Though it was cold, I slept very well as I had two sleeping bags and a swag (some kind of crazy Australian sleeping sack thinger), and of course, very little sleep from the previous two nights to go with it.

Alice Springs

2005-06-30T21:28:00.000Z

Soundtrack: “Parts Of The Process” by Morcheeba

Monday 20th June. In the morning, Penny taught me how to crochet beanies. Go me. The landscape on the journey was awesome: the sunrise was gorgeous, the land was a deep red, the sky was a deep blue. I did, however, feel a little queasy, as I hadn’t had anywhere near enough sleep. On arriving in Alice, I got chatting with Richard, and we spent the afternoon walking around town. There isn’t really much to do in Alice. We climbed Anzac Hill, as that was recommended to me by Penny, and you could see all the fantastic hills and rocks for miles around, coupled with the setting sun. Both of us hadn’t slept at all on the train, so after a cheap dinner at bloody Melanka Backpackers (it’s Alice Party Central, so there’s always noise noise noise), we tried to get an early night.

The legendary Penny O'Neill

2005-06-30T21:27:00.000Z

Soundtrack: “Up All Night” by Razorlight

Rest assured, if I hadn’t met Penny, this post would’ve been called “The legendary Ghan.” The Gahn is short for Afghan, and it’s the name of the train that runs all the way from Adelaide to Darwin, stopping at Alice Springs in the middle. It’s named after the Afghans who led the camels between Adelaide and Alice in order to carry supplies to build the railway, allegedly. There are loads of crazy stories about it, which is why it’s legendary. For example, once the train got mired in the outback for three weeks because of flooding during the wet season, and the driver kept everybody alive by shooting wild goat for them to eat.

I took the train up on Sunday 19th June. The trip from Adelaide up to Alice lasts nineteen hours, and I spent all of them (plus an extra hour because there was a delay while they changed drivers) sitting next to Penny. Let me tell you some stuff about Penny. This is a novel in itself, so I’ll try to summarise a little. Her father was a commando in the British Army, so she grew up in loads of different countries, most of them war zones. She married a German count when she was 19, and because her son was the only male child, he’s going to be a count when his father dies, even thought he count divorced Penny for his mistress and had children with her. Penny’s youngest daughter is a tattoo artist in Melbourne, and she’ tattooed Heath Ledger. Russell Crowe now lives on the farm that her mother used to own. She’s currently a professional crotcheter-or-whatever (but she’s done loads of other crazy jobs), and she broke the world record for the fastest crocheted jumper on Rove Live (which is the Australian equivalent of Friday Night With Jonathan Ross, but more spontaneous and funnier). She’s now in Alice to teach Aboriginal women how to do freestyle crochet, and she was also organising the Beanie Festival. I’ve missed out loads because it’s impossible to remember all in one go. What an extraordinary life.

Penny got completely smashed on red wine (she kept on trying to pour glasses for me and forgetting to take off the lid). I didn’t. Both of us didn’t sleep. There was a wonderful moment at around 3am when the Aussie guy sitting behind us suddenly exclaimed: “Bloody Poms beat us.” He’d been listening to England v Australia on his personal radio. Richard, the Geordie guy behind me and myself were rather happy at this, and he told me the next day that the Aussie guy had only been announcing when Australia had been hitting boundaries etc, so it came as rather a surprise when we won. Yay for Kevin Pietersen.

More catching up to do

2005-06-30T21:26:00.000Z

Soundtrack: Australian Big Brother theme. Aunty Wendy’s watching it in the other room.

Good evening this evening.

Time I caught up on my outback adventure, eh? I’m assuming most people looked at all the NZ stuff and couldn’t be arsed to read it, which is fine, when St Pehen’s blog is so much more interesting than mine. But no worries, I’m going to update last week’s stuff anyway, because if I don’t then I won’t be able to force myself to skip it and get on with current happenings in my travels, and then I’ll stop writing altogether, which would be bad, because then I’d lose my grasp of the English language and end up talking like some sort of bogan or something.

Oh dear.

Best get going, then.

Friday night in Tullamarine airport

2005-06-27T21:20:00.000Z

Soundtrack: “Employment” by Kaiser Chiefs

17th June. I was sharing a room with two quiet, polite French guys, and another boy on the bunk on top of me who hadn’t materialized. He turned up pissed at 4am. Then his Kiwi Experience tour leader turned up at 6.30am to kick him out of bed. I BLOODY HATE KIWI EXPERIENCE, MAGIC BUS AND STRAY. Let me expand. These three companies ask people to pay money for transportation, and they drive you around all the major stuff in NZ. You still have to arrange and pay for your own accommodation, though. I was traveling by supersaver coach pass or whatever it was called, so I was doing the exact same thing as them, but paying $200 less and not rolling in drunk every night because all I wanted to do by then was sleep. And I did not take well to being deprived of rest by these idiots jumping on “shag buses.” I mean, they weren’t even appreciating the country properly. They were just getting drunk and trying to get laid at night, and then sleeping it off on the bus the next day and not even seeing anything.

Later, I managed to lift myself from bed 30 minutes before checkout and met up with Fiona. We wandered around the center of Chch for a bit, which exposed it as being a rather dull and expressionless little city. Getting fed up pretty quickly, we ended up taking the bus to the airport stupidly early. Fiona and I sat around for hours playing shithead and reading gossip mags, and then it was time for me to get on my plane back to Melbourne.

I finished reading “Anna Karenina” during the flight, which is an achievement, considering I’d been spinning the monster out for over a month. #For those of you who haven’t read it and are considering to do so, look away now.# I was really disappointed with the ending, as after Anna’s wonderfully dramatic suicide, it cuts straight to Levin’s thoroughly dull story two months later. Most infuriatingly, Tolstoy barely touches on how Vronsky and Karenin felt after her death, and for me, there was this vast potential for some really powerful, emotive writing.

On the rest of the journey, I refused to watch the romcom that they were showing, and sat gazing at the clouds out of the window and singing along to “X & Y” and “Employment,” as I was the only person in my row. Then followed three hours in Tullamarine Airport, which I managed to pass without any reading material. The first couple of hours were okay, because it was still fairly early and therefore not very busy. However, the weekend rush soon kicked in, and I was very glad that I had had ages to reclaim my baggage and re-check it (which I had to do because I was using two different airlines). [Bytheway, Virgin Blue self-checking is soooooooo cool. You can chose your own seat and everything. All you have to do is scan in the barcode on your itinerary, and then drop off your baggage, and everything’s sorted.] By the time I had to make my way to the gate, though, the place was full of people going home or on holiday for the weekend, and it was impossible to move very quickly at all. Half the flights were delayed, and so there were lots and lots of angry/frustrated people wandering around as well. I was an island of calm in a sea of madness, and I sat in the waiting lounge eating my ice smoothie, even though it was cold outside.

I arrived back in Adelaide shattered, but relieved that I’d have a good bed where the mattress didn’t sink in in the middle and where I wouldn’t get woken up in the middle of the night by some smelly roommate who’d been unsuccessfully on the pull. I’m really glad I went out to NZ and it’s an experience I’ll always hold dearly, but by God, I needed some rest when I got back.

Chch

2005-06-27T21:18:00.000Z

Soundtrack: “Batman Begins OST” by dint of watching the film. I keep all my cinema ticket stubs to remind myself that I go far too much, but then I think, ooh, must go more, must get more. How do half the things I do work out so conversely?

Thursday 16th June. I had been going to have a walk around Queenstown that morning, but in the end, I just could not be arsed. I got on the coach as the sun was rising over the Remarkables, and again, they looked fantastic. Going to Queenstown was definitely worth it.

The journey once again took in some wonderful wonderful scenery. The water in the lakes and rivers is so very blue. The hills and vegetation and willow trees on the river banks were covered in hoar frost for the first part of the journey, and the landscape looked simply magical. Lots of the scenery was a lot like either Scotland or Germany as well. Coming into Christchurch, I watched my final sunset over the grandiose peaks of the Southern Alps, which will be a sight that I’ll keep in my pockets with me.

On arriving in Chch, I checked into my backpackers with Fiona, a girl I met on the coach. She said that she wanted to go and see “Batman Begins” as it was opening night, so we went to check out the times. Lo and behold, there was a showing right there and then. It was a good film, but by no means excellent. I was also slightly worried at the start, because we know from “Elektra” that comicbook superheroes with ninja training do not necessarily make good movies. However, I did enjoy myself, though Christian Bale, the hot version of Michael Vaughan, was a strong contributing factor. When the film was over, we ended up in an Irish pub which had Irish dancers, followed by a generic pub band with receding hairlines. But anyway, this begs the question: am I a magnet to Irish people, or are Irish people a magnet to me? Ho-hum.

Sixteen hours in Queenstown

2005-06-27T21:17:00.000Z

Soundtrack: “Dizzy Heights” by The Lightning Seeds

Wednesday 15th June. I left Franz Josef as the sun was rising. The coach journey covered some amazing scenery: rainforests; glacier-formed lakes; bright-blue flowing rivers; land eroded away by gold mining. The coach driver took great delight in telling us when we were crossing the 35th Parallel some kms north of Queenstown, which meant that we were now closer to the South Pole than the equator. You could tell. Out trip was frustratingly long, though, as borth of the drivers insisted on stopping every half-hour, either for refreshments, photos, or both. Never mind. I still enjoyed myself.

The coach arrived in Queenstown as the sun was setting, giving the Remarkables a golden brown as we drove into town. It’s very beautiful round there, but I did feel as if I wasn’t taking full advantage of the place because I’m not into skiing. Everybody in my hostel was proper posh (i.e. they were pretending to be common, but you can’t hide those public school accents). I suppose that you have to be in order to have been on as many skiing trips as these kids have. I was such an imposter, and was found out on numerous occasions because: a) I don’t have one of those Arctic fleece thingers and b) I sat at the dining table to compose my journal.

There was nothing to do in Queenstown at that time of day apart from go up the gondola, which was fun. I do enjoy the sensation of rising up above the minuscule world thoroughly. However, once I was at the top, the viewing deck was absolutely bloody freezing. I only lasted around 5-10 minutes, then I had to go back inside again. I was damn well getting my money’s worth, though, so I sat drinking beer (so so bad for me, but cheap) and watching the Lions play Wellington (a little dull). Then, once my beer allergy had kicked in and I was feeling slightly tipsy due to only having free (watery) soup for dinner, I went and stood on the viewing deck for ages, singing to the mountains, the valley and the lake.

Come on, The Quiet Ginger One

2005-06-27T21:16:00.000Z

Soundtrack: “O” by Damien Rice

Tuesday 14th June. Because of Melissa’s return at 3am, it made waking up at 4.15am to watch the cricket so much easier. Come on. I’m on holiday! I figured, since my hostel had Sky, I may as well watch the England v Australia Twenty20 match. And it was so so worth it. On a beautiful summer evening at the Rose Bowl, England proceeded to make 179 from their allotted overs. Marcus Trescothick and Kevin Pietersen were very good and played their required roles, but for me, the star of the show was Paul Collingwood. Come on, The Quiet Ginger One! He made a wonderfully rapid 46 when everybody thought that we were screwed. And it wasn’t old KP who hit the most sixes, but Colly. This was followed up by a disastrous Aussie reply, and we won by 100 runs. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

I went back to bed afterwards, because it was all over and done with by 7.30am. Presentations and all. [Incidentally, I was really rather angry that the dumbarse Sky viewers back home voted KP MOTM, when Colly clearly had the better match than him, and he said so himself.] Later in the morning, I took the shuttle bus up to the glacier car park, and I walked up to its face through bizarre temperate rainforest. Rainforest – glacier, glacier – rainforest. Very very weird, but very very cool as well. Walking along the valley to get to the glacier’s terminal face, I did manage to fall into the freezing river an inordinate number of times, so I’m glad that I didn’t fork out $130 to climb the thing properly. The view was amazing, though, and I’m really glad that I went to that sleepy little village. Even though I had buggerall to do in the afternoon, and just randomly wandered around for a few hours. [I was right, bytheway. Franz Josef is just a bunch of motels, some shops, and a glacier.] It was so peaceful that it was just wonderfully calming to be there.

Sat reading “Anna Karenina” in the dining room, I met a wonderful Danish girl called Annette. I came out of the conversation having resolved to marry a Danish man. According to Annette, they’re all tall and blonde, and the Christmases there sound delightful. If you’ve read the script for the panto, then you’ll know all about the fire hazards of their Christmas trees, but there’s also all this other good stuff. They sing carols round the tree on Christmas Eve, then they sit around eating and opening presents for hours on end. It sounds so good.

Chateau Franz

2005-06-27T21:13:00.000Z

Soundtrack: “Franz Ferdinand” by Franz Ferdinand

Monday 13th June. Ten hours on the coach – hardcore! There was glorious sunshine all day long, and barely any mist, so the drive down the west coast of South Island took in some utterly spectacular views, and the journey alone was totally totally worth it.

Arriving late in the day again, as far as I could tell, Franz Josef was basically a bunch of motels, some shops, and a glacier. I was going to go and look at glow-worms, but the path was pitch dark and I was shit scared of falling over a tree root and breaking an ankle and being stuck in the woods all night, so I chickened out. The walk alone was worth it, though. It’s a peaceful, sleepy little village, and the night was crisp and fresh. The sky was perfectly clear, and the crescent moon and multitudes of heavenly stars looked down on me. You can see so many more stars down here in the Southern Hemisphere, which I will never stop appreciating.

For those of you who don’t possess a working knowledge of FF folklore, here is a quick snippet of their history. The band were looking for somewhere to rehearse when Alex Kapranos and Nick McCarthy were walking along the disused railway line in Glasgow. However, it turned out not to be so disused, and after diving out of the way of a train, they came across a large old warehouse that had been empty for years. Apart from pigeons. They moved in, used it to hold art shows and illegal gigs, and christened it The Chateau.

When I was in Wellington, I had been flicking through my backpackers guide, and listed under backpackers in Franz Josef was a certain little place called Chateau Franz. I had to stay there, so I did.

By this time, all I wanted to do was sleep sleep sleep, so fortunately, I had a room full of nice, quiet girls. Apart from Melissa (another Irish girl – magnet for the Irish, me), who came in at 3am after a night on the piss, which was slightly vexing. Two of the girls were Korean, friends travelling together whilst learning English in Australia. They explained to me what their names meant. Sujin’s name means “shining truth,” which I thought was wonderfully poetic. Even better though, was Yongjoo’s name, which means “dragon flying through the air eating bees.” I just can’t beat that, can I?

Back again

2005-06-27T21:11:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Bentley's Gonna Get You" by Bentley Rhythm Ace. Elaine was listening to it just now on one of those terrible dance compilation CDs

Good evening this evening.

So so so. I'm back in Adelaide again, and now, here is the conclusion of Steph's Kiwi Adventure. Finally. I haven't even updated my own journal for all that stuff in the outback, though, so give it a few days before that materialises.

Well, enjoy. And I'm not going to tell you where the boring bits are so that you can skip them. So ha.

Gah!

2005-06-19T16:06:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Rock 'n' Roll Knees Up" by Chas And Dave

Damn! I have no time left! I need to go and pack and get on the train in a minute. My NZ stuff will be continued when I get back from Alice Springs/Uluru in a week's time.

And go Bangladesh and England! I wish I'd had the stamina to stay up till 3am watching the match last night. England for the Ashes! And see you all next week.

Fortress

2005-06-19T16:03:00.000Z

Soundtrack: “Kingdom Of Heaven OST” by dint of watching the film on the boat

Sunday 12th June. I checked out at 9am so that I could see a little of Wellington before I had to cross to South Island. On a glorious morning, my first stop was the NZ Houses of Parliament. The library and the original house are fine old buildings, but the 1992 extension is typically hideous. Next stop was a trip to the top of the hill via the cable car. On traveling to the summit, and, indeed on arriving there, I was greatly reminded of HK. The layout of Wellington is similar and there are white-painted blocks of flats everywhere, as if for an oriental hot country. It’s like a mini-HK with a British climate, and to me, it just felt so so right. I walked around the botanic gardens for a couple of hours in the cool, fresh morning, enjoying the views of the city and the native NZ vegetation immensely.

Before I had to go and get the ferry, I decided to try and have a look at the Westpac Stadium. Is Twickenham called Fortress England or something? If so, then the Westpac Stadium should be called… just plain Fortress. I just could not find a way. This was then followed by an infuriating series of events. Whilst riding the shuttle bus to the ferry, I saw a sign directing pedestrians into the stadium hiding behind a pillar. And then I remembered that the Test ground in Wellington isn’t even the Westpac Stadium – it’s the bloody Basin Reserve. The Westpac Ground is the Test ground in Hamilton. Gah!

It was raining by the time I had to go and get the ferry. [It hadn’t rained north of Wellington, and apparently it hadn’t been raining south of the place either. It’s just one big hole in the centre of the country, so it turns out that the midlands suck no matter what country you’re in.] Because I couldn’t really see much, I decided to go and watch “Kingdom Of Heaven.” I got very excited in the first few minutes when I realized that Kevin McKidd was in it, as he is a supremely talented actor, and a far more intriguing proposition than boring boring Orlando Bloom. Much to my annoyance, though, he dies in a shipwreck before he gets to do any decent acting, and things went downhill from there. It wasn’t a bad film, really, but nowhere near as good as “Gladiator.”

Once the film was finished, I spent the last half-hour of the journey on the freezing deck. The sunset behind the mountains echoed in the water below and the low clouds and mist above was spectacular. I really love being around water. I’m clearly going to be one of those evil mothers whose children bed her to take them to Disneyland, but instead get taken to the Lake District, or on a canal holiday.

I stayed the night in Nelson, after a bus journey in the dark from Picton. The place reminded me of Devizes, and though it’s a city, it’s completely dead on a Sunday night.
Here are some statistics about NZ: it has a population of 4 million, and a quarter of those are concentrated in Auckland. It’s been predicted that in the next few years, 80% of the population will be on the North Island. There are 40 million sheep and God knows how many cows, and I have seen a very very very goodly proportion of them on my coach travels.

The Capithole

2005-06-19T16:02:00.000Z

Soundtrack: “B-Sides And Rarities (Volumes I-III)” by Nick Cave And The Bad Seeds

Saturday 11th June. Wellington, which not many people realise is the capitol of NZ until they get to it. It’s one of those places like Canberra and Pretoria, really, except it’s probably (I can’t say for sure as I haven’t visited the other two) much prettier, being in NZ and all.
The Rotorua to Taupo leg of my coach journey started off bright and sunny, but soon became mist-enshrouded once more, and because I couldn’t see the fine details, the land reminded me of home. Taupo was very fine, though, and the lake looked lovely. It was very serene, very placid… heavenly, almost. I was also impressed greatly as Lake Taupo in the largest lake in the country. After transferring coaches in Taupo, the next leg was continuous to Wellington. It was rather long and the last hour-and-a-half was in the dark, which was a shame. Other wise, it was a really cool drive, through ethereal valleys and a high-up desert road.

Rotorua

2005-06-19T16:00:00.000Z

Soundtrack: “Here Be Monsters” by Ed Harcourt

Friday 10th June. Everything ran perfectly to plan: I even got to the bus terminus 30 minutes early. Then I realised that I’d accidentally binned my bus pass the night before, thinking that it was yet another leaflet telling me how much there was to do in Auckland. Not good. I legged it back to the Camel and disturbed Simon and KT having sex to rummage through the dustbin. Out on the street, I realised that I had 15 minutes to run back up the hill and I knew that I was spent, so fortunately a taxi appeared across the street and I made the bus.

The drive to Rotorua was shrouded in mist, so I couldn’t see much of the scenery, which was a shame. The town (apparently it’s a city) itself looks fantastic, which makes up for the sulphur. The hot springs mean that there’s steam shooting out of the ground in all sorts of places, and there are also verdant green hills and a glistening blue lake.

Arriving early in the afternoon, I had time to go up to Te Puia, which houses the thermal reserve (where all the hot springs and mud pools are) and a Maori marae. I had a good look around, and I really enjoyed myself. Even though there were a whole bunch of idiot ignorant spoilt rich American schoolkids on my tour of the place. For example, we were just coming to the kiwi reserve, so our guide was giving us a little background on the odd little creatures.

“How are they related to the fruit?” asked one of the schoolgirls.

“They look the same,” replied the guide.

“You mean they’re green?”

Back at Hot Rock Hostel, I swam 100 lengths of the teeny tiny pool that was ridiculously to swim in. The hostel management had decided to utilise the town’s hot springs to provide a heated outdoor pool, and it was really cool, swimming in the dark. I liked that backpackers, basically because I managed to get a room to myself and I could have an okay sleep that night.

Free stuff

2005-06-19T15:59:00.000Z

Soundtrack: “Holes In The Wall” by The Electric Soft Parade

Thursday 9th June. I went on a free Kiwi Experience tour around the area surrounding Auckland, basically, because it was free. Kiwi Experience is one of the tour companies operating around NZ catering for the 18-25 party market, colloquially known as Shag Buses. The other main companies are Magic Bus and Stray, and I’ve come to hate them all with a vengeance. More of that later.

So, this free tour, then. We went to see the marae (Maori village type thing) at Auckland Uni, to see the views from the hills out of Auckland, to see a 900-year-old tree, and to have a free barbecue at the hotel across the road from the Lions’ training ground. We then went to Shelley Beach beside Auckland Harbour Bridge, and to dockside. There is a crazy amount of boats in that city – it isn’t called City of Sails for nothing.
Sean and Rich were working in Fox’s that night, so we all went down for the pub quiz, which we managed to miss by an hour. Martin and I worked out that Regis the Crazy Maori Bartender had been giving me a) double shots and b) a $1.50 discount on top of it. Yay for good old Steph charm. I had an earlier night as I had to get up very early the next day. I said my goodbyes, packed, and went to bed.

What Lions tour?

2005-06-19T15:58:00.000Z

Soundtrack: “X & Y” by the Smurfs. Only joking. “X & Y” by Coldplay, as ever. Well, I say as ever, but I haven’t even had that album two weeks and I can sing loads of the lyrics. It’s not as bad as with “Employment” where I could sing every single lyric within a week, but then it does have the words included in the sleeve, and I remember things that have been written down much easier.

Wednesday 8th June. I had had the room to myself that night, but then a couple called Simon and KT turned up at 8am. Argh! They had flown in from Santiago at 4am, so it was a blessing that the hostel didn’t have a 24-hour reception. I went down for breakfast at 10.30am, unable to sleep, and ended up staying for two-and-a-half hours listening to another American, Jon, air his grievances and disenchantments about the state of his country. I’ve become quite the expert on American politics. Jon was actually a pretty cool guy, though. Because he was so fed up with the US, he’d quite his job as a programmer, sold all his stuff, and got a work permit for NZ. Then he just turned up in Auckland two weeks later and was going jobhunting that morning.

After the rant, I went for a walk around Queen Street and went to find out what the best way of getting around NZ would be. I was recommended a whistlestop tour by coach. I spent the afternoon sitting in an Irish pub with Ben, Dark-Haired Mark, Rosie and Louise. The Irish girls recounted in great detail how Louise had been kayaking in the sea in Fiji and had been hit by a jet ski. Scary stuff, and the bruise was pretty damn impressive.

I was running out of film, so I went into a chemist’s to stock up. When the cashier heard my English accent, she asked me: “Are you here for the Lions tour?”

“Huh?” I asked.

“Not a rugby follower, then?”

“Not quite.”

I then took the Explorer bus around the city so that I could take in the sights of Auckland in an hour. It was a good time of day to go, as the sun was just starting to set, giving the ocean and the shiny tall buildings a majestic glow. Once the bus trip was over, I went up the Sky Tower, which is the tallest building in the Southern Hemisphere. This was so that I could see the lights of Auckland – fabulous stuff. I rather liked Auckland: a clean, modern, safe city, but more organic than Melbourne. Then again, it was just like any other city. They all seem to get a bit generic after a while.
One free dinner with the Irish girls later and I found myself down at Fox’s on the waterfront with them, Irish Simon and the Welsh boys, as the Two Marks were working there as glassies that night. We watched the Lions play Taranaki, and the Welsh boys very patiently explained to me the concept of a) a Lions tour and b) why the players were doing what they were doing. I don’t think that rugby is my game.

The Magic Tractor

2005-06-19T15:52:00.000Z

Soundtrack: “Final Straw” by Snow Patrol. An album that I don’t actually own and keep on meaning to get, but it was being played that night. More of that later.

Tuesday 7th June. I woke dauntingly early to catch the plane first to Melbourne on Virgin Blue (an airline I’d never heard of until I came down here. It’s the most efficient and reliable Australasian budget airline). From Melbourne, I connected to Auckland via Air New Zealand. On this flight, I was sat next to an ageing Thai couple, which I found to be a thoroughly disagreeable experience. Not because of the couple themselves, but because of the way that the flight attendants behaved. They all just assumed that I was with the couple because the three of us were Asian, and they couldn’t tell the difference. The couple barely spoke any English and kept on refusing the tea and accidentally pressing the call button and stuff, so I didn’t get any tea unless I yelled after the flight attendant in a plummy English accent, and they got really annoyed with me because they thought that it was me who kept on pressing the button.

I think that the thing that annoyed me the most was that they just assumed. Lots of people that I’ve met have said that they really loved Melbourne. I enjoyed myself there, and it’s a pretty cool city, but I wouldn’t say that I loved it. Now, I really hate to say this, because a) it shouldn’t be true and b) I’m going to sound as if I want to be persecuted to make white people feel guilty, but: it’s a very different place to be if you’re white. Because there are so many Asian people in Melbourne, and many of them haven’t got a very good grasp of English and the white Australians perceive them to be flooding their schools and stealing their jobs, lots of people looked down on me and patronised the hell out of me when I was in Melbourne. My accent just got posher and posher when I was there. The same thing happened when I was in Auckland, another city full of Asian people. For example, I wasn’t paying much attention to the direction in which I was going, so I nearly walked into an old lady. As I apologised to her, I heard her mutter: “Another f*cking Asian.” It shouldn’t make me angry, but it does. Nobody tell the Boy, or he’ll go ape-shit. Rant over.

I arrived at the Fat Camel Hostel at around 7pm. Dinner was being served, so I went to claim my free meal, and ended up sitting with these two American women called Joanne and Nahpi who had just quite their jobs with Air Alaska. Joanne was there to work in Christchurch for a year, and Nahpi was just visiting. We sat there for five hours whilst they aired their grievances and disenchantments about the state of the country.

I thought I’d better go to bed then, but there was a party in full swing in the lounge on my floor, so I figured I’d join in because I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. Consequently, I met a whole bunch of drunken people. There was Simon, a very funny Irishman who is just like Dylan Moran, who’d been traveling for 21 months and was going home for the summer after Auckland. Martin had been working in Sydney for 6 months, and kept his pink-haired head in “How To Be Good” by Nick Hornby for most of the night, occasionally saying something in an odd Cardiff-Sydney accent. Four Irish girls (I’m a magnet for Irish people), Trish, Rosie, Kate and Louise, had just come from Fiji. A goodly proportion of people in Auckland have either come from Fiji, or are on their way there. I can’t see the attraction, myself. Then there were three Welsh with mystifying Cheshire accents who were living in Auckland for a month and trying to find a place: Ben, Rich and Sean. Their mates, the two Marks, were already in bed.

By the time I got to them, they were all already drunk, so we’d got to the talking-about-random-nonsense stage (similar to Mo’s birthday when Big Chris kept on going on and on about all those times he nearly got killed in Middlesborough mosh pits). And then we got onto the crap jokes.

“Did you hear the one about the magic tractor?!” piped up Simon from the hole in the sofa.

We were laughing for ages before we even heard the punchline – that line is absolutely hilarious when delivered in an Irish accent.
Incidentally, the punchline is: “It went down the road and turned into a field.”

Steph's Kiwi adventure

2005-06-19T15:51:00.000Z

Soundtrack: “Brushfire Fairytales” by Jack Johnson. Aunty Wendy has the CD on right now. Another guitarist singer/songerwriter.

Good arvo this arvo.

So so so. I got back from NZ last night. I’ve been putting off updating this blog for the past couple of hours because I’m an obsessively thorough person, and I’m going to be working on this for bloody ages now. Fortunately, I have my very detailed journal entries to help me out, but this account isn’t going to be a direct transcript because a) my journal entries are rarely coherent and b) I’m probably going to end up writing lots of irrelevant crap because I think that it’ll amuse people, and it won’t.

Ah well. No worries, eh?

I’m going to pre-write all of this on Word, and then copy and paste it into Blogger, just like half of my HK and Melbourne entries. There’s a time limit on this, though. I’m headed up to Alice Springs on Sunday afternoon, so I’m really going to have to get this all done before then.
Best get going, then.

The verdict

2005-06-06T16:49:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "X & Y" by Coldplay

Soaring, sweeping, glorious... Totally totally ace. Love it to bits.

Three years was far too long to wait. Bring on FF2 in September!

I'm off to NZ for ten days tomorrow, so I shan't be posting while I'm away, unless I manage to find some free Internet access somewhere, because could you imagine me paying? Everybody who isn't Jack, have fun partying due to lack of exams. Jack, have fun partying.

X & Y

2005-06-06T15:15:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "X & Y" by Coldplay

Well, I'm on my second listen right now, which means I've only listened to the whole thing once. I have a ritual for every time I listen to a new CD or record. I put the CD/record into the player and put on the music with the balance neutral - no bass turned up, the left and right speakers equal. I make sure nobody's going to disturb me. [This time I ensured it by listening on my discman. Plus, the sound has a better quality through the earphones. For example, I didn't even notice the synth part to "Matinee" by FF until I listened to it for the first time through earphones. I digress.] I read the sleevenotes as I listen, and I hold the case up to the light to check there aren't any secret oddities hidden behind the CD. That's why I'm not really into downloading music - I like something tangible as evidence, and I love sleevenotes.

Onto the album itself, then. Overall, it's a lot airier than the previous two albums, and there's a lot more space. A lot like "Heaven Up Here" by the Bunnymen, in fact, and a lot of the rhythm parts are inspired by that album. This is most evident in the bass and drum parts, but also in some of the guitar parts. Lots of the guitar parts are reminiscent of "The Bends" album by Radiohead. The record is a lot more synth driven, with lots of Pink Floyd soundscapes, but they don't get out of control, which is a relief. There is more use of vocal harmony, which sounds wonderful on the hymnal songs. And I think that the band have moved on a fair bit - they've got rid of all the overly twee and cutesy stuff that used to plague them, basically because they've practically phased out those acoustic ballads like "Sparks" and "Green Eyes."

Track-by-track breakdown:

"Square One" begins with a worrying aforementioned Pink Floyd soundscape, but things pick up quickly and the song actually gets good.
"What If" starts like "Imagine," which got me worried, because most of the time these existential musing songs fall flat. However, after the first two lines, Chris Martin starts wondering what life would be like if his wife left him, and we're back to classic Coldplay material. Martin's at his best when he's doing self-doubt.
"White Shadows" has a powerful, driving Will Champion drum beat. With the echoing guitar part, the combined effect is similar to that of "Show Of Strength" by the Bunnymen.
"Fix You" is gorgeous. This album's "Everything's Not Lost." It opens with a hymnal organ figure, which works really well. Oh dear. Of course I'm going to say it's gorgeous - this is the girl who's been going to 11am Mass at the Cathedral just because she wants to listen to the choir.
"Talk" samples "Computer Love" by Kraftwerk, and it sounds great. But even though it contains a sample of electronic dance music, the overall vibe is "Bends"-era Radiohead, interestingly.
The title track is heavily Beatles-influenced. This is especially apparent in the string figure right at the end of the song. Talking about the string parts in this song, they are much like Shankar's arrangements from the Bunnymen's "Porcupine" album.
I really love "Speed Of Sound." Listening to it on the car radio just doesn't do it justice. However, when I first heard it, I just thought that it was an okay song. It's only after multiple listens that I've developed affection for it, which pretty much sums up how I feel about Coldplay. It took me ages to fall in love with "Parachutes," and when I first heard "Rush Of Blood," the only song that I liked was "The Scientist."
"A Message" is my favourite song on the album right now. The first line is stolen from the hymn "My Song Is Love Unknown." Say no more. Primiarily acoustic-guitar driven, it also has some wonderful soaring electric guitar parts by Jonny Buckland. Trademark Coldplay, huh?
"Low" is a song that probably works really well live, because it's the rockiest song on the album. I know that this is my stock argument as to why I like Coldplay live, but they have a much rockier sound when they perform live, with heavier guitars and bass and angrier drums. This song is a mixture of "Spitting Games" by Snow Patrol, "Ocean Spray" by Manic Street Preachers and "The Bends" by Radiohead, with added synths, strings and milk bottle percussion. Converse to its title, it's actually a highlight of the album.
"The Hardest Part" is the Coldplay version of a Country song, which bodes well for me, a fan of Bob Harris Country on Radio 2. A good driving song. If I could drive. It has a typical Buckland clean-tone lead guitar part to counterpoint the melody and piano part, which then leads into a simple-yet-effective dirty-tone guitar break.
Some of the rhyming schemes on "Swallowed In The Sea" are a bit contrived, but Martin gets away with it because the tune's lovely. Innit always that way? Once the drums kick in, it turns into quite a folksy track, but the lead guitar part lends it a widescreen atmosphere.
"Twisted Logic" is heavily influenced by Radiohead - Buckland's lead guitar part could be lifted straight from a track from "The Bends." And the chord sequence in the verse is tonic, subdominant minor, repeated over and over - the chord sequence from the intro of "No Surprises." That compound time-signature isn't fooling me. Probably has the best lyrics out of any song on the record.
The extra track, "Till Kingdom Come," is a low-key acoustic Country number, originally written for Johnny Cash, but he died before he could record it. It works well because it's so simple, and the words are deeply, beautifully resonant. Sadly devoid of slidy steel-guitar, though.

Final verdict: Unknown. I really really like this album, but I need a few more listens to figure out whether it's actually any good or not. Some of the lyrics are a bit dodgy, but aren't they always with Chris Martin? I'm a big fan of the instrumentation, though, and though there aren't any stonking great choruses on this album, and there aren't any "Yellow"s or "The Scientist"s, melodically it's very much up to scratch.

Stupid dumbarse birds

2005-06-06T14:26:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "X & Y" by Coldplay

Good arvo this arvo.

I'm posting this first so that the Coldplay review is at the top of the page.

Just adding the next chapter to the bird saga. Those birds are scarily punctual (like fish at feeding time). They only ever attack the window at half-past the hour. That I've remembered, they've attacked at 8.30am, 9.30am, 10.30am and 1.30pm. It's a worry.

And for the benefit of non-Elgarites, here is an analysis of the birds' behaviour by the one and only Stephen "Gorgeous" Maloney:

Steph, with reference to your birds attacking windows (I just got round to skimming some of your blog, but I can't be bothered / don't want to post comment there), it is indeed plausible that a bird could take its reflection for a conspecific and attack. Kusuyama et al. (2000) found that jungle crows do just that, and male pigeons do the same, whilst female pigeons display their own appropriate meeting-a-conspecific behaviour, viz. preening.

Clayton and colleagues, however, found that Western scrub jays (Aphelocoma californica) will cache food in the presence of a mirror in the same way as they would cache food in private, rather than the way in which they cache when observed by a conspecific. There is as yet no clear evidence of a bird passing Gallup's (1970) 'mark test', taken as suggesting some kind of self-recognition. Parrots, although failing the mark test, can use mirrors to locate hidden food, suggesting some appreciation of the properties of the mirror, or maybe just instrumental conditioning.

Finally, horizontal reflective surfaces may be more naturalistic (e.g. pools of water) than the vertical ones (e.g. windows), and thus less likely to elicit the aggressive conspecific-directed behaviour; Kusuyama et al. found that the crows behaved less aggressively to a horizontal than to a vertical mirror.

... furthermore your scepticism of the group-selection / altruism explanation is of course completely justified (did you do A level biology? I didn't so forgive me if I'm wrongly assuming ignorance of evolutionary theories), and your idea that they're trying to get at food behind the glass is perhaps the most plausible of the three...

So that's clear, isn't it?

Shoot me, Gavrilo

2005-06-05T19:34:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Two Shoes" by The Cat Empire

Good evening this evening.

Blake took Elaine and I to the shooting range yesterday. His father is the president of Adelaide Rich Bloodthirsty Psychos Association i.e. the gun club. I really really object to that shit, but I went along because it's another life experience, and I wanted to see if they really were rich bloodthirsty psychos. They did spend the whole time trying to prove to me that they weren't. Blake's father, Mr Wadlow, kept on going on and on about how safety was paramount. Some random French guy called Fabian who turned up on a motorbike kept on going on about how gun clubs taught people how to be responsible with the bastard machines, and just proved how lunatics shouldn't be allowed near the things. "That's Simon Ridgeway," said Blake. "He's the head of a company who makes submarines, an engineer."

Yeah right.

Nothing can detract from the looks of determination and grim satisfaction every time one of those men pulls a trigger, hits a metal rabbit target, blows up some rocks with his brand new big eff-off police rifle.

I battled long and hard with myself, and I did actually have a go. It felt horrible. Every time I pulled the trigger, an unpleasant movement of revulsion squirmed inside me. I'm disgusted with myself now, but at least I've done it now. So now I've not just shot a gun, I've shot a big eff-off police rifle, a smaller rifle which is much quieter and has hardly any recoil, and a revolver. Those men totally get off on the whole gunfire thing, but it just made me feel ugly and depressed and reminded me just how fragile everything is.

The firing range itself made me feel really edgy, mostly due to the fact that it emcompassed two of my three fundamental fears: dying and sudden loud noises. To hold that power in my hands... Urgh. It didn't help that I had plugs embedded deep into my ear canals, thus blocking out normal background noises, like the birdies singing and the wind blowing through the trees and the grass. It was eery - feeling the breeze but not being able to hear its effects.

I needed some serious grease afterwards. Just as well Aunty Wendy came back from some protest march in Sydney with Krispie Kreme doughnuts - so so good.

Today is the 59th anniversary of the Italian Republic, so there was a whole bunch of Italian people at Mass this morning, many of them in national dress or old-timers in their old army uniforms. Half the service was in Italian, which was quite cool, and they got all these cute little Italian kids to do the readings. Aw.

Aunty Wendy, Elaine, Blake and I had dim sum for lunch today. "Chicken feet?" asked the waitress. "Yes please!" I said. She came to plonk a basket of the things on the table, and somehow spilt the whole tray of the boiling things on my feet. Argh! Pain! Fortunately, I wasn't burnt, but it did hurt. The poor waitress was so upset, she gave me a whole lot of ice and serviettes to clean up, and then we got the chicken feet on the house, some egg tarts on the house (which were gorgeous), and some coconut jelly on the house. So it seems that the pain paid off.

Hoggard's just got Tapash out. One more wicket for victory. Poor old Bangladesh.

2005-06-03T20:06:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Two Shoes" by The Cat Empire

God, they're great.

Right, time for some Test Match Special.

The Cat Empire

2005-06-03T17:32:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "The Cat Empire" by The Cat Empire

This band is pretty bloody immense. Check out their site here.

In the liner notes, it says: "Ryan Monro: Upright and downright bass." Groove on...

The perfect teapot

2005-06-02T21:28:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Jollification" by the Lightning Seeds

The handle

The handle is a special part of a teapot that makes it easier to hold and pout tea from. On most teapots, the handle lies on the same axis as the spout, that is the handle and spout are in line with each other. Some teapots have a side handle located at a right angle to the spout, while others feature an overhead hangle placed above the shoulder of the teapot. Here are some essential reference points for making a practical handle:

- Both ends of the handle should lie on the same axis.
- The dimensions of the handle, including the space inside it, should be meticulously arranged in proportion to those of the spout for a single teapot. This is to achieve a balance of form along the central axis of the teapot.
- A smooth, rounded handle designed with a thumb grip makes it easier and more comfortable to hold the teapot.
- An overhead handle should not be so high that the user has to bend his or her hang at a large angle to pour the tea.
- The space enclosed by the handle and the body should be adjusted in line with the size of the teapot. However, sufficient space should be allowed to avoid direct contact between the user’s hand and the body of the teapot when it is filled with hot tea.

The spout

The spout is a device that allows the tea to flow out smoothly from the teapot. It is generally located along the same axis as the handle of the teapot etc. Here are some essential points for making a well-functioning spout:

- The highest points of the spout and the handle should ideally lie in the same horizontal plane as the mouth of the teapot. If the spout is placed at a much higher level than the mouth, tea will leak from the lid when it is poured. On the other hand, if the spout is located at a much lower level, tea will gush out from the spout while the teapot is still being filled with water.
- Hints for making a drip-free spout:
-The length of the spout should be approximately one half the diameter of the body of the teapot.
-The tip of the spout should be roughly parallel to the base of the teapot.
-The tip of the spout can point slightly downward, as this is better for preventing the tea from dripping and dust from collecting.
-The wettability of the glazed surface of the spout should be low, that is the surface should not absorb any liquid, but let it flow smoothly.
- With a sharp-edged lip and a smooth interior, the spout will allow the tea to flow straight, swift and strong.
- The shape of the spout should gradually narrow to prevent tea gurgling down the tip.
- The small holes drilled at the base of the spout function like a strainer. Their total area should be larger than the outlet of the spout. An appropriate number of correctly dimensioned holes can effectively reduce tealeaves from either blocking the flow or rushing out through the spout.

The lid

Located on the top of the teapot, the lid helps to retain the heat inside the pot an keep dust out of the tea. There are three main types of lid:
1. The recessed lid, set into the mouth of the teapot.
2. The pressed lid, placed onto the mouth of a teapot. The diameter of the lid can be equal to or slightly larger than the rim of the mouth.
3. The truncated lid, forming an integral part of the teapot. The curved or straight lines of the lid should merge into the form of the body.

Here are some essential reference points for making a lid of a teapot:

- Whatever type of lid it is, the design should complement the form of the neck, shoulder and belly as well as the contours of the teapot to give a sense of unity.
- Some extra parts for the lid and mouth of the teapot help make them function better:
- A gallery – a recessed strip built along the mouth to support the lid.
- A flange – a strip that protrudes from the base of the lid to help keep it securely in the mouth of the teapot.
- The lid and the body of the teapot should be made at the same time and placed together when they are fired. Since they will then shrink and expand at the same rate, a lid that fits well into the mouth will thus be produced.
- The knob, located in the center of the lid, should be:
1. Convenient so that the user can place his or her fingers on it to prevent the lid from galling off when pouring the tea and also to prevent direct contact with the heated lid.
2. Made in an appropriate size to make it easy to hold the lid.
3. Drilled with a tiny hole in the center to allow ventilation inside the teapot, which helps produce a steady flow and makes it easy to pour the tea.

And not forgetting

The body

The body of the teapot is an essential part for holding and steeping the tealeaves. It is also the main part to which the other sections, such as the spout, the handle and the lid, are attached. Here are some essential reference points for making the body of a teapot:

- The mouth should not be too small, otherwise it will be difficult to clear the tealeaves after steeping.
- The body should be free from cracks to avoid leaks.
- The foot at the base of the body should rest in a horizontal plane on the table. A well-polished foot will protect the table from abrasion.
- The thickness of the clay body is closely associated with its ability to keep the tea warm for a long time. In general, a thin clay body facilitates heat dissipation while a thick clay one helps retain the heat.
- The body should not be too large or too heavy, otherwise it will be difficult to handle and may also results in the over-steeping of the team leaves by the excess infusion, which will then give the tea a bitter taste.

Next time, different teapots for different teas...

Pinch, punch, first of the month

2005-06-01T19:09:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Parts of the Process" by Morcheeba

Good evening this evening.

I've been trying to get through to England tonight, but the cheapy phonecard network is jammed for overseas calls, which is a pain. As long as I get through before midday back home: I want to pinch-punch her over the phone, which she's done to me before. My mother was introduced to the game very late on in the game, so she has much catching up to do, and she gets really competitive. It will be the ultimate win if I get her from Australia.

I really didn't do much yesterday, apart from watch "Breakfast At Tiffany's" and make arrangements to go and see Episode III again with Antoinette. And I went into town and discovered a new Australian ska band whilst sitting in a cafe drinking a chili mocha (bloody amazing drink - really gives you a kick). I really need to go and look for their albums, because they sounded really good. There'll be an update if I manage to get hold of some of their stuff - I had time to go into one record store, who didn't have their first album (which apparently is better) before getting picked up to go home. Ah well.

Aunty Wendy is on a few days' holiday starting from today, so this morning I went to University of Adelaide with her, as she and her friend Margaret were giving a talk on the hippy cult. I thought I'd go along a) to win brownie points with Aunty Wendy and b) so that I didn't have to read the arsing great book she gave me. After sitting there for around fifteen minutes, though, I was bored out of my mind, and thoroughly unconvinced. The one important thing that I learnt was that I'm definitely not going to read the book now.

Afterwards, we drove down south to Victor Harbor, mysteriously spelt without the 'u.' The scenery was fantastic - more like the real Australia than Adelaide, which is very European. The earth was red, the grass was brown, the sky was low... All very moody and dramatic. We didn't actually spend any time in Victor Harbor itself - the place is a ghost town. Instead, we walked out to Granite Island, and had an amazing amazing lunch: oysters for entrees, then an octupus salad for my main course. I'm still full, and wonderfully contented thinking about it.

We drove back to town along the coast. Because of the cloud cover, it was all angry skies and purple water, and it looked fantastic.

2005-05-30T21:46:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Strangers" (still). I'm on the last track.

Just found this gem on the Independent site. It's from a report of the Ivors by John Walsh:

The darling of the paparazzi, however, was Pete Doherty, whose song "For Lovers" was up against Franz Ferdinand and The Streets for the Best Contemporary Song award. Looking relaxed, if slightly dazed, in a white T-shirt, jeans and a bashed-up straw hat, accessorised by an irregular slash of biro-ink on his cheek, he adopted his now-familiar routine of feigning innocent vulnerability as microphones and sound booms were thrust at him like spears, while working the crowd like a seasoned professional. He's very tall, his hands are as large and rough as a horse-wrangler's, and he will happily answer questions from complete strangers about his drug regimen.

I watched him on the balcony as the nominations for Best Contemporary song were read out and performed. On the stage monitor screens, Doherty's curious baby face appeared, ravaged and sweaty; on the balcony he looked on unconcerned, as if watching Top of the Pops. When Tom Jones revealed that the award had gone to Franz Ferdinand, Doherty politely clapped.

Weren't you disappointed? I asked him. About not winning?

"Oh, didn't we?" he asked, sleepily, as if finding it hard to care.

Did he like the song "Take me Out"?

"It's Ringo Starr isn't it? 'Back off Boogaloo'? It's exactly the same riff."

Did he mean Franz Ferdinand pinched the tune?

"What was it Oscar Wilde said? Amateurs borrow, but geniuses steal."

What was the significance of the writing on his cheek? Was he making a statement about exploitation (like Prince inscribing "Slave" on his cheek at a ceremony to annoy his record company)?

"No, it's just my lucky lightning strike."

Had he liked meeting Sting for the first time?

"Carl likes Sting," said Pete nastily, referring to Carl Borat, his former buddy who threw him out of the Libertines for excessive behaviour. "And of course his songs are full of drug references."

Sting's songs? Really?

"Oh yeah. That song 'Fields of Gold', it's all about "fields of barley" which is rhyming slang for "charlie" which is of course cocaine..."

Mr Doherty is the most charming company in the world, but you suspect that an hour in his company would do your head in.

Well, I thought it was funny. Carl Borat. Ha.

Kill the Frog

2005-05-30T21:19:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Strangers" by Ed Harcourt. I'm educating Elaine.

Good evening this evening.

Not an anti-French thing. I am extremely angry to find that that sodding Frog ringtone kept Coldplay from number one. I really thought they'd make it this time, especially since they charted number eight in America, and "Speed Of Sound" was the fastest-ever selling download single. There was a quality quote from the guy who designed the graphic for the frog in the Times: "I would never have it on my phone. If it came on television, I would turn it off. Even before it went on the website, I began to hate myself." Yes, and so you should.

I haven't written in a while basically because I haven't really done anything of note. On Saturday night I went out with Elaine in Adelaide, and it was just like "I Predict A Riot" by Kaiser Chiefs:

Oh, watching the people get lairy
It's not very pretty I tell thee
Walking through town is quite scary
And not very sensible either

...

I try to get to my taxi
Man in a tracksuit attacks me
He said that he saw it before me
And wants to get things a bit gory
Girls scrabble round with no clothes on
To borrow a pound [okay, dollar] for a condom
If it wasn't for chip fat they'd be frozen
They're not very sensible

I went to the botanic gardens today. They were very European, and I would've been taken in if I hadn't kept smelling gum leaves. My favourites are still the cacti, though.

At the end of the day, I went down to the Adelaide Advertiser offices to buy my Episode VI poster - the paper gave out free Star Wars posters every day last week, but we missed Friday's edition. So now I've got six classic Star Wars posters to put on my wall when I get to Liverpool. Any excuse to have Hayden Christensen as a pin up, really.

What else. Oh yes, the birds here are completely insane. I always forget to write about it because I've become so used to it, but I think it's worth putting on the Internet. Every morning, I am woken up by a ferocious tapping on the high kitchen windows. It's always some bloody bird attacking the glass. There are three theories for this:

Self-culling. The bird population is too large and they're sacrificing themselves for the youngsters. My arse.
The greedy bastards can see spiders etc behind the glass and are trying to get at them, but can't because the glass is in the way, retarded creatures.
They see their reflections in the window, think that the reflection is a rival bird, and they attack the reflection.

Just goes to show. Birds are stupid.

Hahndorf

2005-05-28T19:56:00.000Z

Soundtrack: Test Match Special, BBC Sport Player Online

Good evening this evening.

Looks as if England are going to finish this one off quickly.

Aunty Wendy drove me out to Hahndorf today, a German town east of Adelaide. It was founded by a bunch of Germans who were persecuted for their religion back home, and they named it after the captain of their ship. Modern-day Hahndorf has been kept all German for the tourists - there are guys in lederhosen standing outside the pubs etc etc. There were loads of places to choose from for lunch, but I insisted that we eat at the only place with a German name: Hahndorf Kaffeehaus. Incidentally, lunch was delicious.

In the afternoon, we drove up northwards through the South Australian countryside to see the world's largest rocking horse. I'm still not sure whether it was worth it or not. The drive was good, though - the sky was overcast, and lent the landscape a wonderfully dramatic feel. Sunshine never has any of that. As we were further up north, it was slightly colder, and a greater proportion of leaves had fallen off the trees. I realised that I'd experience two autumns this year, which is good, because autumn is my favourite season. Autumn always has a sense of momentum that none of the other seasons do, and the colours are so vibrant and vivid.

You'd have thought that summer would be my favourite season because of the cricket. I'm full of anomalies.

My Restaurant Rules/Your Restaurant Sucks

2005-05-27T21:54:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "The Look of Love (Disc One)," music by Burt Bacharach

Good evening this evening.

There's this "reality" programme that they have over here called "My Restaurant Rules." As far as I can gather, they give a couple in every major city (i.e. Brisbane, Sydney, Melbourne, Adelaide and Perth - so the Ashes, then) a shell of a building and some money and then ask them to start a restaurant. They then film all the trials and tribulations and broadcast it every week for a few months. The Greedy Goose, the Adelaide restaurant, has got into the final two, so we decided to go and queue up for a table tonight. However, once we'd queued for an hour (which I was totally up for, queuing's ace), they took our details and told us to come back in two hours.

Yeah right.

We had a rather lovely Indian meal instead.

Oh. My. God.

2005-05-27T16:47:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Oh My God" by Kaiser Chiefs

I thought that I was a week ahead of myself.

I thought that I was flying to NZ on Tuesday. Wrong. I fly week Tuesday.

I need to look at my diary more.

Episode III

2005-05-27T10:59:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" by the Beatles

Good morning this morning.

I finally went to see Episode III last night, and my God, did I enjoy myself. I'm not a Jack or Toby or Stephen or Miranda who sits there and picks things apart - I metamorphosise into a small child whenever I go and see a Star Wars film at the cinema. This is probably because my mum took my brother and I to see all the original films when they were reissued, and I must have been around 10 or 11. Every time "A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away..." comes up, followed by Evil John Williams' fanfare and the Star Wars logo, a sense of excitement and anticipation wells up in me, and the anticipation builds and builds until the final climax and then it's so totally worth it and I leave the cinema extremely happy, thinking: "By God, that was great," even when it wasn't.

Actually, I'm lying here. I only had that for III, IV, V and VI. I was shite, and it was so shite that I didn't even go to see II at the cinema - I watched it on pirate VCD from Malaysia. Speaking of which, my dad said that pirate copies of III appeared in China within one day of the premier. So much for simultaneous release, huh? Apparently all the pirate copies in Malaysia were seized, so dad's going to have to wait a little longer to watch it, I feel.

It was the Boy's birthday yesterday, and he had "Happy Birthday To You" sung to him from three different continents, the lucky thing. I sang from Adelaide down the home phone, Dad sang from Sibu down his mobile, and Mum sang in the kitchen. Another of my father's well-thought-out plans.

Das O-Bahn ist super-fantastisch

2005-05-25T21:14:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Up All Night" by Razorlight

Good evening this evening.

I'm not really that sure about the gender of "O-Bahn," but there we are. This is because I can't remember the gender of "bahn" full stop. Oh dear.

"Steph!" I hear you cry. "What in wank's name is the O-Bahn?" I'll leave it to the Adelaide Metro booklet to explain:

The Adelaide O-Bahn guided busway opened in 1986 to meet the transit needs of teh growing population in the City's northeastern suburbs who needed to travel between their homes and the Central Business District (CBD).

The beauty of the system lies in its flexibility. O-Bahn buses travel on a separate concrete track with great speed, safety and comfort. The buses also travel on roads. The ability to transfer from a normal road to the O-Bahn track means passengers don't need to transfer to a different vehicle, as they do with bus and rail systems. This makes O-Bahn travelling times even shorter.

Each bus is fitted with special "guide wheels" by the front wheels, allowing the bus to transfer from road to the track in one smooth, easy movement. The guide wheels are directly connected to the vehicle's steering mechanism and once these guide wheels are locked in place, the track is effectively steering the bus.

The bus travels at speeds of up to 100kph along the track without having to compete with other traffic. As a result, the bus is able to travel the 12km from the CBD to the northeastern suburbs in only 20 minutes.

The system offers a high frequency of service, with buses able to safely travel on the corridor at 20 second intervals. The versatility of the system means the passenger catchment area is significantly larger than that of rail.

The track ends at a shopping mall, so it was one of those occasions where the travelling was so much more fun than the destination.

Random Adelaide-ness

2005-05-25T10:33:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Different Class" by Pulp

Good morning this morning.

Yesterday, I decided to go to the art gallery. The thing is, I ended up only looking at the modern Australian stuff, as in Melbourne, in fact. There were some amazing Rembrandt etchings in the Renaissance section, but I pretty much avoided the rest of the stuff from that time. It's because it's mostly religious stuff, crucifixions, stimata etc etc, which always unsettles me. This must come from my religious upbringing. I still don't really like holy statues - the worst ones are where Jesus still hasn't died on the cross, and he's looking at you with pleading eyes.

Talking about my Catholicism, I forgot to say where I went to Mass on Sunday. I actually went to the Cathedral for 11am Mass, and I actually rather liked it. The priest is just a big leftie, and he was telling off the congregation in his sermon for not being more welcoming towards all the Sudanese refugees who've just recently turned up in town. The choir and organist were really good as well. And the best bit? No more not-knowing how to sing hymns. I could even sing the ones I didn't know, because they put the notation on the hymnsheets. Elgarites may be interested to know that we sang a hymn with music by Elgar.

After the gallery, I went to the Festival Centre because Aunty Wendy seemed to think that it was a rather good idea. It wasn't - there was buggerall to do apart from drink coffee, and you know how I feel about that. However, the Centre is beside the River Torrens, and I ended up going on a boat ride on the Popeye, which apparently something that you have to do in Adelaide. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, but that was probably because I love boats and being surrounded by water.

I also went and had a look round the casino, but walking very quickly because I've got a compulsive personality and I knew that if I even stopped to watch one game of blackjack I'd get sucked in and end up losing all my money. The place was full of elderly people playing on the slotties. Did I mention that as well as being a nation of alcoholic, obese smokers, Australia is also a nation of gamblers. The old people gamble during the day because they don't have to work, and then when everybody else finishes work, they go to the casino as well. It just proves that Australia is an amazing place to visit, but if you live here, you turn into one of the above.

Only in the Wonderful World of Steph...

2005-05-23T19:39:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "A Night At The Opera" by Queen

Good evening this evening.

Yesterday, Elaine and I went to Adelaide Gaol, which stopped being used as a prison in 1988, and is now open to the public. It was two-dollar day, so the place was full of chavs, which they call "bogans" over here. Elaine said that she'd been to a bogan party before, and I think it's an absolutely hilarious idea. Let's all have a chav party. We could wear Burberry baseball caps and tracksuits and cropped tops and drink cider. I think I'd have to recover from it by having a suitably vamped-up Alias party, though.

So anyway, the gaol, huh? The atmosphere was oppressive, despite being full of noisy chavs. They hung around 40 people inside the walls of the compound, and though I was probably imagining it, I could feel the death in the air still. Uncomfortably, but strangely compelling too. The place hasn't been maintained that well, and all the old cells and buildings were a bit shabby and covered in birdshit etc etc, which just added to the eeriness. Added to that, people kept on randomly ringing the big bell in the yard, which kept on making me think that another person had been executed or something. I still wish Selina had let me go to Melbourne Gaol to see where Ned Kelly was hung, though.

It rained this morning. One minute, I was eating breakfast and watching shitting American soaps with Blake, the next, I was out the door, because I wanted to make the most of the rain. It stopped pretty quickly, though. I didn't think that it would be over so soon, so I'd decided to go to the seaside while it was still raining. The people who are reading this who know me really well will be able to understand, I think. Just about. Perhaps. I'm still up for a Norway Reunion (or Elgar Meetup, whatever they've evolved into) at the beach on Boxing Day.

I took the tram to the beach. It's the last functioning tram in South Australia. By the time I'd got to the sea, the sun had come out, and I don't know how, but the sea was looking purple underneath the receding grey clouds. Spectacularly dramatic.

There's not much to do in Glenelg. I went to the museum for a bit, but I didn't have the patience to stay for long because I think I'm nearly all museumed out for the time being. But anyway, I learnt that South Australia is the only colony that wasn't founded on convicts, so I can't use that to make fun of people here. Even though they're a bunch of alcoholic, obese smokers who are going to die from skin cancer or lung cancer or throat cancer or emphysema or liver cirrhosis etc etc.

I did, however, walk beside the sea in the midday heat. It was gorgeous, with the waves crashing around me and the sun sleepily shining in the sky.

Heaven Up Here

2005-05-21T18:16:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Heaven Up Here" by Echo and the Bunnymen (well duh)

Good evening this evening.

I spent yesterday in the house doing Blake's psych assignment for him. Yes. We'd been to the same amount of lectures on the subject. The deadline was for 4.30pm, but it became clear that we weren't going to finish at around 3pm when we'd been "working" all day and I'd only done 639 words out of the required 1500. I wish I had a Stephen. I wish I had a Stephen anyway. The man is inherently likeable (as I once drunkenly intoned to Toby), and come on. Have you ever met anybody as gorgeous? I think not.

Aunty Wendy took Elaine, Blake and I for breakfast at the fancy Italian place down at Adelaide Market, and I had a nice healthy Mediterranean fry-up, which did me no good because I had an artery-clogging ice chocolate-and-mint to go with. Aunty Wendy then took me to Chateau Moteur, which is the swanky place where they bought their Merc, and she brings it in for a wash every fortnight. However, they only charge A$10 a go. Rather good value.

In the afternoon, we went up to Cleland Nature Reserve in the Adelaide Hills. Adelaide's funny like that - you'll be in the city one minute, the country the next, so quite similar to HK Island and Sibu in that respect. I saw all sorts of crazy Australian animals, like potoroos and kangaroos and koalas and scary goose things and scary emus and other scary scary birds urgh urgh urgh. But the cuddly marsupial types were good. Sadly, no platypi (query plural), but no worries, eh? She'll be right.

We went for a bit of a drive afterwards. Aunty Wendy drove us right into the countryside, and then up to Mount Osmond. By then, the sun had set (it's hard to remember that it's winter here) and you could see all the lights of Adelaide. I hadn't realised how much of it there was - in actuality, you can only see a small piece of it from the house. The city was laid out like a beautiful, sparkling embroidered cloth before my feet (stealing from Yeats, there. I have the cloths of heaven, but oh, I have my dreams as well) and I couldn't stop exclaiming as more and more was revealed as we moved closer and closer to the summit.

It's heaven up here. But not, as the Bunnymen joked, hell down there. Life's just lovely right now.

The Dreaming

2005-05-19T20:43:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Thing To Make And Do" by Moloko

Good evening this evening.

I went to the South Australian Musuem today, and predictably, they claimed to have the oldest of something-or-other, I think it was some Pacific artifact or similar. The "Pacific Cultures" section was terrifying in places, actually: all those fierce masks that were built to scare. I avoided the stuffed bird section (I always do in these places), because then I definitely wouldn't have been able to sleep tonight. The stuffed toucan head in PC was bad enough, and quite a shock it gave me too.

Ancient Egyptian sections are always also rather eery. At once, I'm both intensely fascinated yet slightly freaked out by the displays. I can stand and look at mummies and mummified body parts for ages, but if you look for too long, your mind starts playing games with itself and you can see stuff move and you go mad and run away screaming and the museum staff think you're nuts and you get freaked out by the display of the giant squid and scream and run some more and it all spirals out of control, especially when you run into the whale/shark/dolphin/porpoise section by accident and into the jaws of a fake shark. Not really. But it could happen - you know what I'm like.

I really liked the opalised fossils, though. Aw, pretty.

The largest section of the museum is dedicated to the Aboriginal culture, though. They didn't have much artwork - nothing as extensive as the NGV Australia in Melbourne - but I expect that that will all be in the art gallery next door. It was interesting learning about their way of life, and how it basically all got wiped out when the Europeans turned up from the 1830s onwards. As I was saying in an e-mail to Miranda just now, the Aborigines believe that the world was created during a period called the Dreaming. Because everything's constantly changing and evolving, they believe that the Dreaming is still going on. I agree with them. Every day feels like a dream, and it feels great.

"Everybody's changing and vuhvuhvuhvuh self-pity self-pity" or however that song goes. Apparently, Keane are more famous here than FF. That's so bloody wrong. Keane write good songs, but they don't write good pop songs. Their choruses have far too many lyrics. I like nice simple lyrics, like:

"She loves you/Yeah yeah yeah/She loves you/Yeah yeah yeah..."
"I predict a riot/I predict a riot..."
"Going down to talk to the cows/Going down to talk to the cows..."

I think I have to type up Blake's assignment. Wank. Serves me right for typing so quickly.

Double take

2005-05-18T19:07:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Porcupine" by Echo and the Bunnymen

Good evening this evening.

I just read Alex's comment to yesterday's post properly. May I just point out that I am both a scientist, and I have very strong faith, so it's possible. It's not really a contradiction in terms. Yes, science is all about questioning, discovering, and religion is all about belief in mystery, but I can cope with that. Like my Catholic physics teacher said, there must have been something to cause an imbalance in matter and antimatter at the creation of the Universe, so why not God?

I went into Adelaide properly today. My first stop was obviously the Adelaide Oval. No charges applied there - I just walked straight in and started having a conversation with some footie commentator from the ABC. It really is a rather lovely ground - it's close to the city centre, but manages to be surrounded by parkland, and you can hear the evil birdies singing constantly. The east stand is like the ones with the tenty things at Lord's and the Rose Bowl, and the west stand just has park benches for seats. Plus there's seating on the grass. One crazy ground, and therefore, completely suited to Test cricket.

After that, I decided to take a trip to the South Australian parliamentary building. It's a funny old place. They started building it in 1889, and it was all going to be very grand. Then they ran out of money, so they had to cut out most of the fancy design (there was going to be a big tower etc etc), and the rest of the thing didn't get built until 1939. The first half is all in the classical style, the second half is all art deco, and you can really tell the difference.

Compared to Melbourne, Adelaide is a much prettier little city. Melbourne is very metropolitan, whereas Adelaide is very verdant - there are trees everywhere that it is possible to have trees. You can actually see the sky here, because the place isn't full of towering buildings. And it's warmer. Melbourne was cold at times, whereas it always seems to be warm here. People keep on telling me that it should be cold and rainy at the moment, but it isn't, so I suppose they'll keep on telling me that until it is. Huh.

Cirque du Soleil: one crazy trip

2005-05-18T10:47:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Brothers In Arms" by Dire Straits

Good morning this morning.

So last night, I went to see Cirque du Soleil with Elaine, Blake and Sheau May, the manager of Peter's restaurant. I saw the price on the tickets and I felt nauseous. I've never even paid that much for a day of Test cricket. Then again, I did spend more than that when I went to see FF @ the RAH, because I had to pay to stay in London overnight as well, so I can't really talk.

Circuses always have a slightly sinister edge, and this was definitely no exception. The random people dressed in white boiler suits were pretty scary, as was the guy with no head who walked around with an umbrella. The show was spectacularly mesmerising, though. Half the time I couldn't watch but made myself: even though I knew that they wouldn't fall from heights or drop diablos on their heads, there was still the possibility that they might. And I kept on forgetting to clap - the routines were all so mindblowing that I couldn't recover enough to applaud. I totally didn't get what the deal with the guy with the boxing gloves was, though. And I'll never see skipping in the same way ever again.

In other news, an order I placed with those 101CD people on January 5th has only just come through. The wait will be worth it, though, because it's for "Darts of Pleasure," FF's first ever release. Last time I checked on Ebay and Amazon, people were selling copies of it for at least five to six times what I paid for it. I don't think I'll sell it, though, because it's got "Shopping For Blood" and "Van Tango" as B-sides, which are both quality songs. Yes, I admit it, I do like "Shopping For Blood" just because of the name.

It's not a cult, it's a collective...

2005-05-17T15:18:00.000Z

So sayeth Mr Daniel Wallace. More of that later.

Soundtrack: "All Maps Welcome" by Tom McRae. The flavour of the month until I get my hands on either the new Coral album or the new Coldplay album. "The Invisible Invasion" is due out in the UK on May 23rd, but I can't seem to find an Australian release date for it. "X & Y" I know for sure is June 6th, though. The more I listen to this album, the more aware I become of how mindblowingly good it is. Even more strongly recommended than before.

Good arvo this arvo.

Adelaide is warm and dry and the view from this house is bloody amazing, especially at night. It's a big house on the hill and you can see all of Adelaide, all the way down to the beach. Wonderfully, my Aunty Wendy hasn't given away the piano (apparently, she's pretty much given away everything else), so I had a good old play this morning. Unfortunately, it's not been looked after well - my cousin Elaine leaves the lid open, and because the atmosphere is so dry, the keys and the pedals have lost their action and it's quite difficult to get the thing to speak well. I suppose I'm spoilt because I'm used to Hugh my gorgeous Kemble, who sounds great and plays spectacularly because we know each other so well.

Now that I'm in a different town, I can do a bit of a retrospective analysis of Melbourne. The petrol's around 8-9 cents cheaper over there, for one. Not that that really makes much difference, because it's still nearly half the price of back home. Shocking. The other big differences are the landscape, and the pace of life. I looked at the land out of the window of the plane for the whole one-hour flight, and it does get much hillier as you approach Adelaide. [Weirdly, the fields are circular. They look like giant pie charts.] And if I thought things were slow in Melbourne, my God! Adelaide is even slower. There was a public holiday yesterday because of the Adelaide Cup. They have public holidays because of sporting events. We have sporting events because of public holidays.

So, I arrived in town on Sunday morning. My flight from Melbourne was delayed by an hour due to freak fog. The fog was good, but it's just not rain. I need rain, dammit! It's threatening to rain, but Antoinette said that it never rains when it's like this when she came to clean the house earlier today. Antoinette is Aunty Wendy's bestest buddy, and I spent Sunday at her house because Wendy and Uncle Peter were in Sydney on hippy cult business, and my cousin Elaine was away with her boyfriend Blake. I watched "War and Peace" (how could you get tired of three hours twenty minutes of Audrey Hepburn?), and I was really tempted to watch "Gone With The Wind" as well, but I settled on "Ned Kelly" instead in order to get a better idea of this place's cultural heritage. I still don't really understand why everybody thought that he was so great, though.

Yesterday morning, we picked up Peter from the airport. Wendy tried to convert me to the cult, Peter laid into my Catholicism. It's funny, other Catholics, like those evil sodding youth missionaries, make me lose faith. But outsiders, like the Falun Gong (the hippy cult) people only serve to strengthen everything that I believe in. Ever read "Join Me" by Danny Wallace? Inspired by his Swiss great uncle, he sort-of starts a cult by getting people to send him their passport photos, which he keeps in a shoebox, but then it all spirals out of control... You can see the results at www.join-me.com. But anyway, the tag line of the whole quest is: "It's not a cult, it's a collective." Except the Falun Gong people deny being a collective, so go figure.

After that, Wendy took me for a drive down to the beach. The beaches around Adelaide are really lovely - clean sand, blue waters, nice waterfronts. We had Thai for lunch, sadly with no penguin ice-creams, or else I would've ordered one and named him Toby Hester or something. In the evening, I went out for dinner with Elaine and Blake, who's one of those typically Australian boys. I expect he surfs. He pretty much lives here - he just came in to pick up his fireman training letters that he left behind.

We're going to see Cirque du Soleil tonight, which is all very exciting. But now, I'll just go and sit on the veranda and listen to the rest of this beautiful, beautiful album.

We're going to the zoo zoo zoo...

2005-05-14T22:43:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Tilt" by the Lightning Seeds

Good evening this evening.

Selina and Stephanie took me to Melbourne Zoo yesterday. It was bloody great, penguins, seals, koalas, kangaroos, wombats, tigers, pygmy hippos, everything... Though you know how everybody always asks you, "If you could be any animal, what would you be?" I think I'd still be a fish.

My one concession to the way Australians speak is an overuse of the word "bloody." Otherwise, things have been going to plan and I'm getting a bit posh for my own good. When I was in the travel agent's the other day to book my flights to NZ, they asked me where I was from. I told them that I was from Wiltshire, which they seemed to think was very posh. I tried to tell them that the place is full of farmers.

Bytheway, Japanese stonegrilled food is the best stuff ever. Your steak comes out on a crazy-hot piece of granite, along with tofu and courgettes and mushrooms, and you have to cook it yourself. On the side are a salad, sushi and sashimi as well. Delicious. While we're on random little things, has anybody heard the Euroclub-style dance remix of Bonnie Tyler's "Total Eclipse Of The Heart"? It must be one of the campest songs ever, alongside a theoretical Eroclub-style dance remix of Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive," and another of Shirley Bassey's, well, Shirley Bassey's anything.

Today, Andy drove the four of us out to Ballarat to go to Sovereign Hill, which is a recreated version of old Ballarat during the mid-19th Century gold rush. It was proper frontier - piles of horse shit lying around, handsome performing arts students running round in costume pretending to be miners. Even though it was meant to be a big tourist attraction, Sovereign Hill was much like present-day Ballarat, though: really rather quiet. "It's dead in the morgue, but it's deader in here..."

The organist at church tonight was awful, though the choir wasn't bad. Unfortunately, they didn't seem to take into consideration that none of the congregation had a clue how to sing their badly-picked hymns, so they all sang descant which didn't really help us because the organist was so bad. Last week, we went to a different church, and at least the music this week was many many many times better than that. I get quite annoyed about this, though. Hymns are meant to be communal, inclusive, so choirs shouldn't pick hymns that only they know how to sing. And they're so difficult to predict the tune of! All these idiot Christians who are wannabe songwriters - they just seem to pick random tunes and write nonsensical lyrics, and then they get published in hippy hymnbooks. If I ever end up being a regular church pianist/organist, I'm going to try and reinstate decent hymns like "Nearer My God To Thee," "Abide With Me," "Soul Of My Saviour" and "Dreadlock Holiday" by 10CC.

The MCG

2005-05-12T22:31:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Hey, Petrunko" by Ooberman

Good evening this evening.

What's the point in Melbourne if you don't go and visit the Melbourne Cricket Ground. I paid A$10 for the tour, and I've got this illness so bad I probably would've paid twice as much. It was certainly worth it - we got to see what the view was like from all the stands, and we got to stand on the hallowed turf itself. Okay, it's not so hallowed now, it being the Aussie Rules footie season, but still... Imagine playing there! The capacity is currently at around 80,000, and when the redevelopment is completed, it'll seat over 100,000. Down on the pitch it must feel as if you're a gladiator going out to fight in the Coliseum. I badly want to watch a Boxing Day Ashes Test there now - the atmosphere must be electrifying.

I booked myself flights to NZ this afternoon. Selina told me that I'd die if I stayed in Adelaide for six weeks, so I thought I'd better not risk it.

Happy Cup

2005-05-11T20:49:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Divorce At High Noon" by the Karelia

Evening again. I forgot to put this in the last post, but since it doesn't really fit in, I may as well create a new post especially for it.

Happy Cup is a tea franchise from Korea, which is so so wrong but so so good. It basically specialises in making all sorts of insane types of tea, then adding lots of milk, ice and jelly pieces to make it appealing to children and hyperactive student types (i.e. the people in this house). Jasmine milk tea? So so wrong! With ice! Noooooooooooooooo!

I , however, couldn't resist, and gave in and made Andy buy me a lychee green tea, which was surprisingly tasty and refreshing. But it was without milk. I don't think I could ever go for that shit with milk. Urgh.

The dark of the matinee

2005-05-11T20:20:00.000Z

Soundtrack: 'Matinee (Single)' by Franz Ferdinand

Good evening this evening.

This morning, I went to do some shopping in Chinatown, because we had dinner there the other night, and I saw the most wonderful Kaiser Chiefs-green duffel coat (if you've seen my Chiefette t-shirt, you'll know what I mean. I wore it to WSYO, and I only realised how green it was when my bass turned green, and Ali's bass turned green, and the French horns turned green etc etc). Therefore, I went back today to get it. Unfortunately, I turned up to the shops at 11.30am, which is far far far too early for people in Melbourne. Less than half the shops were open, so I had to bum around for a bit before I could go and get my coat. I need a new coat, because my big thick winter coat is the exact same purple as the wheelie bins in Liverpool. As I'm not much taller than a wheelie bin and don't move much better than one, I figured that it would probably be a good idea not to where my lovely purple coat to avoid severe mockery. Hell, if it was somebody else, I'd definitely make fun of them.

In the afternoon, to get over shops (because I always need to get over shops, even if I'm pleased with my purchases), I went to the Australian Centre for the Moving Image, which claims to have the largest movie theatre hall (or something like that) in the world. Victorians are big into one-upmanship, for sure. But dissing Victorians aside, the big movie theatre hall-place is very very cool indeed. The hall is this vast underground cavern, and it's as dark as dark can be so that the images projected onto the myriad screens around the room aren't disturbed. This season's exhibition is all about how nothing ever stands still, so there was this one film that was projected onto five screens arranged in a circle, with the same day repeated five times over but in five different ways. You sit on a bench in the middle of the circle, and you can see all this time-lapse photography going on around you, your head surrounded by atmostpheric sound-effects, and the overall effect is awe-inspiring.

The best bit was just plain walking through the hall and being surrounded by projection screens, miscellaneous weird noises from soundtracks permeating the space. I felt as if I was in the song: "You'll find me in the matinee/The dark of the matinee/It's better in the matinee/The dark of the matinee is mine/Yes, it's mine."

Melbourne: Day Three

2005-05-10T22:48:00.000Z

Soundtrack: ‘All Maps Welcome’ by Tom McRae. Hey, it’s new and I still can’t resist its sublime pull. And because it’s mostly recorded live, it just sounds so great because of its spontaneous, organic feel.

It’s Reading Week at Swinburne, where Andy and Stephanie are at uni, but they still had to go in to work on their group projects. Okay, it’s not called that here; it’s something like Supervision Week, I think. But anyway, that’s how I ended up in a computer room there.

We went to the aquarium when they were done, because Stephanie has been dying to go for ages and just needed an excuse. Melbourne Aquarium was a fairly different experience to Portsmouth (which I went to on my [19th] birthday), mainly because all the crazy creatures are from the Southern Ocean. And there are big big sharks and big big rays, and seahorses and seadragons. Lovely.
I’m actively trying not to go up at the end of every sentence when I speak. It’s going to be difficult. I reckon that the beset tactic will be just to make my accent posher and posher as this holiday goes on, until when I get to uni, everybody will think that I like cricket because I’m the daughter of a lord who married a Malaysian woman, and I went to a superbly exclusive public school for young ladies. “Yes, Daddy bought me a pony when I was only two-and-a-half, dontchaknow…”

Bytheway, for anybody who's reading/wondering, all these posts are so close together in time because I typed them all up offline first, then pasted them in. Selina only has dial-up here, and I didn't want to tie up her phone line.

Melbourne: Day Two

2005-05-10T22:46:00.000Z

Soundtrack: ‘B-Sides and Rarities (Disc Two)’ by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. Depressing, hey, but it’s full of Australian folk songs, which I thought might be apt, seen as I’m actually in Australia now

It’s Melbourne International Jazz Festival at the moment. I’m too cheap to pay A$35 to go and see jazz, but there is free live music going on in Federation Square, the main cultural centre of the city, every afternoon. When I reached the square, it was in time to catch this crazy Italian group called Funk Off. They had no bass, but three bari saxes and (I think) a sousaphone. And they were all remarkably good movers too.

On Fed Square in the National Gallery Victoria, which houses the Australian collections. Across the river is the NGV International, which houses all the other stuff, but I couldn’t be arsed with that. In the end, I did manage to spend the entire afternoon looking at the artwork – all this amazing Aborigine stuff that sucks you in and makes you sway until you have to step away before you fall over. But then, I do fall over very easily. When I finally emerged, the security guard was rather surprised to see me. It seems that most people are very quick through the gallery. I suppose it’s because people here have very short attention spans.
Out in the square were a soul band from New Orleans with the wonderful name Rockin’ Dopsie and the Zydeco Twisters, who were uproariously good fun. Nobody was dancing, though, which was a shame, and I didn’t want to because a) I would’ve felt really stupid, and you can’t dance to soul music properly without a partner anyway and b) I was waiting for a phone call from Andy and was worried that I wouldn’t be able to hear it, so I had the phone in front of me so that I could see it light up when it eventually rang.

Melbourne: Day One

2005-05-10T22:45:00.000Z

Soundtrack: ‘Everything Must Go’ by Manic Street Preachers (it’s the album with ‘Australia’ on it)

I was picked up from the airport by my cousins Selina and Andy, and I’m staying in their house, along with Andy’s girlfriend Stephanie and their random housemate Derek. The house is very cold. Melbourne is deceivingly cold – as Stephanie said to me today (complaining), it feels as if you can experience four seasons in one day here in Melbourne.

The first thing that I noticed on the car journey to the house is that there are far more roads signs over here. Things that we take for granted back home have to be made a little more obvious over here. For example, on an entrance onto the freeway, there’s a sign saying “WRONG WAY! TURN BACK!” for anybody who tries to use it as an exit. My favourite was a drink-driving billboard. Accompanying a picture of a woman being breathalised is the caption: “A LITTLE BIT EMBARRASSING? A little bit over the limit? You bloody idiot.” Selina and Andy had to do a spot of shopping before we went home because it’s a proper student house where there’s no food but lots of tea, and next to the supermarket was a fast food joint called Hungry Jack’s. Andy explained to me that it was exactly the same as Burger King, same logo, same menu (they still have Whoppers), but it’s just that Australians compulsively have to be different.

They compulsively have to be different from one another as well. You have to have a different driving license for each state. Each state has a different license plate, so that they all try to outdo one another. If you kill somebody in one state, you can run away to another one and get away with it. Victoria itself is pretty bad, and it claims to have the biggest of a lot of things in the Southern Hemisphere. It says that it has the biggest casino in the Southern Hemisphere in the Crown complex, and the biggest university campus, in the Clayton Campus of Monash Uni (where Selina is at). They’re also building the tallest apartment block in the world here. It’s going to be 88 stories high. Apparently nobody here wants to live in apartments, though, because they all love their pools and barbies too much. The existing apartment blocks in this city are only half-full, so I don’t know what’s going to happen when this huge one is done.

The Victoria car license plates actually read "Victoria - the place to be." I'm really tempted to buy a mocked-up one from a souvenir shop, and alter it to stick on my door or wall when I get home, or even to Liverpool. I'll cross out "Victoria" and write "Scholars" instead.

In the afternoon, I watched an Aussie Rules footie match on television with Derek. Everybody here is insane. Maybe it’s the endless sunshine that does it.

Top five things that people in HK are crazy about

2005-05-10T22:44:00.000Z

Soundtrack: ‘Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots’ by the Flaming Lips

Cigarettes – I had to be careful walking through crowds, because I was worried that my clothes or bag would get burnt through by somebody’s fag.

Delifrance – The first shop I saw when Michael drove me into town from the airport was a Delifrance. They’re everywhere. When you step in (not that I ate there – I just wanted to see what it was like), some kid in a badly-fitting beret says “Bonjour howmayIhepyou?” It’s one surreal experience.

Bootleg Converse All Stars – I felt very smug in my genuine ones.

Wearing lots and lots of layers of clothes – What was the deal with that? It’s very very very hot.

Bootleg Burberry-patterned stuff – My favourites were the bags that had the pattern hand-stitched on in shiny beading. Horribly, horribly lurid.

Hong Kong: Day Three

2005-05-10T22:43:00.000Z

Soundtrack: ‘All Maps Welcome’ by Tom McRae

Good evening this evening.

The saga continues. I’m trying not to let it all build up until I have to spend ages and ages going back to keep all this up to date, which would just be silly because it’s only a silly little blog to keep myself amused and to make sure that I don’t lose my grasp of the English language.

Michael Wong picked me up mid-morning so that he could take me on a drive around HK Island, to prove to me that it’s not all skyscrapers and Italian designer labels. And he was right. Once you get away from the harbour, you’re left with beautiful oriental landscapes and an inviting ocean. The surrounding mountains are covered in lush greenery, and you’d feel a million miles from the westernized world of the city if it weren’t for all the super-exclusive mansions and apartment blocks lining the way. Sadly, there are very few buildings in the old-fashioned Chinese style: mostly they’re based on European-style chateaus (I can’t remember what the Italian for castle is. Is it ‘castello’? Or have I just said something obscene?)

Our first stop was at Repulse Bay, so called because that was where the English fleet repulsed the pirate hoarders in around 1841 or 1842. There’s now a big temple there, and all the local fishermen go to worship the sea goddess there on her birthday, which apparently is coming up very soon. There are lots of other Chinese gods and goddesses there. Well, lots of different images of them, anyhow. There are only four main deities there: the god of prosperity, the god of happiness, the god of wealth and the goddess of the sea. There are others, but they’re of secondary importance, really. You’ve got to get your priorities right, haven’t you?

Further along the coast is Stanley, which is famous for its bootleg market. “100% cashmere!” proclaimed one sign. Yeah, right. We had dim sum for lunch again, and this time Michael let me choose, so we ended up eating things like pig ears and shark fin soup. Delicious delicacies.

What else. The airport express is very cool. It’s a branch of the MTR, and it’s actually quite expensive – HK$100 one-way, which is nearly 7 quid. Maybe I just think that it was steep because all the other MTR routes were so very cheap, let alone the ferry. But anyway, it’s got the train’s path traced above you in lights so that you know just how far you’ve traveled, and how far you’ve got to go. No more standing up to get off far too early and looking like an idiot – no, now everybody knows when it’s time to get off and nobody can look at you smugly or quizzically any more. I wish that all trains were like that.

Incidentally, HKIA claims to be the best airport in the world, as voted by some odd little association with many letters in its title, affiliated with other little associations with many letters in their titles. If I could be arsed, I’d check.

Hong Kong: Day Two

2005-05-10T22:34:00.000Z

Soundtrack: 'Ocean Rain' by Echo and the Bunnymen

Apparently, the sun hadn't come out in HK for the past few years. I think that there must have been a storm in the night or something, though, because by morning all the haze had cleared away and the sun had burned away all the humidity. Now, there was just plain heat.

I descended the Mid-Levels Escalator again, this time to catch the ferry to Kowloon. The locals joke that you chose between first class and second class on the ferry. First class is HK$2.20 and you get to sit on the top deck, second class is HK$2 and you have to sit on the bottom deck. I opted for "first class."

Kowloon is completely different to HK Island - it's really properly Asia. Instead of the streets being lined with Gucci, Versace, D & G etc etc, there are Chinese signs everywhere, and there are only English translations on the road signs. I took the mass transit railway (MTR - the HK underground) up to two-thirds up Nathan Street, which runs through the whole of Kowloon, from north to south. I used Nathan Street as my guide and I decided to walk its entire length to take in the main sights of Kowloon. However, after a visit to the Ladies' Market, I headed in the wrong direction up Nathan Street, and after walking north for around a kilometer, I hit the New Territories. Wank.

But no worries, eh? I walked back south again, and I noticed that right at the top of Kowloon, everybody is Chinese and there are no foreign faces. The south you get, you see more Indian faces, then more blacks and whites gradually appear, until you're close to the harbour and everybody seems to be South African or Australian. Or from Essex. On the way, I also took in the Night Market on Temple Street and the Fish Market. But more importantly, I made an excursion to Kowloon Cricket Club.

I'd seen it on the map, and I knew that I had to go there. When I finally found the entrance after tramping around its entire perimeter, there was a sign beside the gates saying "Members Only. No Unauthorised Admittance." For a moment, part of me told the rest of me to walk away. Yeah, right. I just walked straight in and nobody gave a shit that some scruffy, sweaty girl had just entered their revered pavilion. And some pavilion it is too - very very very swanky, at least county standard, probably international standard. The pitch itself was a bit rubbish, and it appears that it's only used for outfield football. Two Indian boys walked in with bats for a net, but just as one was waiting to be bowled a ball, another of their mates came along and chucked a football at him and that was that and they ended up having a kickaround.

Walking along, I noticed the name of a product in a pharmacy called Pimpless. I can only assume that it's some sort of mean of moving towards self-employment for prostitutes. Heaven knows what its effect is on people who aren't on the game.

Along the harbour is the Avenue of Stars, like that place in LA where people imprint their hands in the pavement. Except with HK movie stars. I was most cheered by the small fact that I have bigger hands than Michelle Yeoh and Maggie Cheung, and the same sized hands as Sammo Hung and John Woo. Jackie Chan has freakishly long fingers in comparison with his palms.

Just as I was walking back to the ferry, I saw a bunch of people walking into the Cultural Centre in evening wear and/or carrying instrument cases. I went to ask, and it turned out that the HK Philharmonic were doing a concert - symphonic jazz. I went and bought myself a ticket in the cheap seats on the balcony and sat with the plebs, who even clapped between movements and shit. The horror.

The hall was about a third full, which I thought was disappointing considering the apparent talent of the performers as praised in the programme. Yeah, right. My mother used to ask me what I'd do if I decided to go and do music and I couldn't get into one of the big orchestras, like the LSO or the Halle or one of the BBC orchestras or whatever, and I didn't know so I decided to become a doctor, which is all-round much the better and more fulfilling career suited to me anyway. Anyway, now I know the answer. If you're not good enough for the LSo or the Halle or one of the BBC orcestras or whatever, you join a second-rate orchestra in the Far East, where nobody can tell the difference anyway.

I sat and watched them play, and they had zero charisma, let alone no sense of cohesiveness. There was no passion in their playing - when you play music, you have to surrender your Self to the audience. Performing a piece of music should be opening a window to you soul, laying yourself bare for everybody to see. And that's what makes the greatest musicians. Yes, you can have technical skill and finesse in buckets, but if you play like a robot then you can't be truly great. But the soloists were pretty good: that Canadian-Japanese guy, Jon Kimura Something, and a clarinettist called Andrew Simon (or something similar), who's apprently rated very highly in the international clarinet scene. I can sit and be horrible about it all I want (and I really can - I felt that the WSYO we had at Easter could have outclassed them on the same programme), but actually, I always enjoy seeing live music, no matter how bad, and I was glad I did catch the concert because a) the venue was wonderful and b) I love that feeling where you come out of a concert at night, no matter what the genre, and you have music swimming around in your head as you walk through the darkness.

It would've been quicker to catch the MTR back, but I wanted to see the lights reflected in the harbour, and it was totally totally worth the HK$2.20. And then some. This was when I got the song 'Ocean Rain' stuck in my head, and when I got back to my room, I listened to the whole album. I have the anniversary re-issue of 'Ocean Rain,' so it's got loads of extra tracks on it. I much prefer the live version of the title track - the band just sound so great, playing live in front of a Liverpool home crowd of thousands.

Hong Kong: Day One

2005-05-10T12:07:00.000Z

Soundtrack: 'Here Be Monsters' by Ed Harcourt. It contains the track 'Shanghai,' which is the closest I could get to a song about HK.

There wasn't anybody on the plane, which was a Godsend. I had an enitre middle row to myself, so I lifted up all the armrests so that I could lie down full length and sleep. Except I'm crap enough at sleeping anyway, and the seats on Qantas' lame old Boeing 747 were a bit annoying: they were a bit narrow to lie down on properly, and they slanted inwards, which resulted in me having to lie with my shoulders in crazy shapes and I didn't get much sleep in the end anyway. Huh.

I arrived in HK very early in the morning, and I was picked up at the airport by Michael Wong, one of the Old Man's old school friends. He took me for a dim sum breakfast, saying that whenever he flew long-haul, he always felt stupidly hungry afterwards, and I'm inclined to agree. Afterwards, I checked into my hotel, the Bishop Lei International (Catholic-run, and next to the church). I picked it because it was the cheapest one in the asia-hotels.com directory, but it's actually rather good, with a pool and everything. Not that I used it, because I was so busy out in the city.

The weather was absurdly humid, but there wasn't any sun, due to smog blown over from China. It's very hazy in HK - because the city is surrounded by mountains, I think the effect's a bit like in LA, but at least the haze can blow out to sea. In the heat of the afternoon, I walked down the Mid-Levels Escalator (the escalators are true escalators, in that they only go upwards, and you have to walk the whole way downhill). For those of you who don't know, the Mid-Levels Escalator is the longest in the world, and the Mid-Levels are an expensive residential district on HK Island. I walked round the city on that side of the harbour for a while, but I found it too artificial and westernised. Disenchanted, I went in search of the Teaware Museum, which made everything better. The post is below.

The museum is close to the Peak Tram, which for HK$30 (2.07 pounds - no pound key on this keyboard!), you can travel return to the top of Victoria Peak, the big mountain in HK. The incline is scary steep, but that was okay because so was the Bergen funicular. Actually no, the Peak Tram was steeper. The views as you climb are amazing - you can see the whole city. The best bit is once it's dark, though. The lights of HK are gorgeous, almost ethereal. The skyscrapers are all lit up really well, also, especially the Bank of China building, and this other one whose name I forget which actually changes colour. Genius. As I looked at all the lights, I realised that HK was actually a totally ace place, and I couldn't wait for my excursion to Kowloon the next day, which I'd randomly decided upon at some point. You know me.

Blah-de-blah-de-blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah

2005-05-10T11:46:00.000Z

Soundtrack: [Just the one song for now...] 'Jacqueline' by Franz Ferdinand, containing the lyric "It's always better on holiday/So much better on holiday..."

Good morning this morning.

I haven't had a chance to update this properly for the past few days, so since I'm here in a computer room at Swinburne University of Technology in Melbourne with not a lot to do for the while, I may as well give an exhaustive account of my time in HK and my first two days in Melbourne.

Here goes...

Hong Kong, baby!

2005-05-05T16:00:00.000Z

Soundtrack: Random ambient Chinese tea music

Good arvo this arvo.

Guess where I am? The Hong Kong Teaware Museum! This place is just totally totally ace. They have the craziest teapots upstairs, because they had some sort of crazy teapot competition last year. For example, there's this teapot shaped like a piece of cheese, and the spout is a mouse poking its head out. And the matching cups are also shaped like mice. See? Crazy. The tea set that won was called "Make Tea Not War," and had two pots shaped like a US marine and a member of Al Qaeda, holding out a grenade and a missile respectively as spouts. The cups were all shaped as halves of shells. Bloody amazing.

They also got quite obsessed about what makes a perfect teapot. I took all the leaflets - they're pretty comprehensive. If I have some time later on in the holiday, I'll type them up for you to peruse - when you read them, you'll realise that I'm not really that obsessed by tea.

Right, better go before they chuck me off the computer.

A couple of thoughts. And then some. You know me. Value for a title.

2005-05-01T14:47:00.000Z

Soundtrack: 'Hot Fuss' by the Killers. Not a great album, but I heard 'Smile Like You Mean It' on Popworld this morning and just felt like listening to the whole thing.

Good arvo this arvo.

So anyway:

I can't believe I actually watched the whole of 'The Fellowship Of The Ring' last night. I was fine for the first hour, got a bit impatient in the second hour, and couldn't wait for it to finish at every point after that. Thank goodness it was on Channel 4, because of a) ad breaks and b) Bamboozle on page 140 of Teletext during the ad breaks.
Alex Kapranos' blog on www.franzferdinand.co.uk/diary/player.asp is bloody amazing and I'll never be able to compete with it.

I suppose I'd better finish tidying my desk and start packing before that double bill of Star Trek Enterprise later this afternoon. Hmm. I only seem to use the Internet when I'm putting off doing stuff. Or doing important things, like booking a hotel in Hong Kong or buying the new Tom McRae album.

BYEBYE*STEPH

2005-04-30T17:57:00.000Z

Soundtrack: 'Employment,' Kaiser Chiefs (obviously)

Good evening this evening.

I've just finished my last day at Scholars. Normal people get parties thrown for them when they leave work by their co-workers. I have no co-workers, so I threw myself a party. Fortunately, my mother stayed with me the whole day, I think partly because she felt sorry for me, partly because she didn't want me to scare the people of Warminster with my notorious crazy dancing.

I made myself a banner from the pieces of card we use to label the stuff we set by for people. It had a character on each piece of card: B, Y, E, B, Y, E, *, S, T, E, P and H. I punched holes through the top corners and used colourful rubber bands to hold the thing together. I was well impressed with myself.

Sophie from Scholars Trowbridge called me to say 'bye.' That shop sounds way more interesting than Warminster (I can't call it my shop anymore. No worries. At all). She said that she had a couple come in. Originally, she had thought that the woman was just getting a costume for a fancy dress party, but she overheard their conversation when they thought that she couldn't hear, and she said that it sounded as if they were going to act out some kinky fantasy. And I thought that they were crazy in Warminster.

Every time I catch (or caught? I'm sure my travelling to Warminster days aren't over forever) the train to and from Scholars, I find myself wondering who is madder: the people who get off at Trowbridge, or the people who get off at Warminster. My musings always reach the same depressing conclusion, however: I do both, so I must be madder than most.

But those days are temporarily over! [Edward and Yvonne have said that I can come and work for them again next summer when I'm poor.] I really ought to clean my desk, now. It's covered in odd bits of stuff that I've been putting off sorting out: student finance stuff, flight itinerarararararararararies, passports, birth certificates, letters from Valerie Hayward, dead flies etc etc.

Or I could just go and check the day's cricket scores on Ceefax, which would be much more satisfactory.

"Let's make poverty history..."

2005-04-22T19:11:00.000Z

Soundtrack: "Let's Make Poverty History" by Katherine Mitchell

Good evening this evening.

Why do people build towns on hills? I'm sure there must be some sort of rational explanation.

So anyway, I took the afternoon off work to go and play bass at St Louis' in Frome (which is halfway up a steeply-inclined hill) for this Make Poverty History record thing. This afternoon, they got some guy from Frome Community College to film the kiddies singing. They're going to make a video, then send it off to the Glasto people to get it shown on the screens at the Pyramid in-between sets. Which means a) I won't be playing Glasto, b) I can stay in Oz as planned and c) stalking Carl Dalemo from Razorlight is not going to happen. I digress. Katherine, the lady who's organising the whole thing/wrote the song etc etc was saying that they're having a bit of a hard time with the Glasto organisers, and they keep on messing them around and whatnot.

"Just send the tape straight to Michael Eavis," I said.

"Huh?" said Katherine. "How would we do that?"

"Well, he does have one of the obvious addresses in the county: Mr Michael Eavis, Worthy Farm, Pilton, Somerset."

At this point, she wrote it down. Sometimes my own proactivity scares me.

Wrt the song itself... The sound guy Howard, the choir lady Alicia and Katherine were on about it having a Latin feel. My foot. Okay, the intro is all 1-2-3 1-2-3 1-2, but that's where it ends. It's in E minor. Say no more. E minor = Eastern European folk. At least, that's how Phil the guitarist and I were playing it... I was all for a ska version as well, but my idea was silenced as soon as it was mooted. Bloody typical.