In Which I Cheat Death Yet Again

I have recently developed a routine of slouching listlessly around, hungry, bored and deeply worried, aimlessly wandering to a random location, sighing deeply and then wandering somewhere else.  The work I do for my accommodation doesn't provide much distraction either.  This morning I was asked to paint a room which I couldn't get into, using a pot of paint that didn't exist.  I would like to say this is unusual, but it really isn't.

However my self pity fuelled moping was rudely interupted by news that me and Bob now have work.  Come Sunday, we hop onto a bus bound for somewhere called Mareeba where we shall tend the curved yellow fruit that the aboriginal inhabitants of this land refer to as a "banana".  We have been repeatedly told that this is the dirtiest and hardest of all the various harvesting jobs, so hurray - I guess.  There was also the initial worry that we'd have to hump the bunches around (average weight: 90kg.  Bob's weight in his shoes and socks: 70kg), but apparently the fruit isn't yet ripe so we'll primarily be tying and tethering and whatever other things one does to bananas.  Sing them to sleep perhaps?  I confidently predict I will be profoundly sick of banana's on a level I can't currently comprehend three months from now.

But it is work.  More important yet, it is paid work.  This is a relief.  I currently spend about half my waking hours fantasising about the food I will buy once I have money in my bank account, once I've indulged in the unbelievably decadent luxuries of doing my laundry and getting a haircut.

Korbi won't be coming with us.  He has fallen in love with a girl from the hostel called Poppy.  The German method of courtship appears to be pester a girl and keep trying to put the lips on her until she gives up and lets you.  This went on till about six in the morning, at a volume that made it impossible for anyone else in the room to get any sleep.  

In other news, yesterday was Australia day.  Congratulations Australia.  Of all the countries I've been to, you are, without doubt, the Australiest.

If You've Got no Money, Honey, We Got Your Disease.

Greetings from Cairns.  It is flat and green here.  And hot.  Oh so very hot.  First off, apologies for the lack of updates.  This is mainly because I no longer have easy access to free internet and lack the necessary funds to use an internet cafe.  In fact there's a lot of things I lack the funds for at the minute, having reached a truly epic level of skintness.

This is down to an inability to find paying work.  Me and my companions have had the bad fortune to land in the area at a time when the new fruit picking season has been delayed due to environmental factors.  To be fair to ourselves I did ring the Harvest information hotline - a government service designed to help people find agricultural work - at least half a dozen times to research conditions in the area and elsewhere, but they must be some of the most obtuse people I've ever spoken with, giving such great gems of non advice as "Yes, fruit is grown in this area" and "you could try looking for work here, but bear in mind other people will also be looking at the same time".  Ultimately staying in Sydney simply wasn't an option so we had to make a move regardless and hope that fortune favoured us upon our arrival.  Unfortunately I had forgotten that me and fortune are not on speaking terms at the minute.

I should take this opportunity to say that I like Cairns.  I really do.  Architecturally there's not much to write about, consisting predominately of boxy, prefabricated structures that have an oddly ephemeral feel about them.  But the surrounding environment is gorgeous.  The city is surrounded on three sides by rain forested hills and mountains, clouds roll lazily over their peaks.  On the fourth side is a very blue sea - though, contrary to what you might expect, no beach.  Green is everywhere and the sun is so bright it hurts to go out without covered eyes.  The city itself is unashamedly a tourist town.  There's any number of opportunities for a young, dumb and full of cum backpacker to enjoy him or herself. That is, there is if you're not flat on your arse broke.

After an initial stay at a place called Gilligans (which Bob keeps referring to as "Gillians", which annoys me far more than it really should), which was basically some sort of backpacker super resort, we found work at a hostel on the edge of the city in exchange for free accommodation and an evening meal.  Bob now hands out flyers - though he did do some IT work instead yesterday, Korbi works behind the bar at the hostel, which has about three patrons, while I'm doing general grunt work - painting, weeding, lugging rubbish around, gardening etc.  It means there's no immediate prospect of us being made homeless or starving to death and it does seem that it's the best we're going to get until the season changes and we can start making money again.

That said, the travel agent Bob hands out flyers in front of asked me to draw up two chalk signs for them.  They seemed pleased with the results and paid me fifty bucks for about seven hours work.  Although I've had work puplished etc. before, this is, as far as I can recall, the first time in my life that I have been paid for my work as an artist.  So, cool beans there then.

Hopefully when I next write, the situation will have changed and I will have left, or be on my way to leaving, the bread and water diet behind me.  And if not - hey! - at least I'll be skinny.

Love and Fishes.

Dave Denton