It's Sunday and I'm blogging because I made a promise before I left that I would. Events back home mean I'm flying back. Therefore this will be my last post. Thank you to anyone who's taken the time to read it.
Love and Fishes
Dave Denton
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Art for Art's Sake
Summer continues to slowly stagger into Sydney. For every afternoon of grey downpour we now get a morning of blazing sunshine. The streets smell of evaporating rain, coupled with a tang of brine that blows in from the ocean. Blossom covers the trees. A couple of weeks ago it was a violent, electric blue, but it's now mellowed to a bruised violet.
Following my (I hope) out of character drunkeness last week, I had the opportunity to witness somebody else's drunken shame on Tuesday. The American gentleman in question managed to pass out at 9pm, was put to bed, climbed into another guys bed, pissed everywhere, climbed into at least two other people's empty beds and then, once he'd regained consciousness, staggering round the room, sighing and trying to start an argument with the guy whose bed he'd been using as a toilet. Not wanting to share a dorm with the smell of piss, me and Bob went for a wander round the block. This wouldn't normally be noteworthy save for the slightly pie-eyed opera singer we came across who had decided to give an impromptu performance on the street corner. Despite obviously being in the middle of a night out she was brilliant and got a standing ovation from us, her friends, the restaurant patrons across the street and the people who'd come to listen her from their balconies. This is the sort of thing that you tend not to get in County Durham and the sort of thing that makes me glad I came.
Having tired of the hostel routine me, Bob and a Canadian lad named Kyle went down Darlinghurst for a change of scenery. Ended up in a rock pub that's more in tune with our collective sensibilities than the high heels and testosterone vibe that predominates in many areas of the cross. It was fun. More importantly it was different.
It's generally agreed that change is a great remedy for any sort of existential funk, such as the one both me and my traveling companion have found ourselves in. It's not escaped my notice that all I seem to have been doing the past couple of weeks is go to work, go to sleep, go out for a drink on the weekend. I made a point of visiting the Gallery of New South Wales on Saturday. They've got a Picasso exhibit on at the minute that I thought might be worth a squint. Unfortunately the overwhelming majority of Pab's work were only viewable by paying money that I don't have. Instead I contented myself with the rest of the gallery's collection. In truth, the pre nineteenth century collection ain't all that, although they have their share of Rembrandts and Rubens etc. The twentieth century collection is much better though and I spent a pleasing couple of hours wandering round.
There's also a fine collection of work by various aboriginal and Torres Straits artists. I got told off for taking a picture of one. Damn the Man.
Today we went to the Outpost street art festival that's being held on Cockatoo Island. Despite the name, the islands actually a disused industrial complex that can only be reached by ferry. It's a fantastic place to hold an exhibit. Canvases and installations are arranged down tunnels dug through rock, next to rusting industrial machinery, in the centre of empty warehouses and painted directly on to the skin of the complex itself. The art itself is witty, crude, irreverent and chaotic. My previous knowledge of street art doesn't really extend beyond Banksy and that person what does them space invaders and that. They also had ping pong. Cool as pants. Unfortunately, due to laundry related complications, we had to leave after what felt like half an hour. We will be back. And next time we'll bring sandwiches.
That's if I can afford sandwiches. My agency back in England never paid my accrued holiday pay into my account, which combined with a CPP payment that I wasn't anticipating has tipped my English account, which I never intended to look at for the duration of this trip into the red. I've now accrued several hundred dollars of charges, despite not spending a penny from the account.
When I'm in charge the bankers will be the first against the wall. Then it'd be me next, for being such a wally and allowing myself to get into this situation.
Love and Fishes
Dave Denton
Following my (I hope) out of character drunkeness last week, I had the opportunity to witness somebody else's drunken shame on Tuesday. The American gentleman in question managed to pass out at 9pm, was put to bed, climbed into another guys bed, pissed everywhere, climbed into at least two other people's empty beds and then, once he'd regained consciousness, staggering round the room, sighing and trying to start an argument with the guy whose bed he'd been using as a toilet. Not wanting to share a dorm with the smell of piss, me and Bob went for a wander round the block. This wouldn't normally be noteworthy save for the slightly pie-eyed opera singer we came across who had decided to give an impromptu performance on the street corner. Despite obviously being in the middle of a night out she was brilliant and got a standing ovation from us, her friends, the restaurant patrons across the street and the people who'd come to listen her from their balconies. This is the sort of thing that you tend not to get in County Durham and the sort of thing that makes me glad I came.
Having tired of the hostel routine me, Bob and a Canadian lad named Kyle went down Darlinghurst for a change of scenery. Ended up in a rock pub that's more in tune with our collective sensibilities than the high heels and testosterone vibe that predominates in many areas of the cross. It was fun. More importantly it was different.
It's generally agreed that change is a great remedy for any sort of existential funk, such as the one both me and my traveling companion have found ourselves in. It's not escaped my notice that all I seem to have been doing the past couple of weeks is go to work, go to sleep, go out for a drink on the weekend. I made a point of visiting the Gallery of New South Wales on Saturday. They've got a Picasso exhibit on at the minute that I thought might be worth a squint. Unfortunately the overwhelming majority of Pab's work were only viewable by paying money that I don't have. Instead I contented myself with the rest of the gallery's collection. In truth, the pre nineteenth century collection ain't all that, although they have their share of Rembrandts and Rubens etc. The twentieth century collection is much better though and I spent a pleasing couple of hours wandering round. 
There's also a fine collection of work by various aboriginal and Torres Straits artists. I got told off for taking a picture of one. Damn the Man.
Today we went to the Outpost street art festival that's being held on Cockatoo Island. Despite the name, the islands actually a disused industrial complex that can only be reached by ferry. It's a fantastic place to hold an exhibit. Canvases and installations are arranged down tunnels dug through rock, next to rusting industrial machinery, in the centre of empty warehouses and painted directly on to the skin of the complex itself. The art itself is witty, crude, irreverent and chaotic. My previous knowledge of street art doesn't really extend beyond Banksy and that person what does them space invaders and that. They also had ping pong. Cool as pants. Unfortunately, due to laundry related complications, we had to leave after what felt like half an hour. We will be back. And next time we'll bring sandwiches.
That's if I can afford sandwiches. My agency back in England never paid my accrued holiday pay into my account, which combined with a CPP payment that I wasn't anticipating has tipped my English account, which I never intended to look at for the duration of this trip into the red. I've now accrued several hundred dollars of charges, despite not spending a penny from the account.When I'm in charge the bankers will be the first against the wall. Then it'd be me next, for being such a wally and allowing myself to get into this situation.
Love and Fishes
Dave Denton
Sunday, November 13, 2011
In Which Our Protagonist Makes a Surprising Discovery and a Small Man's Hat Provides the Vital Clue
Had another work's do on Friday. Well it was meant to be a work's do. The majority of the work faction dropped out and, as there needed to be a minimum number of people, Lavi, my team leader, recruited various relatives instead, so I was essentially at someone else's family reunion. I have not somehow become good at bowling since the last time I played. The place was classier than the bowling alley I used to work at, with a distinct absence of spotty charvas drinking white lightning outside the entrance. Ended up in the karaoke lounge. A mic was thrust into my hand and I was asked to sing Living on a Prayer. The noise that came out my mouth was not singing as such, more the lowing of a depressed cow as it is led to the abattoir. I blame the choice of song.
Bob was off wining and dining a young lady. However, it wasn't a date. Or maybe it was. He was a bit confuddled over this point prior to leaving and remained so upon his return. Regardless he's meeting up with her again in the near future, with a promise to teach him to bake. This seems to indicate that she enjoys his company. This is just as well, as I predict Bob will be shite at at baking.
Because I suck and will probably remain single until Britain has sunk the sea, I did nothing so interesting yesterday, and instead stayed in the hostel. Had a few drinks. I was a bit drunk. Correction, I got drunker than I have been for years. The sort of drunk where the world lurches from side to side and the only noise you can make is a slippery rush of vowels, words now being beyond you. I cannot stress enough that this wasn't intentional. I can normally gauge how much I can drink tolerably well and I'm long past the age where drinking till I pass out holds any sort of attraction. I would like to blame food poisoning or some other factor, but unfortunately I'm going to have to chalk it up to me being a wanker. I somehow managed to make it to my room. At which point I spewed. This may count as my lowest ebb thus far and I am not my favourite person at the minute. Luckily today's hangover has managed to block out the sense of shame that I can feel squatting at the back of my mind like a toad.
The moustache is still present. I call it Arthur and have got into the alarming habit of stroking it when lost in though. I am counting down the days till I can shave it off. I have gained a new pair of glasses, which apparently make me look like Jarvis Cocker and lost the USB charger for my e-reader, which is, it must be said, a bugger.
I'm sure other stuff's gone on, but at the moment I'm too groggy to remember them.
Love and Fishes
Dave Denton
Bob was off wining and dining a young lady. However, it wasn't a date. Or maybe it was. He was a bit confuddled over this point prior to leaving and remained so upon his return. Regardless he's meeting up with her again in the near future, with a promise to teach him to bake. This seems to indicate that she enjoys his company. This is just as well, as I predict Bob will be shite at at baking.
Because I suck and will probably remain single until Britain has sunk the sea, I did nothing so interesting yesterday, and instead stayed in the hostel. Had a few drinks. I was a bit drunk. Correction, I got drunker than I have been for years. The sort of drunk where the world lurches from side to side and the only noise you can make is a slippery rush of vowels, words now being beyond you. I cannot stress enough that this wasn't intentional. I can normally gauge how much I can drink tolerably well and I'm long past the age where drinking till I pass out holds any sort of attraction. I would like to blame food poisoning or some other factor, but unfortunately I'm going to have to chalk it up to me being a wanker. I somehow managed to make it to my room. At which point I spewed. This may count as my lowest ebb thus far and I am not my favourite person at the minute. Luckily today's hangover has managed to block out the sense of shame that I can feel squatting at the back of my mind like a toad.
The moustache is still present. I call it Arthur and have got into the alarming habit of stroking it when lost in though. I am counting down the days till I can shave it off. I have gained a new pair of glasses, which apparently make me look like Jarvis Cocker and lost the USB charger for my e-reader, which is, it must be said, a bugger.
I'm sure other stuff's gone on, but at the moment I'm too groggy to remember them.
Love and Fishes
Dave Denton
Sunday, November 6, 2011
GroMoNo
We are currently in the midst of Mo'vember. For those that don't know, this is a world wide charity event in which participants grow (or - just as often - attempt to grow) a moustache. As such I'm currently rocking, if that is the right word, a luxuriant carpet of pure masculinity on my top lip.
Honestly, it's not really a look that I am able to pull off and I suspect that it makes me look like a cross between a slightly confused Kevin Kline and a sex pest. Somebody did say it made me look like Dave Grohl the other day - which was nice, I guess. Somebody else said it put about ten years on me - which was less nice. Nevertheless, I am committed and shall have to endure the itchiness and the disquieting feeling that I have crumbs stuck on my top lip for the next three weeks. Bob is also partaking and has gone for the handlebar he's had previously.
Got taken to one side at work. Apparently I'm doing too much work and, when in future I've done all the work assigned to me, rather than asking for extra stuff to do, I should instead insert my thumb into my arse and whistle (note: this may not be the exact phrasing used). I now spend five hours a day staring listlessly at my computer screen, mouth hanging loosely open, eyes glazed. Next week I'll probably start laying minesweeper and solitaire, because I'm just mental like that.
There was a bit of panic at the beginning of the week. After weeks of waiting, it became apparent that Bob's immunosuppressants had somehow disappeared between Blighty and Oz. For those unaware, this situation is of the sort that gets filed under Big Fucking Deal, as he needs these so he doesn't fart out his transplanted kidney, turn purple and die (or something similar. I don't know. I'm not a doctor). After being assured by the British Post Office that the package had landed here ages ago and by Australian post that they had received diddly and squat, he contacted home base to get fresh supplies sent express delivery ASAP... at which point the missing drugs arrived (natch). Luckily a visit to the pharmacist revealed that items like prednisone and fauxnamezine can be got here at a price that ain't cheap, but at a price that wouldn't necessitate the sale of a limb.
Not really much to report other than that. Number of people went surfing. Couldn't join them because of work. Korbi returned rocking the burns victim look. Temperature is steadily increasing. It now hurts a little to go out without sunglasses. It's Schoolies at the moment (Aussie equivalent of Spring Break) and we found ourselves at a club rammed with 18-19 year olds who like to shout 'Whoooo!' a lot. Alone, tipsy, feeling slightly old and very aware I'm rocking the worst tache since Stalin, I ended up kissing the same girl that I had at the beginning the trip. As far as I'm aware, there are no pictures this time. Sat in the botanical gardens yesterday enjoying the weather, doodling and reading. Bob showed us the casino where he works. It's very shiny and modern and smells of wealth and desperation. There is also the world's greatest cake shop (a title I do not bestow lightly). One was in the shape of the catbus from My Neighbour Totoro. If you don't know what that is, then congratulations, you're cooler than me, along with 6,999,999,998 other people on the planet (Because fuck you Paul Reubens. Loser)
Love and Fishes
Dave Denton
 |
| Me: Yesterday |
Got taken to one side at work. Apparently I'm doing too much work and, when in future I've done all the work assigned to me, rather than asking for extra stuff to do, I should instead insert my thumb into my arse and whistle (note: this may not be the exact phrasing used). I now spend five hours a day staring listlessly at my computer screen, mouth hanging loosely open, eyes glazed. Next week I'll probably start laying minesweeper and solitaire, because I'm just mental like that.
There was a bit of panic at the beginning of the week. After weeks of waiting, it became apparent that Bob's immunosuppressants had somehow disappeared between Blighty and Oz. For those unaware, this situation is of the sort that gets filed under Big Fucking Deal, as he needs these so he doesn't fart out his transplanted kidney, turn purple and die (or something similar. I don't know. I'm not a doctor). After being assured by the British Post Office that the package had landed here ages ago and by Australian post that they had received diddly and squat, he contacted home base to get fresh supplies sent express delivery ASAP... at which point the missing drugs arrived (natch). Luckily a visit to the pharmacist revealed that items like prednisone and fauxnamezine can be got here at a price that ain't cheap, but at a price that wouldn't necessitate the sale of a limb.
Not really much to report other than that. Number of people went surfing. Couldn't join them because of work. Korbi returned rocking the burns victim look. Temperature is steadily increasing. It now hurts a little to go out without sunglasses. It's Schoolies at the moment (Aussie equivalent of Spring Break) and we found ourselves at a club rammed with 18-19 year olds who like to shout 'Whoooo!' a lot. Alone, tipsy, feeling slightly old and very aware I'm rocking the worst tache since Stalin, I ended up kissing the same girl that I had at the beginning the trip. As far as I'm aware, there are no pictures this time. Sat in the botanical gardens yesterday enjoying the weather, doodling and reading. Bob showed us the casino where he works. It's very shiny and modern and smells of wealth and desperation. There is also the world's greatest cake shop (a title I do not bestow lightly). One was in the shape of the catbus from My Neighbour Totoro. If you don't know what that is, then congratulations, you're cooler than me, along with 6,999,999,998 other people on the planet (Because fuck you Paul Reubens. Loser)
Love and Fishes
Dave Denton
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