Mad, Bad and Dangerous to Know

Before I left England, I had in my mind a list of some of the places that I wanted to see while I was over here.  One of those places was Byron Bay, which I finally staggered into late last Sunday.

Getting here was quite a mission.  A wise man would have checked the journey time before booking accomodation at the other end.  A wise man would have seen that, due to the rather stately speed of Australia's trains, it took thirteen hours to travel from Sydney to Casino, the nearest station.  A wise man would have then booked the overnight train, leaving himself plenty of time to get to the station for departure, saving himself a nights accomodation and letting him find his hostel at the other end during daylight hours. I am not a wise man.  I am a tit who almost missed his train through sleeping in and had to peg it to central station carrying a full backpack with no socks on my feet.  Thirteen hours is a good while to spend on a train.  I passed the time by pretending that I was on the Hogwarts Express.  Then I remembered that I'm a grown man, and so instead passed the time by pretending that I was on my way to a workplace synergy conference, where I would get too drunk and end up having shameful, mutually unfulfilling sex with Margaret, the horsey faced woman from my office, before returning home to a wife I can't even stand to be in the same room as any more. Then I tried to get some sleep.

Byron itself is a very nice, attractive seaside town.  It obviously makes it's money from tourists,but is nowhere near as crass as Cairns, that other stop off on the back packer trail.  The beach here was voted the sexiest in the world, ahead of such big names as Bondi, Malibu and Skegness, though the overall sexiness probably dropped a few points when I waddled onto it with my shit hair and permanently running nose.  I have a vague ambition to try surfing at some point, but the constant rain has put me off the idea a bit (I realise that water from the sky shouldn't really be a deterrent for an activity that involves jumping into the sea, but there you go).

The hostel I'm staying at is teaming with Goddamn Hippies.  Which is fine, though I myself do not make a particularly good hippy, I suspect I'm too uptight.  It's pleasant enough though and has all the amenities you could want and even some you might not, like digeridoo lessons.

In the interest of interest I took a day trip up to Nimbin.  Nimbin, for those that don't know, is a small village a few miles outside of Lismore.  The place was dying a slow death when students held the Aquarius Festival.  Since then it's found a new lease of life as a haven for Goddamn Hippies and is Australia's unofficial weed capital.  The inhabitants seem a fairly politically active bunch, but only about Marijuana legalisation.  Marijuana is, of course, as illegal there as it is everywhere else in the country, but if one where inclined to partake of the herb one wouldn't find it especially hard to get hold of and I must have been approached by dealers a dozen times in the twenty minutes it took me to walk down the main street.  After a little while it became slightly irritating and so ducked into the Museum of Nimbin which was cool enough, but rather appropriately slightly unfocused and rambling.  Also - and I'm not sure if this is worth mentioning - but there was a lot of three legged dogs around.  I counted at least three in the two hours I spent in this community of a few hundred people.  By way of contrast I counted exactly zero in the six months plus I spent in the teeming metropolis of Sydney.  I don't want to be casting aspersions here, but I think... *looks around to make sure no-one else is listening and drops voice*... I think the hippies might be eating them.

Tomorrow I head on up to Brisbane.  The Splendor in the Grass Festival kicks off in Byron this weekend and as such there is no room at the inn.  I am therefore clearing out of town for the duration of the cool alternative music festival, but shall be returning in a weeks time for the more cerebral delights of the annual writers festival.  This probably says more about me than I'm willing to admit.

Love and Fishes

Dave Denton.

P.S.  I have received news from Bob.  Having gone through weeks of negotiations with our former employes in Queensland, they have now agreed to sign him off for seven days a week he's legally entitled to as opposed to the five they originally gave us. With the additional days we worked in Tasmania this puts him a few days shy of the 88 he needs to extend his visa.  Whether he's still going to fly all the way to Griffith and then fly back again a few days later remains to be seen, but it seems likely that I will be seeing him again before I leave.

Off On Me Todd

Finally I have finished at DealBoard.  It's not the hardest job I've ever done, the people there were pleasant enough, but I have never been so embarrassed to have my name associated with a company.  I have shaved off the penance beard that I grew during my time there and now feel able to greet the sunrise with words other than "fuck my life".  In one of those things that remind you that, despite it's ludicrous size, Australia is in some ways quite a small country, my position is being taken over by Ollie - one of the Brummie lads who was staying with us at the Blue Parrot.  Out of courtesy I did actually email him when I saw he was interviewing for the role, letting him know how bad the company is at what it does (how bad, you ask? * stretches arms out as far as they can go* This bad), but the guy needs the money so can't fault him for taking it.

We were out in a place called Croydon last week for Tia's birthday.  Bob, who knows her better than I, was charged with present buying.  He got her a sky diving trip - which is quite easily the most ostentatious thing I've bought for someone who is, essentially, a casual acquaintance. Also went out to Newtown mid week at the request of Erin, who was joined by Louisa, a girl we'd met last year, and Caitlin - a girl that Bob knows previously from Canada and who he seems to believe is his nemesis - though she showed no signs of reciprocating this antipathy.

Bob is still questing for additional farm work.  At one point it looked like his work was going to put him in touch with a farmer in the hunter valley who would sign him off for the days he needed without him actually having to turn up.  Unfortunately this fell through and he's going to have to get his hands dirty again.  He's managed to secure a tree planting, tending gig at a place called Griffith.  He's flying out there via chartered aircraft a week on Monday (cue flying doctors theme tune).

As I've only got five weeks left I won't be going with him.  Instead I'm heading north tomorrow, up towards Byron Bay for a couple of days.  After that, don't really know, but I suspect Brisbane for a week or so before back to Byron (assuming I like the place) for their yearly writer's festival.  Bob may or may not be joining me again, depending on how soon he gets the days needed.

This is a bit of a concern in that, as I've noted previously, I can be cripplingly shy and sometimes it helps to have someone like Bob around who has verbal diarhea.  Primarily though, the only real bummer, is that he's me best mate and it would have been nice to see more of the country with him by me side.

Never mind.  13 hour train journey tomorrow.  I shall buy a bumper colouring book and a big pack of jellies to make the time pass quicker.

Love and  Fishes 

Dave Denton

Even Cowgirls Get the Blues

The cold that will not die still lingers.  I estimate that at this point my body is 90% snot and whatever the purpley grey stuff I've been coughing up is.  I also haven't been sleeping much.  One of my roomates has a mechanical monkey that only comes out at night to throw crackers at an indian guy and it keeps me awake with its incessant robot chirping.*

It's July 4th.  A day when Amercans everywhere eat barbecue, drink beer and try and pretend that demanding people pay taxes was the worst thing the British Empire ever did.  Of course anglo-australian relations have never really deterioated into the shooting each other in the face stage, our dfferences primarily being articulated through cricket sledging and Mel Gibson killing us in films of varying quality.  As such the big thing here was the fnal day of the State of Orgin series.   I was hoping for a New South Wales win, this being the state where I currently live and have spent the most time.  Unfortunately Queensland won again, making this the seventh series in a row - which'd depress, except I don't have any real emotional investment.

I've handed in my resignation at my job.  This was earlier than I planned, but more than one person has commented that it was making me seriously unhappy.  At the end of the day  got tired of being made to feel like a complete dickhead every time I answered the phone and being paid peanuts for the privelige.  Luckily it's the end of the tax year here so I am, theoretically, going to receive a large(ish) wad of cash as soon as I can be boshed to fill out the appropriate forms.

Me and Bob met up with Erin down Newtown, who has just finished various exams.  It was nice to see her again as we only saw her for a few minutes at Tia's tea party thingummy.  

Went and saw Prometheus by wor Ridley the other day.  There's potentially a very good, intelligent film there.  Unfortunately it's hidden behind a slightly stupid film where earth's top scientists prod alien hell beasts to see what happens and a ripped Lord Voldemort beats up a young guy in old guy make up... because...because... *film makers shrug and distracts audience with tentacled vagina monster*

Love and Fishes

Dave Denton

P.S. Happy birthday to wor fatha who patiently endured my drunken ramblings when I finally manage to ring him, and congratulations in advance to Alice, the littlest sistah, who is graduating shortly.

* I am aware that this is probably something I imagined as I lay sprawled across the border of the waking world and dreams, but part of me really hopes it wasn't