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.

Sweet 21

The view as you come out of my front door

Well, the shittest election in the history of democracy is over and - as predicted - Labor comfortably wins a fourth term in office in New South Wales.

The election actually turns out to be even more boring than I had anticipated. The Liberals fail to win a single seat off Labor - not even one! - and so the 2007 result ends up being virtually identical to the one in 2003. I'm not complaining about the result, it would just have been nice to have a bit more entertainment...

On Sunday I went to a birthday party in Marrickville, a suburb in Sydney's inner west - the most alternative, laid back and almost Camden-esque part of the city. Everyone there is either gay, a trade unionist or Labor Party activist (most are all three) and so the election is discussed at some length. The overall feeling is one of relief that the "Liberal scum" have not got in. Not that they ever do. This was the 21st consecutive victory in just under ten years that the Australian Labor Party has enjoyed over the right wing Liberal Party in state elections across the country. The twenty first on the trot.

That, almost incredibly, is not nearly enough to satisfy Labor supporters. It is the Federal Government they crave - and elections to it are expected within six months. Victory in that would give Labor control of every tier of government in Australia for the first time in the country's history.

As the beer flows at the party and politics continues to be the main topic of conversation, not for the first time during my stay in Australia I find myself asked about Anthony Charles Lynton Blair. The fucker does seem to be genuinely liked here! Or, at least, revered.

"I know if I was British and a Labour supporter I'd be pissed off about Iraq, but you can't argue with what he's done since in office," is the general gist.

You could debate forever any long-serving PM's record in office, so I opt to summarise (not least cos I had been drinking heavily)...

"Well, in lots of respects Blair has been a disappointment. But one thing I will always be grateful for is the 1997 election."

Before I can go on to explain that this was the historic occasion when Labour ended 18 years of Tory rule and how pissed I got to celebrate it, I am interrupted by a flurry of Australian recollections from that night...

"Oh, that election was fucking fantastic! I've downloaded Portillo losing off youtube!"

"The most gratifying election there has ever been"

"Simply the best. The only party that will better it will be after Thatcher's death"

All of the above are genuine comments from Australians. I don't know about you, but I don't recall celebrating many of their election results!

Most of the political chat takes place during cigarette breaks whilst in the party itself episodes of Little Britain, the Catherine Tait show and other Brit comedies are played. I find it strange, although also comfortable, to be on the other side of the world and yet in such culturally similar surroundings. How could any British person get homesick at this kind of party?!!

sea, surf, shit scared

The weather has started to become more unpredictable of late, which is hardly surprising given that summer officially ended a month ago.

Saturday was, however, a beautifully warm day. One of the unquestionable advantages Sydney has is its coastal location - there is no requirement to suffer an unreliable train journey to get to a decent beach.

Bondi Beach is just two stops on the Cityrail and a walk from where I live. Given how hot it was on Saturday, I feared the place would be rammed, but it was nowhere near as bad as I expected.

As I wandered along the beach past the hundreds of people sun bathing, swimming, surfing, paddling, relaxing and playing sports, I couldn't help but think how lucky Aussies are. The vast majority of Australia's 21 million people live on the coast, meaning this kind of lifestyle is perfectly normal for a weekend. London is technically a coastal city, but a stroll along the Thames Estuary has never relaxed me in the same way as Bondi for some reason.

The clear blue sea and the famous surf looked particularly appealing on this day. I had yet to enter the sea since being in Australia, which to any sane individual might seem a trifle odd, but I have had a phobia of the sea and - more to the point - sea life for as long as I can remember. Most people dream of doing things like snorkeling at the Great Barrier Reef. I would rather be given a sulphuric acid enema.

There are some very legitimate reasons for being scared of swimming in the sea here. Allow me to give you a little taster.

If you are lucky enough not to be attacked by a shark - this has happened to several surfers since I have been in Australia - there is always the box jellyfish, blue ringed octopus or stonefish on hand to finish you off - all of which are the most deadliest of their kind in the entire world.

Of course, you are unlikely to bump into any of these creatures off the coast of Sydney (although sharks are not far away and there are other unwelcome inhabitants such as the bluebottle, a jellyfish that can give very painful stings).

It just seems such a shame to miss out on the surf and all the fun people are obviously having in the sea. As I walk along the beach, I only see people - of all ages - laughing and enjoying themselves. There is nobody running out of the water screaming because their balls have been stung by a luminous jellyfish.

Fuck it. I'm going in.

So convinced was I that I wouldn't end up in the sea, I didn't bother bringing a towel with me to the beach. I therefore have to shell out $20 (around eight quid) on a new one. Feeling a bit parched, I also decide to have a glass of wine before heading into the water.

I'm just about to finish my drink when the sun disappears behind a menacing black cloud virtually immediately. In the distance I can see rain over the ocean. For fuck's sake. I've just spent $20 on a towel so I can go swimming!

There is no way I'm chickening out now. Not after shelling out 20 bucks! So, despite having gone nowhere near the sea in two entire months out here, despite days spent on glorious beaches in glorious sunshine, it is on an eventually overcast spring day that I end up ripping my t-shirt off and launching myself into the see in true Hasselhof style. And you know what? It's great! The sea is warm - there is clearly very, very little chance of anything causing you harm here in shallow water - and there is something incredibly exhilarating about being thrown all over the place by a gigantic wave.

I find swimming in the sea a bit like shagging girls. Beforehand I have absolutely no desire to do it, if it does eventually happen it's totally unexpected, then I realise it's quite good fun, before very quickly realising I'm bored and leaving earlier than most people would.

Oh and I didn't take any pictures whilst I was at the beach - hence why I've posted one of the main street from the city to my suburb, for no apparent reason.

home or holiday?

I've been in Sydney for two months now.

It's fair to say the original 'wow' feeling has long since gone. But, hey, that's to be expected. I arrived on a gloriously hot day and was effectively on holiday.

I'm now in 'I live here' mode. I complain about the buses, whinge about the weather and get annoyed about trivial stuff. This isn't a statement of unhappiness, it's merely an appreciation that I am now more 'resident' than I am 'tourist'.

Everything is starting to feel more real. I guess I feel at home and quite settled. If I'm being completely honest, I am now starting to consider whether or not I want to stay beyond July. I guess it's an inevitable consequence for anyone when you start living and working in a place and actually like it.

Backpacking, traveling or whatever you want to call it is very different. Sure, you can love a place while you're exploring it and not want to leave. But you're on holiday. It's how you feel on a Monday when you've got to get up to go to work, when you're having a difficult time and under pressure in the office, when the weather starts getting rubbish that really determines how you feel.

I personally have a much better standard of living and overall feeling of happiness. Perhaps I am still in the honeymoon period. But, then again, I can't help but compare little things here with their equivalents in the UK. Little things like my harbour side stroll to work every day, that begins with a walk past beautiful water, then continues through acres of the enchanting Royal Botanical Gardens, and then ends with, erm, well ends with me sat at a fucking desk in a fucking office, but you get my point.

I never cease to be amazed by the plenitude of fantastic restaurants, cafes and bars that are on my doorstep. Brunch here on a Saturday morning is compulsory in my eyes. Gone are the days of rolling out of bed half pissed and into my front room where, surrounded by the debris from the previous night's festivities, I would heat up a tin of beans or a pot noodle.

Now I roll out of bed half pissed still, but at least it's to an alfresco cafe for some of the finest coffee in the world and food to die for. Today I had poached egg, rocket, sun dried tomatoes, bacon and asparagus on turkish toast, drizzled with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Top noshing.

This afternoon I will take advantage of the clear blue sky to go to Bondi Beach and this evening I will meander around the bars of Sydney's gay scene, which I can walk home from in around 15 minutes.

I'm not trying to portray this as some kind of holiday lifestyle, because it isn't. I've just done a 45 hour working week, some of which was indescribably boring and last night I had a shit night that ended with me having an argument with a friend.

My point is, I'm living a normal lifestyle here. It just has the advantage of being better overall than my one in London. As I said, time will tell. Maybe location was my biggest problem back home. After all, the fact I used to heat up beans on a Saturday morning in an unclean flat says more about the way I was conducting my life and where I was living than it does about the availability of decent places to have a meal in London...

Time will tell

vote for me!

On Saturday (March 24) voters go to the polls in the New South Wales State election - if they haven't died of boredom before then.

The Australian Labor Party (ALP) is expected to be re-elected comfortably for a fourth term of office, despite being regarded by most people - including their own supporters - to have a miserable track record.

Aussie politics is a curious set of affairs. Here there is a Federal Government, based in Canberra, which does Australia-wide stuff like decide to join in the fun and games in Iraq. It is run by the Liberal Party, which has the unusual distinction of not really being 'liberal' at all. They are the Tories of Australian politics.

Then there are state governments, which run day-to-day services like education, health and transport. These are all - every single one of them - run by Labor.

You may be wondering why it is that Australians from the outback to the centre of the cities consistently elect left leaning state governments, and yet have returned the 68-year-old deeply Conservative John Howard as Prime Minister in the last four federal elections. It is a question Australians themselves have difficulty answering.

Anyway, Labor are set to maintain their dominance in New South Wales in this week's elections. This is despite many people thinking they haven't really done very much other than preside over a crumbling transport system and an economy lagging behind other states.

Unfortunately for the Liberals, nobody really believes they can do any better. Parties of the Right will always have difficulty convincing people concerned about the standard of public services that they can run them better. Likewise the Liberal's plans for generating more economic growth in NSW seem to centre around sacking lots of state workers and scrapping certain employment rights. Who's gonna vote for that? Haven't they realised you are supposed to keep quiet about things like that until you get into power?

The Liberal leader, a guy called Peter Debnam, doesn't exactly inspire people either. In fact, he is exceptionally dull. The only thing he does that seems to get people talking is his topless daily run along Bondi Beach, which is a pretty unedifying sight. Think Frank Spencer trying to be David Hasselhof, and you're getting there.

Elections normally fascinate me, but I've given up reading about this one. The whole fucking state is having one big massive whinge - one newspaper today claimed Sydney has the worst public transport system in the world, which has to be one of the biggest porkies ever said outside of Nazi Germany or North Korea. And yet despite all this, it is predicted the party running the state for the last 12 years will get in by a landslide! Bodes well for Labour in the UK...

There is no chance of a low turnout here, either. No prospect of Labor supporters staying at home and the result being distorted - voting is compulsory.

If I could vote in this election, I'd want to give my support to somebody in tune with my values and beliefs. So obviously that would mean re-electing the charming Fred Nile, who is campaigning on an anti-gay ticket. His biggest concern appears to be that children are being 'taught' homosexuality in schools (ring any bells?!) and instead favours the teaching of 'Aussie values', whatever they are.

Note my use of the word 're-elect'. Sydney's reputation for liberal tolerance doesn't extend to all parts of this State...

something for the weekend

Was over my illness by the weekend and had recovered sufficiently to probably risk doing similar damage to my body yet again.

On Saturday I went to the Future Music Festival at the Randwick Race Course, and on Sunday popped along to the celebrations for the 75th anniversary of the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

I only got hold of a ticket for Future Music - a typical all-day dance tent mash up thingy - at 10.30am on the Saturday, just a couple of hours before it started. After appropriate preparation in several drinking establishments, I finally got my arse over to the venue only to be greeted by an almighty storm. By the time I enter the festival, I look like a drowned rat from a tsunami.

The event itself is alright. A bright sunny day certainly helps at things like this, and so therefore a rancid dark and horrible one does pretty much the opposite. I try and convince myself that the more Smirnoff Ice I drink, the more fun it will be.

Ok, let's be fair here. It is a fun day. I'm not at work, so that's a bonus. But, I dunno, there's something missing here from the equivalent events I attend in the UK. It begins with E, that's right it's, erm, Eucalyptus Oil. Yes. That's the one.

One of the things that really fucking annoys me about festivals is twats stood next to you at the bar boasting about how wrecked they are. I get myself into some pretty interesting states at these events, but I never - and I really do mean never - feel the urge to turn round to somebody and make some kind of announcement about it.

"Mate, are you as fucked as me? I'm fucking wasted. Tell you what, I'd fuck that barmaid."

Next day I attend the anniversary of the Harbour Bridge. It would have been a great occasion, but again the weather is lousy. Plus, there's only so much looking at a bridge you can do...

Miserable cunt, aren't I?!