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

Stack 'Em High Sell 'Em Cheap

It's raining in Sydney and I've been full of cold longer than I care to remember. 

I've managed to stick at the new job for two weeks now.  Although everyone I'm working with is canny enough I can't say that I'm that impressed with the company.  My job is essentially damage limitation.  What the company does is source goods from overseas and sells them in Australia at a discount.  All well and good.  What they don't tell customers until after they've paid is that there is a 2-10 week delivery period.  What they don't tell them ever is that 2-10 weeks means 10 weeks - which, because things go wrong, often stretches to 12-16 weeks.  If you think that waiting a huge chunk of a year to receive a product that you paid for today, only to then find it's a cheap Chinese knock off that often doesn't work, is all kinds of bullshit then, congratulations, you're pretty much in agreement with everyone I've dealt with.  Add in the fact that I've not really had any training and don't have access to a lot of the information that I need to do the job and I'm exhausted.  It also transpires that one of my colleagues has been dumping part of his workload off on me, either out of laziness or crossed wires I'm not yet sure - which I'm less than happy about.

Bob, on the other hand, has been in his job a week and has received a pay rise, the jammy bastard.  He now earns $235 dollars a day despite doing (his words, not mine) absolutely fuck all all day.  I can't help but regret that I've never taken that much interest in the world of computers.

Paddy and John, fellow inmates from the caravan in Walkamin, have staggered broke and bleeding* into town, having had marvelous adventures in a camper van up and down the east coast.  They're now living in County Bondi with approximately fifty percent of the population of the emerald isle.  Went out for a few swift pints with them yesterday.  Well, we had a few swift pints.  They drank half the pub.  They were very happy when we left them.

We're moving out of Kings Cross to a place in the city centre tomorrow.  Will be glad to go.  There's nothing especially wrong the place we're at, save for a very narrow kitchen and a curious profusion of Italian charvas, but for some reason my entire time here I've felt like I've been in the way.


*may be a slight exageration.

City of Lights

For the fourth time since leaving the UK, I am now gainfully employed.  This time it's for a company called DealBoard as a customer service and administration manager.  It basically sounds like I'm going to get shouted at all day by people who're annoyed that their electric butter knife is late being shipped out.  There's also a small issue in that the position is permanent and - barring some sort of intervention by a higher power - I'm getting kicked out of here in about 12 weeks.  I therefore had to, well, not lie exactly, but be slightly conservative with the truth in order to get the position.  I'm feeling bad about this as they seem a canny bunch, but unfortunately finances dictate that I'm going to have to be slightly ruthless.

Bob is also employed.  He in fact got a job approximately half an hour after me, which was pretty much the perfect outcome for him as it meant he got to prove wrong my assertion that he'd find work before me without having to undergo any undue stress or money problems.  He's working for the star casino, the same company as he was last time he was here, only this time as a floor walker.

We returned briefly to the blue parrot yesterday.  It was the youngest of the Harrison brothers 20th birthday, so we felt it was only right to go and make an offering of tequila.  The place is more or less the same as it was when we left it, except that most of the faces had changed (naturally).  That said there were a number of people there who I'd apparently met back in January who I didn't know from Adam - though given where my head was at the time, this probably isn't surprising.

We're in the middle of the Vivid festival.  It's basically the same as Durham's Lumiere festival only played out on a far larger scale and in a place that people might have actually heard of.  It's also national reconciliation week, where every white Australian is required by law to cast their eyes to the ground, awkwardly kick at the ground with one foot and have a bloody good think about what they did*.

Currently feeling slightly homesick.  The weather is very reminiscent of England in that it is constantly pissing down.  Never mind, it'll pass.

Love and Fishes

Dave Denton.

* Please, please, please note that I don't want to make light of the often abhorrent treatment of Australia's indigenous population.  Rather at the wishy washy tendency of modern politicians to offer apologies and kind words for past wrongs, rather than any sort of tangible effort to tackle the very real and visible problems that continue to blight many of these communities.  I accept that societies need to talk about these issues openly and frankly, but if all your doing is talking, then what you're essentially doing is indulging in a sort of smug, liberal circle jerk.

Only an Idiot Returns to the Scene of a Crime.

I am experiencing deja vu.  We are once again back in Kings Cross, in Sydney, in desperate need of work.  As stated previously the rational behind this move was that we should theoretically be able to find regular work with relative ease.  This seems to be proving the case with Bob, who has already had an interview and been told off the record that there should be a position pressing buttons and shouting at computers available to him if she want it.  I have had somewhat less interest.  Luckily I have firm, high buttocks and a pretty mouth, so if worst comes to worse I can always sell my body for spare change and jelly babies.

Happily Bia and Liana, ze two german girls that we met on the  Great Ocean Road tour are here, so we are currently cramping their style by hanging around with them.  We're also meant to be meeting up with Erin and Tia this coming weekend.  The former is hosting some sort of tea party to raise money for cancer charities.  I don't like tea, but I hate cancer more so I suppose I will be donating.  Till then I shall content myself searching for jobs and taking photos of all the things that I didn't the first time round.

Love and Fishes

Dave Denton

I Knew I Shoulda Taken Dat Left Toin at Alberquerqe

Hello from Tasmania. You should come here.  It's windy.  You won't find me here though, as I'm leaving in the next few days.

We landed in a small city called Devonport.  It's one of those Australian towns that consists of a splatter of low rise, low density housing that eventually gives way to a few strips of drive thru eateries, before spluttering into a half hearted city centre and then falling uncerimoniously into the sea.  Bob likened it to Chester-le-Street, except with a port, and in all honesty he's not far wrong.  It's not a bad town, nor is it a good one.  It's one of those places people come from, rather than go to.

The hostel, on the other hand, is a bit shit.  It has the clinically threadbare air of a second rate care home, is at least five degrees colder inside than out and the hob in the kitchen is so crap I am unable to boil water on it.  Oh, and it smells a bit.  They did, however, help us find work on a nearby farm peeling leeks, plucking carrots and getting very, very muddy.  It was bloody cold work, but easy and compared to the banana farm the atmosphere was much more positive. 

Unfortunately we're only employed on a casual basis, which means that we could work forty hours a week or we could work six.  This became an issue for two reasons.  Number one we received our visa extension forms back from Greg, our employer back in Mareeba (henceforth known as "the fat prick").  For reasons that I am charitably putting down to incompetence rather than maliciousness he has credited us with working fifty three days rather than the eighty four we're legally entitled to or the fifty eight that the fat prick initially said he'd give us.  This isn't much of an issue for me as I don't intend to extend my stay, but it's a kick in the nuts for Bob.  Secondly, Bob's English bank have shafted him, removing his overdraft without informing him and charging him a small fortune for the privilege.

Therefore the work we've got is not going to be enough to get us either an extension on our visas or allow us to save enough for further traveling.  Bob therefore wants us to return to the mainland, where he's confident that he can find a fairly well paid computer doctor thingy job with a minimum of fuss. Personally, I'm leary about leaving paid employment as I don't share my traveling companion's confidence that I'll find a new one.  But if I stay here I'm essentially going to be doing little else but tread water for the remainder of my time.

It's a bit of a shame though, as I quite like Tasmania (or the little I've seen of it anyroads).  It's very green and reminds me of England.  The rest of Australia seems to have two cliche's about here.  Number one it's climate is subartic (which is melodramatic bullshit) and number two it's inhabitants are weird.  I don't know if the latter is true.  Beardier? Yes.  Given to a slightly more *ahem* husky build?  Perhaps.  But generally the people here seem incredibly genuine and friendly.  That said I did pass a wifey the other day, feeding a mob of seagulls through her car window with a spoon, which struck me as a tad unusual.

So it's been a bit of an abortive exhibition. Never mind.  On to wherever.

Love and Fishes.

Dave Denton

P.S.

Here is a short educational film about Tasmania: