Day 36 - Southport: Sea World

Up bright and early. Except, it isn’t bright, it’s overcast and cold. And It’s not early, it’s about 9am. Anyway.

Got up and headed to Sea World half an hour before it opened. I thought I’d get there early to avoid the queues. Obviously everyone else had thought the same. The car park was already half full, or half empty, depending on your optimistic/pessimistic out look. I joined the queue for the ticket office and got to the front. The woman said is was $80 to get in, such a huge amount of money, but I paid and went in anyway.

I headed straight to the Sea Lion show which started at 10.15am and I can honestly say I have never laughed so much. The sea lions and seals were fantastic. The actually didn’t need any prompts to do their tricks. I’ve been to Sea World in Florida, and the animals there are so dependent on their trainers. There has to be a verbal command and a whistle before they’ll do anything, but here they just ‘do.’

The show was set up as an investigation into why there was no fish left in the local area. It highlighted key over fishing issues and the male seal, Burnie, played a detective alongside the two human police men. If you took away the fur, and the fishy smell, and the flippers, he almost acted like a human. He put his flipper over his eyes when he was supposed to, and pretended to be looking for fish by putting his head in the water and leaving it there for ages. The very act itself was hilarious enough, but when he brought his head out, he shook it, got on his back flippers and held his front flippers up in the air and shrugged (I’m aware they don’t have shoulders by the way) I literally burst into laughter, as did the rest of the crowd.

Next, Burnie went into a fish compactor to look for clues, and the door closed by accident. As it did, the machine buzzed and as the door opened again, three second later, a baby sea lion popped out. This charade went back and forth a few times and then on the fourth time, the police man (obviously a trainer) went to open the door, and couldn’t. It had broken and while they tried to keep their composure, you could see the moment of hilarity that was about to ensue on stage. They looked at each other and then did a nervous giggle. To the amusement of everyone, Burnie came out of one of the doors and sneaked up on the two of them, trying to open the door.

I knew it wasn’t scripted, you can just tell sometimes, and they laughed hysterically. Burnie went over to the door, got up on two front flippers and kicked the door with his back flippers. The trainers laughed with us and they carried on, but I got the impression the escapade had put the trainers off of their stride and hadn’t affected Burnie at all.

The show ended and the crime was solved. It was actually a really good show and I jumped up and beat the queues out of the arena and headed straight to the dolphin show at the other end of the park. I got myself a nice central seat and treated myself to come popcorn. (I didn’t want it, but, yes, as you can imagine, the vendor was pretty). So I ate half of it and then shared it with the four year old next to me (her parents had agreed, I wasn’t being some kind of creepy stalker).

As I said earlier, I’d been to Sea World in Florida in 2004 (I think it was) and seen the dolphin and killer whale show there but I always remembered it as very American and quite “lets just keep high fiving the dolphins” and pretend that’s a trick. I hoped this wasn’t the same, but I guessed it wouldn’t be. The show started, and instead of having a narrative, it was much more about trying to teach the audience about dolphins, their habitats and how to protect them. I actually found it really interesting. Did you know that in their tails there is a blood vessel which is as wide as a 5p, one of the widest in the animal kingdom (in comparison to its body size).

The dolphins were all introduced to us, and the seven of them did a little trick each before they disappeared. They were gone for about 15 seconds and all of a sudden the first one appeared, pushing a person with his nose straight up into the air. They all did this, in turn, all seven of them, until there was seven gorgeous (and pretty similar looking) guys in wetsuits standing next to their dolphins. I really REALLY need to meet the person in charge of their recruitment and human resources.

I later learnt that a trainer is paired to a dolphin and only that trainer is allowed to swim with that dolphin. Other trainers can feed and look after other dolphins, but they’re only allowed to train their own. It’s to do with bonding and trust and stuff like that. It was very interesting. The dolphin closest to me was called Starbucks much to the amusement of the girl behind me who kept saying “like the coffee shop, like the coffee shop”. I really wanted to turn around and say “NO, you fool, like the character out of Moby Dick” but I thought that would be antagonising.

The music got all inspirational and the dolphins did more tricks and I lost count on the flips and twirls they did. It was fabulous. The talker guy said the dolphins wanted to say goodbye because they were tired, and they all did a parade with their trainers raising one fin out of the water and shaking it. This was my queue to get out and I missed the massive hoards again. Result.

Headed straight to the petting pool, which surprisingly enough is where you can pet stingers (sting rays) sea cucumbers, fish and star fish. It was actually lovely. Sea cucumbers feel like, well cucumber. Star fish feel like a rock and stingers feel like, jelly. It wasn’t an all together unpleasant experience really. I did give evils to the big sting ray in the middle of the pool and wondered if he was the one who had killed Steve Irwin. Don’t worry, I don’t think it was, but I hope the message gets back to him somehow.

The Polar Bears and Penguins are next to each other in a large polar exhibit. (I should, at this point, point out that in real life, polar bears and penguins would never meet. One is from the North Pole, and the other from the South.) Alas, they weren’t in the same enclosure so they weren’t going to start gangs against each other. The polar bears were incredibly boring, but massive and lovely to look at. Here’s a fun fact... Did you know that female polar bears are in hibernation when they give birth, and as a result, don’t wake up for the birth! I know a few (all) girls who’d love to just wake up one morning and have a baby, instead of the whole labour thing. Fantastic. The babies feed themselves on the mother’s milk (while she’s still asleep) and it stays this way for up to 3 months until she wakes. Fascinating.

I moved onto the penguins. They have three types here. King, Rockhopper and Emperor. I think that’s what they’re called. As with all animals in captivity, there were a few penguins doing a circuit around the outside of the enclosure (which is like a big freezer kept at -12 and  has snow and everything). This always annoys me, and I really don’t like watching animals do it. I took a picture or two and left. I actually really like zoos, but sometimes, they enclosures aren’t big enough, and it’s so unfair to keep animals locked up, especially if you could release them into the wild.

Anyway.

I left Sea World (via the Sponge Bob Square Pants Parade and the Dinosaur world – both as unremarkable as each other) and went to the beach. Another three hours of gorgeous people watching and then it started to rain, so I ran for cover (just made it) and returned to the campsite to see who my new neighbours for the night were. I write this, and they still haven’t arrived, so I guess I might be left alone again, but we’ll see.

I shall write again soon. I’m driving to Brisbane on Tuesday to meet up with a friend of mine whom I used to work with. I’ve not seen her in about 7 months so we’ll have a good old catch up hopefully!

Until the next time x

Day 35 - Surfers Paradise: Beautifuls

I left Moonee Beach at about 9am and took the Pacific Freeway North for about 5 hours to what is known as Surfers Paradise. Surfers Paradise was known, and still is, for it’s good surfing, good nightlife and hippie lifestyle. Sadly, the latter of the three have now made way to the concrete high rises. There are more hotels along the cost here, than the equivalent distance in Rio. It is packed will restaurants and bars and clubs and surf shops. That’s pretty much it. There is the beach then a small promenade, maybe 40 feet across, then a road, with parking, and then the hotels. It is always busy and is one of the highlights of the Gold Coast south of Brisbane. The highlight of the strip is the Meter Maids who patrol up and down the promenade feeding meters so that drivers never get tickets. It used to be paid for by the restaurants and hotels along the promenade, but now they have their own merchandise which pays for itself. In 2006, government officials said that they would no longer be sending traffic wardens down to the area, and true to their word, removed all meters from the 8 mile stretch. The Meter Maids now walk up and down only to attract paying customers to their shop. The government really can be spoil sports can’t they.

I stopped here for an hour or so and sat on the beach. I’ve never been to LA, but this is what I imagine it to be like. I’m never really sure if beautiful and pretty people attract each other, or whether ugly people are repelled by the prettiness. Either way, everyone here is perfect. There isn’t a hair out of place, a muffin top to be seen, and everyone, and I mean that exclusively is wearing thongs.

I should remind you at this point that Australians call flip flops thongs. Don’t ask me why, and don’t ask me what thongs are called if thongs are thongs. The sound of ‘thong thong’ (no, it doesn’t work does it Australia, just call them flip flops) is only drowned out by the music that the bars blast onto the street constantly. There is a real party atmosphere and it strikes me as ‘the place to be seen’. The Palazzo Versace is by no means the largest hotel on the strip, but it is the most impressive. IT was designed by Gianni Versace shortly before he was brutally murdered. His sister Donatella completed the hotel and there is a tiny museum next to the hotel car park dedicated to the entire hotel. It’s a very odd place. The furniture isn’t luxurious, but instead comfortable. Despite this, you can tell it’s expensive as fuck. I didn’t dare touch anything.

Trekked back to Matilda and saw I didn’t have a parking ticket (lovely) and drove to the nearest shopping centre to get some food. Aussie’s don’t do shopping centres like us. Instead of having loads of little shops all basically selling the same thing (for example, the Highcross) they have huge shops all selling one item. For example, there is a male clothing shop, and a female clothing shop. One shoe store, a hairdressers, a Boots type shop, a bakery and a butchers. Most centres either have a Coles, Woolworths or Aldi as well, but rarely anything more.

I stopped at the butchers and bought some meatballs and a steak mainly because it was cheaper than Woolworths, but also because the butcher boy was gorgeous. There is something about a beautiful man with a sleeveless t-shirt and blood all over his hands and arms. His name was Brook and he winked when I said have a good day. I wanted to giggle like a little girl but just smiled and walked off.

Got plenty of food (might have gone overboard) and headed to the campsite to pitch up. Broadwater Caravan site is massive. It has over 300 camp sites, and then loads of cabins and fields for camping. Despite this, it’s across the water from Sea World and pretty much in the middle of Southport. Southport is a five minute drive from Surfers Paradise (which isn’t a town, so much a part of a long stretch of places that have merged together over the years). IT was very idyllic and just as I sat down to dinner, it started raining. I wasn’t sure where the clouds had suddenly appeared from, but it rained all night. I didn’t mind it so much, the noise on the camper roof is quite relaxing. 

So until tomorrow, if I’m not too damp, see you then!

Day 34 - Coffs Harbour: Big B A N A N A S

Today was a bit of another nothing day; something I’m beginning to love in fact. It’s so relaxing knowing you don’t have to be anywhere, or do anything, or meet anyone, or poo. Well, you do have to poo, but only when you want to. You get the general idea.

Oh dear, it seems I’ve already turned today’s blog to smut. Shame... I shall continue on, nevertheless.

Thought I’d head back into Coffs Town Centre (after driving through it) and decided it’d be a good idea to do some good walking. I drove and parked up in a little beachside car park which was free then started the walk down into the town. I expected it to be quite a sea-side-y type town, perhaps like Skegness or Southend (without the tack and poo in the water) – there it is, poo again. Instead, the jetty was incredibly beautiful and the beach was white with small waves. The clue of why the town became about is in its name. It was discovered by John Coff, and the natural harbour lent itself perfectly to shield from the wild Pacific Ocean. The waters, whatever the weather outside the harbour walls, are always perfectly calm and flat.

I should point out that we’re in school holiday season at the minute and there are kids everywhere. This doesn’t bother me too much, but the upside of this is that the older kids, sort of 17 plus, are also off of school. The education doesn’t quite work the same as in England, and to be truthful, I don’t understand it myself. Google it, that’s probably easier. Anyway, the jetty sticks out through the centre of the harbour about 300 metres. The water at the end of it is about 10 metres deep and there’s about 20 metres from the jetty to the water and it’s a famous jumping spot.

Not for suicides.

There was around 30 teenagers, more girls than boys which surprised me, not really sure why, jumping off of the pier, then climbing back up and doing it again. They were doing somersaults and back flips (are they the same thing) and pikes and tucks and stuff (my Tom Daley fascination came in use, I knew it would. See Henry!) I was actually quite impressed with it all. I wondered back along the jetty and found that in fact there was no more “town” to be seen. Shocked, I jumped back in Matilda and headed for, what the guidebook described as “The Big Banana”.

It didn’t fail to amuse me. There it was, perched above the entrance to the banana plantation. It’s incredibly yellow (oddly enough) and is one of the best marketing tools I’ve seen in a while. Everyone was stopping to have their photo taken with it. While I’d have loved to have posed for a quick snap, the excitement didn’t ever really arrive. I think it was more of a kids type attraction.

Back to the camper and I cooked myself dinner and went to sleep. A nice relaxing day.

Day 32 & 33: Coffs Harbour and Moonee Beach

Day 32

What a lovely day. I left Port Macquarie early this morning and stopped for breakfast in a little cafe just off of the beach. I wondered in and literally couldn’t choose between the things on the menu, there must have been 200 of them. The woman behind the counter smiled and said “Lots to choose from hey?” and I mumbled back yes, in my pathetic English accent which is nowhere nearly as cool as the Australian one. I mean, I can do an Australian accent, but I think it’s classed as a piss take, like if you do an Indian accent to an Indian.

“Oh, you’re British, are you hungry?” she shouted at me. I half expected her to shout “Barbara, we’ve got a British guy here, and I’ve asked him if he’s hungry” and then for Barbara to reply “Ask if he lives near Birmingham, Sally has a daughter who lives near Birmingham” or something to that effect. I nodded back to her and she asked if I wanted hot or cold food. Once I’d told her cold food, she asked me how I liked my coffee, told me to take a seat and told me she’d bring me something to eat. She brought my coffee over (I had a fantastic view of the sea) and asked me what I thought of the beach and the town and made polite conversation. To my amusement, a second woman appeared with my breakfast. They’d made me ham and cheese with like a chutney thing and some toast for good measure. She said she wasn’t sure if she should butter the bread, so she didn’t. I was actually pleasantly surprised. It was really nice. I drank my coffee and ate my breakfast and got up to pay. She asked me if I enjoyed it, to which I obviously said yes, and she said “Good, then it’s on us. And don’t bother arguing. You’re a lovely guy...” and she looked at me, I told her my name and she introduced herself as Brenda and her friend as Patty.  Lovely. What  a way to start the day.

Drove north (sick of saying that actually) to a small, increasingly retirement town, Coffs Harbour. The town has about 50,000 permanent residents but this number swells to nearly a quarter of a million in the summer. It’s set in two main areas, the town, on the main Pacific Highway, and the port and harbour, about 3km toward the coast. I was staying at a campsite in a small village called Moonee about 10 clicks north.

Got to the camp-site at about lunch time and the woman on the desk greeted me with a huge smile. She asked me for my name, and instantly something wasn’t right. She was English. I smiled and told her my name. She pulled up my booking and asked for my address. Once I’d got to the “Loughborough” bit she looked up and smiled. She used to go to Loughborough Uni (she is now in her fifties). Such a small world. We had a nice long chat during which the woman sitting next to us commented on us both being Poms. First time I’ve been called that. Anyway.

Checked in and got to my pitch. It overlooked the sea. This would do very nicely. I plugged myself into the electric. The camper I mean, not me and walked down to the beach before the tide came in. I sat and sunbathed for a good few hours before heading back to the camper. I decided it was silly to sit in the camper when I had a beach less than 200 metres away, so I stuck a hoodie and joggers on and walked back down to the grassy bit just before the sand started. I got out my iPod and started reading.

There was a family cooking on one of the barbeques just behind me and the smell was driving me wild. All across Australia there are these ‘camp kitchens’ which are basically gas barbeques under like a shelter thing. They’re free, most of them, and you just clean it after you’ve finished. I was tempted to turn around and see just what they were cooking, but I resisted, for the most part.

After a good hour, by which time the family had been joined by another two families, this time with older teenagers as well as young kids. It was getting too much. I just had to go and buy some sausages and a burger to eat. I got up to drive to the supermarket, which is only a few minutes away, when one of the mothers walked towards me holding a paper plate and a sausage in a bun. “Would you like some, we have plenty. You can join us if you like?” I honestly was so shocked.

This just sums Australians up. They’re so... nice. And polite and caring. I smiled back and glady took the plate and she led me over to the families which were sprawled across three long picnic tables. She introduced me to everyone and told me all their names. She took me over to what looked like the teenagers table and told, what I think was her son, to look after me. I sat there talking to them all for a good three hours.

The woman, who was called Clare, had a son, Tom, who was there with his girlfriend, Andrea, and his sister, Jo. There was also Joe (very confusing) and Matt and their twin sisters Heather and Verity. They were all so welcoming. We chatted for hours about the differences between England and Australia and how beautiful it was, and I kept pointing out that the people are all beautiful too (it would have been rude to not have complimented them – they were giving me free food) and then we all walked back to the campsite. I said goodnight and we parted ways.

This is what I like about being alone. I didn’t feel under pressure to go anywhere, or leave them to come back to the camper, or even to turn the food down in the first place. It was nice to just be able to chat to people and for them to listen. I said it before, but I’ll say it again, Australians are so nice. They’re just lovely. So welcoming.

Day 33.

I was awoken at 3am this morning by my mother who said she had totally forgot about the time difference. At least I know that my Australian phone number is working. She said she’d ring back later and hung up. I don’t remember being up for long after that so I must have fallen asleep pretty quickly.

I was woken up again at 8am by Mum again. We had a nice chat, but I wasn’t really awake. As soon as she hung up, I went back to sleep until.... 11am! I know! I like this holiday malarkey. I got up and went for a shower. The families from last night had all left early in the morning but I did just glance over towards where they were camped in case they’d stayed. They hadn’t.

I felt that a good day on the beach was needed. So I pack my rucksack, and spent ALL day on the beach. I mean all day... until 4pm ish when the tide was getting a little too close...

Not an overly exciting day to be honest. But I couldn’t help reminding you that I was in fact on the beach while in England, it’s been raining... oh dear, that slipped out didn’t it.

See you tomorrow my lovlies. 

Day 30 & 31 - Newcastle and Port Macquarie: Koalas and LIFEGUARDS

Day 30

Spent the day driving from the Hunter Valley, where I’d spent the last couple of nights, towards the city of Newcastle on the coast, before heading north to Port Macquerie.

The road coming out of the Hunter Valley is called the Golden Highway and I could see why. Corn and wheat stretched for as far as the eye could see and the road, though being single carriageway, was fast and not really busy with cars. Or did I speak too soon? I came up behind a car that had pulled over and had flashing lights on saying “large load ahead, slow down” so I did... Once we’d got onto a straight bit of road, I saw the quarry digger ahead of me. It was the width of two lanes, so big in fact that the cars coming the other way were being told to pull onto the verge by the police. I followed it for nearly 30km at a brisk 60kmph which I thought was quite good for a vehicle that had a pulling truck and a pushing truck. It finally pulled over to let us pass while the drivers had a rest (I presumed) and I got a bobble on towards my first stop of the day.

Newcastle is quite a large city that still bears the scars of the awful conditions that the Australian Miners endured during the coal and gold rushes. The city was founded in 1804 as a convict town for the rougher prisoners who needed to be put to work, usually manual labour, to keep their spirits down. While the city was based around mining, it is more famous for its steel works, opened in 1911, which closed only in 2000. Despite this, Newcastle is still the biggest coal port in Australia and around 86 million tonnes of coal are exported from here every year. It’s a fairly large city, but a bit of a usual normal bog standard town with nothing on. Every year in March, Surfest is held here. Surfest is the biggest surfing competition in the country and while the waves here don’t rival those further north, or further south, they are big enough to allow, for example, the first 360 ever to be done here. (I type this like I know what I’m talking about; I actually read it on a poster).

Newcastle also has the largest quays along the Central Coast and has been renovated with loads of shops and cafes along the harbour edge. Here, the Hunter River, which I stayed next to back up in the valley has changed from literally a trickle of water (I actually drove through it) to a huge tidal estuary where many whales have often ventured.

I spent about an hour or two wondering around, but then decided to get on with the 280km drive to Port Macquarie (I’d already drive 250km to Newcastle) and set off again on the Pacific Highway. It was quite a scenic drive, and me and the local lorry drivers have come to an understanding. I let them overtake me, and they don’t try and kill me. Lorrys, or trucks as they’re known here, don’t have a speed restriction like they do in the UK. They just hurtle along, usually faster than cars, until you move out of the way for them.

Anyway, I digress. Finally got into Port Macquarie at about 5pm and went straight to the camp ground. Got checked in by a lovely lady called Jill who’s son had just left to go to Bournemouth University. I assured her it was nowhere near where I was from, but then in Australian terms, I suppose it was just around the corner. I got my site and parked up. Thought I’d take a nice walk down to Woolworths as it was still quite warm. I got my backpack and on the way, got beeped at by a car full of teenager Australian boys. I wasn’t sure why they were beeping me, but the driver was only 17 as he had a Provisional sticker on the back (which all new drivers have to have) so the fact he was limited to 80kmph made me smile.

Decided I’d have steak and sweet potato fries for dinner with salad and tomato. It was fantastic. The Australians call sirloin powerhouse and I sat in the sun and ate it. I hear it’s raining in England isn’t it?

Day 31

Got up relatively early (9am) and drove about 3km out of the city to the Billabong Koala Zoo. It’s a zoo specialising in breeding koalas and it was lovely. It wasn’t big, but what they had there was so well maintained and pretty. There was a huge koala creation thingy in the car park so I had high hopes. I arrived at 10.20am and the lovely girl on reception (If I was straight, I would have) told me I should head straight to the koala shed as Blake, who she pointed to (he smiled and waved) was about to do the first talk of the day. I paid my $20 and got my kangaroo food (ground sweetcorn – I wasn’t convinced) and got my map.

Once I’d paid, Blake told me to follow him as he was going in the back way and I could sneak in and miss all the crowds out. Blake is my kind of guy. Any guy who likes going in the back way is. Sorry mother.

Blake took me right to the front and started his talk. I stood and listened to him tell us how the northern koala (the southern ones are bigger) are on of the most endangered species in Australia. They grow to about 50cm long and have five fingers and five toes on each hand, two of which are thumbs, and are opposable. Many people think that Koala translates as “doesn’t drink” but it actually means “bear with pouch”. They sleep for between 16 and 20 hours a day. Yes, I know... that even beats some of the people I know. My favourite fact about Koalas is that the males have two penis’ and the females have two vagina's. I know right. If you sort of give someone the v’s with your index and middle finger (go on, all do it) that what their penis looks like. It isn’t two penis’, it is one, split. The male ejaculates out of both of them at the same time, but the females vagina will only release an egg into on uterus at a time. Females can carry two baby koalas, known as a joey, at a time, one in each uterus, although this rarely happens. My second favourite fact is that they have a brain about the size of a walnut. It sits inside their skull, surrounded by fluid. It’s so small because, well, think about what you’d have to think about if you were asleep for 20 hours a day... eating, pooing, having sex... that’s about it really. They also survive exclusively on eucalyptus leaves which are pretty poisonous and not very nutritional. They often eat over three kilograms a day in leaves alone, and rarely drink.

Anyway, enough koala facts for now. I petted the old male called Stoney, and stood next to Blake and had my picture taken... Stoney looked away at the last second, bitch, said thank you to Blake, and headed to the Kangaroos. Now, as I had paid $1 for my cup of sweetcorn, I was going to make sure I got my $1’s worth of feeding. I arrived at the feeding bit and guess what, they’re all asleep. 140 wallabies and kangaroos all fast asleep. I was however one of the only people there, so I thought I’d try a little roo calling. I shook my cup and about three all came over at the same time.

I petted them for ages while they nibbled on my corn (not a euphemism) and then I asked a lovely lady to take a picture of me... she did, but I had to return the favour, by which time, all my new friends had had their fill and disappeared to sunbathe again. Never mind. I stroked a kangaroo. Might have been a wallaby, not entirely sure. I’ll ask next time I see one.

Drove back into the town and parked up on the beach. There was a van full of people getting out in the car park which had “Surfy’s Surf School” written on it. Original name I thought. I was going to wonder over and ask if I could join in, but when I realise the majority of the people learning were between 10 and 14, I decided against it. I’ll learn in Brisbane with Tara. Hopefully.

Sat on the beach and sunbathed for what seemed like about 5 hours, it was in fact only about 2, but the tan was coming along nicely. I got up, and as I did, saw a lifeguard run past me.

I’m sorry, I’ll rephrase that.

I got up, and as I did, saw THE MOST BEAUTIFUL LIFEGUARD I’D EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE run past me. He sprinted to the sea and grabbed his board then ran into the surf and paddled out to a guy who’d I’d not even noticed was throwing his arms around in the air. The lifeguard got to him and pulled him onto his board and then brought him back to the shore. To my horror, the guy shook the lifeguards hand and (he’d lost his board) ran to his car and grabbed another one, then went straight back out to sea. The lifeguard didn’t seem to bothered by this, and sat and dried off in the sun. I tried to take a picture, but he kept looking at me. Dammit. So, this guy just started surfing again, so I went over to the lifeguard and asked him if he was okay (the man in the sea, not him – I wasn’t hitting on him) and he said “yeah, these guys are crazy, once the surfs up, the surfs up. I’ll have to go out again soon”. We talked for a little while longer and eventually he said he had to go, and popped back onto his tower looking fione (no spelling mistake there).

Drove back to the campsite and sat and wrote this for you beautiful people. Aren’t you glad I didn’t blog yesterday!?

Until tomorrow, my beauties.

Day 29 - Literally nothing

So, I’ve started writing my book. It’s going to be rubbish and I probably won’t let anyone ever read it, but it’ll keep me busy while I’m sitting in the van at night. I didn’t actually do anything today, like I planned. I just go so engrossed in typing I looked at the clock at I’d been at it for nearly 8 hours straight. Scary really.

I suppose this means I’ve not really got anything to tell you. Which is bad really. You’ve all signed on to see what I’ve been doing today and the truth is I’ve been doing something I could have done at home.

I’m moving back to the coast tomorrow, so keep your eyes open for that...

Mother, you still haven’t emailed me back. Sort it out.

See you all tomorrow

Day 28 – Sandy Hollow: Topping up the tan

Nothing really exciting happened today. I decided that before I go and see Tara (someone I used to work with in England, but who moved to Australia at the beginning of 2012) I should make sure I’m nice and tanned before I stand next to her. Being inland is a perfectly good time to do it really... Except for the insects. Thank God for the 100% deet insect repellent I have... not 100% sure it’s legal in Australia, but still.

Downloaded more Sophie Kinsella last night and read a whole book this morning. Without sounding too pretentious and stupid, it’s kind of made me realise that I actually quite like writing. So while I’m in Australia, I’m going to write a novel. Not a major classic like Wuthering Heights, or David Copperfield, but just a nice small 1000 page book about... well actually I have no idea what it’s called, or what it’ going to be about. Would any of your buy it, if I did write it? Like seriously. We’ll see who actually reads this... feel free to DM/Message/text me...

On that note, if you actually DO read my blog, can you do that ^ anyway... I’m going to test certain people who say they do read it, but who I don’t think do. You have been warned. I sense that I am only setting myself up for failure here... We’ll see.

I’m also seriously considering getting my tragus pierced (which I planned on doing ages ago, but because of where I used to work, I wasn’t allowed to get it done) and maybe getting a tattoo. I know it’s very stereotypical, but I could look back on it in 50 years and think “I got that done in Australia”... please forward ideas. If you can also draw and would like to design something for me, also forward these to me... Your brief is “Australia”... no kangaroos though please. Oh, also, I hate pain, so please feel free to make them small... and discreet. No angel wings on my back please.

I'll be truthful, don't really have anything else to say today. Put some photos on Facebook, downloaded some films. Men in Black 3 made me cry. Apart from that, nothing else happened. 

Mother, if you could email me back, that'd be great.

See you tomorrow x

Day 27 – The Hunter Valley: Wine, Wine, Wine

Got away with not paying for where I stayed last night. Good wasn’t it? It was in a national park and the ranger never came and collected the money so I didn’t worry too much. Then again, it wasn’t really a caravan park so much as a camp site with toilets (that didn’t flush properly). I would have begrudged paying for it anyway, so I didn’t let it rest on my conscience too much. Got up nice and early and drove out of Monmorah National Park and back onto the Pacific Highway, then on to the Central Coast Highway and inland towards the Hunter Valley.

The Hunter Valley (I started in the lower part) is known as being the second oldest wine growing areas in Australia. It’s not really an accomplishment is it... I mean... my brother is the second oldest child in my family, but he didn’t get a medal for it... nor is he first. Anyway... There are about 40 vineyards dotted around this park of the valley so instead of stopping at one (I would do that in the upper Hunter Valley in a few days) I decided to drive what I thought to be a scenic route through all of the vineyards. The road is called Broke Road after the town that it goes through. There is also Broke Mountain Range, Broke River, Broke Creek and Broke Vineyard. It quickly became apparent that while the road was named after the town, it also was broke, as in, broken. I have never seen so many potholes in my life...

I was literally being shaken. My bum hurt after about 20 minutes on this road. It snaked up through the valley, and while it was stunningly beautiful, I couldn’t hold the camera still long enough to get a good picture. On this road, it also became very apparent that while you didn’t see it, there was wildlife everywhere. I had to cross to the other side of the road three times for dead wombats (fully grown, they’re about as big as a lion) and I stopped counting after 14 kangaroos. I was actually shocked that no one was cleaning them up, or at least pushing them aside... they laid in the middle of the road, very much in the way of traffic, just dead. Rotting.

Made my way through the Valley to Branxton and then along the New England Highway (Route 69... lol) to where I intended to spend the night. I arrived, and lets just say, I knew immediately I wasn’t staying. The book described it as being ‘100 metres’ from the road... It was in fact a lay-by. It also said it had fresh running water and toilets. It had one tap and... lord above, even talking about them makes me feel sick... long drop toilets. Now, if you don’t know what one is, and you’re squeamish, look away now... if you’re not a girl, or gay, read on. Long drop toilets are toilets that do not require water to flush, because you essentially shit on the floor. Have you ever seen that scene in Slumdog Millionaire where the little boy has to jump through the hole to get out of the toilet? That’s a long drop. I immediately felt like Dev Patel.

Needles to say, I took one look (I was so shocked, I stood and starred for a good three minutes) and then practically ran back to Matilda. I got in and locked the doors in case the poo was coming after me. I thought I’d fast track ahead to the next site and just stay there an extra day. What I didn’t remember was that it was 300km away. Piss flaps. No matter, I like driving.

Got there late afternoon. It was a lovely little campsite with nice new clean showers and free wifi (even though you had to sit in the communal lounge to use it) so I think three nights will be lovely. It also seems I have the park to myself, which is nice.

So just a little blog for you today. It’s about 6am in England and I’ve just realised I have nothing to eat tonight. Oh, I do... soup. Brilliant. Au revoir! 

Day 26 – Freemans/The Entrance: Pelicans and ants

Attention world. Today is the day I actually start travelling. The past couple of days, I have tried (in vain) to get my body clock on to Aussie time. It’s sort of worked, but I’m still waking up at about 3am every morning before falling back to sleep at 4am. I think it’s more to do with the temperature than with the time though.

So, I got up early and packed up the camper ready for the couple of hours of driving to my next campsite, at a place called Snapper point in the Munmorah National Park. Instead of driving the direct highway to campsite, I decided to take the coastal scenic road and stop along the way. First stop was a little beach town called Copacabana. I shit you not. It’s actually a real place. Google it... Copacabana, Australia (NSW). It was lovely, but the road into the town was nearly vertical... getting back up it was nearly as much fun.

By this point I had filled up my fuel and water tanks. This, at the time seemed like a great idea, however, driving with an extra 235 litres of liquid was a new experience. Dad never told me about this...

I had to go into first gear to get up the hill, and had a huge queue of cars behind me. I was slightly pleased with myself for some reason and bobbed along without a care in the world. Next stop on the road was a little town called Terrigal. It is famous for it’s golden beach, which, despite it being 11am, was already packed. There weren’t many big waves here, but there were a few surfers out anyway. I stopped and had a cappuccino and a blueberry muffin in a beach side cafe. Lovely.

North again to a town called “The Entrance” which is known for it’s wild (however slithgly domesticated pelicans which live on the sand dunes just off of shore. Every day at 3.30pm they are fed and I’m told they attract quite a large crowd. Sadly, I didn’t have time to witness what I’m sure would have been a magical event, but the town was nice anyway. I nipped into a $2 shop and purchased some hooks and non slip matting for the camper (I have a plan you see) and wondered along the promenade. The drive to the campsite from here was pretty much one road. I left and got sidetracked by a sign to a “lighthouse”. Now, I am fully aware of what a lighthouse looks like, but I’d never seen an Australian one. I thought I’d give it a go, and after the 4km road to get there (at a place called Norah Head) I arrived in the car park with five other cars.

The lighthouse was closed to visitors but the views were lovely. I’ve taken some pictures too. So, I went back to the camper and had a quick look at the map. I hadn’t been there 3 minutes when a young blond (gorgeous) guy pulled up in a car next to me and jumped out, ran over to another car and tried the door.

Brilliant, I had found the crime hotspot of NSW. I sat and watched this boy clamber around the entire car and then run back to his car and proceed to get essentially naked. He, in vain, wrapped a towel around himself to hide his modesty and ran back to the car, laying on his back and getting right under the car. He got up and must have seen me looking and asked me if I knew where he’d put the key, because, and I quote, “He’s got my wetty”. I didn’t really know what to say, but said no, and got out and helped him look. I eventually found the key in the exhaust. I wasn’t sure if what I’d just done was legal, but the guy was gorgeous and seemed like he was in a rush. He practically hugged me when I told him I’d found the key and proceeded to open the boot and pulled out a wet suit.

A wetty. It all became clear.

I wondered back to the camper and he followed me back to his car, where he into the wetty (such a funny word – say it out loud) locked his car, put the key in his exhaust and grabbed his board off of the roof. He’d probably not walked three steps when he turned around and said “Thanks by the way mate, it’s just, the surfs up and I’m in a rush. If you hang around, I’ll be back up with the lads in about 30 minutes and we’ll go for a drink to say thanks”... he threw out his hand, I presumed for a hand shake (straight – gay men don’t shake hands). His hands felt like velvet. I think I actually went “ooo” when he touched me. I told him I’d wait as I didn’t have to be anywhere (which was entirely true) and got my chair out and sat in the sun.

As he said, about half an hour later, he and his friends all came back up off the beach, with wet hair and wetsuits around their waists. I was in heaven. Mother, if you’re reading... skip the next paragraph... seriously.

I’d like to tell you about these four people who’d just presented themselves to me. My blond friend was by far the youngest at probably 17. He was followed by two slightly older, and a little better looking, boys and then in turn was followed by an older guy, probably my age. All four of them were blond, between 5” 8’ and 6” and simply beautiful. My friend came over and introduced himself as Jake, and then introduced the others at Tom, Adam and Crookey (which I presume was a nickname – no parent would be that mean). We sat and I offered them some water (cold, from the fridge) and they told me all about how the surfing was perfect today and how Jake would have missed it if it wasn’t for my quick thinking (I actually just wanted to get a better view of him in a towel – no, I have no shame. None at all). So we sat there for a bit, when one of them went “yikes” and said he was already late for work. They all jumped out of their wetsuits while I pretended not to be looking. None of them were wearing underwear, and none of them seemed to be bothered about getting naked in public in front of each other. These were my kind of boys. Now if you think I was at any point being a perve, you’re wrong. I’m pretty sure Jake kept looking to see if I was looking... Anyway... They all got dressed and said thanks again and off they drove.

Mother, miss the next paragraph too.

I should point out at this point, that while in Australia, I may be presented with situations where I could quite happily get my “fill” as it were of Australians (pun not intended) I assure you I won’t be. I have my boy, Henry, whom I love very much and I won’t be playing around or being a “naughty boy” at all. I love henry.

So... I bid them goodbye and followed them along the road back to the town where I turned off to the Munmorah National Park which was actually closer than I thought. I got to the camp ground and had it literally to myself. I parked up and sat in the sun and read a bit, then wrote this blog and now, I being wondering about the beach, which I can see from the camp site.

After a little bit of research from my guide books, I find that it is in fact an “unclad” beach. Brilliant. I have found a nudist beach in the middle of nowhere. This should be exciting. I locked up and went off to the beach, towel in hand genuinely to have a dip in the sea, which I promised myself I would do once a day while I’m within 5km of it. So I got to the beach and it was deserted. Just my luck.

Now, I have no shame telling you what happened next. While on this nudist beach, alone, I decided that if I was ever going to sunbathe nude, now would be the time. So... yes, you guessed it. Stark bullock naked, rubbing suncream into my gentlemen’s region. Fantastic. I sat back and loved it. Then who should appear but Jake and his three friends.

I am of course joking. Good things like that don’t happen to bad people like me.

So alas, tonight is the first night without electricity or wifi (first world problems) so you’ll be hearing from me in a few nights. Until then!

Day 25 - Umina: BEACH

Today is Wednesday the 19^th day of September, and it’s hot. Well last night it wasn’t, it was minus 8, but by 8am, it had already reached 18 degrees and was getting warmer. Beach me thinks

Once I was awake and washed etc, went to the shop and bought stuff I forgot yesterday (which was basically everything) including washing up powder, fabric softner, fairy liquid, kitchen roll etc (all the important stuff) and nachos.

Do you know what Australia is? Expensive... very expensive.

Did a bit of washing. My Nan always taught me to wash your smalls every day (when you’re camping) because then you never run out of pants. She taught me other stuff too, but that’s the one I always remember. Hand washing is horrible really. The washing powder sends your hands all soft and funny, but, needs must.

There is a children’s playground thing between my van and the beach which is always full of Australian kids being generally annoying, one of them keeps offering to sell me chocolate as well. I thought it was supposed to be the older people creeping on the kids, not the other way around. IT’s always warm and melted too. I think he’s having me on. Anyway, after working out which site he was from, it turns out his Dad’s vehicle reg is “Cadbury 1” so maybe he works for them. Either way, they’re going today.

So I wondered down to the beach and sat and read some Sophie Kinsella in the sunshine. The Pacific Ocean really is beautiful. The waves obviously make a crashing noise but when they’ve hit the beach, there is about a 3 second silence before the next one crashes. It’s so lovely. I was just sitting reading my book, slowly crisping up in the sun, when six young boys walked onto the beach, in school uniform, striped off to their pants and ran into the sea. I have never seen anything quite like it. They must have been 17-18 ish and once two of them finally walked back to the beach I plucked up the courage to go and talk to them. I wondered over and made a polite remark about one of the guys’ school bags (I think it was Armarni, it really was lovely) and I had instantly made a friend. He replied with “not many people recognise it as designer, it’s in this new seasons collection”.

Gay.

I made polite chit chat and found out that they were on their lunch break (they went to the high school which was probably closer to the beach then my camper was) but had to be back in 30 minutes. Something that struck me was how incredibly nice they were. In England, if you went up to six complete strangers and struck up a conversation, you’d probably get mugged, but Australians are so lovely. They asked me all about where I was from, and what I was doing and then a bell rang and the boys hurriedly got dressed and said goodbye before running back to their math class.

Finally making some friends.

I gave them my blog address, so they’re probably reading this now thinking “it was English, not Math” but either way, let me assure you, I have NEVER been to the beach on my lunch break, and I am jealous. So very jealous.

Spent most of the afternoon on the beach and only went back when my stomach told me to. Had nachos for dinner. I don’t care what anyone says, nachos is a meal.

Now, what I’m about to tell  you, I don’t want you to judge me for... remember that it was me that told you, so  you can’t use it against me. At 3am, it was bloody freezing and my bladder woke me up. Now, what you have to understand is that the toilet block is about a 4 minute walk from my camper, by which time I would have lost my toes to frostbite and have well and truly woken up. So I did what any rational person would do. Instead of running to the toilet I reached for an empty water bottled and did a wee in it.

Now, if you’re laughing (thanks, that’s my life you’re laughing at) and if you’re not laughing, you have to understand that I didn’t want to do it. And I won’t do it again... (also at night, snakes and spiders and stuff can kill you... so it was actually safer)

So I technically finish writing this on Thursday morning (Wednesday night for you lovelies) and today is moving day. Driving about three hours North to a place called Freemans. Not really sure what’s there, the guidebook said it was pretty. There’s no wifi there though, so I won’t be blogging for a few days, but I’ll write them, and upload them when I get back to civilisation. So until then, much loves.

Day 24 - Umina: Recovery, meatballs, Shirley and Matilda.

Now, my first camp site is in the tiny picturesque beach town of Umina. I chose this place, simply because it was the only one I could find on-line back home. It’s quite nice and quiet with good facilities and the beach is 29 steps from my camper (I counted). I decided to spend a couple of days on the down low, just recovering from the jet lag and more importantly, planning my route around Australia. It’s actually not as boring as it sounds.

The next sentence is going to sound stupid. Bare with me.

Australia is big. I mean, fucking big. I drove for 3 hours yesterday and I had in fact only travelled about 180km. I looked at the map and it’s only about three fingers worth of motorway. I’ve worked out, it’s going to be about 13,000 km for the whole trip. That’s a lot of fuel and a lot of hours... might need to work on that one... but I suppose three months is a long time, right?

So. Basically, I’ve now left Sydney (I’ll go back at the end of my trip) and headed north to a town called Umina. It’s on the beach with a population of about 12,000 and 5km of sandy beaches. The bay, around which the town is based, isn’t in fact “open” sea, but it is saltwater and has good waves. I got up quite early, about 5.30am (sunrise) and had a little walk to the beach (29 steps) and was shocked to see that I didn’t have it to myself. Dog walkers and surfers seem to be everywhere. I counted at least 40 within shouting distance. All of the surfers were sitting on their boards on the beach, all talking to each other like a group of old women. A big wave broke and all of a sudden they all got up and jogged into the sea.

This is why I came to Australia.

I must learn to surf. Will do that in Brisbane...

Now, what you must understand is that my body is still on Greenwich meantime and as a result, at 5.20am, I believed it was 9.20pm the previous day. Despite me sleeping through the night (and the thunder storms) I was still tired, but powered through with a coffee and did a little bit of tidying around the van, got things into the right places and then decided I needed to shop (I was so hungry, it had been over 24 hours since I’d eaten), so unplugged the van and headed into the town.

There are three main supermarkets here. There’s no Tesco or Sainsburys to be seen, instead they have Aldi (same as the British shop and by far the cheapest), Coles (sort of like Tesco or Morrisons, but not as widely available as Aldi) and, believe it or not, Woolworths (a subsidiary of our Woolworths, that was separated from the company many years ago – it is also incredibly expensive). I have pledged my allegiance to Aldi (never thought I’d say that) and even bought a trolley token key ring thing, I am well and truly, in the club.

Wondered around for a while, and decided I could do nothing without a list, so got some basic provisions (sausages, milk, bread, tomato sauce, pasta, cheese, oil, cookies and Maltesers). I’ll go back tomorrow to get more once I’ve made a list. One thing I did notice is the extortionate price of meat. Three chicken breasts were $14. That’s about £10. Crazy!

So, while I was in Umina, I thought I’d take advantage of the free parking (I didn’t have to get home to put the shopping away now did I?) and went on the hunt for a Sat Nav. Tom Tom would of course been my first choice, followed by Navman, and then by Garmin. It seemed that the Gods were not looking down on me today, there was only one shop selling GPS units, and they only stocked Garmin. I talked the shop assistant down from $240 to $130 and then made him give me the traffic cameras update for free. If nothing, working for my Dad has taught me how to haggle. He even came and plugged it all in for me...

Umina has a “small town charm” that I’d only seen or heard about in movies or books. People stopped in the street and talked to each other, when I asked the man in Aldi where I could get a Sat Nav from, he simply said “Andy” and then carried on packing my bags, as if I should know who Andy is, or indeed where his shop is... I didn’t ask him, and pretended to know where I was going.

So finally, with my new Sat Nav installed, I could happily drive places without depending on my awful maps... I have decided to call my GPS Shirley. She sounds like a Shirley. Shirley is very polite, if not a little pushy. She seems to enjoy telling me that there is a “school speed restricted area ahead” at least 15 times before I even get there. Once would do... I also need to think of a name for my van. I’m thinking of sticking to the Australian theme and going with Matilda. In fact, as I wrote that, I got Goosebumps! Matilda it is.

So with Matilda and Shirley I stopped (on the way back to the campsite) at a place called Staples Lookout which was named after Charles J. Staples who marked out the route from the Pacific Highway to the small down of Woy Woy in 1923. The views from the top were spectacular. I’ve attached a picture. You can see all of Umina Bay and the small stone plinth at the summit shows you the distances to local and not so local points. Wellington, New Zealand is 2,240km away, Rome 16,345km, Paris 16,949km and London 16,982km. It nearly seems like no distance at all really. While I was staring out over the bay, I saw my first cuckoboro. He pissed off before I could take a picture but he certainly wasn’t sitting in an old gum tree, and he wasn’t having a merry old life. He looked like he’d been attacked by an eagle, or equally big bird of prey. He looked at me gone out and then flew away. Shame.

So back at the campsite, I had new neighbours. Had a nice chat to them. One of them was born in Manchester, but her parents immigrated to Perth when she was 3. I don’t think Australians really get sarcasm, because my joke about her being better here than there went right over her head, either that or she was so offended she didn’t quite know what to say.

4pm and it was about time for the daily thunderstorm. This time of year, the humidity builds up through the morning and late in the afternoon, massive thunder clouds darken the skies, which are only lit by the huge electric sheet lightning which, if harnessed, apparently could light a city like London for three days... that’s a lot of energy. Also, why do people say a city “like London”... why not just say London, or Madrid...

Dinner was meatballs (cut up sausages) and pasta with tomato sauce. Simples. Washed down with Maltesers, which don’t taste like British Maltesers and then it started raining again.

Don’t think much of this Australian weather.

So, another day coming to an end, while you beautiful people are just waking up and getting ready for the day. So think of me asleep, or don’t, because that’s a bit weird isn’t it... Until tomorrow!

Loves x

Day 23 - Sydney: Here we are again

So here we are again. Another teary farewell. Another monstrous flight. Another adventure.

After my Grandad passed away while I was in Athens, I genuinely went through a stage of not wanting to go travelling again. It was a tough three weeks. Some may call that dramatic, “a tough three weeks” but I can honestly say I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t have a plan, and I always have a plan. Should I just carry on as though nothing has happened, should I stay home, and look at the family and start the rest of my life, get a job, settle down, have some kids... etc...?

No.

Not yet anyway.

So I booked this flight that I’m now on (London>Frankfurt>Singapore>Sydney) and, in the famous words of Peter Kay, packed it and fucked off. It was odd saying goodbye to everyone this time. I suppose that’s because the first time I didn’t really leave them for long. It was only 4 weeks that was away for in total and then to spend three weeks with my friends and family again, almost made the previous month seem like it hadn’t happened. Being home again didn’t seem real.

I’m blabbing on.

So anyway. This flight. If you’ve never taken a long haul flight, I’m going to tell you a little bit about how they work.

Basically, planes haven’t yet become so sophisticated that they can fly directly from one side of the globe to another. There are two or three commercial flights a week from London to Sydney which are direct but are so expensive. Most people do what I’ve done, that is, choose a main carrier, like BA or Qantas and transfer at Singapore or Bangkok.

My first leg was London to Frankfurt on a lovely little BA plane. Only an hour and ten minute flight. Had three seats to myself. It was fantastic. Then got to Frankfurt... this is where the hilarity ensued.

I effectively had to leave the airport to get my boarding pass for the next leg of my journey. Got off the plane and followed the signs for connections to the main baggage reclaim. My bag was checked to Sydney so I didn’t need to collect it. But I then had to go back into the departure hall to the main Qantas check in desks... There were three open, for a plane that holds 400 people (Boeing 747-400). Ridiculous. When I finally got to the counter, the comedian told me I was in the wrong place and that because I was a transferring passenger, I needed to go to the gate directly. I told him I didn’t have a boarding pass, and then he said “Oh, well you’re in the right place then”... Bloody Germans.

Finally got him to give me a nice new crisp boarding pass and he swiped my passport. He then said “So you’re going home? Do you have your Australian passport with you as well for me to swipe please?”

I looked at him like he’d come into my house on Christmas day and pissed on my Christmas tree.

He said that there was no VISA attached to my passport and that I wouldn’t be able to enter Australia without one. (I do have a VISA. I’m not stupid). So I told him to scan the passport again, he did to no avail. He went and got his manager who scanned it and then, three seconds later said “aaaaa yes, here it is”... I mean... what? Eurgh. I’m not going back to Germany, I assure you. (Don’t mention the war)

Eventually got back through the passport control I had just come through and got to the gate. Now the aircraft I was travelling on, as I said above, is a Boeing 747-400, the famous double-decker that looks like it’s been smacked in the face with a bag full of potatoes. POTATOES. It’s so big in fact, that they have two entrances to board the plane with, one for first, business and premium economy passengers and one for the scum in economy (me).

After a boarding process that lasted all of 80 minutes. I always make sure I’m one of the last on the plane, otherwise I get angry that people stand in the aisles while they put their stuff in the overhead lockers or take their coat off. Also, I like the idea that the people in first class are waiting for me... I’m such a dick.

Anyway... Economy on a “jumbo jet” is a bit like, well... imagine being in a concentration camp, it’s like that, but without all the death and disease (and anti-Semitism). It’s horrible. I at least had my own TV and I looked up the films that were showing. I decided which ones I was going to watch and set myself up with my blanket, pillow, eye mask and ear plugs. Beautiful. Take off was... bumpy. It’s what I imagine it feels like for the batteries in a vibrator, shaken and rattled until you have to close your eye lids for fear of your eye balls coming out of your skull. The captain said I was because of a bumpy runway combined with a strong tail wind. I blame the Germans again.

Less than 30 minutes into the flight, we had already ascended to 39,000 feet and the TV thingy assured me we were travelling at a little under 600mph. The first of our three captains guaranteed us we would have a nice smooth flight and once dinner had been served (john dory or lamb stew) he would be turning off the cabin lights and letting everyone bed down for the night.

Let me tell you, there is nothing comfortable about bedding down for the night. Bedding down is what you do to a horse when you bring it in from the fields in the winter. Bedding down is what homeless people do in barns. Bedding down, is not what I was doing. I was sitting bolt upright, neck pillow on, with an obnoxious Swede elbowing me in the ribs every ten minutes.

Needless to say, dinner was edible (I had the fish). And then the lights went off. Surprisingly, once I’d put my ear plugs in, the din of the idiot next to me, and the low rumble from the engines was nicely muted. I don’t think I was awake long, I looked at the “time to arrival” thing when it was 10 and a half hours and then when I woke up it was 3 hours. Not bad really. I didn’t even have neck ache. I was quite happy with myself all in all.

I had a lovely seat over the wing, a great view of the flaps (lol) and the engines from behind.

When I woke up, I realised I’d not watched any of the films I’d planned on doing but we arrived quickly in Singapore, and it was hot, and I mean, fucking hot. A very, what my Nan and Henry would call, close heat. Very sweaty and humid. I jogged off of the plane into the terminal for a nice walk around and, more importantly, a poo.

Singapore airport dwarfs Heathrow, it’s huge. It has six terminals, eighty two gates in each one with loads of stands out of the terminal too. Local time was seven hours ahead of London and at a tasty 34 degrees, I searched out a bottle of water (18 of my British pence) and sat at the gate and waited for boarding to begin (again).

All of the above has been written in the departure lounge at Singapore airport, and I not tell you about the boy sitting next to me.

German. Eating M&M’s. Blond. Tall. Smells of Murray mints. Listening to Lady Gaga. Wearing a vest and has his left tragus pierced. I’m not usually one to presume people’s sexuality (I am) but he is gay... if he wasn’t wearing those ridiculous black glasses that haven’t got any glass in, I’d have thought he was attractive, to be honest, he had me at M&M’s... Mr Lisseman will like that.

ANYWAY, had to go through security again. I always get nervous at airport security but then remind myself that I am in fact not an international criminal, drug smuggler or terrorist and the nerves pass. Back onto the plane (same seat) and I had a new person sitting next to me. A lovely Australian woman who’d been holidaying in Singapore with her husband.  The crew also changed at Singapore and my new attendant was a very good looking middle aged lady from Brisbane (it said on her name badge) and she was fluent in Japanese, Chinese, Thai, French and German). She may be a cunning linguist, but I’m a master debater.

Landed in Sydney an hour and ten minutes late due to high winds at the airport. The captain told us we were pushed into a holding pen with 12 other planes, but because we were third to land we wouldn’t be too long. Needless to say, we landed and then the first mate told us that because of the holding pen situation (where planes circle until it’s clear to land) all the other early morning intercontinental flights were landing too, and customs was going to be horrendously busy.

Cue the jogging again. With legs that weren’t really working properly, I got to the customs queue before the majority of the rest of the passengers. It still took me two hours to clear customs and when I looked back, the queue had at least tripled in length. I had no bother with immigration, the man told me to make sure I “contributed to the Australian economy” and wished me good luck. Got my bag and made my way to the taxi rank.

My taxi driver had only one eye. I didn’t know which one to look in.

From here, got to the campervan hire place, got my camper and did what I can only describe as a short tour of the suburbs of Sydney before finally finding the right road (purely by chance, I assure you) and drove the three hours to the campsite.

Not, so far, the only part of Australia I had seen was the airport, a taxi and a warehouse, so imagine my surprise when I drove out of a tunnel out of Sydney to be faced with one of the most beautiful pieces of scenery I had ever seen (so far). I have no idea where it is, what it’s called, but I think I even said “that’s beautiful” out loud. That sort of stuff happens when you travel alone.

Got the campsite, unpacked, showered (FINALLY) and sat down for a little cup of coffee. I didn’t get round the coffee clearly, because 13 hours later when I woke up, it was stone cold, and not drunk. Hopefully, jet lag doesn’t hit me too hard, but I feel fine so far... hmm... anyway!

Until next time!