AUSTRALIA

8th December 2004

I wake at 3.45am for a shower and to leave the dorm to catch a shuttle bus to the airport and my flight over the Tasman Sea to the European city of Melbourne. The scenery over the snow capped mountains surrounding Mt. Cook on the west coast is superb before we leave New Zealand behind. The weather in Melbourne is damp and humid. I catch the shuttle bus into the centre and struggle with my ton of luggage whilst waiting at a pedestrian crossing. I suddenly recognise a lad walking down the other side of the street so when the lights change I run after him. It turns out to be an Ozzy guy who used to work in Leamington; again, a small world. I share a taxi with him to the trendy suburb of St. Kilda and manage to sweet talk the receptionist at the Pint On Punt backpackers to allow me to leave my kit there until later in the evening after I have met up with an old mate from Jag who I will stay with. I catch one of the trams north back into the city and chat to a young local lad who is performing as a hoop jumper and acrobat in the nearby circus. He tells me he never pays for the tram and that I should do the same. I get off in the centre, after a free ride, and hunt down the Canon service centre to learn that buying a completely new camera may be only slightly more than the repair. After lunch in one of the many noodle bars, I speed walk the wet streets, dodging suited office workers, stopping at used car garages and backpacker notice boards in search for some cheap wheels. At 5pm I am knackered and read the paper with a beer outside one of the cafes down one of the characteristic, narrow alleys. Failing to get in contact with my mate, I grab another free tram ride back to St. Kilda in the vain attempt that he has returned from work. I resort to sitting at the bar, dangerously adjoining the backpackers, and chat with bar staff about the country. At 7.30pm, I walk off along Marine Parade to Riva bar on the waterfront to meet Claire, Mozza and Claire’s physic friend, Kylie for sundowners and a pizza. I luckily get in contact with Jon who comes to join us with his housemate, Paul, before their late night five-a-side football league match. After the delicious pizzas, Kylie very kindly drives me to the football where I watch Jon sail a few over the crossbar before heading back to his apartment.

9th December 2004

I get up from my inflatable mattress on the sitting room floor when Jon leaves for work. The tenth floor open plan apartment overlooks the sea and is superb. I jump into my board shorts, catch the lift down to the indoor pool and wake myself up with a hundred lengths. Back in the apartment I surf the Internet for used cars and listen to thunder and rain outside. The weather here is proving so changeable. At 6ish, I meet Paul’s girlfriend and her sister, who are both also living here, when they return from work. When the lads return home we catch the lift down to the tennis court and knock a ball around in the hot evening sun. After a glass of red wine on the huge balcony, Jon and I walk off to his friend’s flat for their regular Thursday night bottle of red and pizza. His friend Kerry used to work for Land Rover so she knows lots of my old work mates. The evening spent munching delicious pizza, guzzling red wine and struggling with Ozzy Trivia Pursuits is great fun and the fact that this is Jon’s preparation for an interview at Ford tomorrow is even more amusing.

10th December 2004

Again, I get up when the front door closes meaning Jon has left for work and am greeted by a glorious morning. I head straight for the pool for my morning lengths. I reluctantly borrow Jon’s bike to cycle to a suburb south of the city, which is home to most used car garages and markets. After an hour of pedalling I realise why one should always ask before borrowing things that aren’t yours when the rear tyre looks more like a pancake. I fail to figure out how the high tech valve and hand pump work in an attempt to crawl back to St. Kilda and after embarrassingly asking for help in a few garages, I start my long walk back to the apartment. After an hours walking and getting soaked when the heavens decided to open, I find a bike shop and get the puncture sorted. In the meantime, I grab a late lunch and jot down some used car details from the notice board in the very swanky Base Backpackers, getting over excited on seeing an ad for crewing on a 40-footer up to Sydney. I hastily cycle back to the apartment to phone the skipper but the bad news is that they are full. As the thunder sounds outside, I write an update on the laptop and listen to the swish of rush hour traffic on the wet tarmac. When the rain clears I catch a tram into town and meet a German girl who is selling her 1975 Holden Kingswood after touring Australia in it for ten months. The Persian Sand coloured sedan looks awesome and is very tidy for its age and price. After a test drive I fall in love with this Australian icon and wander off very keen. In the evening Jon heads out to a work’s Chrimbo do while I take it easy in the flat and chill with Claire, one of the twins from Leamington he’s living with.

11th December 2004

Jon leaves the flat very early to pick his girlfriend, Lou, up from the airport who has landed from the UK. More research is done on the Internet about Holden Kingswoods before I walk round the corner to view another similar model seen on Ozzy Ebay must decide against buying without a RWC (Road Worthy Certificate). When I return the girls are all on the balcony sipping sparkling wine so I feel it is rude not to join in. Loads of others arrive for a barbie in the evening sun. The tunes get turned up as the sun sets over the Bass Strait and fireworks go off over the city. Later in the evening four of the brave venture down the road to shake the bootie until late.

12th December 2004

After one of the most bizarre days of my life including ‘161’ and ‘Revolver’, I return to the flat after midnight.

13th December 2004

My Father’s 60th Birthday, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD!!!. I wake at midday on the sofa feeling revolting. Lou informs me that the hospital and police were both called during my AWOL yesterday. The day is spent in front of the box watching films and recovering.

14th December 2004

Lou and I venture down Fitroy St. for a coffee and cake in one of the swanky cafés, which line this trendy strip in St. Kilda. The snacks are enjoyed to the sounds of a tramp being sick in the gutter just metres from our table – lovely. We then walk to the beach and sit on a bench to watch the many kite surfers blast along the coast in the strong onshore breeze. Back at the flat I phone up garages for a speedier RWC (MOT equivalent) assessment for the Holden I could potentially invest in. In the evening we get picked up by Rob in his brand new Mini Cooper S and gets whisked to Kerry’s flat for pizza and chat. I spend most of the evening wheezing and sneezing being allergic to her damn cat.

15th December 2004

I need to get back on the road. The seller of the Holden is flying back to Germany tomorrow and the garage she’s booked the car into for repairs and Road Worthy Certificate can only fit it in next week, which is too long. I find a good garage down the road that can do it this week, albeit for more money. I catch a tram into town with Lou and after more tram rides home, due to a nightmare withdrawing cash, I meet Zee German girl selling the car and become the proud owner of a 1975 Holden Kingswood HJ. I fill the beast up for the first time and drop Iris off in the centre of town. A hundred metres down the road I see a line of bright yellow jackets waving vehicles off the road. As I approach a policewoman pulls me over and walks to the window, studying my new investment. ‘Driving license please, Sir’. Luckily I had it on me and hand it over whilst immediately acting like a confused foreigner who’d just landed a few days ago. ‘This is your vehicle, Sir?’ another policeman asks. ‘It wasn’t half an hour ago, but it is now!’ I reply! After being told my license plates aren’t visible they wave me on – this isn’t happening! I drop the car off at the garage and walk home. In the evening we hop in the cars and head off to the Formula 1 trap where the lads play their weekly five-a-side footy league above the pit lane. I take some action photos for them on the touchline as the girls cheer from behind the netting, spurring the team on to a 4-3 victory. Celebratory pints are had in the Pint on Punt pub over the road from the flat before a delicious dinner in.

16th December 2004

Lou and I begin to walk into town up the long St. Kilda Rd. I hate walking slowly so after half an hour suggest we hop on a tram into town. After a wander around and having lunch in a delicious noodle bar, I hand Lou the keys to head home. I spend the afternoon in the sun, speed walking round town, along the bar-fronted Yarra River and through the beautiful Botanic Gardens. On the way home I decide to visit the superb National Art Gallery. When Jon gets back from work, we walk to Chapel St. for dinner shopping and for him to get his mop removed. Lou and I decide not to wait in the barber and head home with the Mexican ingredients for din-dins. I grab some goggles and power out a good hundred lengths of the pool downstairs while Pete whips Paul at tennis. Later, others join us for fajitas before I fall asleep on the sofa.

17th December 2004

The car will be ready at 4pm! In the meantime I pack my things, finish my diary and update and prepare for the off up to Sydney. I pick up the car and knock off a few lengths in the pool before we all head down the road for drinks.

18th December 2004

I manage to leave Melbourne in Harry the Holden before lunchtime and head west through Geelong along the Princes Highway to the beginning of the Great Ocean Road, one of the World’s best drives. It was built between 1919 and 1932 as a memorial to soldiers who died in WW1 and also as an employment scheme for those who returned. I drop down on the road at Port Campbell and stop at its beautiful beach, chat to a random fisherman and fuel up. I have come to the conclusion that Harry has a serious drink problem. The day is steaming hot so various stop offs for walks and photos overlooking strange rock formations and magnificent beaches were short and sweet. The best rock formation is the Twelve Apostles sitting out at sea beyond the rugged cliffs. I stop in the fishing town of Apollo Bay for provisions and crack on to Lorne where I turn off the road onto a steep track up into the woods and amazingly find a designated stop for bush camping. I park up, stick up the tent and get the pasta boiling. After a hearty pasta I get forced into the tent by the swarms of flies and flick through the second-hand Holden workshop manual I picked up in Melbourne.

19th December 2004

I wake early in the bright morning sun lighting up the tent and decide to pack up and crack on. After a brief stop at Anglesea Golf Club in the hope of seeing its large population of kangaroos I press on and pass Melbourne around lunchtime deciding not to drop south into Wilsons Promontory National Park but to carry on along the Princes Highway into the dairy countryside of Gippsland. I stop to ask about bush camping in the region at Bairnsdale’s info centre and jump back into the car. As I cruise down the mainstreet and out of the town studying the map and thinking where to camp I fail to notice the unmarked police car flashing in my rear view mirror. I pull over in a garage forecourt and receive a hefty fine and a patronising ‘Merry Christmas’ from the copper who mentions it’s up to me if I want to pay it or not….ummm?! I drive on, f-ing and blinding out loud, and leave the mainroad down a woodland track to the shores of Lake Tyers and a small clearing in the trees specifically for bush camping. I park up and notice an unfolded paperclip stuck in the rear tyre and suspect the worst. I take the pots and pans down to the water and have a well-needed shave. I am then joined by four ozzy travellers as I cast the fishing line into the mirror lake. I catch two very odd looking fish and knock them over the head before unhooking them, not wanting to handle such a weird looking thing, rather like a catfish. Back up at the car the others have disappeared so I light up the fire, crack open a bottle of wine and get the fish cooking as the sun sets behind me and the lake turns pink. I eat the tasty fish in the moonlight under the noisy trees with the evening wind blowing in. The fire is then extinguished before I zip up the tent and sleep.

20th December 2004

The morning luckily reveals the tyre is fine so I pack up and head along the dirt track back to the tarmac, seeing my first kangaroo bounce across the track and into the trees. I stop in the old-fashioned town of Orbost to fill up and have a chat with a local mechanic about Harry’s drinking problem. Back on the high street I sit outside a cafe in the morning sun for a coffee and muffin and people watch. I chuckle to myself listening to the locals saying ‘Morning Barbara, Morning Geoff’, blatantly knowing every resident and wondering who this strange new face was in town. They all looked like ex gurning champions who had the unfortunate misfortune of the wind changing and there faces staying like that. I press on and decide to stop for sandwiches on the shores of Mallacoota inlet at the idyllic spot of Gypsy Point. After a quick cast I start up the Holden and head off into New South Wales. Just south of Eden I leave the tarmac and drive down a 10km dirt track to the base of Mt. Imlay for a steep and strenuous rocky ascent through woodland for the panoramic view over the coast and dense forests on the Monaro plain. I then feel a bite on my right foot and all the scare mongering by Jon back in Melbourne about all the deadly spiders in the country start me to contemplate whether my minutes are numbered. I speed back down to the car and complete the four hour recommended hike in an hour and a half in sandals. In the car park I have a brief chat with an old couple from Manchester before hitting the road again and spotting a national park campsite sign at the side of the road. I park up and dash straight for a warm shower before cooking and typing up a group email in the dark. As soon as I put my head on the pillow I hear a munching noise outside and carefully unzip the tent to peer out to see a possum sitting on a log just feet away.

21st December 2004

I pack up early and after a shower make a dash for it before the camp wardens arrive to check vehicles and tents for permits. Up the Princes Highway I stop in the delightful small fishing town of Bermagui for a cheese sandwich breakfast before an hours sunbathing on Pebbly Beach near Batemans Bay. More sandwiches are had on the shores of Lake Conjola near Ulladulla before pressing on for another fill up in the town of Kiama and a quick call to Rollo, a good friend from Uni living in Bondi. I crawl slowly into Sydney with the rush hour traffic and easily find the lads’ flat in Bondi Beach. Harry is left in the visitors’ car space and I wander down into the hustle and bustle of backpackers near the beach and wait for the lads to finish work over a schooner of lager. Both Rollo and Jenko are on great form and we meet Benny G for some tapas followed by more beers in The Beach Road Hotel.

22nd December 2004

After Jenko’s delicious muesli we grab the boards and get stuck into a bit of surfing in the white wash of Bondi. After a shower we check out our email and grab a pie from a bronze certificate winning, typically ozzy pie shop. We then grab the bats and have a cracking game of tennis round the corner from the flat in the scorching afternoon sun. I cook the lads a pasta for dinner before we head into Bondi Junction to a bar called The Eastern and meet up with more of the Syndey crowd. We carry on the night upstairs in The Beach Road Hotel before Jenko and I head into town and meet Benny G and work mates in Jacksons on George St.

23rd December 2004

Up at midday for the usual muesli before lunch and some pretty poor tennis. In the evening we go to The Fringe bar to meet some more of the crowd including Anni and Tanya who I haven’t seen since uni.

24th December 2004

We catch the ferry from Rose Bay across the waters to Circular Quay in town with spectacular views of the bridge and the opera house on approach. We meet Rollo and Richie for lunch at a food court and dodge the crowds of last minute Christmas shoppers. I really want to see the Sydney to Hobart yachts so we take Harry to the Cruising Yacht Club (CYC) of Sydney in Rushcutters Bay and get stuck into the jugs of beer and chat to some of the members. The heavens then open and lighting sparks across the skies. We suspect the open air cinema to see Life of Brian will be cancelled so organise a bbq and the film back at the flat instead. Heaps of folk come round for the hilarious night of fun which continues down at Beach Road hotel and the Golden Sheaf pubs.

25th December 2004

We watch TV and body surf in the waves of Bondi before heading to Magnus and Carlin’s flat for a superb evening of delicious food and plenty of wine.

26th December 2004

I wake up on their sofa and head back to the flat. We take Harry to South Head and wave the fleet of Maxis, Whitebread 60’s and other smaller yachts off on their challenging sail south to Hobart. We spend a good few hours on the beach before taking it easy and catching a film at the cinema.

27th December 2004

Nine holes of inconsistent golf takes up the morning followed by tennis and the beach. We meet Richie and Goose in a pub in Surrey Hills before heading onto the backpackers’ centre of Kings Cross. Rollo and I then continue the night in Empire nightclub.

28th December 2004

A blur.

29th December 2004

Jenko and I walk round to Benny G’s to meet another old friend from Uni, Guss, who has just landed for a wedding. We all catch the bus and a taxi into town. I leave them all to have lunch while I walk round the beautiful Botanic Gardens, the awe inspiring Opera House, over the Harbour Bridge and among the narrow old town of The Rocks. I catch a very windy ferry back to Rose Bay and walk back to the flat, briefly bumping into Jenko and Guss walking to play golf. Rollo and I then wander down to a very windy and sand-blown Bondi beach to see if my shoes, which I left their yesterday, are around - unsurprisingly not. With the help of Rollo I piece together the last week and type up my diary. I remain indoors when the lads go out for a meal; neither my body nor wallet can take another night out of the flat. At 10ish Rollo returns with food poisoning so I’m woken to the sounds of him driving the porcelain bus.

30th December 2004

We all wake pretty late and look after the patient for the morning listening to the strange noises erupting from the loo. Jenko and I then take Harry into Bondi Junction, spend half an hour driving round the levels of a multi-storey car park and wander around the sales for a while. We then park the wagon near the Botanical Gardens and jump into the open air saltwater Andrew ‘Boy’ Charlton Pool and knock out a few lengths in the sunshine, followed by a pie at Harry’s down the road. Back at the flat we find Rollo in the loo. Jenko heads off to play some more golf while we watch a surf film on the box and relax. I read up on the East Coast and think hard about a potential future in this awesome city; I really do not know what to do. The ‘Judith’ Garland comes round to pick up Jenko for a night on the toon; I stay strong and keep the food-poisoned Rollo company. I lower the mattress from against the wall and my head hits the pillow shortly after 10pm.

31st December 2004

New Year’s Eve. Rollo remains on the sofa and loo hoping for a miraculous recovery for this evening’s celebrations. Jenko and I take Harry into Paddington to pick up some dress shoes for me from ‘G’. We then grab a latte in one of the many funky coffee shops lining Oxford St. before heading off to the Sydney Fish Market in Pyrmount. We wander around the many stalls, with various seafood on display, ranging from huge red lobsters to massive ocean salmon. We purchase some freshly cooked king prawns, oysters and melt-in-the-mouth raw tuna and sit outside on the steps revelling in the freshness of produce. Back at the flat we sit around until I get restless, whip on the board shorts and rash vest and bare foot it down Kerlewis St. with the board and into the white wash, resulting in a good dunking and a slight improvement. After rustling up a dj and accessories for me from five different lads, we shower and get ready for the celebrations, waiting for the taxi to arrive. At Taronga Zoo, where the ball is to be held, we wait patiently for the doors to open. My mobile then rings in my top pocket when good old Ranger phones to wish me a Happy New Year – good lad. A crowd of people walk up, who Jenko knows and immediately introduces me to, including a certain Miss. Watson from Salcombe who I haven’t seen for six years; a very small world. Canapés and beer from the can are had on the terrace and many random lads and lasses are recognised – again, a very small world. At 9pm we are led upstairs for a magnificent view and a minute’s silence for the loss of life in Asia caused by the horrific tsunami a few days ago. As soon as the silence begins, cheers and bangs are heard from outside, when the nine o’clock fireworks are let off over the harbour – great timing. The food and wine are both fantastic, complimented by a superb live band and some energetic dancing until the proper celebrations are let off over the bridge, opera house and the neighbouring harbours – incredible. At the end of the night I decide to head back up the hill in search of a certain young lady and leave the others behind to catch the water taxi back to Rose Bay. Back at the function centre at the top of the hill, not a soul is in sight resulting in me cursing my stupid, intoxicated decision. A slow jog takes me back down the hill to the water taxi jetty where a random young lady calls out my name and takes me under her wing for the next water taxi back to Rose Bay, James Bond stylie. I walk back to the flat to find only Rollo home alone and hit the sack.

1st January 2005

Jenko returns at 8am and hits the pillow immediately, after drinking at Mags & Carlins into the early hours and going for a ‘hairy’ morning swim in the large swell. We leave the flat at 3pm to sit in a café for a very late breakfast before diving into the surf of Bondi Beach with all the others. Beers are the sunk in the service mens’ club overlooking the beach and money is won and lost on the virtual ‘Keno’ betting game shown on the overhead monitor – I sit out for most of the gambling, being a so-called ‘backpacker’. A few more are had later on in the Beach Rd. Hotel before we retire back to the flat early at 10pm. Jenko heads back to the pub to meet Mags & Carlin while Rollo stares at the box and I type up my diary.

2nd January 2005

Up to the sounds of Rollo in the loo again after a major relapse of the bug. The visiting doctor is called. Jenko and I grab the boards and head down to the beach. I return after a good two hours of getting to grips with riding in the white wash. After a great pasta for lunch we lounge about until 3ish. Rollo heads for bed whilst Jenko and I wander down the road to check emails etc. We all sit around watching more cricket until I get restless and head out to take some photos of the beach and purchase some more shoes after losing my others on the beach the other day. In the evening we leave Rollo in the flat and head to the south end of the sand to Icebergs, a Sunday night riot, not too dissimilar to the Fulham Pitcher & Piano. After some dancing to a live band, Goose and I head off into Kings Cross and the infamous Empire nightclub until the early hours.

3rd January 2005

I wake at midday to discover Rollo’s health worsened over night and Jenko has driven him to the hospital. After lunch we visit him in his bed attached to his third drip, which he is ploughing through due to major dehydration and gastroenteritis. Jenko drops me off at the flat and heads off with G to the gym leaving me to pack my rucksack and Harry before heading into the city, northbound for Palm Beach. As soon as I hit the CBD the traffic ceases to budge due to a cricket match and I sit patiently sweating and watching lagered fans donning ozzy tops and straw hats weaving down the pavement. Eventually Harry and I cross the Harbour Bridge onto the north side and follow Highway 10 past Manly, reaching Palm Beach late in the evening. I phone my old mate from uni, Russ, and park outside his sister’s place where he is currently staying on his short career break. I meet his sister, Lou, and her husband, Steve, and enjoy a delicious spag bol and some beers before an early night’s sleep.

4th January 2005

Up to the sounds of extremely loud kookaburras outside the window and equally loud children playing downstairs. After a shower I venture downstairs, meet the two adorable children, Zak and Georgie, and get accosted into playing farmyard and railway games until we leave, shortly after 11pm. The first stop is for an overcast photo of the surf school on Palm Beach and then up to the over-photographed Summer Bay Surf Lifesaving Club hut. We drop Steve’s lunch off at his office in Newport Harbour and crack on up the Pacific Highway past Newcastle and Taree, eating ham sandwiches and jellied snakes en route for lunch with Head Candy booming from Harry’s speakers. We roll into a very wet Port Macquarie and hunt down a bed for the night. Unfortunately all hostels are full resulting in us reluctantly pitching the tents amongst an entire tented village of holidaymakers in the Sundowner Breakwall Tourist Park whilst the rain lashes down. We chuckle at the amount of chavs (pikies) sheltering under their tarpaulins sipping beers from the huge household freezers they have obviously lugged from home for their week’s holiday. We drive along the main street, decide Port Macquarie could be the armpit of Oz and end up having a burger in the rather aptly named Hog’s Breath pub. After a few more beers around the strange town we head back to camp and discover we have made a school boy error by pitching the tents under an extremely bright street lamp and next to the washing up tap.

5th January 2005

I jump into the surf, crashing onto the beach next to the campsite, in an attempt to shake away the results of a dreadful night’s sleep. We sit outside a café for breakfast and plan the day’s journey ahead, phoning all the hostels in Byron to try and get a bed. We head off up the Princes Highway stopping briefly at Nambucca Heads for some great views of the river mouth and the sweep of sandy beaches. People play in the water and fishermen cast their lines from the brightly painted rocks alongside the path out onto one of the heads. Back in the Holden we crack on through Coffs Harbour and stop for sandwiches on the cliffs overlooking Corindi Beach. We decide to park up in Lennox Head, home to one of the best surf beaches in the world, but when the heavens open we are forced to remain in the car. We were just about to run down to the surf and get soaked for a laugh but when a bolt of lightening struck something just metres from the car we decide it’s maybe best to leave. We roll into Byron Bay and beg a few hostels for dorm beds, without success. We cruise around looking for potential spots to illegally bush camp later on but decide to accept our only option of a grotty campsite out of town. To add insult to injury our tent spots are right next to the mainroad. After erecting the tents we catch the bus into town for dinner and beers. The night ends in the early hours after many beers and a spot of table dancing.

6th January 2005

The heat inside the tent warmed like a greenhouse in the morning sun does not mix well with the hangovers we have. After a shower we drive into town for a big breakfast before hitting the road north in Queensland and the Gold Coast. The rain starts again as we crawl into Surfers’ Paradise in the ridiculous amount of traffic. We decide that the grotty high rise buildings of ‘Surfers’ don’t look that appealing in the damp weather, combined with the intolerable humidity, so continue on through and back onto the highway up to Brisbane. As soon as we park up we like this city. Not only are the girls all stunning but the relaxed and slow atmosphere is a welcome change for a city of this stature. We sit down for some quick noodles before walking round a few sights and buildings, including Brisbane’s oldest, getting a good enough feel of the city before jumping back into the car. We fly up the Sunshine Coast to stay in the exclusive end and the established celebrity ‘des-res’ area of Noosa. After a brief stop to see a few koalas in a carpark we find the Koala Beach Resort hostel in Noosa Heads and jump into the shower to wash away the results of the intense humidity. After struggling with a pint of Guiness we have dinner in Subway and head back to our twin room. As soon as I lie down to read the travel book I melt into the bed and leave Rusty to wander around town alone while I read up on the remaining days with the rattling fan overhead.

7th January 2005

Sometimes a bed is just what the body needs and a great night’s sleep is had. We wander over the road for breakfast and spot an advert outside a tour shop for a combined trip to Fraser Island, the Whitsundays and Airlie Beach for only 350 dollars. We dive into the shop and book ourselves onto a self-drive trip to the island and a three-day sail on the ocean racing maxi yacht, Samurai. I then join the queue in the barbers to smarten up for the planned days ahead wondering why the clock on the wall is an hour behind. After a quick walk up and down the shops on Hastings St. we find the Dolphins Beach House set back from Sunshine Beach and immediately take some bogie boards down to the huge sandy beach. The afternoon is spent sunbathing, swimming in the large sets of waves rolling in and wishing I’d worn a rash vest on the board after rubbing off two nice patches of skin just above the ribs. We walk back up the quiet street to the hostel for showers and chat to a Swedish backpacker who had just arrived. She asks me if I have been to Byron, then whether I’d been to Cheeky Monkeys nightclub, followed by asking me if I was dancing on the tables. It turned out she hadn’t been there watching me, it was just that ‘I looked like a table dancer’! We drive to the mouth of the river to cast in a baited hook in front of the million-dollar holiday homes, the highlight being when two giant rays inquisitively glide up to our feet. We park the car at the end of Hastings St. and enjoy a huge pizza washed down with a glass of wine. After a huge a meal we decide we are fine to drive the few kilometres back to the hostel. As soon as we attempt to leave the car park, two men in uniform walk out of the shadows shining torches in our faces and stick their heads through the window. I immediately soil myself and apologise for not fitting my seatbelt yet. He replies ‘Oh, that’s fine Sir, we’re just going to breathalyse you….how much have you had tonight, Sir?’. We were too close to the limit so they tell us to park up and enjoy an ice cream for half an hour before trying again! A hefty fine would have been bad enough never mind the added fines for lack of seatbelt, outstanding speeding fine and dodgy number plates.

8th January 2005

We get up early to grab some longer surfboards to catch some early morning waves. Unfortunately there is no sign of a soul for over an hour, which leaves us perplexed and cursing the lack of professionalism of the staff. We end up walking down to the beach anyway to find filthy seas crashing in which lure me in for a wakeup dip. We load the car and head down to the heads to check out the surf there but decide time is limited to get up to Hervey Bay for our 2pm Fraser Island briefing. We munch on some oranges for breakfast and jealously watch the novices riding the small but clean sets coming in. The two-hour drive up to Hervey Bay is pretty uneventful, resulting in a sprawl of grotty coastal suburbs known locally as ‘God’s waiting room’ due to the large number of retirees living there. We find the Escape backpackers and check into our caravan unit happy to know we have made it in time for the briefing at 2pm. Then the receptionist senses we can’t tell the time and informs us the clocks went back three days ago meaning we could have had an extra hour in bed and had a surf – gutting. We wander down the Esplanade and force down a minging lunch outside a greasy café full of inbreeds and rush back for the 2pm briefing. They then inform us it has now been put back to 3pm. I type up some diary in the bar before everyone arrives and we all crowd round tables and large wooden maps of the island for an extremely humorous briefing basically telling us we are all going to die and we’re all idiots. One of the lads, John, in our group and myself volunteer to run round the supermarket sorting out all the food for three days with our 200 dollar budget and manage to total it to 199-45 AUD while Rusty and a Sheffield lad, Andy, fill Harry up with booze. Back at base Rusty and I head off down the road for dinner in the warm evening before heading back to the hostel bar to get to know our group over beers and many rounds of the card game, Sh*thead. Our group includes four young lads recently graduated from Southampton Uni, a girl from Gillingham and three Swedes, two being extremely attractive, but unfortunately very young, girls. Rusty and I get involved in the bar until being dragged to another hostel bar/nightclub called Beaches over the road which ends up in more table dancing and no sleep.

9th January 2005

We remain awake for another briefing at 7am and load up our rusty Land Cruiser with the ten rucksacks, sleeping bags, food crates and booze. We are feeling dreadful but try not to complain. The ferry over to the island is rough and windy. Rusty sleeps the entire journey. The first major stop is to swim and chuck a rugby ball about in the fresh, turquoise water of Lake MacKenzie. We make sandwiches on a picnic table in the car park and all jump onto it when a huge goanna slowly ambles past. We set off again and reach the dead straight east coast run up the beach, stopping at Dundaburra camp ground for water and a sit down. Back on the beach and the threatening tide we find a spot to camp, after a previous failed attempt and having to push the Toyota out of deep sand, and set up the tents in a howling wind. The beers get cracked open and the first dinner on Fraser Island prepared. We are briefly joined by an inquisitive, young male dingo before we wolf down a delicious chicken curry, superbly conjured up by John, a restaurant chef. After struggling with a few more beers and when the rain starts to fall, the group decide to hit the sack.

10th January 2005

The bumpy ground is made worse in the night when we awake to the sense of drizzle and discover our fly sheet has blown off; hence an awful night’s sleep is had. We pack up and drive back up to Dundaburra for breakfast and showers before cracking on further north to Indian Head. The wind is seriously blowing at the top of the head but the sun is out big time. We decide not to risk taking the vehicle through a stretch of deep sand so opt for a leisurely walk up the beach to Champagne Pools. The pools are so called due to the waves crashing over the rocks and frothing into the salty pools on the small beach, perfect for relaxing in. We manage to scab a lift for the girls and brave the strong headwind and stinging sand back down the beach to the car. We have sandwiches back at Dundaburra before I hop behind the wheel for the afternoon drive back down the east coast beach. We stop at the Maheno, shipwrecked in 1935 and now a rusting skeleton, and continue south. The high tide makes rounding a cluster of rocks exciting when salt water sprays right over the vehicle and through the side windows causing a few screams and laughter in the back. Eli Creek doesn’t look too inviting so we press on to find somewhere on the beach to camp. The drive into a perfect clearing amongst some trees is great fun through deep sand and brings back some magical memories from Africa. We set up camp and crack open the beers whilst the pasta is boiling. After a huge pasta we all pile on to the bench seats in the back of the vehicle for a hysterical game of 21’s using a lung of red wine for drinking fines and target the loud tyke from Sheffield. The night comes to an end when the stomachs ache from too much laughter and the van and clothes are covered in red wine.

11th January 2005

The Swedes do a grand job of cleaning the vehicle before we have breakfast and pack up the kit. We leave the camp at 10am and with Rusty behind the wheel, head inland to Lake Wabby for the some running and rolling down the steep sand dunes into the deep, fresh water. We manage to stop again at the beautiful Lake MacKenzie for another swim and lunch before joining the other groups in the queue for the barge back to the mainland. Back at the hostel we unload the vehicles before diving into the showers and loading up the washing machines with our grubby clothes. Rusty and I head down the road for dinner and venture into the quiet hostel bar feeling pretty exhausted but thoroughly satisfied. When the rest of the team joins us Rusty goes down hill and calls it a day leaving me to crack on for more dancing, games of Sh*thead and to help reduce all the Toohey’s New we have left.

12th January 2005

We leave grotty Hervey Bay at 10ish and cruise up the Bruce’s Highway into Tropical Queensland and Reef country. A quick pie is had for lunch in the small town of Gin Gin before crossing the Tropic of Capricorn just south of the old gold mining city of Rockhampton. We crack on up the uninspiring highway and turn off to Yeppoon in search of a small, pleasant seaside town, as described in the guidebooks. Instead we find a hovel and the only backpackers in town shut down. We book into a grim but cheap motel above a bar and chill in the room until venturing downstairs for a three-course, 15 dollar, no frills, Wednesday-special dinner. I spend two hours back in the room typing up my diary whilst Rusty passes out on his bed. I do the same at 10-30pm trying to blank out the sounds of lads boozing in the neighbouring room.

13th January 2005

After an awarding winning pie for breakfast we drive back to the Bruce Highway and head north along the pretty boring, straight stretch of tarmac stopping at Mackay Harbour for sandwiches next to the beach. We fill the thirsty Harry up again and polish of the remaining piece of tedious highway and roll past Abel Point Marina early in the evening into Airlie Beach. We check in with our sailing company, Tallarook, before our allocated hostel, Seaview. The only two bunks left are in the sitting room of our unit so we dump the stuff and jump into the pool with beers. More are drunk in Beaches bar where we meet up with our Swedish friends from Fraser Island and try to get them drunk without success. The energetic dancing that follows in Mama Africas nightclub is unfortunately without them.

14th January 2005

We return to our bunks in the early hours and manage to get a few hours shut eye before check out time. A huge breakfast is enjoyed in town to rid the headaches where the Swedes spot us from over the road. We spend the whole day with them in the overcast weather next to the freshwater lagoon and manage to get lobstered by the deceptive rays. We leave the girls and Johan on their towels and head back to the car and on to the marina for our 4pm meeting time to board our vessel. Samurai is a 68 ft Maxi which has competed successfully in the Sydney to Hobart yacht race back in 1981. We meet our skipper, Junior, the crew and other guests, grab our bunks and motor out of the marina and across the Bay into the 20 knot south-westerly to help hoist the sails and cruise at ten knots past North Molle Island to the northern end of Whitsunday Island. The anchor is dropped in Hook Passage for the night, before Ben the chef and Marie the help, cook the boat a delicious dinner. A few beers are had getting to know the other guests, mostly from Ireland but also Germany and Chile. We retire to our bunks pretty early for an extremely sweaty and restless night’s sleep.

15th January 2005

The engine is started up at 6am waking the boat early to begin the day with a slow sail down to Whitehaven Beach, one of the world’s finest. We get ferried over to the beach in the tender and walk through the humid rainforest up to a lookout before pulling on the histerical but annoying stinger suits for a dip in the waves. Unfortunately it is stinger season, which means there is a high risk of being stung by thumbnail-sized jellyfish, which inflict a paralysing, and sometimes fatal, sting to the body. Back on the boat we sail north in the scorching heat and round Hook Island to a small bay where the race winning maxi yachts, Condor and Anaconda II, are also anchored. We bump into the English lads from Fraser on the pebbly beach before the stinger suits are chucked on and we enjoy a misty but fun scuba dive with Ben and Marie. The coral garden is fantastic but made slightly nerve racking when I lose the others for a few minutes, luckily finding them again by shear fluke. We anchor off Hayman Island for the night next to a very boozy catamaran and get stuck into another great meal. Junior whistles to the sea eagles sawing overhead and throws in some meat for them to swoop down for. I fall asleep in the cockpit on deck before we crash early again for a better night’s sleep in the cooler air.

16th January 2005

After a breakfast of pineapple and melon we get deposited on the beach before diving a superb coral maze and seeing loads of awesome fish including the largest I have ever seen, a gigantic Maori Wrasse called Elvis. The snorkel back to the beach was equally as good being surrounded by inquisitive and colourful fish. Back on deck we begin the long and painfully hot motor back to Airlie. Unfortunately the light breeze equalled the boat speed so the apparent wind speed was zero creating an intolerable and sweaty slog back. We thank the skipper and his crew for a fantastic three days and check back into the hostel. The clothes are chucked into the washer whilst we check emails. At 7pm we head over the road to Wayne’s World bar for post sailing drinks and food with the others and continue the night in Beaches and Mama Africas again and succeeding in getting Ben, the cook, extremely battered.

17th January 2005

We check out and grab another huge breakfast at the usual spot before finding the ProSail office for one of their smarter polo shirts, instead of the ones our company was selling. We leave Airlie and hit the highway north. After getting lost in the drab town of Bowen we get pulled over by our friends the police. Out comes the old breathalyser to be shoved into Rusty’s mouth who is obviously fine. The policeman then spends over twenty minutes filling in a fine for apparently illegible plates whilst Rusty takes the opportunity to take a photo of Harry with the cop car. We drive off cursing the officer and reach the city of Townsville for a late lunch in McDonalds at 4pm. The scenery now becomes more tropical with huge fields of sugar cane next to the road with the backdrop of green jungle-covered mountains. As we pass through the town of Ingham I spy a yellow figure in the road waving cars down. We too get pulled over and this time the breathalyser is shoved in my mouth. The police presence in this country is unbelievable. We continue on and decide to stop for the day and turn off the highway to the small port town of Lucinda, just north of Ingham. We take a walk down to the beach, keeping an eye out for crocodiles, and photograph the 6km long jetty used for loading sugar on to ships. We take self-catering unit in the smart Lucinda Point Hotel-Motel and jump into the pool to unwind after the long day’s driving. We rustle up some ravioli and wolf it down in front of the Australian Open on the telly, being played in Melbourne. I write up my diary whilst Rusty tends to the hundred bed bug bites he has obtained from the Airlie hostel before we have an early, alcohol free night.

18th January 2005

Ravioli for breakfast; revolting. The landscape turns very tropical, moist and humid. Signs warning motorists of kangaroos change to warn of crossing Cassowaries, a blue-headed, bone-crested rainforest version of the emu, rapidly decreasing in numbers. We stop in Mission Beach to check out the sandy beaches and turquoise waters and for a sandwich. We notice an Oz Experience coach pulling up in the town and obviously bump into someone we know, Sean from Ireland. On we go in the stifling heat and rain, up to the trip’s destination, Cairns. After picking up a map etc. from the information centre we reluctantly check into Captain Cook’s hostel, included in our Whitsundays/Fraser Island package, which resembles something out of Cell Block H rather than a backpackers hostel. Back in town I print out some smart, colour adverts for selling Harry the Holden and begin plastering them around a few hostels. We stuff our faces with Chinese food in the Food Court on the Esplanade and struggle to force a beer down in the infamous Woolshed. The struggle is too much for the bloated bellies so a walk around the huge marina is required. The first night in Cairns is taken very easily.

19th January 2005

The morning is spent checking out of the grotty hostel and sticking adverts in over twenty-five hostels and shops around town to try and offload the car. I place crewing ads in the three yacht clubs in the area in a vain attempt to help crew a yacht back down to Sydney instead of flying. On the way back from the furthest yacht club we park Harry up in a washing bay and give him the once over, inside and out, until gleaming and smelling like he did thirty years ago when rolling off the Holden production line. I manage to park him out of the rain in the multi-storey car park above Gilligans backpackers and quickly leather the rain off, placing ‘For Sale’ signs in the windows. We check into the very smart hostel and kill time on the internet until joining up with Sean in PJ O’brian’s and signing up to a pub crawl. Onboard two minibuses we race around six bars and hostels and end up dancing on the tables in the Woolshed until the early hours.

20th January 2005

During a late breakfast we bump into Katie from the Whitsundays trip and leave her to go shopping round town while we download photos and chill. Beer o’clock is called and the box of red is opened down in the bar where we meet up with Katie for dinner. The night heads into town and obviously ends on the tables of the Woolshed.

21st January 2005

We wake when hostel staff bang on the door trying to wake the two lads in our dorm who are too hung over for their diving trip. After the usual cooked breakfast outside the café downstairs we wander slowly into town and book ourselves on a live aboard dive trip over the Great Barrier Reef for tomorrow. The rest of the day is spent recovering until 6pm when we decide to attend a lecture on the reef called Reef Teach. On the way to the lecture a lady phones up about the car and would like to view it. The only problem is she has no car and asks if the car can be brought to her address. We obviously turn around to fire up the Holden and drive it through the torrential rain to the suburb of Moorabool. The interested husband with skinhead and goaty looks over the car muttering to himself whilst we huddle under the garage roof out of the rain. We then get escorted into the house with the five children believing we may never leave or get forced to accept an offer we literally cannot refuse. The ex-criminal then asks me how much lower I can go below the $2500 as advertised on Ebay. After a reasonable amount of bullsh*t we shake on $2300 and the wife is ordered to go through the car’s documents and start counting out the cash. In the meantime, Rusty and I get shown the thug’s motorcycling injuries and photos on the computer which is when we notice the rather well used baseball resting on top of the monitor. We rapidly clear out the car and call for a taxi back to hostel alive. We meet up with Sean and Katie in the bar for a few and head out for a pizza before an early one.

22nd January 2005

The minibus picks us up from the hostel at 7.30am for the diving trip, dropping us down at the marina to board a speed cat to the outer reef where our vessel, the Atlantic Clipper, is moored. During the violent, stomach turning journey out to the reef we fill out forms signing our lives away and get a briefing. We moor off Norman Reef and get ready for our first scuba dive over the Great Barrier Reef. The visibility is awesome, coral fantastic and fish equally as good. Back on board we enjoy a delicious lunch below deck before gathering our things and getting ferried over to the Atlantic Clipper. As soon as we get on board the token annoying Israeli gets out his didgeridoo and begins blowing out some sort noise that usually comes from ones’ backside. We meet the crew and get ready for our second dive of the day, which is a great wall dive. The evening is spent avoiding the Israeli, soaking in the spa on the bow and tucking into another great meal. At 7.30pm we strap on our equipment, check our buddy’s and drop into the water for my first ever night dive. The surreal feeling is both relaxing and exciting. We see a huge crab sitting on a coral ledge and heaps of large fish and crustaceans. Just the beams of torchlight and silhouettes of other divers are like something from Space Odyssey and simply fascinating. That evening we enjoy a few beers with the crew and guests before retiring to the bunks early after a full day’s diving.

23rd January 2005

The knock at the door at 6am is our wakeup call for another dive. We opt for a ‘safari’ dive over a reef bommy, an outcrop of coral a few hundred metres from the boat. Another great dive including a large green turtle. Our next dive is at 10am which we confidently do at 18m without a guide. As soon as we descend down the mooring line I turn to Rusty and see his wide eyes almost poking out of his mask and him pointing violently behind me. I spin round to see we are being circled by a White-tipped reef shark; an awesome sight. We see an incredible amount of varied fish including the frisky Trigger Fish, Nemo the Clownfish and another large green turtle flying off into the depths. After a decent feed we dive again at 3pm, again unguided, with a nice Swedish girl called Siri and float about with a huge Maori Wrasse known here as Wally. We travel back to a damp Cairns on the fast cat chatting with Siri and sipping the complimentary glass of wine. Back on dry land we get whisked back to the dive shop in a minibus race between two of the crew and gte dropped at the hostel. We shower and try again to catch the Reef Teach lecture but find it closed on Sundays. We manage to get in contact with our young Swedish friends, Tina, Sanna & Johan and meet them below their hostel on the Esplanade where Rusty and I eat. A few more drinks are enjoyed back at our hostel bar but the day’s diving has exhausted me so I am not on form. We hope to catch up with them back in Sydney and head for the dorm.

24th January 2005

I wake up to Rusty nursing some new bed bug bites from the yacht. The day is lethargically spent in the humidity wandering aimlessly round town and deciding that a similar day will not be repeated tomorrow so we manage to book on to a sailing/snorkelling day trip to Green Island, 20kms east of the city. At 6pm we manage to attend the Reef Teach lecture and learn about the Great Barrier Reef system of coral and fish for two hours from an extremely energetic and clearly mad Irish lecturer who blatantly adds something other than compressed air to his dive tanks. An early night is had.

25th January 2005

We head down to the marina and grab a quick, unhealthy breakfast from Maccy D’s before boarding Ocean Free and meeting the crew for our day trip out to Green Island. During the two hour voyage out, under both sail and motor, we get welcomed and briefed by the friendly crew and arrive at the island shortly before lunchtime. The heart-shaped, tiny and sandy Green Island looks awesome from the water. We all dive into the 29ºC turquoise water and snorkel around the reef bommies for over an hour, putting to use what we learnt from the Reef Teach lecture. We see a huge array of fish and coral including large Trevally and Red Bass Snapper swimming beneath the boat. Back on board we tuck into a great buffet spread out for us by crew and watch a couple of Black-tipped reef sharks circle the boat and the large fish below. The skipper then ferries us all over to the island. Rusty and I walk through the resort situated amongst the trees and onto the beach round the island’s perimeter. We see another shark feeding on a band of small fish metres from the beach, just where I had been cooling off in the water just minutes before. We sit down amongst the crowds of Japanese for an ice cream and wait for the skipper to pick us up from the beach in shifts. Back on board we jump into the water for some more snorkelling before slipping the mooring and heading home. We arrive back to a cloud-covered Cairns and head straight to the hostel bar for a free meal and join in the Oz Fest party going on. We decide to head up to the dorm for a few cheaper beers we placed in the freezer earlier and end up joining the guys in our dorm outside on the balcony for a hilarious game of 21’s. The night is obviously continued on the tables of the Woolshed.

26th January 2005

Australia Day. We begin this bank holiday with a lie in and a late brunch in town. The place is dead. We assume it is because half of the country are in bed nursing hangovers. We kill time on the internet and wander round the shops, resulting in me investing in a didgeridoo and sending it home. We leave the hostel in a taxi at 3ish bound for the airport and our flight out of Cairns back to Sydney. I giggle to myself when a Japanese couple want to sit together on the plane and Rusty is moved next to a couple of queers. The flight over the reef system is amazing and the sunset and full moon equally as impressive from my window seat. As we fly over Sydney I watch the fireworks going off around the city before landing late in the evening. Steve very kindly drops me in Bondi outside the lads’ pad where they welcome me in again. I watch Hewitt’s epic match against Nalbandian in the Melbourne Open until midnight, drop the mattress and sleep well.

27th January 2005

I wake when Rollo leaves for work, fall back to sleep and wake again when Jenko returns from his new girlfriend’s. My ankles and wrists feel itchy and I discover that I have now been a target to the dreaded bed bug. I stick all my clothes into the washer before Jenks and I head into Bondi for breakfast. I leave him in the internet café and head back to the flat to phone a contact I have been given in the yacht design company, SP Systems. The chat goes well but I think my lack of composite experience may be a disadvantage. I prepare a CV anyway and fire it off to him. Back at the flat I make sarnies for Jenks and I while he practises aptitude tests for his interview tomorrow morning. I write up my diary in the humid afternoon in front of the tennis before Mr. & Mrs. Jenkins arrive at the flat after driving up from Melbourne, as part of their holiday, in record time. When Jenko takes them to their hotel I wander down to check my email and hope that SP have replied; no new emails. I continue with my diary. Rollo returns from work to find me nursing my bites. We grab some food from Thai-in-a-Box down the road and watch Federer and Safin slog it out in Melbourne on the box until after midnight.

28th January 2005

Up late for a healthy breakfast in the empty flat. I use the time alone to complete an update for Oz. I then meet up with Rusty and complete the Bondi to Coogee Beach coastal walk in the clear blue skies and stop to watch the surfers riding the waves at Tamarama, Bronte and Coogee. When Rollo returns from work we crack open a beer and head out to grab a pizza, foolishly locking ourselves out of the flat. We wait for Jenko to return with his visiting parents and munch on pizza outside. At 7pm we both head off to Fox Studios in Paddington to watch The Beastie Boys in concert. After a few pre-concert beers we meet up with Rollo’s work mates and jump around, punch the air and sweat lots for an hour and a half of live hip-hop. More relaxed beers are enjoyed in town afterwards and the night ends at 3am with a kebab in hand.

29th January 2005

Rollo and I walk down to the beach for a morning wake up body surf in the large sets coming in. The temperature is perfect and not a cloud in the sky. We dry out on the towels back on the sand and admire the ‘suit’ (what suit?….) sunbathing in our vicinity. Back at the flat we have a healthy breakfast of fruit and muesli and watch the women’s final of the Melbourne Open waiting for the Garland to come round. The boys have a 70’s party tonight, which I could go to later but the cost of kit in Bondi proves too much for a traveller. I decide to take it easy and save cash and look after the flat when they leave for the party at 7pm.

TO BE CONT….

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