Everybody needs good...

Today it is time for the most culturally enriching and symbolic event of my travels. It is a pilgrimage of epic proportions that no self respecting visitor to Australia could possibly miss out on. That's right - I'm going on the official Neighbours tour.

I couldn't possibly come all this way and not see the settings of a soap that I watched religiously every day for many years (until I started working and realised that it was, on balance, shit). This programme took up more of my time in front of the tele during my youth than probably any other. On some days - before, of course, the internet - I would be so bored I would even watch both showings of it. This is all pretty sad, I know. But I'm looking forward to a nostalgic trip down memory lane.

The official tour bus picks me up from near my hotel in St Kilda at the ungodly hour of 8.30am. It is packed full of Brits. No self respecting Aussie watches Neighbours, let alone goes on the tour. On board the organisers get us in the mood by playing popular hits from former Neighbours stars. As the sounds of 'Locomotion' by Kylie reverberate around the bus, for most people it's probably nostalgic. For me, it just feels like I'm back in a bloody gay bar...

The Neighbours set is a good half an hour out of town, so we are shown a classic episode to entertain us - that of Daphne's death. As it plays and we travel down the pristinely clean and vastly wide streets of Melbourne, it dawns on me that this episode is nearly 20 years old. It was shown so long ago, but yet not only can I remember it, I can remember where I saw it (The tv room in the Norfolk County Council sports and social club, to be precise, whilst Mum had a drink with friends after work).

Erinsborough, the suburb where it is set, doesn't actually exist. It's an anagram of Neighbours. It's name is actually Blackburn, but I think we can forgive the programme makers for choosing not to set the soap in a place that shares its name with a grubby, depressing, boring northern shithole.

The bus takes us to Erinsborough High School, which is a real school, but is actually the Blackburn English Language School. This is a school for immigrant children to learn English at. It must be rather baffling for them to arrive in a foreign country, be sent to school to learn a language that originated on the other side of the world and then find hordes of people from that country gawping through the gates taking photos of an imaginary school from a tv programme they've proabably never seen or heard of. I don't know about you, but I would find that strange.

Eventually we arrive in Ramsay Street, which is a real street, but is actually called Pin Oak Court. Famously, the houses are homes to ordinary people and no filming is done inside. The street is closed off two days a week for filming and the owners are financially recompensed for the hassle of living in a tourist destination. It would be too expensive for Channel 10 to buy up the properties.

The first thing that strikes you about 'Ramsay Street' is now small it is. The second is how incredibly familiar it seems. I recognise all the houses immediately and can instantly remember who lived in them when I was watching the show. It really is quite strange to be in a street I feel I know so well, and yet it is on the other side of the world and I'd never been there before.

Other people on the tour, some of whom rather worryingly still watch the show, go on about how they feel so sorry for the people that live in the street, how awful it must be to have your privacy invaded - whilst simultaneously ogling their homes and taking endless photographs of them. I'm sorry, but I don't actually feel any sympathy for the owners of these homes. They are paid money to have their homes used as scenery and are invariably at work when this is done. It's not as if they have to actually hand control of their bathroom to Harold Bishop twice a week. I wouldn't mind being paid to have someone film in the street outside my home. It's money for doing precisely, erm, nothing. Most people probably wouldn't want tourists standing outside their home all day and every day, I grant you. But if you don't like it, sell up. And just think how much you would get for selling your house on Ramsay Street, a property recognisable to people across the world. I asked our tour guide how much you could expect to fetch. The answer? At least a million dollars. So, no, I don't feel sorry for these people!

After a thoroughly enjoyable morning of nostalgia, we are dropped back in St Kilda, where there is the opportunity to meet one of the current stars of Neighbours. As I haven't seen an episode in about six or seven years, I don't bother with this and instead head to one of the area's many fantastic eateries for brunch.

If it wasn't physically impossible and financially irresponsible, I think I could spend all day and every day in Melbourne just eating. The food is just absolutely divine.

Melbourne

I awake in my hotel in the St Kilda area of Melbourne with an almighty hangover.

My logic for getting trolleyed last night was that today is Good Friday, tourist 'stuff' would be closed, and so it was therefore the most appropriate opportunity to get off my face in Melbourne's gay bars.

Not only do I wake up with a hungover, I also wake up next to someone else. Quite how he got there I have no idea. However, I am quite sure that, along with all other such incidents during my time here, the presence of a young Australian male in my bed was due to my desire to discuss matters of cultural interest with somebody from another country, and absolutely nothing to do with any desire for sexual gratification. I would just like to make that clear.

Anyway, I'm in Melbourne - Australia's second city. And, boy, do people from Sydney like to point that little fact out. The rivalry between the two places is practically as old as the nation itself. Melbourne used to be Australia's principal city, but over the last few decades Sydney has surpassed it in population and status.

The two places are very, very different (which is something of a relief because otherwise it would have been rather pointless coming here). Sydney is often described as a brash, full-on Northern American style City - Melbourne more European, relaxed and cultured. Put another way, in Sydney you spend your day marvelling at extravagant sights and enjoying the sea and surf, before an evening of hedonism in the numerous bars and clubs. In Melbourne you enjoy fine food, great coffee, read books and meet interesting people.

Quite frankly, all of the above is fine with me. I chose to live in Sydney primarily because that is where it is easier to find decent work. It's also warmer than Melbourne and has a bigger gay scene. None of this means I can't enjoy Melbourne, and I certainly do...

I have brunch and coffee near where I'm staying before heading down to St Kilda beach. It is immediately evident how different this place is to Sydney. There is no surf or lovely long golden sand - this is more Bognor than Bondi. There is, however, a lovely pier that affords a great view of the city.

St Kilda is one of the main backpacking destinations, but because we are now well into Spring and Melbourne is one of the coldest parts of Australia, drunken young Brits are refreshingly absent from the area. The place does indeed have a European vibe, with the smell of different restaurants dominating your senses walking along the street.

It is quite liberating knowing that because it's Good Friday and everything is shut, I can wander around aimlessly and do whatever I want without feeling guilty. It's a perrenial trait of mine - arrive in a new place with lots to see, sleep in late and do little, then curse myself.

Walking around Melbourne is a real treat. And because I'm not bound my an inteniary dictated by a guide book, I literally don't know what's round the corner. I stroll into the city - well, hike would be more accurate given how long it took - and then stumble across all sorts of places, including the state government buildings, the botanical gardens, China Town and so on.

It is without doubt a very 'British' city, but unquestionably with its own distinct identity. I absolutely love the place. Don't worry Sydney, you're still my number one, but everyone needs their bit on the side...

terminally trashed

I would honestly put drinking in airport terminals among my favourite things to do.

It is an immensely gratifying experience to sit down before a flight and get nicely lubricated. Part of it is obviously the excitement of going wherever I am going. Another aspect is that all the planning, preparation and days of waiting are now over - all that stands between me and that plane is as many drinks as I can possibly consume before they close the gate.

There is also something exhilarating about the atmosphere in an airport bar. Not because the bars themselves are ever anything to write home about, but because you will struggle to find a similar environment in any other aspect of life where so many people are so happy. Some will be heading off for the trip of a life time, others a weekend away, and so on. All united in the desire to have a few liveners before taking off. Some airports even have bars next to the departure gate, which affords the opportunity to do some last ditch drinking before the tedium of getting on board, finding out you're estimated take off time is 45 minutes later than anticipated and having to sit through a safety demonstration that is utterly pointless.

I once arrived at Gatwick Airport a good three hours before a flight to Berlin and nearly missed it because I was so engrossed in departure lounge boozing (It was the start of a day of disasters. When we actually got to Berlin we boarded the wrong train and nearly ended up in Poland instead of the city centre. A grand total of ten hours passed between getting to Gatwick and arriving at our hostel, which we didn't stay at because it transpired we had to share a room with an extremely rude and unpleasant local who was also a raving homosexual).

Anyway, back to Australia. I've arrived here at the domestic airport a sociable two hours before take off to Melbourne (this PC is in a bar, I hasten to add). It is very busy, but mind you it's 5.30pm on the Thursday before Easter. As I look around this bar, I can see plenty of people getting a quick one in and having a joke with friends. They will all be heading to different parts of this vast country to enjoy the long weekend. Like I said, I just find this atmosphere pleasant. I have no desire to hang out in airports. It's a nice feeling, that's all.

convert me

Ask anybody who has lived in a different country for a considerable period of time and the issue of when you stop converting the cost of everything into your own currency will be familiar.

It's something that takes a while. When you initially arrive somewhere foreign, your natural self defence mechanism kicks in and whatever it is you buy - be it food, drink or a cab ride - you always convert the price back into pounds to reassure yourself daylight robbery isn't taking place.

I've adjusted to Australian currency now (2.4 dollars to the pound) and hardly ever need to use the pre-programmed converter I've got on my phone. Yes, I know, 2.4 to 1 is not exactly rocket science, but try doing it with a large bar round in your first week when you're shit faced, ok?!

It says a lot about my generally irresponsible attitude to money as to what I choose to convert in my mind now. If I clear $1,000 a week in wages, this doesn't get converted into pounds. Maybe it's the words 'thousand' and 'week' in the same sentence, actually of course it is, that subconsciously stops that from happening. At the other end of the scale if I'm in a Bottle Shop (Aussie for Offie) and see a nice looking White going for $15, that gets converted. Only 6 pounds! Bargain! Might as well get a couple of them!

I adopt a similar attitude towards eating here. Sydney is awash with fantastic South East Asian food outlets - obviously a direct consequence of huge amounts of recent immigration - and this type of grub has developed into my favourite. Why bother cooking or taking sandwiches to work when you can get a freshly cooked, terrific meal for $6 (less than 2.50)?

Why bother cooking, either, when the kitchen ends up like it does in the photo above after you and your flat mate bother to do so for the first time in ages? And we have a dishwasher...

I have generally managed to stay within budget since I started work in Sydney. I am finding it difficult to save though, which would be useful so I can travel for longer towards the end of my trip. Little things like tomorrow's expedition don't help the finances either - I'm off to Melbourne for Easter.

Can't wait.

true blue

It is gone 3am on Sunday morning and I am awoken by the sound of receiving a text message. It's from my Mum. It is news of unspeakable horror. It contains the following, harrowing content: Colchester 3-0 Norwich.

To say this plumps new depths is something of an understatement. It is as low as can be possibly imagined. Only a few years ago, Colchester were playing non league football while we were mixing it with the very best.

I found it very, very difficult to get back to sleep after hearing about this depravity. Such was my state of mind, I even texted my mother back to say I would never come back to England after this result, which probably unsettled the poor old girl.

Anyway, on Sunday (I always find it confusing to know what tense to write this thing in, but never mind) I headed off to the Blue Mountains, which are to the west of Sydney. The mountains are one of the biggest tourist attractions in the area, and derive their 'blueness' from sunlight refracting through the eucalyptus oil that evaporates from gum trees - whatever that means.

It's a two hour journey from Central Station in Sydney. Central is the only major station in the city and, given that it was built under British rule in the 19th century, looks very similar to big stations at home. It reminds me very much of Hull Station, although I am pleased to say that is where comparisons between Sydney and that hell hole start and finish.

During the journey to Katoomba - the main station close to the mountains - I scroll through my guidebooks and recollect tails from locals about what I am going to discover. This is a part of Australia famous for its Devonshire teas, for being one of the few habitable places in Australia that regularly sees snow in Winter, that has famously traditional Christmas celebrations. I was expecting a remote and small version of Bath or Edinburgh.

Upon arrival in Katoomba, it is clear I have got East Grinstead down under instead. The place appears to be, on first impressions, a very average small town with no redeeming features at all.

After coffee and lunch, I purchase an all day travel pass that will take me by bus to all the main sights in the mountains. The itinerary states there is the opportunity for bush walks, but stresses the need to take ample supplies of food and water in case you get lost. There have been cases of people going missing during these treks, and so I sensibly heed this advice and pack as much beer as I possibly can into my bag before setting off. Well, come on, if you're going to end up stranded on the side of a mountain it is sensible to have as much booze as possible.

The bus journey takes us past lots of places offering Devonshire tea, a few nursing homes and the odd golf course. Feeling distinctly unimpressed with the area, we are dropped off at one of the scenic spots. As I walk down the side of the mountain to the viewing point, my mood changes in an instant. Nothing can possibly prepare you for what I saw. No anecdote, picture or indeed anything. The view is utterly outstanding, like nothing I have ever come across in my entire life before.

My whole afternoon is then spent bush walking, photographing and supping the odd beer here and there. I have never, ever seen such beauty. As I stroll around, I eventually stumble across a waterfall. It then strikes me that this is genuinely the first time in my entire life that I have seen a waterfall in person - seriously - and I can do little more than just sit and watch in amazement.

To cap off the day, I travel on the 'Skywalk' which is, apparently, the only mountain train ride in the World with a glass floor, allowing you to stand over the terrifying drop below. It is an incredible experience.

The journey back to Sydney is a pain in the arse, although - not for the first time during my stay - I make it more pleasurable by ignoring the ban on drinking alcohol on trains here.

This really is a fantastic country. I don't want to leave it.