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!
Monday, 28 November 2011
Friday, 18 November 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, 8 November 2011
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...
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...
Sunday, 6 November 2011
GOOOOOAAAAALLLL!
Reynolds 2-1 Australia.
You've got to slay a few dragons before you reach the princess.
You've got to slay a few dragons before you reach the princess.
Wednesday, 2 November 2011
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.
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.
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