The shit call centre job in Sydney has not, at this point in time, materialised. This is not for lack of trying. I have a slightly rumpled suit, an easy smile and an air of slightly desperate willingness. Bob was initially pinning his hopes on finding work within the hostel, which wouldn't have paid anything, but would have given him his accommodation free. Unfortunately he lost out to a French lass name Laury and so is now sending out CV's to respective employees. He is doing this somewhat begrudgingly, but, given that his skill set is infinitely more marketable than mine (which amounts to being able to draw a really good cartoon of a confused looking child holding a banana) he should be sorted as soon as he can be arsed to commit to it with any sort of energy. Still, I've had a couple of interviews so far and the situation is still far from desperate.
In the interim I've continued with the general tourist thing: going to climb the bridge, noticing its $140 cheaper to climb the pylon and doing that instead. Midweek we met up with Erin again, who was showing Tony and Sarah from Canada around Sydney before they returned home. We caught the ferry to Taronga Zoo which gave me the opportunity to take the requisite photos of lions and tigers and bears (oh, my!). The penguins were hiding, which saddened me, but I saw a platypus, which pleased me and learnt their offspring are called puggles, which delighted me. I have yet to locate a photo of a kangaroo with it's knob out for Michelle. I shall have to make her one myself.
The rest of the week has been spent pickling my liver on goon. Goon, for those unfamiliar with the term, is cheap Australian plonk. It comes in a large box, costs about $10 and will make you blind if you drink enough of it. It does, however, serve the primary purpose of all alcohol, which is to be a social lubricant. True, drunk Dave is only slightly more outgoing than sober Dave, but, man, does he like to dance (though that didn't help him even slightly with the lass he spent two nights trying and failing to cop off with).
The week culminated in a fancy dress party that I had been trying not to think about. This was in order to wave goodbye to Chris, the hostel's entertainment officer, who is a good lad and camper than Butlins. It was, in fact, a laugh. The theme was Disney and the costume choice was Merlin. This proved to be one of those choices that sounds simple (bed sheet, pointy hat, fake beard, sorted), but actually proved a complete arse. After fumbling around with needle and thread for the best part of an hour Aurora, one of the girls in the hostel, took pity on me and helped me knock together a half decent robe. Thanks to her I didn't spend the night bopping around with my boxer shorts on display. For this I am eternally in her debt.
Next week promises more of the same, or maybe less of the same or maybe something completely different. We shall see.
Love and fishes
Dave Denton
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