a week in Sydney

I'm going to give a somewhat digested account of my time here in Sydney. Anything fuller would involve a lot of recounting episodes of The Simpsons, Family Guy, and American Dad. Yes, I watched a lot of TV...when it worked.

On arrival day I managed to stay awake until about 4pm. Walking the dogs was basically the final straw. I slept in 3 sessions, about 3 or 4 hours each I guess, interspersed with films and sport on TV (the Ryder Cup was on, the only exciting golf event there is). The hotel was OK-ish. I mean, the room was nice enough and the TV was a big moderately fancy flat screen thing mounted on the wall. But it was mounted badly, with a huge inset way bigger than the set and all the wires and stuff protruding. And it hadn't been painted. Also throughout the week it kept breaking -- hotels don't tend to provide normal TVs, but ones which are permanently "tuned" to something provided by a computer, with promotional clips of the city and access to pay-per-view porn and stuff. Well, the Diamant's computer was fucked a lot of the time. They gave free internet access to everyone in lieu (I already qualified for it). For the first few days the connection was about as reliable as the one in Istanbul airport had been.

The hotel had no bar, nor kitchen; room service was only provided from 6pm-10pm each day, with pasta/pizza or Indian food provided at a premium from a couple of local restaurants. I had pizza and cheesecake twice during the week and they were bloody nice. The minibar was an auto-charging don't-touch-what-you-can't-afford thing, yet when I checked out earlier today I had only been charged for 2 beers instead of the 5 or 6 I had throughout the week. Go figure.

The bathroom was nice enough. No bath, just a walk-in shower. The view was of a tower block and 24hr convenience store. There was a Holiday Inn about 20 yards away that I'd have stayed in if I'd known about it (translation: I didn't do my research well enough). Mind you, if I had done my research I'd not have stayed in the Cross at all: lots of hobos, mutton, seedy strip joints, and backpacker places. I wish I'd stayed in the Rocks.

Australia loves pies. I love pies. Harry's Cafe de Wheels does ace pies; I had tiger pie and mash and peas. Mmm.

Sydney is a gloriously picturesque and beautiful city. I went for a couple of runs along the harbour front around the Domain and the Botanical Gardens and the Opera House and through Circular Quay to the Rocks. Beautiful. I managed to run for an hour non-stop, by going slow, then stupidly convinced myself that this meant I was getting better in general -- so when I dismally failed to get anything close to a personal best for a 5km 3 days later, I got really pissed off. Seems all I proved was that if I do it slower, I can do it for longer. Well, dur. I could say the same about any other chore, like washing up or whatever. Ho hum.

On the Sunday, it rained. A lot. But only while I was outside; while we were having breakfast at Bondi Beach, and later on inside watching the NRL Grand Final (supporting St George, of course) it was dry. On Monday it was a nice morning until I left the hotel to meet me bro and niece for breakfast, at which point the heavens properly opened and we got soaked. Exploration of the Cross cut short we went for breakfast next to where his "car" was parked, got undercover, and the rain stopped. And, to be fair, it mostly stopped for the rest of the week at that point.

Monday afternoon I did some tourism. We went to the Middle Head fortifications, and then to HMAS Sydney at Bradley's Point. We walked along the foreshore about 2/3rds of the way to the Taronga Zoo wharf, stopping roughly at a point where there was a sign to it. At that point, quite literally, we were asked for directions to it by a couple of tourists. We told them it was that way, they said "well, you agree with the signs, so that's 2 opinions", but the fella still seemed strangely reluctant to believe it was correct. Very odd.

On Tuesday I went to Cronulla. Not for long, initially; I had planned (and told people) that I would be getting the ferry to Bundeena, and then going bushwalking in the Royal National Park. But instead of that, I opted to do the coastal walk to Kernell and Botany Bay Park, Cook's landing spot and the birthplace of modern Australia. Online I'd seen a really vague guide to doing this in reverse and figured it couldn't be that hard. Actually I originally tried to do it as the page had described, but the first instruction was "get the 987 bus from Cronulla" and I couldn't find a stop for it.

So, I walked along the path next to Cronulla beach until it started to kind of head vaguely inland and pavements disappeared on the edge of town, at which point I went onto the beach itself. Walking on soft deep sand is hard. I only managed it for a couple hundred yards before fighting my way up a dune towards a path and a nature reserve. The path was grassy and rocky for a bit before I was soon clambering over dunes again. My legs were really getting a workout.

The ocean was never far away on my right and this felt correct, from what I'd read; all I had to do was hug the coast and I'd end up at Kernell. After a while I was in full on scrubland, and followed a couple of random paths towards the beach until hitting dead-ends and beating a retreat. Parallel to a barbed-wire fence, erected while they do dune stabilisation work, I carried on until hitting what I later learnt was Boat Harbour beach, one of the most polluted in New South Wales. At the time I was a bit freaked out; having turned a corner, I was presented with a view of various shacks, trailers, caravans, like a stereotypical redneck US desert community. Each had an Australian flag hoisted. I got as close as I dared while feeling that I wasn't about to end up getting shot, having discerned no route off the beach and back into park on the other side. So I followed the sand/road out, round the back, and... ended up on a road. With no pavement. Right seemed to be the direction I wanted, so that's where I headed, past a desalination plant and lube dock and all kinds of other industrial units. Bleh. When some form of civilisation loomed ahead, I'd convinced myself it was going to be nowhere near where I actually wanted to be, and just wanted there to be a bus stop so I could get back somewhere sensible.

It was Kernell. Huzzah! Followed a few roads all named after Cook or something about him, and ended up at the park. I'd been there before, in fact earlier this year, on my last full day in Sydney. And like that time, I went to the kiosk and bought a Golden Gaytime. Heh. Snigger. Got the fabled 987 back to Cronulla and at one point passed one of those signs you get outside churches and schools, where they change the message all the time. Like the one outside the church in the Simpsons. This was outside a school, and it said "Congratulations to all year 13 students on completing 12 years of education". Now, I'm no expert in schools, and I know how confusing they are in the UK where even neighbouring London boroughs can't agree on structure and naming of years etc, but really, year 13 means 12 years? What kind of off-by-one nonsense is that? Meh.

Back in Cronulla I went for beer at Northies, the "safest in the Shire" back in 2008. Nothing special, but after walking 13km beer was definitely required. My legs and thighs did hurt.

My bro had most of Wednesday off and I'd decided it would be a rest day so far as exercise was concerned. Which kinda meant the 11km walk including loads of hills (but crossing the Harbour Bridge, yay!) most of the way towards his house was a bit daft. However, it did mean I accidentally ended up at a great place for lunch, for fish, chips and beer. Walked the dogs, did family stuff, got the bus back into central Sydney then failed dismally to walk back to the hotel and ended up buying a train ticket to go one stop.

Thursday, my 6th day in Sydney, I finally got a boat. The Manly Ferry is the best waterborne public transport I know. 30 minute ride through the harbour and ends up at a beach on the Pacific Ocean (pretty much) and a Bavarian Bier Cafe where the beer is, fucking hell, £7.95 a pint. Ouch. I walked the length of the beach and back, had just one drink, and formulated a plan for the afternoon. Inspired by a suggestion from Ellie in the morning, I resolved to buy a book (Nothing To Envy, about lives in North Korea) and then go sit in the Marble Bar at the Hilton for a couple of hours, nursing a beer or two and having a read.

The book, which I later ordered for £4.99 including delivery from Amazon UK, was priced 35 Aussie dollars. That's about £22. Screw that. And the Marble Bar was shut for a function until 8.30pm. Oh. So my plan was in tatters and I just wandered around the city, up to Town Hall, around to Darling Harbour, along the back streets to The Rocks, got to the Fortune Of War but just didn't feel like a drink by now, and went to get a bus back to the hotel. Gave up waiting after about half an hour and got a train instead. Was kind of annoyed that everything got scuppered. And even on this genuine rest day from exercise I'd managed to walk ~10km.

I'm kind of bored of Sydney. Visiting my family is great, but meh, this is my 5th visit and on my own, with stuff to miss at home, stuck in a hotel in an area I didn't like, in no mood to drown any sorrows (or drink alone in the evenings for any other reason, tbh), I was often bored when the days finished. Which was at about 6 or 7pm. So I watched a lot of TV.

I've had 3 nightmares in the last 8 or 9 days. The one on the plane, when I woke up at the point of being scimitared through the eyes by BMX-riding muggers/thugs somewhere in South London; one where I was some kind of investigative journalist in North Korea who stumbled across these terrifying graves of people whose flesh had been melted off their bones, and their bodies dismembered, and we got caught by the authorities while trying to escape; and the one this morning, where, um, let's see... I had volunteered to help out with the website of some sports club (I can't actually remember what sport it was), then left early to go for a drink with someone from that club. We were in Waddon, they led me to Croydon and then just fucked off, leaving me to find my way back. I was familiar with the area but couldn't find my way, wandering around the back streets of having encounter after encounter with chav thug scrotes and just about escaping them until finally getting shit beat out of me (and then waking up). I don't like these dreams. It's kind of rare for me to remember dreams at all, let alone 3 in a week and certainly not 3 nightmares. Oh well.

Palm Beach, the Barrenjoey Lighthouse, and the Newport Arms are glorious places. Basically the northernmost part of what could be considered Greater Sydney (it's 40km north of the CBD), there was a peninsula with beaches both on the ocean and inland, a nice steep climb to the lookouts, a mediocre pint of Guinness and a magnificent burger. Such was Friday, my brother's response to my "I'm kind of bored of Sydney" statement on Thursday, his successful attempt to show me stuff I'd not seen before and was unlikely to ever get to on public transport. Followed swiftly by his admission that that's now me lot, I've basically done everything he can recommend for me. Hopefully next time I visit I won't be on my own, and/or I'll make it two 2/3 day visits with a side-trip to New Zealand or summat in the middle.

I'm in the Qantas domestic terminal at Sydney airport as I write this, waiting for QF435 to Melbourne. Never been there. May have more interesting stuff to report, who knows.

Spit Bridge to Manly

Monday 25th January 2010. Kevin had the day off work. I hadn't suffered any jetlag. Time to go for a walk!

This was my 4th visit to Sydney (or 6th, depending on how you count it -- on two visits I've been on 3 or 4 day side-trips in the middle). But it was only the second time I was staying in a hotel, and the first time I've had to fend for myself. Most importantly, related to what I'm talkin' about 'ere, I had to get some public transport BY MYSELF like a BIG BRAVE BOY. Which wasn't something new, come to think of it; what's new was I was meeting me bro' somewhere I'd never been before, namely the Spit Bridge.

I needed a Diet Coke before the bus, so popped in a newsagent next to where they all start from. While I was in there someone appeared basically from nowhere, in a robe, and asked where the swimming pool is. Turns out there's an entrance directly into the shop from the hotel in the building next door. Freaked me out though.

Monday rush hour traffic in Sydney by the bus terminus is mental. Very unpleasant. But my bus was on time and got me to the Spit nice and quickly. There was nothing remotely difficult about getting off at the right place, and in fact I surprised Kevin by getting there so early. He was playing with AJ, but once I got there he got her sorted, shoved her in the backpack, and off we went.

Spit Bridge to Manly

Map your trip with EveryTrail

The Spit Bridge to Manly walkway is ace. My type of walk: a boardwalk, mostly signed, a feeling of being miles away from the city despite being in the centre of it, water, trees, wildlife, a half-decent climb, and it ends at a Bavarian pub next to a ferry port.

Not much to say about it that other sites can't say better. But I can show you a picture of an Eastern Water Dragon, one of the many that we spotted en route.

AJ was well behaved pretty much the whole way, as I recall. The climb around the head was a bit more than I expected, but that was a good thing. Part of the walk goes past a beach and park which Kevin and Sally had taken Ruth and I to, back in 2008, which was my first Golden Gaytime experience. Yum. But this time I just stuck with water.

The weather was pretty grey, which was actually perfect. It meant I didn't get any decent photos (wildlife notwithstanding), but it also meant I didn't get sunburnt or die of dehydration etc. By the time we finally reached Manly, me bro was more fucked than I was, blaming the fact that he'd carried a backpack with his daughter in it the whole way. I pointed out this only just about made him weigh the same as me, but he legitimately countered with the fact that he's not used to weighing that much. Bah.

I love the Bavarian Bier Cafe at Manly. I think I've been there on every trip to Sydney (when you count them as 4). This is at least in part due to the fact that the Manly Ferry is yet to get boring, what with it being a superb picturesque 30 minute boat ride in Sydney harbour with ace views of, um, everything, and it just being public transport. Nothing special about it. Manly itself is actually not part of Sydney, or something...I could look it up right now but can't be arsed, but my understanding is it's not a suburb like, say, Wimbledon, but actually a separate place like, um, I dunno. Woking? Except it's better than Woking, because it has a ferry and a huge beach on the Pacific Ocean and a Bavarian pub and no fucking pikey-ass Wetherspoons.

The first time I went there because "you've never been here before, the Manly Ferry is a box to tick and there's a Bavarian pub there". The second time was exactly the same reason, but aimed at Ruth instead of me (that was the best visit; there are photos of our crazy drinks and my bro attempting some kind of schnitzel challenge somewhere). The third time was because I wanted somewhere nice to have an angry drink by myself because I was hurting lots -- though the bar staff took my Oktoberfest 2002 t-shirt to mean that I was German and felt homesick. No, not German...

This visit was because we needed some calories after the walk. Of course there are abundant choices in Manly of places to sit and eat/drink, but I wanted to go here because it's a Bavarian pub for fucks sake. AJ was ... less well-behaved than she might have been, but not awful. Most thing stayed on the table most of the time. I showed off my fearsome beer knowledge by recommending we drink Stiegl (it is a great lager), and then we got the ferry back.

I don't recall what the rest of the day consisted of. I suspect I just sat in my hotel room dicking around on the internet, and then watched a load of tennis. Those things happened quite a lot o this holiday.

couple of walks

We've done two walks here so far:

Bondi beach
Nielsen Park

Can't tot up the distance properly because I've failed to get the GPS working, and because on the second one everytrail.com seems to think it was only a mile long. I reckon it was about 3. In fact fuck it, let's assume roughly 7 miles, roughly 2 miles for the walk into Kingston recently, cheat a bit by rounding up and make the running total 40 miles.

Weather in Sydney seems better today so we might get some more done, maybe even the harbour bridge!

Sydney, days 1 and 1.5

Just about to nod off but thought I'd write something here first. It's coming up to 1530 on Friday afternoon and we're knackered.

Not exactly stereotypical Australian weather here, it must be said. We arrived yesterday morning to torrential rain at 6am when Kevin and Sally met us at the airport. 45 minutes from landing to airside despite not using the Express Arrival lanes. The rain stayed pouring until we got to their house, and after the tour and dumping our bags Sal went to work. Kevin took Ruth and I to our first box-ticking venture, a mostly dry affair at Bondi Beach. We parked almost in Bronte and walked the coastal path to Bondi itself, heading inland when the heavens re-opened for some breakfast at Paris Go(?). Back to and along the beach afterwards, we spent a little while watching a nutter swimming around the rocks at the northern edge. It was windy and the ocean was pretty mean.

Walked back along the same coastal path and to the car, then came back to Willoughby for 3 hours kip while Kevin took Rowlf out for a swim. The evening was a BIG box-ticker for Ruth, as she went to a ballet at the Sydney Opera House. Prior to the performance the 4 of us had beer and chips at a bar; and ... OK I'm fading here, so this is the end of the post. I'm just dryly and dully listing what we did in linear fashion and it's not fun to write which means it's probably even less fun to read than normal. Maybe I'll write something better before tonight's pub crawl. Not likely though.

Sunrise, clouds and gambling

Gah. I'm hungover. Although a bit less now that I've had breakfast, now I just feel really full. Got what appears to be ITV coverage of yesterday's Premiership on TV as I write this. It's 9am and I've been up for almost 2 hours.

So, last Tuesday was my last full day in Sydney. Didn't really have a plan 'cos all the main things had been done the previous week, so we sort of played it by ear. Started the day watching Sunrise on Channel 7, as each morning had started in Sydney in fact. More GMTV than BBC Breakfast, it's hosted in the main by some bird and a fella called Kochie. I saw a book by him for sale in Perth airport, some self-help "how to start from nothing and get famous and minted" affair. The presenting on Sunrise is a bit hit and miss and in the main I thought the programme was bearable, but not unmissable. But on Tuesday I was massively impressed by Kochie. In one segment they interviewed the fella that wrote Fast Food Nation 'cos the film's about to come out -- I didn't take much notice of it but later on they read out one of the emails they'd received, someone complaining about them (the presenters) being too much on the side of big business, McD's and the like. Kochie's response was to go off on a rant, virtually shouting at the viewer, pointing out how it's their job to put across the alternative viewpoint to the guest, to not let their points go unchallenged, etc. Good on ya, Kochie.

Actually later in the week I was watching it in Perth and he went into one again, about some news that Australian cricket fans were being told it's OK to call the English "poms", but not "whinging poms" or "pommie bastards". Turns out someone's whinging about the term whinging, and how the use of it as a modifier turns a harmless nickname into insidious racism. Cue Kochie saying it was ridiculous, what the hell is the world coming to, "when I was young I got called wog, spic, dago bastard, all kinds of things. And have you ever been to England? They call us convicts!".

Come to think of it Kochie also used the term "back, sack and crack" when interviewing a beautician about male grooming too. Good effort. Not sure you'd get a phrase like that coming from whassisface. Dermot.

Anyway. Kevin dropped a bag of clothes off for me at the launderette (spelt "laundrette", though) while I got ready and we started off with a bit of a walk to get some breakfast. I had a big belgian waffle thing covered in strawberries while he had, er, something else. Can't remember what. Something egg related? It was fucking huge whatever it was, and both our meals were top notch.

Hmm, this isn't highlights on TV. This is the whole of Sheffield United vs Middlesbrough. In fact they're even showing half time(!)

Finished breakfast and a bus was due, but I had enough time to nip over the road and buy a diet coke. No sign of the bus after a few minutes so we walked down the end of the road to another stop where more than one bus stops. Wanted to look at the timetable but what's true in London is true in Randwick, Sydney: when there's only one person at a bus stop, and a long bench, you can be sure they'll sit at the precise point which obscures the only thing anyone else who comes along might want to read. FFHS. Anyway we got the bus into town, once more to Circular Quay 'cos we were off to the magnificently named suburb of Manly.

The Manly ferry is probably the longest ferry trip you can do in the inner harbour area, the longest one our travelcard things are valid on anyway. It's a fair old way (mind, the boat is slow). Unfortunately the weather on Tuesday was pretty grim really, all wind and clouds and stuff. Kevin got a phonecall from a recruitment consultant while on the boat and that's about the most interesting thing that happened. On the other side we started off around the little beach, to the entrance to the aquarium which we were about to go in when Sal phoned, to talk about ADSL but when hearing of our location warned us off. Apparently it's shit, that aquarium.

So we walked up the main pedestrianised shopping bit instead. Can't remember what it's called, but it's a building site at the moment anyway. I guess they're making it look nice but it doesn't at the moment. At the other end is the main beach, a hefty one at that. Again, not much to look at because of the weather. We walked along to the edge, then back a bit, then Kevin took or made a half-hour call to that recruitment consultant again, pimping himself out but proving too expensive and intransigent (just learn a bit of .NET you arse!) for any jobs on the books. Watching the seagulls was fun, as they occasionally attempted to fly against the wind -- really not worth the effort -- and occasionally decided to fly with it. Never seen a gull move so fast, I really hope they have a sense of fun because it didn't half look like it.

Outside was cold. Inside was beer. Into the Steyne we went, then a wander back towards the ferry place where we stopped for another beer, some food, and another beer in the German biergarten thing. Lots and lots of glasses suspended over the bar. Decent pint 'n all. After finishing up there we jumped on the ferry back to town (via coffee/diet coke) and from there a walk to Martin Place (from where Sunrise is filmed, as it happens) for a train to Bondi Junction. The Junger. Having been raving about members' clubs since I first arrived Kevin had decided to show me a proper one: the Easts League's, or something similarly difficult to pronounce.

Oh, on the walk to Martin Place we stopped off to buy and write and send a postcard. Kevin's fucking useless at sending postcards home to the old man! Last year in New York I went so far as to buy him one, and a stamp, and gave them him while we were all sat eating burgers in the basement of a hotel. He left the bloody thing there, unaddressed and maybe even unwritten. So this time we wrote the card together, and I took photos of him posting the damn thing. As it happens I phoned Dad last night and he's already got it. Sorted.

Anyway. Easts Leagues, or whatever it's called, is a giant members' club. As per usual you can become a temporary member just by writing your name and address on a bit of paper, and that's what we did. These clubs are devoted to 2 things: drinking and gambling. Subsidised beer and row after row of pokies, I thought it was about time I gave these damn machines a go. We'd been on them in the casino the week before but it hadn't made a lot of sense. This time it also didn't make much sense, but I won $60 ($40 profit). Deciding to cut my winnings and run I hit collect, and that's where the confusion started.

When you press collect, money doesn't come out. It tells you to contact someone who'll come and give you the money. So we asked the fella walking past and he said no, don't just stop someone, press the "come pay me" button and someone will come pay me. He pressed that, and a bird came along a few minutes later. Shoved a special key in some slot which brought up a bucketload of stats (eg, that machine had taken $1.4 million since whenever) and proved to her that I had indeed won. So, she didn't give me any money, just a slip of paper saying I was entitled to it. Um, OK. Went and sat down flushed with success, if not actually flush with cash, and while sipping a beer stopped another guy on his way past and asked him how to actually get my damn winnings. Turns out you go up to a cashier guy and exchange the slip for currency. Also turns out "all pakistanis are cheats". Nice one. Can't even remember what prompted him to say that, pretty sure it wasn't anything we'd said though. Perhaps Australians have some weird idea that all English are racist so we're a safe outlet for their prejudices.

Back to the flat after that, Mara cooked a mean egg+bacon on toast and we slumped in front of the TV. Some tit-for-tat accusations meant we ended up watching way more of Dancing With The Stars than intended (I thought we were waiting for Kevin, he thought we were waiting for me) before going out for more beer at the DOG just up the road. A mostly quiet bar was livened up with the arrival of a crazed puppy who was straining so hard to get off his leash his legs were all splayed out to make him look like a frog. Mental thing. Stayed in that bar until it stopped serving, but were allowed to move into the other one. The bar you have to get to via a room full of pokies. The bar that's also a bookmakers. They do love a gamble them Aussies. Won a bit on a pokie, but then put it all back in and ended up down, but who cares -- last day in Australia anyway so the currency had to be spent somewhere.

Oh. it wasn't my last day in Australia. I was off to Perth the next day. D'oh!

The Englishman who went up a Sky Tower and came down trembling like a

Damn it. Flickr let me use a really long title, but longer than blogger actually supports. The last word can now be left up to your imagination...

Auckland - 335
Originally uploaded by Darren Foreman.

Here's a view from the top of Auckland's Sky Tower. This is the tallest building in the southern hemisphere, and despite my bro not being around and running a marathon (cf. ascents of the Eiffel Tower and Empire State Building) I still decided to give it a go. After all I had an hour or so to kill before having to get a cab to the airport even though I knew my flight was delayed by a couple of hours.

So, one ticket to the top, please. No, not the $20 ticket, that $23 one that gets me up onto the outdoor observation deck. Up I went, the lift being called for me by the guy in charge of calling lifts for people, on me own because it was very early in the day (about 9am I think).

Oo-er. Eek. It wasn't like those other buildings. Cracking view but so much glass, flaying outwards, and the outer foot or so of the floor also being made of glass really did my fucking head in. I'd already been a bit unsteady in the lift because I didn't know part of the floor of that was going to be glass-bottomed, nor that some of the trip up was on the outside of the building. But the main deck was something else.

Managed to take a few photos to demonstrate that I went up there, and that the view is ace, but I felt seriously giddy. Had to grab onto the wall in the middle a couple of times and gave up trying to at least walk a full circuit of the floor or even stepping once onto the glass bit -- and the outdoor upper deck idea was right out. Back into the lift I went, eyes closed and holding on to the hand rail because I thought my legs were going to give out.

Did I mention I'm not a big fan of heights? Bit odd really considering all the flying 'n all, but anyway. I did mention it to the guy greeting me off the lift -- the same guy who'd seen me up and was now expressing astonishment that I was back down so soon. Probably less than 5 minutes after going up, in fact. Ah well.

Talking of big tall things, there was a bar in Auckland called Ben Nevis. It was in the basement of the building where my hotel was. THE BASEMENT. BEN NEVIS.

Anyway, still feeling off I needed something to steady my nerves: a diet coke. Necked that, went back to me room and packed and buggered off.

Perched once again in seat 1A -- SEAT OF KINGS -- I made a clumsy fool of myself by tripping over, kicking the wardrobe-thing door way too hard at the front of the cabin, and then generally tying myself in knots with bag handles and headphone leads and seatbelts before finally sitting down and saying hello to the bloke in 1B. Turns out this fella was an Englishman called Darren who liked a drink. Good bloke. We spent the entire flight chatting away, him about all the stuff I'd missed out doing in Auckland and all the stuff I should do in Hong Kong, me about all the stuff I'd done already, both of us about sport and Manchester and England and how fast we were knocking back the VB. Flight time flies by when you're on the sauce with an compatriot ex-patriot namesake and before I knew it he was handing me a business card inviting me to look him up if I was ever in AKL again, and offering me a space in his company-paid-for cab into Sydney centre if my brother wasn't around to meet me.

As it happens Kevin was there and the train journey into town is a piece of piss (especially when you've only got two bits of handluggage, one with wheels and one over the shoulder, even if the former was considerably the lighter of the two). The best thing about my arrival in Sydney however was being FIRST PERSON LANDSIDE. Having hand luggage only and being sat at the front of the plane, I zipped through immigration, quarantine, and customs. In fact the quarantine staff hadn't been ready for me because I was so far ahead of everyone else. Heh.

Actually there was one more thing about the flight that made it interesting -- we went through a big bit of turbulence that was so strong they told the cabin crew to take their seats too, not just the passengers. Never had that before. Me and English Darren took the bouncing around as our cue to down the lagers we had at the time, lest they get spilt.

So, a delayed flight and a bunch of beer meant I was already a bit merry by the time me and Kevin got to Central station, where we were meeting Sal for beer. Sat outside and I started to launch into a tirade about the Kiwi accent until they warned me there was one of them sat behind me. Pfft. Moved on from there to another bar where I had a pint and a big plate of pasta for AUD10 -- about 4 quid. Top notch. We were moved from our seats because it was about to be turned into the table where they take the money off people going into see the live bands playing that night, and when we moved to another table inside the bit-where-YOU-HAVE-TO-PAY-to-get-in-you-cheeky-cunts we were kicked out proper.

So we went to another pub. Mara was at an evening class of sorts (psychology?) just across the road and was going to give us a lift back to the flat. Can't remember what I had because IIRC Sal insisted on ordering for me. I don't think it was a Carlton Draught but that beer is worth mentioning for two reasons: one, it has an advertising slogan of "Made from beer"; two, it's called Carlton Draught even when it's in a bottle or can. Erm.

Probably a good job we went back to the flat after that. I was fucked.

Sydney, day 3

Right, I've got about half an hour before I have to leave the hotel for my second boat trip of the day, so let's see if I can describe Thursday sharpish. This might not be the best blog entry ever...

As Tuesday morning, on Thursday me and Kev walked through the park to Bondi Junction. Not because we needed a destination the bus wasn't good enough for, but because it was time to get Sally some keys cut. The place had been shut on the way back the previous night but things were perilous and she really needed her own set, what with me causing him to be a filthy stop-out. So while he sorted that out I went to the newsagent to buy, yes, a Diet Coke. Except the newsagent didn't sell drinks. Odd. So I went to the standalone deli counter (ie, not a counter inside a larger shop) and bought it there... and a pork pie too. Wasn't very nice, that.

Train to Town Hall took us to the interchange of the first box to tick that day: the fucking MONORAIL. After roundly laughing at my exuberance over the thought of a trip on it on Tuesday, Kevin had tried to get backup from Mara but instead was treated to the full-on "it's great, you get a truly unique perspective on the city, and anyway, what about that Simpsons episode?" treatment. Go Mara! Foreman the Elder scowled away while I waited with a huge grin on my face. Hah!

First monorail had 2 carriages whose doors didn't open, and all the other carriages were way too full. So we waited for the next, which had only one fucked carriage, but was still standing room only. Not to worry though: the ticket you buy (if not a pass) is vaild for any amount of stops on the loop, and since by definition all the people sat down had got on before us, they were bound to get off soon and we'd be able to sit (and take photos). We were being a bit naughty though, 'cos we actually wanted to do a circuit and a bit: where we got on was only 2 stops from our destination.

Turns out every other fucker was doing the same. NO-ONE got off for the entire circuit, I swear the first people who did got off at the next stop, second time around. Bastards. The huge party occupying most of our carriage finally got off there too, meaning we had precisely one stop to sit down for. Oh well, I don't really care: I had a ride on a fucking monorail!

Grabbed a drink and stole some Internet access from a wifi network by a coffee shop before exploring the area. Darling Harbour was where we got off. It's, um, a harbour area. Ferry stops, a marina, loads of bars and stuff, and the National Maritime Museum -- we walked past them all. Took loads of photos (especially of the monorail *cough*) but mainly just wandered for a couple of hours. We had a lunch date with Sally, who works around the corner, so just before that we went away from the water and through the casino building. Not actually onto the gaming floor, but I did make us spend a good few dollars on this if-your-reactions-are-OK-you-might-win-an-ipod-shuffle machine. Our reactions weren't OK, we didn't win an ipod shuffle.

Kevin couldn't remember the address of Sally's work. This was problematic, because she didn't have a mobile or any way of getting hold of us, and we were supposed to meet her outside the office. He remembered the road, but thought it was number 120. The problem we faced, however, was that the road didn't have a number 120. Hrm. 200 was the next best guess and, in fact, also the best guess, because it was right. Sal appeared and we went round the corner to Pen Cafe (a diversion from where Sal had intended to take us because she'd forgotten I don't do sushi).

A couple of other friends of theirs joined us for lunch too. Anne and James? I think and hope that's their names. They're in Sydney for a while, she being a native and him being a Londoner. Innit.

Oh, here's an aside: talking of people other than me, it turns out Sal has a sister called Jo who's married to a bloke called Nige. What are the odds?

Anyway, lunch was great. I had a plate full of spaghetti, can't remember what everyone else had, but what I do recall is that Sal made us all drink Bundaberg ginger beer. It was nice, but OH MY GOSH: 41g of sugar in a bottle. Eek!

Sal back to work, Anne and James back to wherever they were going, I insisted on going back to the casino and this time onto the gaming floor. And indeed that's where we went. Believe it or not it was my first time ever in a casino and unfortunately it was a massive disappointment. All the fruit machines are these endemic "pokies" which I shoved a bunch of money in and signally failed to understand how to work. The money remains in the casino.

Another aside: on New Zealand's MTV at the moment there's some fucking weird ass half-Nirvana indie band covering Enter Sandman. At the start of this paragraph I was undecided, but now I've come to the conclusion that it's bollocks.

Right, not much time left. The thing that confused me most about the casino wasn't the pokies, it was the table games. I was half tempted to play some blackjack and almost got as far as buying some chips until it hit me: they had blackjack tables, and they had pontoon tables. Erm. What? Hold up. Pontoon? Isn't that what we used to call Blackjack as kids until we learnt it was really called Blackjack? Looked in vain for a leaflet or whatever explaining the basic rules of all the games available but no, all the leaflets they had were all about contacting some people to help you talk about your gambling problems etc, all this self-help don't-gamble-your-mortgage-and-kids-college-funds away nonsense. Well look: I've got a problem gambling -- I can't work out how to do it. Sigh.

So, we left. Went to the ferry stop but we missed one by about 20 seconds, so a wander around the other side of the harbour got us on a different one... which stopped at the one we'd just left. Oh well, the earlier you get on the more water time (and likelihood of a seat) there is. Back to Circular Quay and ready for a bus to Bondi Beach.

Well, that's it really. We got a bus to Bondi Beach. Straight off the bus bro' bought a coffee from a total psycho mental woman in the shop and we stood watching the beach and waves and surfers for a while. After that got boring we took the coastal path around, past one bay (Tamarama) to another (Bronte). Mara was working in Bronte and could pick us up and take us home if we got there at about 1800. Well, we got there at 1730 and hung around for a bit until Sal phoned both Mara and Kevin saying she couldn't get into the flat. Kevin had handed over the freshly minted keys at lunch but they didn't work :-(

Frenzy! Kevin phoned Mara, got directions to where she was working, we got the car keys off her and he drove me and him to the flat. Sally wasn't there, so I went towards the local pub while Kevin took the car back to (get) Mara. Just approaching the boozer I got another call, from Kevin: Sally isn't in the boozer, she's in a coffee shop in the opposite direction. About turn I went, going past the flat until I thought, look, I might not be a local but in this direction there's fuck all. So I called Sally and found where she was, in a coffee shop indeed, but a slightly different direction again. She left, I headed towards and we met halfway.

See, the problem was, the guy had slid across the counter 2 sets of 3 keys. The natural assumption was that one set was the originals, and one the new 'uns. This is a rash assumption, for in reality I had 2 copies of one and Sal had 2 copies of another. Only one lock is used, mind, but that happened to be the one I had 2 of. Turns out the other key I had was a new 'un for the second lock and it didn't fit anyway. Fucking useless.

Thought it was a bit short notice but my desire to go out for an evening while in Sydney was actually heeded, and we headed to The Spot, a bit of Randwick full of bars and eateries, for mexican. Hmm, that was some fuck-off burrito I had, but the jalapenos on the side were weak as cat's piss :-(

Back at the flat I dozed off too early to watch Family Guy. Ho hum. Up the next morning and off to the airport and Auckland... and there we go. It's now 1415 and my boat trip starts boarding at 1445. Time to neck this bottle of Diet Coke and slap on a bit more factor 50+ UV EXTREME.

Sydney, day 2

giraffes at various angles
Originally uploaded by Darren Foreman.

The girls having gone to work, Wednesday morning started with a far shorter walk to our transport: we got the bus from just up the road, opposite the dog (and cat) launderette in Randwick. We'd left later than the previous morning, in part because we'd been watching some of the Steve Irwin memorial on TV. LIVE on TV, ad-free, and possibly on more than one network too. Bit mad, he really is/was a stupendously popular guy in Australia. All kinds of celebs were wheeled out in video-tribute form to say good things about him too. Remember: HE CHANGED OUR WORLD. The service was on in the shop where I bought the first Diet Coke of the day too, just by the bus stop.

339 to Circular Quay, off we got and a couple of weekly passes were bought. This was AUD41 for unlimited travel on buses, some trains, and loads of ferries in the whole Sydney area. Not sure if it's valid out as far as the airport but I may find that out on Monday afternoon (or wimp out and just buy a single). Anyway, this is pretty fucking good value really, especially for an out-of-towner like me for whom getting a ferry is a proper novelty.

On the ferry we got, over to the stop by -- and possibly even called -- Taronga Zoo. Being something of a seasoned cable car rider I'd been looking forward to boarding the Sky Safari up to the zoo's entrance, but it was shut. Broken or summat. So we had to wait for a bus, and only fitted on the 3rd one that came along. Meant we got a seat though as by that time we were at the front of the queue. Off at the top, in we we went, and, well, I'm not sure there's a lot to write about the zoo. Everything can be said with all the photos I took, of which there are legion. I already posted my favourite yesterday, and the rest are up on flickr already in the Sydney set.

Actually I guess there's a few things to say. Quite a lot of it was fairly disappointing: no penguins, very few seals/sea lions, no hippos or rhinos or elephants, and quite a few of the animals we did see were either hiding or being unentertainingly lazy. But I can't be annoyed at the zoo because of that lioness photo, the tortoises, the giraffes, and, well, because it was a really nice day and zoos are cool. The fact that some animals were absent due to quarantine, or mating, or redevelopment of their compound just means I have an excuse to go back to it sometime.

After leaving the zoo we got a different bus to the one we'd got there. Instead of heading straight back to the ferry we instead went to [whatever the bit of town we went to was called, I forget] and a second Sydney institution when it comes to eating: Maisy's. This is a 24hr place that tried to go un-24hr, but relented after a storm of protest. No-one sat inside when we turned up, but no spaces to sit outside either 'cos all those tables were full. I had a footlong hot dog -- the bun was not a foot long, though -- and it was fantastic, as was the strawberry milkshake I washed it down with.

Walked that off by taking a long trot to Cremorne Point ferry stop via a brief stop outside the flats where my bro' used to live. He wanted to show me some crazy birds that live(d) in the trees opposite, but most of the trees had been chopped and we got rather creepily Neighbourhood Watched while pointing at various things. Ended up having a conversation with a yellow-trousered man wearing braces who was telling us about the possum he feeds. Hrm.

The walk to the ferry was mostly through a coastal park thing, Kevin can remind me of the name (except he doesn't need to, 'cos I found it myself). Basically a non-stop glorious view of Sydney harbour from the north shore. The ferry turned up at the same time as us, giving us a little bit of time to spare back city-side to grab a beer in Sydney's oldest pub while watching India fare pretty badly in an ODI.

That said, we didn't really have that time to spare 'cos Mara wasn't coming back early that evening, Sally had no keys to get into the flat and we'd misunderestimated the time it would take us to get back. When we did get back Sally was sat by the door. :-(

Had a bottle of beer, then went out to get takeaway Thai food. Back at the flat a rum and coke was forced upon me, part of some tradition apparently. Not rum+coke with Thai food, but the particular brand of rum in use. Another institution, Bundaberg IIRC. Unfortunately Sal mixed the drinks way too strong, she couldn't even finish her own. The Thai food wasn't great, and I went to bed at about 10pm. Was I accustomed to the timezone properly already?

Sydney, day 1

Advice for travellers comes in many forms and from many places -- governments, friends, tripadvisor.com, airlines, me, employers -- but most of them, I think, agree that one of the best things to do is try and get yourself into your destination's timezone as soon as you can. It's certainly something I try and do; I set my watch to the right time of where I'm visiting as soon as the plane takes off. Unfortunately I don't heed the advice beyond that, in particular I don't bother kipping at the right times or anything sensible like that (btw, advice about time is simple and easy for anyone to follow; what's less simple, or even sensible, is the advice Yahoo! gives out which includes "try and blend in with the locals. buy a local language newspaper". this didn't work for me in TAIWAN AND FUCKING INDIA).

So, 0630 in Sydney, me having been up for most of the previous 36 hours and my bro for the previous 90 minutes. Had a cup of tea (out of character, but I figured the caffeine and sugar would be helpful), said hello/goodbye to Sally who was off for her first day at work in her new* job, said hello/goodbye to Mara who was off to her regular job, and went out ourselves, at about 0850 I guess.

Started off with a walk, across Queen's Park. Mara's flat is in an area called Randwick, in a part of Sydney where the only public transport options are buses. But it was rush hour so we wanted a train, which meant heading to Bondi Junction. I was already flagging, feeling hot and knackered and light headed and wondering whether attempting to adjuts to the local timezone was such a good idea.

Martin Place, where we got off the train, is in the centre of Sydney, loads of shops and bars and businesses in enormous tower blocks all around, with pedestrianised areas and a massive feeling of being in, err, London. Or Manchester. The whole everything's-in-English thing, the fact they drive on God's side of the road, being with my brother, and the knowledge that it was us, after all, who kicked off all the massive settlement here: all these things made me feel like I wasn't really in a foreign country thousands of miles from home at all. Very odd it were. Everything was so familiar. I expected to see a Wetherspoons until i remembered that no-one does chain pubs other than England.

Anyway, anyway, anyway. It's way too early to be thinking about pubs. Let's walk through Sydney city centre, down George Street, towards the water. Circular Quay is the central calling point for ferries in Sydney, what Aldwych used to be to night buses in London. There are a bunch of piers/wharfs, and shedloads of ferries. The sheer number of boats in the water, both public transport (those which the travelcard equivalents are valid on) as well as special ones (taxis, special cruises, etc) really took me aback. Fucking cool though. But we didn't get on a boat, we just carried on wandering. Round to the left towards Sydney Harbour Bridge, and an area called The Rocks.

The weather in Sydney was phenomenal. The week before when Kevin and Sally had just got back, it was pissing down and miserable. But I arrive and the sun comes out. Kevin's excuse is that the weather was actually saying "Oh, you're staying then?" to them two, but I think we all know what's what. So the point is, the photos just couldn't wait. I started snapping in earnest. The harbour, the bridge, the opera house, they all got some k800i treatment. Of particular interest to me were the bridge walkers. Fools who aren't big scared-of-heights wousses (ahem) pay a load of dollars to be kitted out in a jump suit, chained to the bridge, and go walking all the way to the top. Mentalists. The view's probably fantastic though, but I settled for taking photos of them.

After The Rocks more diet coke was acquired, probably a bit too soon after the last bottle 'cos I started getting a bit unsteady on me feet again, and it was only 11am or summat. Walked back past Circular Quay and round past/behind the Opera House. The whole place was actually pretty dead. Not totally empty, but not rammed by any stretch of the imagination. I guess kids the world over are in term time, and it was midweek. Good for us, though.

I can't make my mind up about the Opera House. Is it pretty? Is it ugly? Is it pretty ugly? I'm not sure. But it doesn't matter anyway, what matters is it's a box I can tick: been there, photographed that.

Round the corner from the OH is a big park. Or botanical gardens. It's both, I guess. There are loads of plants and loads of birds and loads of greenery. Kev wanted us to walk all the way round, but the look of that was putting me off and I suggested we go get some solids once we reached halfway. So off the coastal track we went, inland via parakeets and past a wharf full of expensive boats and posh bars selling expensive drinks, near which a professional photographer was snapping a recently (ie, an hour or so ago) wedded couple. Past them, and past an undoubtedly expensive hotel, is Harry's Cafe de Wheels.

Harry's Cafe de Wheels is a Sydney institution. Not one I'd heard of, mind, but I'm satisfied by the walls full of photos of famous patrons that it genuinely is. And what an institution! My kind of place, Harry's is a stall selling pies and peas. That's about all it sells, really. Lots of different kinds of pie, mind, but still it's just all pie and peas. Bro and I duly ordered a pie and peas each and settled round the corner in the shade to eat it.

Shade was actually only one reason we went round the corner; the other was to get out of the way of the photographer. The aforementioned couple had moved on from the wharf-front setting, and were now being snapped ordering pies and peas. Still in their full wedding garb. And once served, they sat down to eat. On the pavement. I kid thee not, this bird in her fancy wedding dress was sat on the pavement eating a meat pie, with a bottle of coke next to her to wash it down. Bloody fantastic.

The pie sorted me out a bit, actually. The caffeine was no longer rushing. I'm awake, but fucking hell it was sunny. Too hot by half, I needed shade, or better still, aircon. A pretty long walk took us through a load of the aforementioned in a couple of parks and into the latter, in a big shopping centre in the, err, centre of the city. The QVB is much like any other mall I've ever been in, even down to having a branch of Lush which FUCKING STINKS. Wankers.

Didn't actually want to do any shopping, mind, but I did find that nice as Harry's pie was it wasn't exactly filling. So I brought some ice cream, a couple of scoops that were way bigger than I thought they'd be. Bro had the same (well, different flavours) and we went upstairs at my behest for a gawp at the monorail station. I fucking love monorails! But we didn't get on it :-(

Still too early to go to bed, and too hot to go back outside, I figured I'd been in the country long enough now to have a pint. A quick wander led us to an airconditioned underground bar and pool hall whereupon we played a few games and I really can't remember the score. I know I was 2-0 down, then 3-2, but then what happened. 3-3? 4-3? 3-4? Kevin'll have to remind me. Finished our Toohey's New times two in there and went down the road for a Toohey's Old in a different place, and time was a ticking. The alcohol wasn't making me drowsy though, which was a result, so there was still time for a bit more touring to be done. This involved looking for the 339 bus stop to take us to Clovelly, via Randwick, this being the bus that goes nearest to Mara's place.

I had to find the bus stop for us. Despite this being my first time ever in the city, Kevin got confused and a bit lost and my suggestion of heading to the bus stops opposite "Central" station came good. One 339 ride later and there we were at Clovelly, a beach town full of steep hills and bloody steep houses. A small beach with beautiful sand and a decent swimming area, our walk around its border revealed one of the reasons why England's rugby dominance will never last: kids of no more than 6 years old playing on the beach, one of them shouting "that's a knock-on!". Sheesh. Play a real sport you arses! Or, rather, don't, 'cos then you'll start beating us at it. So, err, keep up the good work!

Sydney, in fact Australia as a whole (I think), has a whole load of social clubs attached to sports clubs... or perhaps the other way round. Anyway, these clubs are members' clubs which, along with working men's clubs and (ex-)servicemen's clubs, are a way to get subsidised beer. The beauty lies in the system for being granted membership: you write your name and address on a slip of paper as you go in, and that's it. So a subsidised pint in Clovelly's crown green bowling club was ours, sat by the window looking out to sea as the sun started to go down.

It was time to go back so we wandered back across the bay and to the bus stop, but having just missed one we figured we'd walk a stop or two. This ended up being a walk all the way home... via another pub. A Toohey's Old in the back garden of the Duke Of Gloucester, just up the road from the flat, and then we really did go back. My entrance was particularly amusing to Sally and Mara: before walking into the kitchen I'd taken my glasses off to rub my eyes a little, feeling a bit tired 'n all. OH MY GOD YOU LOOK SO FUCKED was, I think, the greeting I got. Fair's fair I suppose. I was. Even the fantastic double fried egg and toast Mara made didn't have the power to keep me awake so finally, at 8pm on Tuesday evening, I crashed out. On a bed, too! Muchos gracias to me bro' for volunteering (or was that being told?) to kip on the sofa, greatly appreciated that. It would have been even better if I'd not woken up at 2am, and again at 0530 -- that time for good -- but it was still better than sleeping on a floor.

Right, that's day one done. It's now 7pm in Auckland and I think I'm going to go and have something to eat and something to drink. Just as soon as the damn photos finish uploading to flickr, that is. Lord knows how much all this excess data is costing me, but I could really do with the uploader not hanging just as it reaches the end. Anyway, by the time anyone reads this there should be 192 new pics to look at, including a bunch from days as-yet unwritten about. It should be pretty easy to guess what it is I did, therefore...

Monday 18th September did not exist

People who don't like Mondays (eg Bob Geldof) should fly on the Sunday run of BA15. LHR-SYD. London to Sydney. A 2-leg 1-number flight taking me over 10,000 miles away from London. It leaves London on Sunday and arrives in Sydney on Tuesday, so Monday doesn't exist. Bit mental that.

I was sat in 13G, which IIRC was the first time all year I'd not managed to grab a window seat. That was my fault, because originally I was booked to fly the following day, but ho hum. I had bagged 13G, a forward facing aisle seat, right hand side of the middle 4 seats at the front of the cabin, just before first class. The benefit of this seat over any of the others is that no fucker has to clamber over me, nor do I have to clamber over any fucker, to get in and out. Was a bit confused to begin with though as I didn't twig that my entertainment guide etc were in a pocket on the back of the seat next to me (ie, not visible from my seat).

Seatexpert.com (or seatguru.com, or both, I forget and can't be bothered looking) said that 13G is great for singles. It also says that seats 13E and 13F are shit for singles, but great for couples. What they don't say is that 13G is great for singles unless 13E and F are occupied by a couple who intend to engage in horseplay for hours on end. No Mile High Club stuff going on, mind, just a lot of tickling and noise making and talking too loud and occasional bumping of the divider between F and G that more than once made me think my beer was going to go flying. Sigh. They were being treated nicely by the attendants too, as I think they'd been downgraded from first class. Fuckers.

Anyway. The first leg of the flight is the big 'un, 12 hours or so direct to Singapore. Such flights are a lot more fun if the entertainment system works, rather than having sound so bad -- loud static noises every 2 seconds or so -- that they decide to turn the entire thing off for the whole plane after 2 hours of unlistenable nonsense. Bit shit that. I tried to get some kip and got some, but nothing special and nothing of particularly high quality either. At least the map channel worked; what kind of crazy ass place name is Szczecin?

In terms of scran and booze, the menu was the same as the flights to/from Dubai. Having recently learnt that (a) London Pride is available in cans, and (b) they serve it on BA flights, I asked for that explicitly and got one. Then I asked for another, and got one. Then when they saw that was empty, they asked if I wanted another and said they'd go get one from the first class trolley 'cos no-one up there seemed to drink it. Heh.

They didn't give me an amenity pack. :-(

Seat 13G's reading light shines directly over whoever is sat in 12J, so when I wanted to read I was in danger of keeping someone else awake, or worse still, waking them up. So there was no entertainment and I couldn't read much, which meant watching the map channel a LOT. There are lots of places that end in -bad. Islamabad, Faisalabad, loads and loads more. I should have written a few of them down to make this point a little better, huh?

Placenames confuse me, actually. The names are shown, in both English and the language of where you're going to (or coming from, if that's non-English), on the map. But what gives there? A name is a name, and at least in my mind that don't have any real meanings, at least not contemporary ones. OK, I guess some do: England is Land of the Angles, which I can understand is something you can translate (eg Angleterre). But what about, say, "Spain"? Why is that word different in different languages? It's a name: surely the Spanish should have sovereignty over what it's called, everywhere, even down to the script it's written in? And talking of script, how comes the Chinese and Koreans and Japanese can write place names? AIUI they don't have alphabets per se, their writing isn't meant to denote pronunciation but instead have symbols which are words, full of meaning. So how do they decide on the series of glyphs that together means "Austria"? My mind boggles. I need to look this stuff up.

*cough* Sorry about that. Back to the flight. Coming into Sydney we had an aborted landing, which was fun, never had one of those before. There was something on the runway, spotted a bit late, a dead bird or summat. ATC told the pilot to abort so from pretty low down we went into a steep climb, heh. Ended up landing on a different runway which meant we took longer than we should have done to get to the gate. That meant my 2.5 hours at the airport turned into about 90 minutes in the end, ho hum. Still managed to get myself into the Qantas/BA lounge for a lager though, then back to the aircraft. The good news was they'd managed to fix the entertainment system... sort of. Something was wrong with audio channel one, but they'd fixed two, and told us to use that. Unfortunately audio channel two was English on every channel except the film I wanted to watch, on which it was fucking Spanish. So I watched a different film, one called Confidence -- which was actually really good.

Fish medley followed by chicken breast for food this time, I couldn't finish it and didn't even attempt dessert. Still fitted in another London Pride though, innit. Grabbed a couple of hours kip, I estimate I had 5 hours tops throughout the entire journey. Breakfast and some immigration cards greeted the early morning as we headed towards the 0515 landing in Sydney. Turns out the Australians want to know the address where you're staying, which is fair enough (the yanks and various others, in fact maybe everyone, want to know that stuff too). Just a shame that I didn't have the faintest idea about where my bro's wife's sister's house is. Even better, my phone refused to roam on any Aussie network in the airport so I couldn't get hold of him to find out. I asked an immigration staffer what to do before reaching the counter and to my relief he said a phone number would be OK, so I wrote that and got through.

By Christ they're a bit serious about what they let into that thar country. As well as immigration and baggage you have to go through quarantine, FFHS. And talking of baggage, it took me ages to get mine because I'd forgotten what my bag looked like. I only bought it the day before and was actually looking for the one I used last week in Dubai. D'oh!

With all that going on I thought my brother would be right annoyed, what with him probably having got to the airport at 0500 or so. I needn't have worried, since he didn't even wake up until 0505 -- ten minutes before my flight was due to land -- so he'd not been there long really. He drove me to the digs: it was 0630 on Tuesday morning. I was knackered. So we went out... which will be detailed in a separate post.

Lioness

Even though I'm not uploading anything to flickr yet, I just can't resist spoiling everything by uploading what is possibly my favourite of all the photos I've ever taken. This lioness lives in Sydney zoo.