The Valley

Previously, our German compadre' known as BorrusiaSaan had not really done anything particularly notable in this blog. Most of the stories were about the idiotic situations JingleLad and myself found ourselves in. Now, that has changed and BorrusiaSaan makes a beautiful appearance in a tale entirely of his own making, one which allows an insight into his charming personality. 

I had finished my work in the wee hours of the morning and was heading home for a well deserved kip. I knew the boys were out and on the prowl as they stopped by the work earlier to say how doo. I wished them luck and they were on their way, a hop skip and a jump to the local backpackers bar which stays open till 5am. Alls well and good so far.
I made it home sound and was just getting ready to head to bed, and as I come out of the bathroom BorrusiaSaan greets me with a mischievous grin. Never mind the fact I nearly keeled over with fright, but I did manage to observe with my astute detective skills that BorrusiaSaan might be slightly inebriated. Just possibly. The fact he was holding himself upright on a bedpost was my first clue. I was curious as well as to why he was home relatively early, and still grinning away to himself. Then I clicked to the fact he might not be quite home alone, and had done rather well for himself in the classy backpackers establishment. Man points to BorrusiaSaan you would think, but read on...

So I put the earphones in, thinking that would be the only way I would drift off to sleep that night, and left BorrusiaSaan to his prey. Halfway through The Killers on my iPod I could just about make out my comrade muttering "Why!?" in a bemused voice.

'Well if anything is going to be funny tonight, this is it.' I thought to myself, and pulled out the headphones to eavesdrop on the discussion BorrusiaSaan was having with the poor girl. After a brief 15 seconds of them talking, even I could work out things were not going the way BorrusiaSaan had planned. Let's just say the girl was not as keen as he was, and our poor German colleague was a bit gutted at this. Sad, but utterly hilarious for me sitting listening to him getting shot down. I considered trying to film what could well be one of the lowest points in my friend's life, and maybe send it to his parents like the good friend I am. The camera being too far away, I decided to just sit there and quietly chortle.

BorrusiaSaan was growing in confusion, and the conversation across the room was now basically him repeating, "WTF...?" every so often. Hostel entertainment at it's very finest. He eventually decided he'd had enough, and in a heart-warming display of chivalry, the gentleman informed the young lady that he would like her to leave and find her her own way home. So basically she had to leave the hostel room at 2.30am, in the dark, try ignore the Scotsman creasing himself with laughter on the bed opposite, and find her friends in the nearby pub. Not the best of nights for her or BorrusiaSaan, but one that was brilliantly entertaining for me. 

I did manage to witness a fantastic method of acquiring yourself a taxi as well. We were looking to grab one asap to head into the valley (area where pubs and clubs are) and we were struggling. JingleLad decides to take matters into his own hands and simply runs out screaming in front of the next taxi he sees, like a nethanderthal chasing a rabbit. Unsurprisingly, the taxi quickly sped off and left us again stranded. He informs us the next time he'll plan it better. As the next taxi is going by he's already in the middle of the road, ready to meet it head on. It was like a massively unfair game of chicken, drunk human versus metal car. The taxi driver veered to the right to ensure he wouldn't run JingleLad over, but our boy had anticipated this and made the same move. This carried on for a couple of seconds until the driver eventually stopped and told us to get in. JingleLad was proud as punch with himself after that, and now heralds this strategy as a foolproof way to get a taxi. Still, can't really see him promoting that to Duncan Bannantyne in the den. 

We've came up with a challenge for Christmas Eve as well. The objective is to see who can wake up in the most random place imaginable on Christmas morning. So far, there's 12 people signed up from the hostel, with targets being named as the jail, hospital, a golf course, or Sydney. Could be interesting. One of the Welsh lads isn't too fussed about where he ends up, he's just aiming for distance and trying to get as far away from the hostel as possible. Be pretty difficult for him to get back as well, public transport not being the best on Christmas. I thought a class scenario would be if you went home with someone and ended up having to spend a very awkward Christmas day in their house, trying desperately to make light conversation through the turkey dinner. I really hope that happens to either BorrusiaSaan or JingleLad, that's all I want for Christmas. 

We've also unearthed a slightly illegal way to make money as well over here. It's not JingleLad returning to his earlier employment selling his body, but this time him utilising his musical talents in Brisbane City Centre. He's been out busking with the bagpipes, and making a small fortune doing so. However, the only bad point about this is apparently you need a license to busk in Brisbane, which of course we don't have. We did some minor mathematics last night and worked out at his current rate, if he starts at 9, makes $80 an hour, get caught and fined $300 by 2pm, we're still comfortably winning. All in all a good days work and a fair contribution to the polis' night out, which they can only be happy about. 

Have a good Christmas! 

Ding ding ding!

They glared at each other through the drunken mist, each one matching the determination and aggression of the other. Their blood was up, and the rest mist had firmly descended. Were you to ask one of them what the reason for the feud was, they would struggle to tell you, all that mattered was the next move. Eventually the moment came, and one of the combatants lunged forward...

That, was a wee artistic reconstruction of the end of our Monday night. I must admit, although both myself and JingleLad were involved, most of the details are second hand. The reason for this is that if you combined the states of 'steamin', 'gassed' and 'completely pure meltit' you may just about comprehend the condition of us two on Monday. Undoubtably the worst yet in Australia, and not a condition we'll match again willingly. Apparently we decided to have a boxing match in the small hours, always the thinking man's choice. We have no recollection of that whatsoever. 
I managed to culminate my pleasant evening by sleeping on top (not inside which would have been the sensible option) of a bus stop. Believe me, I was a bit confused when I woke up and the ground was 7 feet away from me. To add to my confusion, JingleLad was nowhere to be seen, and it was bright daylight. About 7am if memory serves. The working populace of the town (I have no idea where I was) were up and making the commute to Brisbane city. I take solace from the fact I would have at least made for an interesting topic of conversation throughout the early morning rush hour. In my own unique way, I'm actually just doing my bit for the community.

JingleLad (Sherlock Holmes, Wikipedia, an IPad 7 and a bag of those tablets from 'Limitless' would not be able to work out how he got home) was found face down on the road outside the hostel by one of the friendly Welsh hobbit-people This was about 4am we're told, so he was making good time on me. I was probably falling off a tree at this point, trying to reach the bus stop roof. He was helped carried up the stairs where he collapsed in the common room. He was awoken by the cleaners at 9.15, still completely blazing, and the brave young trooper made it to his work for a 8 hour shift. A collective round of applause please. I asked him later on if anybody said anything to him for being late, to which he replied "How would I ken? Ah wis only there in body."

One of JingleLad's main features is his comic outlook on life. There were two brilliant examples of this that i'd like to share with you. The first one was at that party on Monday, when he observed:

"Look at this man, they're all trying their hardest to get drunk and we're trying our hardest not to. We know how this is going to end up though..." 

In the room after finding an odd sock:

"Andy can you smell this to see if it's clean, I cani mind if I've.... (Use your imagination lads, apologies girls)

So that was Monday evening, a charming account of our time in Australia. In other news,  I've discovered a few interesting things about Aussie's from my time working in a bar over here. Cast your memories back if you will, to the lads/girls holidays the majority of us 80's urchins have been on. Destinations included Magaluf, Malia, Zante, Ibiza etc. Remember in the shop, buying your ammo for the evening ahead, you spot that concoction called Ouzo? Aye, pure mingin stuff, and usually used that night as some sort of forfeit. Australians drink that stuff, for pleasure. I was in the bar and someone ordered an Ouzo and lemonade, I politely inquired if he lost a bet, and he looked at me like I was the nutter. Either that or like the vast majority of people who drink at my work, he didn't understand a single thing I said. Some of the customers are genuinely scared of me when I start joking loudly with them and speaking slang, a fact that only spurs me on. There's one old boy in particular who if I'm the only one available to serve, he'll patiently wait on one of the Australians to free up, so determined is he to avoid the strange foreign oddball. One day though folks, one day I'll get him. Then it's fake Gaelic speaking time again. In a Jimmy hat, with face paint on.

Had a bit of a dispute with the tax authorities in Oz as well. They were over-taxing me massively, and today some strange money just appeared in my account. I tried to give them a wee buzz just to ensure this was them fixing their balls-up, and not some Christmas money from anyone. I was promptly told on the phone I was in the que, and my wait time was 90 minutes. Well that's just smashing isn't it chaps, what was I meant to do if Bargain Hunt was on in 10? Nicely of the tax office though, after me holding on for a bit they hung up on me. Considerate fellows, however they'll be getting no Christmas card from me. 

Speaking of money appearing in your account, that reminds me of a story I heard about another traveller. He was in Thailand and utterly skint, so he bites the bullet and calls his dad for a dig out. His dad erupts with laughter upon hearing the request, and yells the following down the phone:

"AHAHAHAHA you were the tit that wanted to go traveling, told yi it was a stupit idea! Nae joy pal!" 

He then played and sang along heartily to the song 'King of the Road' before hanging up. Classic.

And that's the latest update people. Christmas is approaching, although very different here in the sun. Looks like for JingleLad BorrusiaSaan and I it'll be a festive experience in a hostel, which could either be a really good laugh or as depressing as a bad result on an STI test. 
Nah it'll be sweet, we'll just buy cold turkey meat and instant gravy, problem solved. Cheerio for now folks, and Merry Christmas to everyone!

Sunshine in December

Bonjour people, another wee update of life in Bris-Vegas. Off work today so just been chilling out by the lagoons, which are the artificial beaches smack bang in the middle of the city. It's not a bad place to spend a day, and naturally in the sunshine there's plenty for the red-blooded male to gaze upon, trees and suchlike.

We were dragged into the pub the other night, and decided to try our hand at the quiz. The main prize was a trip to Fraser Island, although that of course required you to answer the majority of the questions correctly. Realising our chances of achieving this were somewhat remote, we decided to concentrate our efforts on winning the prize for the best-named team. In a pub full of like-minded miscreants, we knew our effort would have to be pretty risqué to win. After a few brief suggestions we settled on an idea, and so 'The Joseph Fritzel Supporters Club' boldly entered the quiz arena.
As our team named was announced to roars of laughter, we thought we had it in the bag. We were debating what shots to purchase with our winning bar tab, when all of a sudden our doom was announced. A few brave gentlemen had adopted a truly charming name, and were worthy winners of the competition. Should you ever be in need of a legendary shout in a pub quiz, feel free to copy this particularly poetic title:

'If Your Old Enough to Crawl, Your Already in the Right Position.'

Boomtown. Fantastic team name. Unfortunately they never won the quiz, although safe to say they swooped the bar tab with aplomb.

That same night in the pub (a planned quiet one I'll admit) developed into a few small incidents worthy of mention. A brief time after the quiz, we were drinking away and the banter was flying. For some unknown reason, the topic of discussion turned to the subject of war, and the nasty nature of it. Never one to miss an opportunity, JingleLad gave our German companion a slight ribbing for WW2, and the misbehavior during such. A bit close to the bone I thought, but you couldn't deny the comic effect of every 30 seconds JingleLad saying "Naughty Naughty!" in a Borat voice. He's a funny man, but unlikely to be the Scottish representative to Brussels anytime in the near future.

In all seriousness though, the German lad who was with us is one of our good friends, and the second person to be absorbed into this blog. We'll refer to him as BorrusiaSaan throughout, and he may well feature heavily as he's planning on getting a flat with us two. 
I'm confident if you avoid the spew and odd patch of blood on the floor you'll feel right at home in our gaff. What a charming abode it shall be.

Aye anyway, so we headed out that night. To say we were on a budget is putting it mildly. We had about $2 between us, and with a pint costing at least $6, you needn't be Stephen Hawking to calculate we couldn't afford a drink. So there was only one thing for it, a full night of minesweeping! For those of you unfamiliar with minesweeping, it involves basically acting like a jaekie all evening and stealing any unattended drinks for yourself. 
Now don't get me wrong, JingleLad and I were not proud of this, it was not our finest moment. But really, what would you do in our situation? It's not as if we couldn't go out, that would be silly.
So we had to spend a full evening on the minesweeping. And if your going to do it, you might as well do it well. There is an art to this activity. JingleLad and I are somewhat experts at it, and I hate to admit I say that with a small degree of pride.  I would say times were bad, but that's actually not too outrageous in comparison to some other stories I've heard from fellow backpackers. 

If I can drift slightly off-track for a wee bit, allow me to tell you a tale I thought was particularly amusing. BorrusiaSaan, JingleLad and I were walking about the famous Coles (supermarket) one day when we bumped into one of our crazy Welsh compatriots from the hostel. The lad was waking about the shop munching away on a chicken leg, nothing too mental there. We said our hellos, and he chummed about the shop with us for a bit. During this 15 minute wander, he helped himself to a kebab, a chicken sandwich, an apple, and another chicken leg. Absorbed in our debate over whether or not we could push the boat out and get non-value beans, JingleLad and I never really noticed this and it was left to the ever astute BorrusiaSaan to question the Welshman's intention of paying:

"Fuck no lads! I'm a bit skint right now, so I just comes in here and has a little bit of a wander and some food yeah. It works out better than paying for it eh!"

So with that in mind, I feel a good bit better about the whole minesweeping thing. It's still not ideal, but I'm sure when we have some flexible income we'll pay back those drinks with interest. 

Just a few other brief stories to update you with. I managed to get battered off a keg of beer, which I hail as an achievement even for myself. I was downstairs in the work one day changing a keg, happy days so far. Then the horrible bugger threw a bit of a tantrum and squirted a good three pints worth right in my face before I eventually got the handle down and shut it up. I was shocked, drenched, and upset, and promptly threw a solid right foot at my nemesis to teach it a lesson. This was a minor error of judgement, and it is safe to say the keg came out of that situation a great deal better off than I did. I was left standing meekly in front of a fan trying to dry off nursing a throbbing foot, not really feeling like the smartest man alive. 

And in the last update of this chapter, I attended a Movember party just a few days ago. This was a smashing affair, the usual drink and music combination again working out well. It did however mean I had to keep the tash for a few days longer than required and get a few funny looks, but those were nothing in comparison to what I got upon heading home from the party. 
After a few beverages, we all get some odd ideas in our head. The one that entered my mind that Friday evening was especially stupid. I decided it would be humorous to quickly shave my tash into what could only be described as a Charlie Chaplin tribute (or a Hitler mo if you will). Funny at the time all agreed, many pictures were taken and a few suggestions I might not be quite the full shilling. It did not however make for a pleasant 2 hour journey home on public transport, with more than a few criticising looks aimed my way. I elected to employ a solid measure of self defense, put the Prodigy on the iPod full blast and bark/slobber at anybody who looked at me too long. Before long those old women kept their eyes to theirselves, and I was off in search of Mr Gillette. All in all a good night though.

That's about it at the moment, the 3 of us on the flat hunt pretty heavy just now. Also, it looks as if I will definitely be visiting New Caledonia, and two other nations out on this trip, but that's an update for another time. 
Pretty different to the normal Christmas spirit out here as well with the constant sun, feels more like we should be gearing up for music festivals. But remember folks, it's not really Christmas till they're wearing Santa hats on RedTube! 

Rough

As I write this, my mouth is as dry as Gandhi's flip-flop and my head feels like its been fired from a cannon. Sair times.

I've remembered there were a few stories I forgot to include in the last update, other intelligent things JingleLad and I got up to on our wanderings...
We were in the pub with a mental crowd of Welsh people, we're gibbering away and alls going well. Then a few of the Welsh people start rabbeting on in their own language (very similar to Elvish ) while one poor Welsh guy doesn't say anything and just looks lost. He doesn't speak Welsh, so the rest of the group like to take the piss a bit and he doesn't understand a word of it. It was a weird situation, and also our inspiration for a wee bit of banter on our next night out.

Fueled with the notion of how another language could be useful to us, we headed out to one of the busier bars. After a tense coin toss, JingleLad was confirmed as the guinea pig. For the rest of the evening, he could no longer speak English, but only Scottish Gaelic. Not that either of us can actually speak Gaelic, but we've found that a few throaty noises and a straight face will easily convince Australian girls otherwise. Magic. 
So we went off to try JingleLads luck, minus the basic advantage of coherent speech. Bold as ever, off he went to a group of girls in the bar. After the inevitable linguistic presented themselves, he waved me over to translate:

"Sorry my mate here doesn't speak English, only Gaelic. He was saying hello to you all, and that he likes Australia alot." 

"Oh really!? He doesn't speak English? But you can understand him though?"

"Aye, it's quite common back home actually. He's in Oz so he can learn English and get a job over here"

"Oh cool, I wish I could speak another language! It sounds really nice."

JingleLad jumps in with a smile and a blast of rapid 'Gaelic':

"Chracccter ooft have arrrggghhh showwo!"

"What did he say to me just there?"

The opportunist that I am, I jumped into wingman mode:

"He said you have beautiful eyes."

"Ohh, that's so sweet! Can you ask him to dance with me?"

And that, was that. Even we were surprised at how well that worked. Also, it doesn't matter how drunk you get when you can only speak fake Gaelic, it's not as if you can slur the words.

We've had the kilts on the go as well, a few nights out in them. Not for any particular reason other than they were the only clean clothes we had left. Putting a laundry on can take several hours out of your day, that was a stress we simply didn't need.

In other news, one day we were walking about the wealthier part of town, South Bank. It's all beautiful lagoons and expensive restaurants down there so naturally we blended right in. As we're walking along, some guy asks us if we want a free haircut. We reply we wouldn't mind aye, so we follow him back to this salon. A relaxing massage and a shampoo before someone chopped our mullet, while we sat drinking coffee and wondering what the catch was. There was none, just because they were in training we now get our hair cut there for free. For the paying public, that stings them $85 apparently. And we've to go back in a few weeks and they'll do it again. Winning. 
Strangely enough, the gay guy that worked in there had a great response after hearing we were Scottish. "Ah, Buckfast!" The boy knows his fine wines.

Bit of important news received today, Bargain Hunt is coming to Oz! That program is class. I think it'll be great watching old people arguing over the price of a dijaridoo. 
We've also found arguably the most important shop in Brisbane, one that has a plentiful supply of cold Irn Bru. When your rough and it's a roasting hot day, there is nothing better than a cold can of Skud. 

I've joined a gym in the city as well. The first time I walked in I was a bit perplexed to say the least. Strolled in to see 2 massive lads high-fiving each other while 300 was on in the background. They were also topless. My first thought:

 'Well...This is a bit gay."

Turned out it wasn't 300 on, just an advert for that new movie The Immortals. Never really worked out what those chaps were all about, but I thought best leave them to it and maintain a healthy suspicion of white substances. 

That's about it really, just working away and trying to save some money so we can get our own gaff, and shift from the hostel. Having our own place here would be sweet, that's next on the agenda!

Brisbane - Where boys become men

Bris-Vegas. Whoever came up with that term, that's the least of it.

It is some place. It's a combination of beautiful girls, cheap beer, sunshine, $2 steaks, and more Irish folk here than in Dublin. 
JingleLad and I did well when we first arrived. We knew our funds were low, so we lived like minky students for a few days. It was pasta, cereal, and cheap sausages combined with a steadfast refusal to even consider the pub. That was easier said than done when you appreciate our hostel is right above the cheapest and arguably best pub in Brisbane. The pints there are the cheapest in town, and just last evening the entertainment for patrons was a wet t-shirt contest. And they give away free food. Honestly, we had to shut our eyes every time we walked by the place.

So armed to the teeth with cv's, JingleLad and I hit the street. I handed out about 60, and he broke 70. Strangely enough, we both got jobs without the use of cvs. I walked into a busy wee pub, had a bit of craic with the gaffer, and 2 mins later I was employed. 
JingleLad sells his body on the streets. Thus far he's raised enough funds for a family sized bag of Doritos. But we've got a more socially acceptable job lined up for him on Monday, working in a call centre. He's going to be one of those people who calls you and tries to flog you stuff, and with the accent and his slight lack of patience, it could be interesting:

"Haw mate... How yi doing sur? Ur yi up fur buying some toner fur yer printer?"

"Excuse me?"

"Toner fur yer printer like? Yi wanting some aye?"

"I have no idea what your saying mate."

(JingleLad to manager) "This phones no working hen, the boy says he cannae hear mi."

(Manager sighs) "Just like the 5 phones before yes?"

Aye it should be a laugh that one.

But anywho, as you've maybe guessed our absence from the pub could not go on forever. So one Friday night after I finished work, we treated ourselves to a bag of goon and had a laugh in the hostel. We then headed out to go galavanting (we left the hostel at 1.30am) and god knows when we got back. JingleLad had a wee adventure of his own. He met some Welsh lads and ended up...... (answers on a postcard please). 
We started with a bag of goon on the Friday night and finished shaking in a pool of sweat Wednesday morning. Those few days are a whirlwind of beer, strange women, and beer. The daftest thing we accomplished during this time was climbing one of the tallest bridges in Brisbane and belting out Flower of Scotland while traffic whizzed by below. Some of the drivers gave us hoots on their horns, no doubt as proud of our achievement as we were.

Met a few interesting chaps as well during this time. One of the best was a random Irish lad, during which the subject of conversation was Australian visas. JingleLad was talking about his adventures in the sticks, grafting away for his second year visa. Traditionally after being here for two years on a working visa you head home, and back to the real world. 
This Irish lad however had been here for three and a half years. He informed us he was on an Irish visa. For anyone unfamiliar with this term, allow me to explain. Irish visas are very accessible, and granted to almost anyone. It simply entails staying in the country until the relevant authorities find and deport you. What could possibly go wrong? 
The lad insisted the government knew he was here, and simply watched his bank account fill up every Friday and disappear by Sunday. A true hero of society, giving his all to tackle the financial woes of the day. We need to get a few of these visionaries to Greece, sort the bother out in no time.

Another thing that happened during our binge. We were in a bar that was hosting the ever popular ladies night. This essentially involved any of the lads that were brave enough to get on stage and strip for the adoring women, amidst much cheers and cat-calls. As we were out with the Welsh boys, we felt obliged to step up and do our best to represent Scotland. 
However, JingleLad and I had our own spin on the stripping. We simply stood up on stage, walked to the group of girls, and mooned them. This did not go down too well with the girls, but we were hailed as heroes amongst all the fellow lads at the bar. And everyone knows, lads banter takes priority over girls opinions. It was in the bible.

And that's how life in Brissy has been going so far. We've calmed down since Wednesday, right now we're both just chilling and watching some very poor Aussie television. Working again tonight which is handy for the wallet, and planning another major Sunday session. I still need to get down to the Gold Coast at some point, and hopefully Byron Bay after that. I'll keep you updated. Meeting the Brisbane RSC on Sunday so that could be notable. 

Moree

Well, that was an experience. 

Got to JingleLad safely and crashed up in Moree for a few days. What a place that is, completely the middle of nowhere. It was more like the wild west than anything else, seeing mad cowboy lads going down the street on horses is a common occurrence. Despite the fact it's easy to get work there, its just not worth it. Makes the raptap look civilised. 

So after a braveheart style speech about how class Brisbane would be and how we'll get work there no bother, I've convinced JingleLad to risk it with me on our meagre funds and hit the city. It's completely all or nothing, because if we run out of cash (a good possibility) then its a job on a farm in the blistering heat surrounded by flies. Yippee. 
On the funny side, it could be interesting watching JingleLad acclimatise to city life again. He's been out in the sticks for about a year now, and may get a small fright when he sees a building taller than 12 foot high and not made from wood. Be a good change for us both though to see nice girls again as well. This will be slightly different from Moree where the local 'beauties' look like Lord of the Rings extras with less teeth.

We did however manage a few little adventures up in Moree. We had a few nights on the finest Australian wine (a bag of goon) and then we'd hit the pub. One night, things got completely out of control and the local pub stayed open a FULL 5 MINUTES beyond the customary closing time of 12pm! I tell you, it was wild. 
There may have even been a particularly heated game of pool on between the locals if memory serves. Most likely, the wager was someone's prize mule, hence the serious nature of the contest.

But in all seriousness, tradition is tradition so we went hell-for-leather on the Saturday night. We were in the pub scooping away with the regulars, the atmosphere a pleasant one. Being the charming twosome that JingleLad and myself are, we afterwards invited to a house party. The locals were quite keen to hear more tales from our youth: fighting giant wolves in the snow, hunting haggis, and how we build our igloos. At times like that, keeping a straight face can be difficult.
So we accompanied the orcs back to their den for aforementioned 'party'. JingleLad and I decided to split our forces and wished each other the best. Things were going well. I went upstairs and chatted away, and watched some girl completely deck it and sprain her ankle. She could  hardly walk (easy meat). After having a wee look, I saw bruising coming through along the bottom of her foot, so suggested to the locals it might be ligament or tendon damage. I was immediately declared a witchdoctor and made a hasty exit.
Downstairs I went and encountered JingleLad challenging what was possibly the male Orcs to various drinking competitions. He seemed to be doing well. He was managing to combine both acts of jabbing his finger in their faces, and downing his bag of goon. Needless to say, this wasn't received too well and there were a few scowls. This situation progressed nicely until one of the chaps decided enough was enough and skudded JingleLad in the face. Down he went. Being the good pal I am, I stepped in and also got a whack for my efforts.

Now at this point, you may be thinking things were not going well for us. I feel inclined to agree. However it could have been alot worse. Somehow, JingleLad's Canadian friend spotted all this and ushered us away in his car before we were properly in trouble. Also turns out the gentlemen we were boxing is the local drug dealer, so happy days all round. We gained a few bumps and they gained their first sight of a motor vehicle, so a fair trade really.

So away we go to Brisbane to try our luck in one of Australia's biggest cities.  If we get jobs quickly, we're sorted and won't have to go back to the bush. We have made a slight embellishment to JingleLads CV in the hope of finding work. It states only does he have a degree, but he was also employed for a year at the luxurious resort, The Rob Roy Spa and Retreat. Anyone who has been to The Roy Rob may understand 'spa' is not an entirely honest description.
In other news, it was a bit of a shame my last night in Moree was blighted by the fact I had to get down on one knee and offer JingleLad my beer. And he's got a picture of it.
He's a cheating prick at cards.

Good luck to all my mo-bro's. Next stop, Brisbane...

GOOOOOAAAAALLLL!

Reynolds 2-1 Australia.

You've got to slay a few dragons before you reach the princess.

First week

Hello all! Theres been a few wee stories to update you with. Mainly, I found myself in one of those stupid situations I've been promising. It wasn't on a night out though which was an unexpected change from the norm. I'll fill you in shortly but for now I'll let you know the plan for the upcoming weeks.

At the moment I'm on a train from Sydney up to a little town called Moree. It's  on the map (apparently) and surrounded by what looks to be a bit of a desert. Right in the middle of nowt. The reason I'm heading into the wilderness is one of my good mates ventured into this area about 16 months ago, and hasn't been seen since. I'm off to find him. The rescue party consists of myself, and the small army of Asian people on this train. Cèsuo zài nali! (Chinese War-Cry)

Yep, I'm off to meet the one known as JingleLad. He's insistent that there's alot of work going in this area he's at, and that I'd get a job in seconds up there. So with a small degree of trepidation, I've dived into a 9 hour train journey to test his theory. 
In the land of the kangaroos, a job is a complete necessity. This is because everything costs about 3 times as much as it should. My suspicions were first aroused upon ordering a pint, the barman donned a mask before he asked for the $8. Infact, it wasn't even a pint! 
But in retrospect the wages here are upped up massively from what we get at home, so once employed that issue should fade away into bleary-eyed oblivion.

The trip to the capital city of Canberra turned into a good wee night out. The 21st was class and much merriment was had by all. Towards the later hours, we boosted into the city centre to partake in some discotheque with the local populace. Thanks to TopCat's cousin, we were on the guest list for one of the bigger nightclubs and stumbled on in. If I may, allow me to regale you with a delightful conversation I had with one of Canberra's local girls in said nightclub: (Bear in mind, I had been drinking for quite some time and this was towards the end of the night...)

Attractive girl: "Oooo, your wearing a kilt, are you from Scotland?"

Andy :"WHAAARAAAAY HEN! Scholannnd ayee min! Heegarrrish mouzzzic!" (Hello there, nice to meet you. Yes I am indeed from Scotland, are you enjoying the music?)

Girl: "What did you say? I couldn't really hear you?" 

Andy: Drrrrrriiikkkkssshhhh! Abilibol idyls shoo meeeeya! (Ah, my apologies. Can I buy you a drink and we can have a social chat?)

Girl: "Are you okay?" 

Andy: "WHA'S IN CHERGE HERE!?" (Swinging drink about the air)

Pissed-off girl with drink on her face: "Your an idoit."

There indeed lie the dangers of getting a wee-bit too merry. However, it was a fun experience for all involved. Apologies to the next lad in a kilt who tries to chat up that girl, you've got your work cut out for you. 
Despite not representing our homeland too well in that particular instance, I did hold the door open for an elderly lady the very next day. So I now feel we're even Australia. It's 1-1 after the first leg.

Now for the situation I was on about earlier. As I might have said in earlier chapters, TopCat and I were giving surfing a go. We decided once day to head to a more scenic beach, one which was rumored to be more beginner friendly. This ladies and gentlemen, was the biggest misconception since people thought Hitler was 'just a wee bit mental'.

We were out in the waves, TopCat surfing successfully and me getting tossed about like a cat in a tumble dryer. That is pretty much the norm when we go surfing. The problems started when I went to put my feet down onto the sand and instead felt a bit of rock. Okay, no danger there we were still a fair bit away from the rocks, I'll just start swimming over the other direction. So swim I did.

And move I did not.

We were caught firmly in a 'ripcurrent' (I had few other words for the force dragging me towards sharp rocks) and heading straight into trouble. So I flapped about unsuccessfully for a few minutes and realised there was nothing for it, I was going into those rocks like it or not. As the stupidity of my predicament dawned on me, I started laughing away like an idoit. Happily upon impact, there was no real damage apart from a few scrapes and bumps  (moan the wetsuits) and we got out intact. Once back on the beach I was proudly telling TopCat how I had protected his board, and it didn't get a scratch. Wrong. Snapped fin and a good few bumps and dents.

 His experience wasn't too great either, he got dragged along the top of the rocks via his rear-end. Alls well as ends well though, and we live to fight another day.

And that, is about it for now. I'll drop another update from the metropolis of Moree (assuming they have Internet) in a few days and we'll see what this town has to offer. Movember has officially began as well, and in keeping with the rules TopCat and I had the final shave on 31st October. Now begins my feeble attempt to grow some facial hair.

Arrival in Koala-Land

Well, I successfully made it to Australia. The journey wasn't too bad, watched about 4 movies and a ton of Friends. On a side note, if anyone hasn't seen The Hangover 2, it's worth a watch. I was a good few glasses of wine down by the end of the movie, and was buzzing for a party after watching the antics of the lads in the movie. Thus I attempted a wee rave in my chair with David Guetta blasting out the iPod. Cue disapproving looks from the old dear sitting next to me.

But, I made it safe and sound in the end. Was picked up at the airport by a good friend of mine, who for the purpose of this blog we'll refer to as TopCat. The reason for the alias is it's very likely I'll get in a few stupid situations out here, and an alternative name stops my friends (who may well have been responsible for said 'situation') from being judged in the same fashion as I, as a work-shy alcoholic reprobate.

So it's been a case of catching up on sleep for the past day or so, and sorting out all the boring stuff like bank details, phone numbers and building a boomerang. The weekend however could be interesting. It's a wee trip to Canberra (the capital of Australia) on the cards in celebration of TopCat's cousin reaching the ripe old age of 21. The plan afterwards is to attack the nightlife of Canberra, and see what impression we can make armed with a kilt, a condom, and a story about Ruaridh Ferguson. (Ed's note, only a few will understand the reference to Ruaridh Ferguson. Rest assured, he's a good lad).

And that's pretty much it for the moment folks, hope things are going well back home. I did attempt surfing this morning, my first real Aussie experience. It's a good laugh, although I found it rather difficult to concentrate fully on the task at hand. The fact I spent 2/3rds of my time looking for sharks was undoubtably a distraction. If a wee shark had wondered along I wouldn't really fancy my chances. The shark's speed, killer instinct and razor sharp teeth, against me with piece of wood and a 'Help for Heroes' bracelet.

Speak to you in a bit.

PS: Not long until Movember kicks off.

The preperation stage...

Good afternoon folks, somewhat inspired from a friend of mine I have decided to create a blog to charter the events of my visit to Australia. Early ambitions for myself include learning to surf, checking if the toilet really does flush backwards, and box a kangaroo. Hopefully this will be a useful way of ensuring I am indeed still alive should I disappear into the outback with an Aboriginal clan.

I think it's sensible for all that I get a small disclaimer out the way early doors. This blog will very likely be read by my parents, and other members of the Reynolds herd. For all our dignities sake it's probably best I don't include ALL grisly details of nights out in Australia. Unless of course it ends in hilarity. Rest assured, I will make every effort to beat my personal best (for reference see 'Magaluf 07') but I may need to inform some of you in a more discreet fashion.
Keeping this kosher will be probably be good in more ways than one. It should make it a lot more difficult for the Australian police/border control/upset girl(s) to extract the information they're looking for. Everybody's a winner!

One thing I am concerned about over in the land of Oz is the price of everyday items, like beer, wine and spirits. I'm told a crate of beer can cost as much as $45! I am not looking forward to handing over that money. I'm more used to my time at university, where an expensive night out was classified as anything other than buying the £3 bottle of onion cider for your pre-game.
Another thing I'll need to get sorted early doors is a job. Hopefully this blog can allow everyone at home to read about any humorous line of work I may find myself in.

But that's pretty much it at the moment, just a case of getting everything sorted and hoping I get on the right plane. The next installment will most likely be once I'm actually in Australia. Hopefully this place is as good as it looks. With sun, sea, and 4 litres of low-quality wine for $10, it's a promising start.