the carnage begins

Waking up on Christmas day as the heat increased and the insects began their chorus while walking around a house full of decos, seemed both very Christmassy and not very Christmassy at all, all at once at the same time. Becky and Reza had stayed the night but left early in the morning. Cathy and I made tea and enjoyed
the moment. I sat in a hammock under the trees, feeling the heat of the sun. We opened our presents and cards in front of the little tree that Mel and Mike had put on top of their TV.

After the present session and breakfast of fruit salad on the veranda, we made turkey and cranberr sandwiches. The turkey was lowest on the list of ingredients on the lump of grey meat we had purchased at Woolworths, but it sufficed once combined with said cranberry sauce and put between good bread. Becky and Reza picked us up and we went to Wategos beach, where under an increasingly cloudy sky we encamped and had a lunchtime picnic of bad turkey sandwiches, beautiful handmade sausage rolls, filo parcels and ham sandwiches supplied by Becky. This was all washed down with champagne. A decadent and hedonistic Christmas, but more was to come!

After a decent break to ensure I didnt get cramp from eating, I went in the water. That last part is a lie but I have to say that for Mums sake. Reza and I paddled out and tried to catch a Christmas wave, which we did. Sat on the clear azure blue water, with the sun shining down, and the imposing hills surrounding the bay, with Mount Warning in the distance, I smiled to myself. A moment later I end up laughing with joy as dolphins start swimming amongst the surfers, not 15 metres away from me. Im going to bottle that moment up forever; my body was content with the nice food and a bit of exercise and the soul was full of wonderful emotions as I began to realise that surfing with dolphins pisses all over worrying about house prices or jobs. Being a bell boy isnt much, but being a bell boy who can go to Byron and drink champagne with friends then surf with dolphins beats commuting in the rain to work in Burgess Hill, no matter how much you get paid. When we left the beach, we took Becky's van which meant we could drive over to theirs later on. Cathy and I came home and finished opening a few last presents, then pottered around in the afternoon and early evening, including watching the Queen's speech. This after all signifies the beginning of the post xmas dinner slide into oblivion as alcohol and food gang up on the body to render it immobile and fatigued. I had a couple of attempts at making the obligatory 'phone calls home, but the queues outside phoneboxes were as long as the list of reasons to hate Jeremy Beadle.

At about 930pm we drove over to Becky's house with a bag full of goodies, including port, wine, mince pies, shrimps, steak and wine. Becky had got some lovely salmon from work which we barbequed to perfection, along with our shrimps and steak. The feast went on for hours, although an early casualty was Reza who seemed to have consumed too much fire water too early and dissappeared to bed until morning during a toilet break. We crashed late and woke many times during the night from the sound of fruit bats, mice and possibly man-eating carnivores that lurk in the trees at the rear of Becky's house.

When we finally awoke in the morning we all took turns to find Cathy the largest web around the house and the spider that lay within, then we drove back to Mike and Mels house.

The next few days were spent in utter relaxation. More food was barbequed and more ice cold beers and wine was drunk while lying in a hammock under the hot sun. More trips to the beach including Wategos and Clarks Beach, with a bit of surfing thrown in for good measure to ensure not all the consumed Christmas calories ended up converted to fat.

A few days after Christmas day saw the special market day in Byron Bay, where all the stalls are lined up along the path that runs along the top of the main beach. The Hari Krishnas were also out in force, pulling a painted wagon by hand along the beach. The wagon was maybe 8 or 10 metres tall with a tented canopy on top, but so as to allow the wagon to pass beneath the many power and telephone cables strung across the streets of Byron Bay, the canopy was on a hydraulic pole which could collapse and reform itself once past the wires.

Soon after that evening saw Matt arrive, Mikes brother, with a lively little boy Trent. Within half an hour Mike, Melissa and Holly had returned, and the house became alive once more.

Life had continued in much the same vein as before, except there were more people around. Michael was off work and was able to spend plenty of time at home. There were more barbeques, getting to know Holly, more
surfing, and while I was surfing, Mel would take Cathy to Tallow Beach for a swim. The dynamic of the house had changed but it was a pleasant change.

As New Years Eve drew near we prepared ourselves for the big event. There was a duff in town ('duff' is coloquial for dance party as its said to be what it sounds like. e.g. duff duff duff duff; repetitive beats and
all that) on Lawson Street while there was also fireworks on the beach, bands on at the Beach Hotel and The Rails, plus other gigs and DJ's playing. Roger Sanchez was going to be around, but I can't remember where.

On New Years Eve itself, Becky and Reza came round and we all had a very nice barbeque. Id had a New Years Eve surf and was feeling a little tired but Becky entered like a hurricane and whipped people up to a frenzy.
I think the barbeque was Soy chicken drumsticks, but Im not sure. Thinking about it, we ate kebabs, and maybe some sausages. Cathy made the kebabs with some lovely marinated chicken. The Soy drumsticks was another night. After a long period of eating and drinking and not feeling in the mood for going out, Becky got us all together and we began the walk into town, in shorts and t-shirts, carrying cans of whisky and coke, and myself having a mask of zinc cream painted on by Michael and Reza. The town was pumping, and there were thousands milling around. For a one bus-stop and three pub town it was heaving. The music had kicked off and there were smiles everywhere. As midnight struck, fireworks went off and the world went mad. Hugs everywhere and my zinc cream became mirrored on t-shirts and faces as the hugs went on. This is how NYE should be celebrated, in hot weather, with clear starry skies and scantily clad people.

My memories of the turn of the millenia were standing on Brighton beach, holding a chilled bottle of champagne that seemed to be slightly warmer than my hands and nose, staring into the cloudy sky at the blobs of fading and bursting colour in the sky that I was later informed to be the firework display.



This year was spent at 2am walking along the top of the beach with Cathy, surrounded by people whos collectives brains would not have solved one single Daily Mirror crossword due to the imbalming effects, staring at a clear night sky with fireworks overhead, and a gentle warm breeze carrying the music of the town to us. The long walk back home was a joy, collapsing in a hammock with a drink at about 3am.


Happy New Year. We saw it first.

go north young man

Handing in my notice for the bellboy position was a blessed relief. I have always had a strong sense of loyalty to my co-workers if not the company, so despite the position only being a temporary one, I found it hard to release myself. When it came to my immediate boss finding out that I wanted to quit, he asked me to retract my notice and suggested that I stay on the books in case I needed any work in future. How many times have you heard of bell boys being asked back? Perhaps I'm a good bell boy? I must admit to being able to draw in decent tips; the accent helps and I lay on extra thick for the Americans and Poms.

Cathy and I have decided to leave Sydney for Christmas and New Year. We have some web design work that can keep us busy; its a site for Cathy's brother. His idea is to start moving the shop into the 21st century and getting on the web. www.campingandangling.co.uk is the result. Its simple to begin with but Robs idea is
that it should grow and grow with time.

We had decided to go up to Byron Bay, as from what Becky has said, it should be exciting. There are street parties and fireworks over the new year and plenty to keep us occupied the rest of the time. The couple I met last time I was in Byron Bay, Melissa and Mike, are also able to accomodate us. I must admit to some trepidation at sharing a house with their baby Holly as well. I know babies to be pretty poor conversationalists, are not big beer drinkers and lack certain subtleties in their toilet technique.

We arrived on December 21st, after a twelve hour coach journey. The trip wasnt particularly pleasant as within half and hour of leaving Sydney, the man sat in front of me decided to fall violently ill. He vomited down his window and the side of his seat. Miraculously he was silent in his actions and the only giveaway was the smell of vomit that grew within the coach. The other was that he hadnt finished, and after climbing over a rather large girl who was sat next to him, he moved towards the rear of the coach where the toilet lived. His stomach was only half empty and he made sure this other half was covered liberally over a number of passengers as he staggered towards the toilet. Only when the lights came on was the full extent of the damage revealed. A girl had lumps of porridge like acidic substance spattered down her arm. A man had lumps of porridge in his lap and on his leg. How the culprit missed soiling the large girl he was sat next to remains a mystery to this day. Needless to say, he stayed in the toilet from the shame of his actions and to avoid the wrath of a stinking, acidic porridge covered coachload.

Fortunately we arrived in Byron Bay, minus sense of humour but happily minus vomit. Becky came to meet us, and got us a drink at the beach hotel, as Mike and Mel were getting ready to go to Sydney. They were off south and had bad luck with the van. Becky was going to give them a lift to the airport. We arrived after our drink to receive a quick handover; I took in the details of barbeque firing, while Cathy learnt the intricicities of the washing machine. We were also informed as to how serious the water shortage had become, as we were only one level away from having to bathe in our own urine. Then they were off.

The days leading up to Christmas were wonderfully relaxing. Sydney had become a riot with the shopping and seasonal music in the shops. Thinking about it, I dont recollect hearing any Christmas tunes in any shop in Byron Bay. We went to the beach, with me trying to surf at Tallow beach. This break dumps heavily and I finned my leg before losing a fin and dinging the board. I could hardly walk as my leg had been cut open, but it healed quickly. I finished up my Christmas shopping and we also stocked up the fridge with steaks, shrimps, sausages, wine, beer, salad, chocolate, and a Christmas cake that Cathy had iced.

On Christmas Eve, Becky and Reza came over for dinner, another barbeque, and we ate our way through sausages and steaks, drank lots of wine whilst talking about life, the meaning of life, and lifestyle. Sitting surrounded by cicadas and candles made me appreciate that I had made the right decision by coming away for Christmas. There was always going to be certain aspects that I would miss, but enjoying the Christmas period with good weather seems so much more civilised than huddling indoors watching Only Fools and Horses
and badly cut-for-TV action films.

blame it on the bellboy

The first week of work was tough; I had to learn the secret of politely asking guests if they would like
their luggage to be taken to their room, finding my way around a 503 room, 25 floor hotel, learning the names of all the other staff at the bell desk, knowing the procedure for taking cars to the car park, how to tag bags,
group labelling, recognising a good tip potential and a empty walletted guest, and how to deal with getting up at 530am for work.

By the second week I was bored. The only redeeming feature of the job is the interesting people who work in the hotel. For instance, one of my compadres was a trapeez artist who is looking to settle down, another is a surfer from Byron Bay, there is a web designer who works at the hotel for the extra money, then there are the boys from the hotel school. Some are in it for the love of the job, while I expect many to make a career change at some point. There is also a big gay community within the hotel, whose numbers include a retired prominent Sydney drag queen, a hispanic out and out gaylord, and various others, which all adds to create an atmosphere that is much more exciting and interesting behind the reception desk than in front of it.

While it is a pleasant and luxurious hotel in the guest area, the service area is chaotic and messy. Lifts and vestibules smell of old food, past room service deliveries lie discarded on the floor, along with 3 day old newspapers, rotten fruit, coathangers, broken a-frame signs, dustbins and housekeeping trollies. Compared to the organised and disciplined practises withing the IT industry, the hotel industry is a debacle. Inefficient, bad working practises, gratuitous wastes of manpower and resources, petty bureaucracy, overly complex hierachy with small minded and megalomaniac idiots put in a position of management without any management training. Departmental animosity is so severe that cooperation only occurs on a rare and individual basis. I have the handicap that I want to fix all these easily remedied faults within the system, but it
would be a pointless exercise and of course Im in no position to do so.

Life otherwise is generally similar to treading water. Im waiting for Cathy to arrive and we are looking to run off and leave town when she gets here. The job is good as at least I am not spending more than I possess, and the tips top it off nicely. It took longer than I thought to get paid, but again thats down to the disorganised payroll office, who is run by a hermit, on certain days of the week, and who locks the door and answers to no-one.

If I finish work at 1500 then I can be in the water at 1600, while if I start work at 1400 then I am in the water by 0930 for a good couple of hours. The surfing is good and I seem to have some ok days and some great days. It all depends on the measured amount of seawater I consume while out on/under the waves.

The tediousness of the work was relieved for a couple of days when Ged and Norm popped in from Singapore. I joined them, along with Blake and Lisa, for a raucous night on Oxford Street. I was refused entry to the Q Bar as the badly dressed girl didnt agree with my dress sense, meaning the others left an already quiet bar to join me at a loud busy sweaty bar a few doors down. It was meant to be a quiet night, which meant Blake and Lisa left around midnight and I walked back with Ged and Norm at about 3am. Tequila shots, Jack and coke and beers does give you that 'quiet night' feeling. After staring at the topless girl who had run past us in the street, I felt inspired and left Ged and Norm at their hotel while I sniffed out a strip club. Im not sure what the point was, as I had difficulty seeing, but it seemed the right thing to do. I can only assume I had a thoroughly
entertaining evening as the strength of the hangover would indicate I had spent some fair amount of time in the sordid playhouse.

Another more gently evening was had when we went to Phillip's Foote, a bar and barbeque restaurant situated in The Rocks. You purchase the meat you want to cook and incinerate it to your specification in the provided grilled crematoriums around the place. My steak was so well done that I had turned it from meat back via vegetable through to pure carbon compounds. It tasted delicious, especially with the range of fresh bread and salads that helped removed the charcoal filter taste from my steak biscuit.

After being reminded by Ged of the lifestyle that is possible from an IT career, I returned with new found vigour in my hatred for my job, when I had to get up at 0530 from my bed to make the ferry in the morning. Never mind, I might win the lotto or Cathy might find a job which can allow me to fully dedicate my time to wave-ology.