The Lost Week

It has come to my attention that when I previously wrote that Mary and Emma departed, it appeared that they did so from Brisbane. This is ein hundert perzent absolute baldershit. There were in fact almost five full days in between us being in Noosa and when they left. These days were spent in 'The Big Apple', Sydney.

Time for another small recap. When we first met up with Lisa back in early December we also had the pleasure of meeting another Coventrian going by the name of Jonny Owen. He proved to be a thoroughly nice lad indeed, and after just one evening in the boozer with him he had offered us his house during the Christmas period, when he would be back in Blighty.

Helen would like me to highlight at this point, that: '...this is the Coventry way. The experience of the Blitz has led to a sense of togetherness and sharing which no other city in the UK could ever even hope to aspire to. Especially not Bournemouth.'

That may be so, but half the people that survived the Blitz now live in Bournemouth, so there are holes in your argument, Mouth.

Therefore, we flew in an aeroplane down the coast to Sydney where we disembarked, mounted a taxi and got dropped off outside Jonny's house. The plan had been that Jonny was to give the key to his mate Max (my heart skipped a beat at first - could it be Gogarty? Stranger things have happened at sea with a bird in your hand whilst the Pope is shitting in the woods...) who lived but across the road.

The plan hadn't been that Max wouldn't be in. A-knocking and a-ringing we did a-go on his door, but to no avail. I even tried a bit of a-climbing but that only resulted in more time wasted and a sweaty bum cleft.

Eventually, we received a call from Max and the welcome news that he would be back from the beach very shortly. What went wrong in the non-miscommunications that had occurred prior we have no idea, but Helen is almost certain that it was entirely my fault.

Max was another lovely chap, with a strange Oz-Deutsche accent reminiscent of many a bad war movie, and we offered him a brew as we wandered inside and dumped our stuff. A few stiff cups of tea later we braved it out into the big wide and, in the particular area of town that we now resided, almost entirely homosexual world.

The next couple of days were spent doing generic Sydney tourist things. Bridge - check. Harbour - check. Opera House - check. (Mary agreed it's smaller than on tele.)

About two days into our tour we met with Lisa and her boyfriend Ben, and she said that we could also use her flat if we so wished. So, never ones to turn down an invitation, we bloody well did.

Other things that happened of marginal note include the ingestion of the best cake what I have ever eaten, purchased and scoffed on the harbour side with a cup of chai latte. Wanky but stupendous.

We also went for a luscious piscine dinner in a restaurant called Blue Fish (or something of that ilk) which was very appetizing indeed. This was swiftly followed by Mary having her first experience of Shisha in a Turkish bar. She didn´t particularly like it, probably due to the lack of nicotine. Nor hallucinogenic qualities. This was a most enjoyable evening and was probably my favourite that I had in Sydney.

Soon the time came that we did actually have to say goodbye to the two Dagleys. But you already know all about that. Tears and beers. Not necessarily in that order.

Lisa and Ben went up north to spend New Year’s Eve with some of Ben's family, and Lisa very kindly let us use her flat for the whole period. We are FOREVER indebted to her, as it wasn't just an amazing thing to do, but it allowed us to do so much more than if we were hosteling. 

Plus, trying to find accommodation at that time of year would be like trying to find an amusing simile.

On the 28th of December we had the joy of meeting up with the Irish girls, Sarah, Caroline and Martina for the twins' birthday. It was a good night full of horrible Guinness which also gave us the chance to get in touch with none other than Jon Howe, who after the Hoi An debacle had continued his syphilitic quest around South East Asia and eventually landed on Antipodean shores.

That night we made plans to meet for NYE (as it shall unfortunately and lazily be dubbed from now on).

This night was also most amusing for the fact that Gil, the Israeli feller that we had met in Cambodia, was also to be present. Knowing Helen was going to be there, and as the meeting also coincided with Israel's illegal and murderous bombing of Gaza, Gil had spent the week before revising his propaganda. As it happens, Helen deliberately didn't mention it. Just as well really.

NYE was a funny affair that is probably best left forgotten, but here is the outline of our day, from start to finish - massively fucking edited to make me sound slightly less at fault for a ruined evening.

• Meet Jon and Dan (of Hoi An battering fame) around midday
• Buy lots of beer and head down to Rushcutters’s Bay
• Along the way meet Dan's real dad

(If you can't read the chap's T-shirt, it says 'Sorry son, I'm not your dad.')

• Incredibly, bump into both all of the Irish girls and guys who we had been out with a few nights before, and Jay who we had met in Laos
• Play some football and get slightly sunburned
• Jon gets wind that we might be able to get into ´The best spot in town´ to watch the fireworks, namely a proper posh hotel right on the banks of the harbour
• Rush back to Lisa's and grab a shower
• Meet up with Jon and Dan again and go to the hotel
• Turns out unfortunately only Jon can get in
• He goes in
• Dan, Helen and I mooch about Sydney before settling down on the North side of the river, in a nice spot on a slope very near the bridge
• Watch the fireworks
• Walk home in silence

As you can see, some points are suspiciously absent.

New Year's Day was much more fun. We got a pizza and rented Tropic Thunder. I wish I´d seen it before the night before.

Never go full retard man.