just dont mention the cricket

Another tour of despicable cricket has seen England exceed past performances and conjoured up the miracle of playing like they were the Tanning Village school team. Im ashamed to be British at the moment, and saddened when I hear that Brighton is falling apart; Fat Boy has lost his thin girl and the West Pier now has the first underwater Candy floss stall. Blair is still Bush's bitch and Saddam is hiding all his anthrax, missiles, Imperial Guard and lightsabre in his moustache. Sharon is going to bring peace to Israel in a second term, by waging war, and I only feel a little sadness about the Bee Gee's although I can only wish there would have been a better way to stop their music.

The swell is poor so Im not catching many waves, but then I'm working so much at the moment that its hard to do much else. We did pop over to Bondi to see Blake and Lisa, where I showed Blake my prowess with a surfboard, by slicing his leg open as my board rode over him. The weather was good and it has been quite changable lately. For instance, yesterday was only 25'C while temperatures in the suburbs of Sydney reached near 40'C and out west got to 44'C. Sea temperatures remain a chilly (compared to the superheated atmosphere ) 22'C.

Work is strange; I completed an employee survey today. Why they should want my opinion I dont know. I critisiced everything, from the supervisors management style to the lack of a sprinkling of cocoa powder on the machine made cappucino in the staff canteen. I take my employee surveys very seriously, and answering questions such as, "Do you feel that your uniform is suitable and stylish enough to perform your job?" I answer no. Today as temperatures reached the high thirties, the doormans top hat was made of 82% sweat,
10% skin, 7% bush fire dust and 1% felt. Our shirts became see-through with sweat, and Im sure this isnt the scene that a widower from Iowa isnt paying for when they book their cruise to Sydney.

While we are on cruises, Im staggered at how people can consider they have visited somewhere when they stop their for 3 days. Its akin to that list you keep as a boy about how far you got at the boys club disco; none of it actually means anything, and you are just going through the motions to clock up points, just to say you have been there. The majority of them American, who I incidentally project hate towards for allowing such a dicksplat as Bush into office, are convinced that seeing a city involves buying as much of it and shipping it home in your suitcase or camera film. They do have numerous and spacious luggage, that Im sure a few aboriginal people have been taken to the states. I was a part of this I must admit, as I heard the murmurings from the case and the vibrations of the digeridoo could be felt through the handle. Its curious, as so many nations can be considered blind to culture. I think the English find the eccentricities of English abroad very interesting, as well as the architecture and the way the culture is presented, while the japanese love having pictures of themselves at the famous landmarks, as they seem to revere these places they go to. While not appreciating the culture itself and certainly not experimenting with the local food, the Japanese adore and respect the place and people they visit. The Americans arrogance still goes unchecked. The US dollar is considered an acceptable tip, when they should really consider getting themselves some local currency, the way they dress suggests wealth and store cards for Gap and Pringle, ( the white or khaki shorts with blue polo neck, white knee length socks and trainers is really in this season says Versace), and the expectation that Australia is some sort of third world country as you cant get the superbowl live, cars are on the wrong side of the road and you cant get obese size polo shirts in the shops without an orange fluoro strip with Billabong or Ripcurl down the side.

I dont even know how the US managed to make it to WWII when there wasnt even the internet to help download a map and a useful information site detailing such things as local currencies and language for Europe and Asia. I spoke to one guy the other day and he kept saying he was a shnook. I have no idea what a shnook is, but it sounds nasty and I bet he has a record for it. He used Just for Men on a regular basis and said that people could see the Irish in him from the fire in his eyes. Personally, I saw the early stages of cataracts, but how do you break that to a shnook?

I have only a few weeks to find another job and I have been looking for more IT contract stuff. Id like to earn lots of money for working my brain hard rather than earning only a little money for working my body hard. It doesnt seem right as bodies wear out sooner and I do get the odd strain from the bag carrying malarky, but someone has decided that you can earn more for typing and thinking about computer things, rather than going, "yes sir, of course sir, do you need a luggage rack sir? how do you find the room sir? You must be tired sir. You are going to tip me aren't you sir?!".

I have been improving my mind with some crosswords and trying to read more. I find it hard when the 6am jetcat ride means that my eyes have not cleared of mucus and insects and i cant focus on a book, but lately I have finished a disappointing Dean Koontz, a mixed bag of sometimes disturbing sometimes dull short stories in 'The Devils Larder' and giggled my way through 'Sean and Davids Long Drive'. The pick of my new books is Schott's original Miscellany, which has such useful facts as the complete list of Bond films, with the Bond, villain, Bond girl and car, the curious fates of a number of burmese kings, the degrees of Freemasonry plus UK and US standard bed sizes. How useful is that! I had to buy it for the potential it has if ever I organise or participate in a proper pub quiz. Did you know that St. Sebastian is the patron saint of pin makers? "Worm and Sponge" is the 9th order in when firing a cannon in Nelson's Navy! Elks go in gangs while starlings group in murmurations, and John Cleese was the Rector of St Andrews in 1970. The second best book in the world, after my copy of 'High Frequency Circuit Design and Measurement' book signed by Jack Charlton.

Cathy has now found work in Manly; no city commute for her. A new restaurant has opened up on the beach front, having expanded from its origins in Bondi and Coogee. The boss sounds a rude fool, but Cathy brings free food home at the end of the night. Its far too spicy for her to eat, being mainly Thai curries, so I have to perservere and eat it myself. She took to complaining about what hard work it is, being on your feet for 6 or 7 hours a day. I sat there smug, having myself done that in the heat here at work for a while now. I have been working and she had complained that she wanted to 'do stuff' on my days off, when I would rather sleep in, surf, read books and chat with her over a cup of tea. Now she knows so well the pain of moving from a sedentary office job in an air-con office, to a slightly more physical job with customers that dont tip and often complain. Australians are by British standards rude, in that they actually say what they think of the food, rather than chewing through a mouthful of unswallowable gristle and exclaming that the food was wonderful. On the flipside, they dont flatter when the food is good.

I know that the dancers and crew for 'Riverdance' are staying at a certain hotel. Of course I could not possibly comment on where this hotel could be. Incidentally, one of the crew members is trying to get all the front desk and bellmen tickets for one on the leg twitching performances. Minus Michael Flatterly, as of course he is now 'Lord of the Dance'.

Cathy mentioned something today that had been on my mind but unwilling to say; living in Byron Bay is better than being in Sydney, especially when we both miss staying at Mike and Mel's house. I can imagine passing the time, surfing, eating nice food, and generally letting your mind expand, but I do wonder how I could make money in Byron. The idea of starting some sort of software company up there has sounded good in my head, but no doubt would look bad on paper. While I can think that plenty of people would like to move out of the major cities for a change of lifestyle and a new company or department. I'd like my own company, especially as I have seen how people can screw them up so easily.

Must stop typing for a while, head is burning from curry that Cathy brought home, and the booze that I used to put out the flames is slurring my typiong.

on the brink of war and I'm somewhere safe

Life as a bellman continues. I met up with Blake and Lisa, and Cathy and I went for a picnic with them in the Domain; a piece of parkland behind the Opera House. I left to go to work and Cathy went for a job interview. The usual events have happenned at the hotel; Chris Tarrant came to stay and tipped us with 6-packs of beer and leftover Fosters T-shirts that were free anyway, I get offensive looks from guys as I ask, "Are you checking in Sir?" and it clicks that the girl getting out of the car isn't his wife but a hooker and he is the pimp, thick rich americans with far too many soft large suitcases and far too many pairs of kharki shorts. blue shirts, sneakers and knee length white socks, quiet Japanese with stylish functional cases, nervous English, unsure how much to tip and wishing they could still carry an elephant gun around the more dangerous parts of the empire, and plenty of rude locals that expect some sort of service but arent fussed as long as you deliver their esky of beer and the other dozen ill-packed plastic, paper and canvas bags that constitutes their luggage.

Then I leave, and return to the small hostel, Manly Bungalow, and wax my board, and wish for a decent swell to come in, or that it was at least daylight when I return from work so I could see the lack of swell. Christmas in Byron seems an age away and I miss Becky and Reza, and I miss Holly, Mike and Mel. It seemed perhaps not complete, as having our own place up there would have helped, but close, as I felt part of a community. Sydney is faceless and full of common english looking to be a bigger fish in a bigger pond as opposed to whitebait in the hustle of London. There are too many people thinking that this is some sort of mecca for the lazy when the majority of people seem to work damn hard. Something doesnt fit right, and Im not sure what it is. Hearing an english accent here is starting to bug me, as its usually from a bunch of beered up blokes from Guildford, who are wanting to get away from their failing jobs in Refridgeration, Dixons, or direct sales for Lloyds TSB. They all seem to want to do something different, and get a tan, but unfortunately all they bring is English pessimism, drunken rowdiness and air of superiority, and the latter is exactly what Im doing now. The city is tainted with corporate culture, the ad-men ruleth and McDonalds sells the Billabong burger.

On top of all that, some cheap thug from the states is trying to ruin the rest of the planet, by trying to ignore its own international indiscretions such as supporting a myriad of terrorist organisations around the world, and deciding somehow that Saddam and his 'tache has become a matter of 'grave national security'. Im sorry, I know I should have put National Security in capitals. What has Mr Hussein got to do with Osama Bin Laden or doesnt that matter anymore. The shifting of focus from Afghanistan to Iraq has been one of the most impressive bits of spin this century, but still doesnt detract from the matter that while more than 90% of the Australian population is not in agreement with any possible war with Iraq, the US has put on pressure and Aussy troops are being sent. You work it out. Do the politicians listen any more. Are we actually at risk at the moment from Saddam? Is he going to launch an attack on someone, and if he does, have we run out of bigger bombs to hit him with?

Who the hell gave Dubya the right to attack a country just 'coz they don' luk rayght tu me'. How does Dubya feel about using weapons of mass destruction on a people to make sure that they dont use theirs first. Oh, thats ok is it? Thats in the rules. Just like the US is allowed to pollute the atmosphere, sell banned drugs overseas, give unlabelled GM grain to countries that have made a choice to remain GM free, and generally bend everyone else over and stick that flag up 'em.

I used to want to go into the army, and I still regret it to some extent, but I couldnt cope with the hypocrasy of telling someone not to create weapons, by killing them. Being a part of that would be sinful, regardless of religion. Oh yeah, North Korea, you arent allowed Nuclear power either. I know we have it, but thats not the point; we are always right, and are allowed to have nuclear power and our own nuclear accidents, plus have plenty of warheads to go around, but you aren't as you are far to, ahem, 'third world' for our liking.

In the middle of the playground is the U.N. who is the impotent teacher with no control over their class, the boss who cant get the staff motivated, the marriage guidance counsellor who is sleeping with the husband.

So I stay in Sydney, hoping that London isnt reduced to some 'Threads' vision of the future, where Albert Square has an 'scary muslim next door' story running, post apocalypse victims are left looking like those mutants in the mines on Mars from 'Total Recall' making the homeless at the moment looking like dandies, and Blair looking more like Dubya's bitch. I give up. Last time I got interested in politics and sent a letter to my MP, he ended up dead within a month on a kitchen table with an orange in his mouth. I'd love a bit of direct action, but I dont have a pilots licence or a beard, and I have far too much apathy to participate in a
bit of rioting. So I just put my angst here, where talks of further terrorist attacks like Bali crop up every other day, and people here are worried that diplomacy seems to have been forgotten about.

I'm still job hunting, but the IT industry is quiet. I've been looking at other positions, but Im starting to get the feeling that it might be time to move on from Sydney. The severe drought has meant over 50,000 farming jobs have been lost in NSW alone, so there is little hope for even fruit picking work. There are a few cars that we have seen around that look ok, but Im still going to get any nice ones checked over. The last thing I want is Cathy and I to be in the middle of the outback with nothing but brake fluid to drink, having had to consume the radiator water, once the gearbox fell out of the car and stranded us beside countless memorials of shells of cars with skeletons in, the scenery looking not dissimilar to Mad Max. I dont think I would last long in the Thunderdome, but I reckon I could have Tina Turner begging for mercy once I got a handful of that hair.

Next shift is 1400 tomorrow, but I dont think I am too busy. Ive just polished off the rest of Cathy's spag bol washed down with one of Chris Tarrants beers, sitting in my pants at 2am, with the temperature at around 20'C. I dread to think what its like in the UK. Rain, congestion charges, scraping ice off the car in the morning, stupid driving, 3 hours of daylight, 8 pounds for 2 beers and a O.J. council tax, Debenhams sale, Railtrack and the Hornby trainset kids in the Government, the Royal family and what they are trying to keep secret this week, Tony and Cherie and interesting old friends, coats on to go to the pubs.

The thing I miss most about the UK at the moment is the adverts, you don't know how lucky you are. UK TV is the best.

Im off to the army surplus to buy myself an Anderson shelter.

back to normality

New Years day was a write off. Most of it was spent in a semi-permanent vegetative state, trying to read a book or staring into space. The day after and I had a bit more life in me, and made it to the beach for a surf. I went to the pass, supposedly a good right hand point break, but then Im still doing more paddling around than standing up. I moved down towards Clarks beach as the direction of the swell meant that the less crowded beach break meant I was more likely to catch a wave. While Im there, a small pod of dolphins passes by. The sun is shining, people are chatting to each other as they wait for the waves to come in, then some dolphins appear. Fantastic. They swam past us in only waist deep water, jumping and splashing around.

It was excellent spending more time with Mike and Mel, and I seemed to be getting on pretty well with Holly. I think that was more down to the way I never had the guts to tell her to stop doing something, as she isnt my child to bring up, and that not only am I at a similar educational level, but that I have the time to behave at a that level. There were lots of chasing games across the carpet and a few games of peek-a-boo. For a 11 month old she is very mobile and chatty. Her vocabulary includes 'dada', 'dakka dakka' which is the name for most things, 'ay' used in surprise, 'phlurrp' which can mean lots of fun, tastes nasty, or Im full up, and a reasonable dose of crying, which also has more than one meaning.

To those with kids this is no revelation, but for me, I was most surprised at how vocal and conversational a nearly one-year-old baby could be. Ok, she still cant drink beer and she seems to make pooh like its going out of fashion, in as many colours as there are in the rainbow, but she is a joy to hang out with. It sounds like I got clucky, while I think its more a case of finding a baby that is actually good fun. She loves playing, like shouting in a bucket (I showed her that one) and playing with cordless phones and a red ball. I tried showing off at how I could at least throw it and catch it; she didnt seem that impressed and showed me how she could bite into the ball, then chew cardboard. I had to concede defeat.

Mike and Mel are still very sociable people and despite it being their holiday had and are having many people over. Friends Annie and Phil came over, for a barbeque and while I'd like to say it was an especially nice evening, it was just as pleasant and lovely as all the other evening, but had the addition of two more lovely people.

The day after, it was crazy room change. An english student from Switzerland was coming to stay for 10 weeks, so we were moving into Holly's room and the student was taking the spare room. He's Stefan, having just completed a bank apprenticeship and seems to have a lot more get up and go compared to myself. Within two days he was out cycling, having surf lessons and going down the pub. Young whippersnappers.

It was drawing to a close. I was still surfing nearly every day, sometimes taking Michaels modified bike with board carrier, which made the journey to the beach a lot less strenuous and less wasted if the surf was poor. Note. Must buy camper van soon. On the last day in Byron, a wednesday, we prepared a picnic, and Cathy, Holly, Mel and Myself all went out. We drove over to Bangalow, a little country town inland from Byron. In the park the river has been dammed to create a swimming pool. Under the shade of pine and gum trees we set out the picnic. A lizard at least 40cm, maybe 50cm, came to join us. Holly got to explore outside which was obviously stimulating her, and we got to see a bit more of the area. The town itself is really a village, and looks like a frontier town. A main street is lined now with antique shops and small art boutiques, but you can see it was once full of general stores and farm shops.

Afterwards, we popped in to some friends of Mels who are staying at their Granny's house in the hills overlooking Byron Bay. Chris is an artist and web designer, while Natalie is a film producer. Their baby Zoe was poles apart to Holly, and I only seem to appreciate that now. Zoe was quiet and shy. No matter, I played with their dog Nookie instead. Dont ask. The pool, surrounded by palms, gum trees and lovely flowers, overlooks the bay and is next to the house. You can sit in the Gazebo and read, or dive in and cool off and it made a wonderful change swimming in freshwater and not saltwater. This lifestyle.

Evening came and we were nearly packed. Becky picked us up for one last drink at the Rails, and I got to meet a lovely couple, Christine and Doug, friends of Becky. They were having a little drink to celebrate their daughter who had tragically died 5 years before, and I was in awe at the way they really did celebrate. There is more to their tale, but its not for me to tell. You will just have to come to Byron Bay yourself.

The coach arrived as the storm was nearing. Lighting filled the sky and each bolt illuminated the clouds like there was a faulty fluorescent tube behind them, blinking sporadically. A new pillow purchased from Woolworths ensured that as long as there wasnt a vomit boy on the coach, it would be a more pleasant journey. This is noted as a top tip for travelling Australia; take a pillow.

Getting back to Sydney was both sad and pleasant. The sea was colder, but the break is more familiar to me, there are friends here, but they are down in Bondi, I can earn money here, but I have to put my ego and pride in my locker before I start.

Its time to knuckle down and earn some money, then buy a van and get the hell out of Dodge.