Just a little background info for those of a spoddy bent. I have to say my personal music consumption has dwindled since being in Oz on account of having ready access to some wizard radio stations. Namely Triple R out of Melbourne and the national Triple J. I tried to get Iwan to tune in online to Triple R but he hit fishing hour, which I have to say is the only dark cloud on its otherwise azure horizon (although naturally I like it). Give them a whirl online. What have you got to lose?
I had been compiling a long list of beazer tracks and artists heard on the radio with a view to future download whence I am somewhere a little more than a night and a day...but I seem to have lost the notebook so that's all gone brown! Arse.
Of books: after dabbling with Vile Bodies by Evelyn Waugh which I found rather tedious and unusually didn't even finish, I swapped it for Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding. A weighty tome and one I figured would keep me busy for a while. I wasn't wrong. I'm only coming to an end of its 850 pages now! Admittedly, there hasn't been a huge amount of time for bookish behaviour but also having to read each paragraph twice to get the gist has perhaps slowed things up a spot. It's a blinding story though. La!
Next up is Moby Dick by Herman Melville. Yup, joy of joys I have a copy of this elusive book courtesy of neighbours Simon & Shelly who sent it out with a Red Cross parcel to meet me in Perth couriered by Jo Bole. Alas the four pack of IPA never made it. I hope Jack, temporary resident of the Borough Bunker, enjoyed the ale. Many many thanks to all involved in the relief operation!
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Great Southern road trip - yeeaa HA!
Perth, Western Australia - Feb '07
Jo & Cam's home became known as Hostel JoCam due to the amazing number of people that were passing through. At different stages there was me, Cam's cousin and her friend, Lina (the daughter of a Swedish friend), an old work colleague of Cam's from Kuala Lumpur and Jo Bole. All this whilst the roof was being replaced by Jude, Cam's sister's boyfriend. JoCam dealt with all this chaos as if they were just making another cup of tea (although they didn't drink tea). Amazing.
I took a week to rent a car (I mean I rented it for a week, not it took me a week to figure out how to rent a car) and go on a wee solo road trip down to the SW of Australia; a place called the Great Southern. It was certainly southern and it was quite great. I rented the car from Bayswater Car Rental whose company slogan is 'No birds!' There was meant to be some more subtle meaning to this other than the bare faced obvious but I couldn't work it out. Only in Oz.
The Great Southern is a place of rugged rocky coves with beautiful secluded beaches (bit like Cornwall); old whaling heritage; home to tingle trees, the largest trees in Oz, in fact only beaten in height by the Giant Redwoods of the western US; the meeting point of the Indian and Southern Oceans; lobsters; dolphins; great white sharks and one of the best sandwiches I've ever eaten in my life (and that's a big accolade).
First stop Albany, an old fishing and whaling town on the southern coast. Here's a typical view of the rugged Great Southern coastline. In those waters lurk great white sharks (are you getting the impression I'm a bit obsessed with GWS?). There's an old whaling station turned whaling museum in Albany called Whale World. No, it is. Me and four rather amusing lads from Tamworth (whom I gave a lift to) visited it. It was fab. I mean, I'm dead against whaling of course but as an historical record of what went on, it was fascinating. The best bit was seeing a film about the relationship between whaling and the GWS, naturally. The cinema was in an old whale oil storage tank that still had the pungent, lingering odour of whale oil about it. When they were bringing the whales in (right & sperm whales) the sharks would follow the bloody trail in the water and attack the whale carcasses yards from the jetty ripping off great chunks of blubber (I mean, just doing what they'd do in the wild to a whale carcass). The whalers would shoot the sharks and cut them open to retrieve the blubber from their stomachs it was that valuable. I've just realised, I'm probably the only person interested in all this. Move on.
Next was the Valley of the Giants further west. Shortly after I set out for Walpole from Albany I realised I was going to expire if I didn't eat something so stopped at the most unpromising looking petrol station in the middle of nowhere. But what was my choice? There I was greeted by a giant of a man in greasy overalls, a shock of red curly hair and hands like two JCB buckets and just about as clean. Oh dear. I asked if he had any sandwiches and he said he could make one, what would I like? Oh dear. Presented with a surprising list of ingredients I opted for chorizo, cheese, tomato, cucumber and lettuce, a little mayo and a hint of mustard (what a pretentious twat!). Well, he asked! He disappeared behind scenes and a few minutes later emerged with a brown paper bag for which he charged me $2.50 (about a quid). It felt heavy. He says: 'You look hungry, I made it a triple!' Peering into the bag back at the car there presented itself the most lavish looking triple decker sandwich on hand cut brown bread, busting at the seams with all those fine ingredients aforementioned. It was a taste sensation! Yer man there was clearly a connoisseur of the fine art of sandwich making. After devouring it with a mayo covered grin firmly fixed to my face, I felt compelled to go back in and compliment him heartily on and add further thanks for the wonderful sandwich. He looked at me rather oddly. I left.
Right, enough of that. Here's a tingle tree called the Grandmother. Don't know about you but my gran never had a giant unicorn like horn sticking out of her napper!
Valley of the Giants tree top walk. Some 40m above the ground you walk amongst the upper canopy of the giant tingle tree (all said in dramatic film advert style voice). It was belting with rain, which was quite refreshing given Perth's inferno temps.
The most SW tip of Oz, Cape Leeuwin and the meeting point for the Southern & Indian Oceans.
Bay near Augusta (by the way, if you're not sure where these places are and you can be arsed, look them up on Google Maps).
It was at this bay near Augusta (forgotten exact name) that I was watching the lobster (or crawfish) fishermen bring in their catch. Waiting on the jetty was a government inspector checking they had caught within the size limit and within their quota. At this point I was offered two lobsters for free by one of the more shifty looking incoming fishermen, perhaps identifying a potentially embarrassing situation and looking for an easy escape route. I have to say I accepted although I paid for my accomplice role and haste in having to figure out how the heck I was going to transport two live lobsters back to my hostel in Augusta without a bucket with a strong lid. I opted for leaving them to roam free in the boot and hoped that the vast quantity of sand that was mounting up in the car, the salt stains on the seat from driving with wet swimming shorts and now the distinct odour of oceana wasn't going to cause too much alarm with Bayswater Car Rental. No birds, right, but what about crustaceans? Cooking them was another story!
OK, this has droned on far too long so let's wrap up with the traditional wildlife pic. On the way back north to Perth I stopped at Bussleton pier. It has an underwater observatory where you can view all the fish (and divers as it happened) under the end of the pier. The fish look in the windows at the people inside. Does that make it a humanitarium?
Jo & Cam's home became known as Hostel JoCam due to the amazing number of people that were passing through. At different stages there was me, Cam's cousin and her friend, Lina (the daughter of a Swedish friend), an old work colleague of Cam's from Kuala Lumpur and Jo Bole. All this whilst the roof was being replaced by Jude, Cam's sister's boyfriend. JoCam dealt with all this chaos as if they were just making another cup of tea (although they didn't drink tea). Amazing.
I took a week to rent a car (I mean I rented it for a week, not it took me a week to figure out how to rent a car) and go on a wee solo road trip down to the SW of Australia; a place called the Great Southern. It was certainly southern and it was quite great. I rented the car from Bayswater Car Rental whose company slogan is 'No birds!' There was meant to be some more subtle meaning to this other than the bare faced obvious but I couldn't work it out. Only in Oz.
The Great Southern is a place of rugged rocky coves with beautiful secluded beaches (bit like Cornwall); old whaling heritage; home to tingle trees, the largest trees in Oz, in fact only beaten in height by the Giant Redwoods of the western US; the meeting point of the Indian and Southern Oceans; lobsters; dolphins; great white sharks and one of the best sandwiches I've ever eaten in my life (and that's a big accolade).
First stop Albany, an old fishing and whaling town on the southern coast. Here's a typical view of the rugged Great Southern coastline. In those waters lurk great white sharks (are you getting the impression I'm a bit obsessed with GWS?). There's an old whaling station turned whaling museum in Albany called Whale World. No, it is. Me and four rather amusing lads from Tamworth (whom I gave a lift to) visited it. It was fab. I mean, I'm dead against whaling of course but as an historical record of what went on, it was fascinating. The best bit was seeing a film about the relationship between whaling and the GWS, naturally. The cinema was in an old whale oil storage tank that still had the pungent, lingering odour of whale oil about it. When they were bringing the whales in (right & sperm whales) the sharks would follow the bloody trail in the water and attack the whale carcasses yards from the jetty ripping off great chunks of blubber (I mean, just doing what they'd do in the wild to a whale carcass). The whalers would shoot the sharks and cut them open to retrieve the blubber from their stomachs it was that valuable. I've just realised, I'm probably the only person interested in all this. Move on.
Next was the Valley of the Giants further west. Shortly after I set out for Walpole from Albany I realised I was going to expire if I didn't eat something so stopped at the most unpromising looking petrol station in the middle of nowhere. But what was my choice? There I was greeted by a giant of a man in greasy overalls, a shock of red curly hair and hands like two JCB buckets and just about as clean. Oh dear. I asked if he had any sandwiches and he said he could make one, what would I like? Oh dear. Presented with a surprising list of ingredients I opted for chorizo, cheese, tomato, cucumber and lettuce, a little mayo and a hint of mustard (what a pretentious twat!). Well, he asked! He disappeared behind scenes and a few minutes later emerged with a brown paper bag for which he charged me $2.50 (about a quid). It felt heavy. He says: 'You look hungry, I made it a triple!' Peering into the bag back at the car there presented itself the most lavish looking triple decker sandwich on hand cut brown bread, busting at the seams with all those fine ingredients aforementioned. It was a taste sensation! Yer man there was clearly a connoisseur of the fine art of sandwich making. After devouring it with a mayo covered grin firmly fixed to my face, I felt compelled to go back in and compliment him heartily on and add further thanks for the wonderful sandwich. He looked at me rather oddly. I left.
Right, enough of that. Here's a tingle tree called the Grandmother. Don't know about you but my gran never had a giant unicorn like horn sticking out of her napper!
Valley of the Giants tree top walk. Some 40m above the ground you walk amongst the upper canopy of the giant tingle tree (all said in dramatic film advert style voice). It was belting with rain, which was quite refreshing given Perth's inferno temps.
The most SW tip of Oz, Cape Leeuwin and the meeting point for the Southern & Indian Oceans.
Bay near Augusta (by the way, if you're not sure where these places are and you can be arsed, look them up on Google Maps).It was at this bay near Augusta (forgotten exact name) that I was watching the lobster (or crawfish) fishermen bring in their catch. Waiting on the jetty was a government inspector checking they had caught within the size limit and within their quota. At this point I was offered two lobsters for free by one of the more shifty looking incoming fishermen, perhaps identifying a potentially embarrassing situation and looking for an easy escape route. I have to say I accepted although I paid for my accomplice role and haste in having to figure out how the heck I was going to transport two live lobsters back to my hostel in Augusta without a bucket with a strong lid. I opted for leaving them to roam free in the boot and hoped that the vast quantity of sand that was mounting up in the car, the salt stains on the seat from driving with wet swimming shorts and now the distinct odour of oceana wasn't going to cause too much alarm with Bayswater Car Rental. No birds, right, but what about crustaceans? Cooking them was another story!
OK, this has droned on far too long so let's wrap up with the traditional wildlife pic. On the way back north to Perth I stopped at Bussleton pier. It has an underwater observatory where you can view all the fish (and divers as it happened) under the end of the pier. The fish look in the windows at the people inside. Does that make it a humanitarium? Il fait soleil, I'm off to Rottenest
There's an island 20km or so off the coast of Perth called Rottenest, named as early explorers discovered hundreds of wee animals (quokka) there that they mistook for rats and therefore named it 'Rats Nest' Island. This has been corrupted to Rottenest Island. They obviously weren't thinking ahead for future tourism. Like 99% of all fury things in Oz, quokkas are marsupials meaning they are generally slow, stupid and don't get abroad much.
I took the train to Freemantle and the early ferry over to the island, which I have to say is bloody lovely.
Me on Cam's bike. I think my poor grasp of the handle bars is more to do with taking the pic whilst on the move than the fact I couldn't reach them as the bike was too big. Snorkelling gear in the netting bag.
The lighthouse on Rottenest. Impressive I think you will agree and undeniably white.
A typical beachy cove on the west of the island. Larrrverrrly.
Here's one of those quokka critters. It hopped across the road and just sat there staring at me. Fortunately, other than the occasional bus, there's no traffic on the island. There'd be far fewer quokka around otherwise.
I took the train to Freemantle and the early ferry over to the island, which I have to say is bloody lovely.
Me on Cam's bike. I think my poor grasp of the handle bars is more to do with taking the pic whilst on the move than the fact I couldn't reach them as the bike was too big. Snorkelling gear in the netting bag.
The lighthouse on Rottenest. Impressive I think you will agree and undeniably white.
A typical beachy cove on the west of the island. Larrrverrrly.
Here's one of those quokka critters. It hopped across the road and just sat there staring at me. Fortunately, other than the occasional bus, there's no traffic on the island. There'd be far fewer quokka around otherwise.OK, not the most gripping of posts but hey, sometimes that's the way it goes. I could have made up some bobbins about how a gang of crystal meth crazed quokka held me at gun point in a remote spot on the island and stole my wine gums and flip-flops...but that didn't happen.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Perth - it's odd, but it's good
Perth, Australia - Jan '07
Some time in late Jan I arrived in Perth (the exact date escapes me as it was a little while ago, hech hem). Here I was met at the airport by Jo & Cam (or JoCam as they are one really) and I was boarded & lodged, fed & watered, amused & entertained [Enough, Ed.]. Jo & Cam are friends of Jo Bole's from her time in the Hague, whom I've met on several occasions. They couldn't have extended greater hospitality if they'd had a great big hospitality extending machine in a crimson velvet travel pouch (what?).
A few facts for those unaware (as I was): Perth is the most remote city of its size in the world and is nearer to Jakarta than Sydney; it can be very hot; it's not much like Perth in Scotland. Getting in from a cool 20 degree Adelaide I was greeted by the brick in the face Perth blast furnace of 42 degrees - ouch. Time was spent sweating, wilting, familiarising myself with the city by bike (of course), witnessing lightning storms whilst body surfing in the Indian Ocean (ear still knacked by the way), swimming in JoCam's friends', Bret & Megan's pool, fine dining and Open Air Cinema (OAC).
OAC - fantastic stuff. In fact the best thing to discover since finding out you can 'short change' the tumble driers in the university halls of residence by popping your 20p in a plastic bag before poking it in the coin slot, thereby retrieving the coin after cranking the dial. Naughty but highly satisfying.
They say pictures speak a thousand words so to save me writing a 10,000 word thesis here are some snaps. Not all of them will tell you much about Perth but they amuse me and that's the most important thing, right?
A taster of the day ahead - nigh on 30 degrees at 9:30am. I dread to think how the fat chef, Swelter, from the Royal Oak would cope in these conditions. No, I really dread to think...so I will banish that thought.
The moody Indian Ocean. Get in! I did.
JoCam with picnic at the Sommerville OAC. Terrific stuff. First film we saw was a beauty called Walking Alone for Thousands of Miles. It was a Japanese film and included a scene of an old man taking a picture of a young lad having a crap. Hmmm. It was good though...the film rather than that scene. I'll leave that there. The other film we saw was a Norwegian number called The Bothersome Man. The title amused me immensely (as did the film). I won't go into why but Claire will understand.
I'm a bit obsessed with all things maritime so Freemantle Maritime Museum was a must. Please excuse my indulgence here. Ooh, a submarine.
Tiddly Pom - wow a crane.
Lah dee dah - torpedo tubes, great stuff.
OK, this made me laugh. The text on the torpedo reads: 'If found notify NUWES, 9284 Balboa Ave, San Diego CA 92123, Phone:...' Are they having a laugh? Imagine:
'Hi, yes, is that NUWES? Well, it seems some bastard that you sold some weapons to has fired a torpedo at us and it failed to detonate. Would you like it back? Yes, I can post it but it'll have to be C.O.D. as we're a bit short of petty cash here on the sub.'
This also tickled me. Outside the Maritime Museum were some engravings depicting the jobs that immigrants coming to Freemantle would do. It seems that ladies helped primarily with the big Australian challenge to steal the crown of World Swiss Roll Capital from Geneva. I wonder what the gents were up to?
Of course, they were getting hammered drinking wine from the bladder of a wine box. [By the way, wine boxes are universally popular with young 'travellors' in Australia. The wine from a wine box, indeed the whole apparatus as well, is called The Goon. Don't ask me why.]
Right, almost done. Let's finish with a picture of a brazen pelican. There really is no better way to sign off.
Some time in late Jan I arrived in Perth (the exact date escapes me as it was a little while ago, hech hem). Here I was met at the airport by Jo & Cam (or JoCam as they are one really) and I was boarded & lodged, fed & watered, amused & entertained [Enough, Ed.]. Jo & Cam are friends of Jo Bole's from her time in the Hague, whom I've met on several occasions. They couldn't have extended greater hospitality if they'd had a great big hospitality extending machine in a crimson velvet travel pouch (what?).
A few facts for those unaware (as I was): Perth is the most remote city of its size in the world and is nearer to Jakarta than Sydney; it can be very hot; it's not much like Perth in Scotland. Getting in from a cool 20 degree Adelaide I was greeted by the brick in the face Perth blast furnace of 42 degrees - ouch. Time was spent sweating, wilting, familiarising myself with the city by bike (of course), witnessing lightning storms whilst body surfing in the Indian Ocean (ear still knacked by the way), swimming in JoCam's friends', Bret & Megan's pool, fine dining and Open Air Cinema (OAC).
OAC - fantastic stuff. In fact the best thing to discover since finding out you can 'short change' the tumble driers in the university halls of residence by popping your 20p in a plastic bag before poking it in the coin slot, thereby retrieving the coin after cranking the dial. Naughty but highly satisfying.
They say pictures speak a thousand words so to save me writing a 10,000 word thesis here are some snaps. Not all of them will tell you much about Perth but they amuse me and that's the most important thing, right?
A taster of the day ahead - nigh on 30 degrees at 9:30am. I dread to think how the fat chef, Swelter, from the Royal Oak would cope in these conditions. No, I really dread to think...so I will banish that thought.
The moody Indian Ocean. Get in! I did.
JoCam with picnic at the Sommerville OAC. Terrific stuff. First film we saw was a beauty called Walking Alone for Thousands of Miles. It was a Japanese film and included a scene of an old man taking a picture of a young lad having a crap. Hmmm. It was good though...the film rather than that scene. I'll leave that there. The other film we saw was a Norwegian number called The Bothersome Man. The title amused me immensely (as did the film). I won't go into why but Claire will understand.
I'm a bit obsessed with all things maritime so Freemantle Maritime Museum was a must. Please excuse my indulgence here. Ooh, a submarine.
Tiddly Pom - wow a crane.
Lah dee dah - torpedo tubes, great stuff.
OK, this made me laugh. The text on the torpedo reads: 'If found notify NUWES, 9284 Balboa Ave, San Diego CA 92123, Phone:...' Are they having a laugh? Imagine:'Hi, yes, is that NUWES? Well, it seems some bastard that you sold some weapons to has fired a torpedo at us and it failed to detonate. Would you like it back? Yes, I can post it but it'll have to be C.O.D. as we're a bit short of petty cash here on the sub.'
This also tickled me. Outside the Maritime Museum were some engravings depicting the jobs that immigrants coming to Freemantle would do. It seems that ladies helped primarily with the big Australian challenge to steal the crown of World Swiss Roll Capital from Geneva. I wonder what the gents were up to?
Of course, they were getting hammered drinking wine from the bladder of a wine box. [By the way, wine boxes are universally popular with young 'travellors' in Australia. The wine from a wine box, indeed the whole apparatus as well, is called The Goon. Don't ask me why.]Right, almost done. Let's finish with a picture of a brazen pelican. There really is no better way to sign off.
Let's GO!
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
End of the road
Adelaide, Australia - Jan 07
I seem to be on a bit of a roll today so I'll just press on. We (Declan, Jules & I) made it to Adelaide just dandy. The Pintara was bombproof! Highlights of Adelaide were swimming in the Ocean (Southern Ocean - full of Great White Sharks, you can't move in the water without elbowing one in the eye or treading on another's fin) and meeting up with my dear friend Popeye who happened to be in town with my solicitor (who is also his girlfriend Catrin).
The low light was watching England get crushed in another ODI cricket match by Australia. I actually felt sorry (briefly) for the Aussie fans as they just weren't seeing a game. Most definitely the worst game I have ever witnessed. Why did I bother? At least I bought my ticket off a tout...at FACE VALUE so didn't feel I'd paid over the odds for the humiliation.
I didn't take any pictures of the cricket. I wasn't in the mood. Sorry.
I seem to be on a bit of a roll today so I'll just press on. We (Declan, Jules & I) made it to Adelaide just dandy. The Pintara was bombproof! Highlights of Adelaide were swimming in the Ocean (Southern Ocean - full of Great White Sharks, you can't move in the water without elbowing one in the eye or treading on another's fin) and meeting up with my dear friend Popeye who happened to be in town with my solicitor (who is also his girlfriend Catrin).
The low light was watching England get crushed in another ODI cricket match by Australia. I actually felt sorry (briefly) for the Aussie fans as they just weren't seeing a game. Most definitely the worst game I have ever witnessed. Why did I bother? At least I bought my ticket off a tout...at FACE VALUE so didn't feel I'd paid over the odds for the humiliation.
I didn't take any pictures of the cricket. I wasn't in the mood. Sorry.
Road trip
Melbourne - Adelaide, Great Ocean Road, Jan 07
[By the miracle of modern communications, I have been reacquainted with my missing pics.]
Declan & Jules returned from Blighty and it was time to head on. They invited me to join them on a road trip from Melbourne to Adelaide down the Great Ocean Road, a driving experience to rival all others in the world (apart from maybe rolling and wrecking a 1987 VW Sirocco on a Welsh country lane). I didn't need asking twice. So off we set for a two day cruise.
[By the miracle of modern communications, I have been reacquainted with my missing pics.]
Declan & Jules returned from Blighty and it was time to head on. They invited me to join them on a road trip from Melbourne to Adelaide down the Great Ocean Road, a driving experience to rival all others in the world (apart from maybe rolling and wrecking a 1987 VW Sirocco on a Welsh country lane). I didn't need asking twice. So off we set for a two day cruise.
Dangly things from the rear view mirror - check.
Faux leopard skin steering wheel cover - check.
We're ready!
Faux leopard skin steering wheel cover - check.
We're ready!
I think there's something wrong with me
Right, definitively this really is the last on the subject but...another Google search for "dutch girl" hostel naked shows that Spratticus now features on page 3 of the Google search results. I seem to be slowly moving up the "dutch girl" hostel naked charts. What is more odd is that the page that's listed isn't one with the actual phrase "dutch girl" hostel naked on it, it's here. Huh?
What's that about? Surely this blogspot has to have the highest concentration of the phrase "dutch girl" hostel naked in the whole world wide t'interweb? Me thinks Google isn't all it's cracked up to be. This very post could be exposing the colossal flaws in the service and ultimately bring down a multi-billion dollar empire. Should I mysteriously 'go missing' and Spratticus vanish over night, you'll know why.
I really must let this go now, it's not healthy.
What's that about? Surely this blogspot has to have the highest concentration of the phrase "dutch girl" hostel naked in the whole world wide t'interweb? Me thinks Google isn't all it's cracked up to be. This very post could be exposing the colossal flaws in the service and ultimately bring down a multi-billion dollar empire. Should I mysteriously 'go missing' and Spratticus vanish over night, you'll know why.
I really must let this go now, it's not healthy.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
International stalker (or How I feared for my life)
Melbourne - Jan 2007
Enough circular postings and on with the show. Before reading this you might want to refresh your memory by reading the following: nut bag. So there I was in Melbourne house sitting for Declan & Jules. The memory of Michael Palmer and the anger at the lost money was slowly subsiding when I receive a flurry of texts from the nutter himself. He says he's going to come over to Melbourne from Christchurch, NZ to give me the cash personally along with some vitals I had left in a hostel in Christchurch. Hmmm, not the actions of a man with a firm grasp of the sanity stick. I said not to waste his (errr...my) money and simply wire the cash and don't worry about the bag of porridge and two cans of sardines, I'd pick up some ample replacements with the cash when he sent it (like he would!).
Some days later there's a knock on the door and sure enough, there stands Michael Palmer in all his unhinged fruit-loopedness. Bloody Hell! (He had got the address from the bulk email I sent out with my Aussie details prior to Christmas and neglected to delete his email address from.) He has the meagre provisions he's salvaged from the Christchurch hostel with him. Oh good. Of course he doesn't have the cash although there's plenty of talk along the lines of 'I'll get Rita to wire it over to me tomorrow'. (By the way, Rita's his ex-girlfriend that he left in the lurch back in Oregon, who is about as impressed with his behaviour as I am...so that's really likely.) The thing is, and you're probably there before me, he's just flown from Christchurch, NZ to Melbourne Australia in January, a period when airfares don't generally come free with three vouchers from the back of a packet of Shreddies.
So here he is, looking for accommodation in Melbourne, as brassic as a Tibetan monk with a gambling habit and on the doorstep of the house I am staying in. Naturally I tell him he can't stay whereby there's a lengthy 'discussion' in which my feelings shift from outright jaw-dropping flabbergastedness, to anger, to being a little uneasy, to being not a little scared (he's about 6ft 2"). We come to a compromise on going to collect his bags that he has deposited at the Crown Plaza Hotel on his 'walk' from the airport. The airport is about 25kms from town down a motorway! Unlikely he walked. Why his bags have been deposited at the Crown Plaza is anyone's guess. In fact where his bags actually are is anyone's guess as at this point I am getting the impression, probably much as you are, that Michael Palmer speak with forked tongue.
Here I didn't make the wisest of decisions (again) and agreed to go with him and get the bags from wherever they may be...on bikes. This poor decision was compounded by the fact that he took Jules' smart town bike with gears and I had what was called the 'Crack' bike (as in drug pusher's vehicle) - no gears, soft tyres and wobbly wheels. We set off...and then he took off. I couldn't keep up and lost him in the streets of Albert Park heading into town and what I feared would be straight towards Melbourne's Market for Recently Stolen Bicycles. I was a 'little bit' annoyed but had no other option but to return to the house and call the Crown Plaza Hotel to say they may have a deranged lunatic on a stolen bike arriving at their premises and that could they please apprehend him and, after giving him a discreet 'shoeing' in a back room, have him arrested for crimes against humanity not to mention sanity.
Here things again didn't go quite to 'plan', as after obtaining the number for the Crown Plaza Hotel, I got trapped in the dreaded phone loop: Press 1 for New Reservations, Press 2 to Change an Existing Reservation, Press 3 to hear these options again etc. There was no 'Press 4 if you'd like us to perform an arrest on a money thieving, psycho ding-a-ling who has stolen your friend's bike'. Odd that.
After several fruitless attempts to speak with someone at the Crown Plaza (preferably a man-mountain of a someone with a passion for extracting finger nails after knocking out teeth) I gave up and started considering the Police. It was at this point that there was a knocking on the rear gate and there was Michael Palmer complete with bike and his bags complaining that he had fallen off the bike and thought he may have broken a rib. As you'd imagine this was nothing compared to what I would like to do to him. Suffice to say 'the handle came off'. He was typically unperturbed and tried to blame me for not keeping up. Oooooooo.
It was at this point that any thought of retrieving my money left my head for good and was overtaken by the thought that I would gladly pay another $300 to be rid of this odoriferous weirdo. Getting shot of him proved to be as mammoth a task as I imagined it would and took me most of the afternoon. Like I said, I didn't want to rattle his cage too much, him knowing where I was staying and also him being considerably bigger than me and naturally possessing the renowned strength of a madman. He feigned to be asleep in a garden chair at one point and I did end up physically having to bat him over the head to 'wake him up' although I gave him plenty of warnings I was going to do this (I thought that might make him less angry). I also had to prevent him putting on a shirt of mine that he had taken from the washing line. He said all his clothes were dirty and as I wouldn't let him use the washing machine, he needed to borrow it. Errr...I d-o-n-'-t t-h-i-n-k s-o. It was at this point that I started looking for a heavy blunt instrument.
In the end it was the lure of buying him a drink that got him out of the garden. I chose a pub a long way away, bought one drink for us both and then walked away briskly without looking back taking a rather convoluted route home. Over that final drink he was veering between crying like a baby, apologising for his actions, bemoaning the fact he had lost his girlfriend (Rita, if you ever read this, move house, change your name and dye your hair and never open your door without looking through the spy hole!), proclaiming how liberating it was to have no money at all (this was a rather galling comment given his debt to me but I let it pass at this point), and him trying to chat girls up in the bar.
Sure enough, he rocked up at the house the next day with accusations that I had stolen his phone and more absurdly his wallet, like that would be any good given his penury and particularly ironic given his comments about being happiest with no money. I talked to him through the screen door and then refused to answer his knocks, hollers of apology and invites to go for a drink (I presume he was also inviting me to pay as well...that was jolly kind of him). I left a stern note on the door telling him where to go in no uncertain terms and thankfully, that was the last I saw or heard of Michael Palmer. A queerer incident I could not have dreamt up and one I would dearly not like to experience again.
Apart from the loss of $300 the incident has also created somewhat of a black mark in my copy book with Declan & Jules who were understandably not overly impressed when they heard of my unwelcome visitor to their home. With hind sight I would have done things a little differently. I hope the rift can be healed and my apologies to them for potentially putting their home at risk of goodness knows what.
Let this be a lesson to one and all...but mostly to me...again.
============THE END==========
Enough circular postings and on with the show. Before reading this you might want to refresh your memory by reading the following: nut bag. So there I was in Melbourne house sitting for Declan & Jules. The memory of Michael Palmer and the anger at the lost money was slowly subsiding when I receive a flurry of texts from the nutter himself. He says he's going to come over to Melbourne from Christchurch, NZ to give me the cash personally along with some vitals I had left in a hostel in Christchurch. Hmmm, not the actions of a man with a firm grasp of the sanity stick. I said not to waste his (errr...my) money and simply wire the cash and don't worry about the bag of porridge and two cans of sardines, I'd pick up some ample replacements with the cash when he sent it (like he would!).
Some days later there's a knock on the door and sure enough, there stands Michael Palmer in all his unhinged fruit-loopedness. Bloody Hell! (He had got the address from the bulk email I sent out with my Aussie details prior to Christmas and neglected to delete his email address from.) He has the meagre provisions he's salvaged from the Christchurch hostel with him. Oh good. Of course he doesn't have the cash although there's plenty of talk along the lines of 'I'll get Rita to wire it over to me tomorrow'. (By the way, Rita's his ex-girlfriend that he left in the lurch back in Oregon, who is about as impressed with his behaviour as I am...so that's really likely.) The thing is, and you're probably there before me, he's just flown from Christchurch, NZ to Melbourne Australia in January, a period when airfares don't generally come free with three vouchers from the back of a packet of Shreddies.
So here he is, looking for accommodation in Melbourne, as brassic as a Tibetan monk with a gambling habit and on the doorstep of the house I am staying in. Naturally I tell him he can't stay whereby there's a lengthy 'discussion' in which my feelings shift from outright jaw-dropping flabbergastedness, to anger, to being a little uneasy, to being not a little scared (he's about 6ft 2"). We come to a compromise on going to collect his bags that he has deposited at the Crown Plaza Hotel on his 'walk' from the airport. The airport is about 25kms from town down a motorway! Unlikely he walked. Why his bags have been deposited at the Crown Plaza is anyone's guess. In fact where his bags actually are is anyone's guess as at this point I am getting the impression, probably much as you are, that Michael Palmer speak with forked tongue.
Here I didn't make the wisest of decisions (again) and agreed to go with him and get the bags from wherever they may be...on bikes. This poor decision was compounded by the fact that he took Jules' smart town bike with gears and I had what was called the 'Crack' bike (as in drug pusher's vehicle) - no gears, soft tyres and wobbly wheels. We set off...and then he took off. I couldn't keep up and lost him in the streets of Albert Park heading into town and what I feared would be straight towards Melbourne's Market for Recently Stolen Bicycles. I was a 'little bit' annoyed but had no other option but to return to the house and call the Crown Plaza Hotel to say they may have a deranged lunatic on a stolen bike arriving at their premises and that could they please apprehend him and, after giving him a discreet 'shoeing' in a back room, have him arrested for crimes against humanity not to mention sanity.
Here things again didn't go quite to 'plan', as after obtaining the number for the Crown Plaza Hotel, I got trapped in the dreaded phone loop: Press 1 for New Reservations, Press 2 to Change an Existing Reservation, Press 3 to hear these options again etc. There was no 'Press 4 if you'd like us to perform an arrest on a money thieving, psycho ding-a-ling who has stolen your friend's bike'. Odd that.
After several fruitless attempts to speak with someone at the Crown Plaza (preferably a man-mountain of a someone with a passion for extracting finger nails after knocking out teeth) I gave up and started considering the Police. It was at this point that there was a knocking on the rear gate and there was Michael Palmer complete with bike and his bags complaining that he had fallen off the bike and thought he may have broken a rib. As you'd imagine this was nothing compared to what I would like to do to him. Suffice to say 'the handle came off'. He was typically unperturbed and tried to blame me for not keeping up. Oooooooo.
It was at this point that any thought of retrieving my money left my head for good and was overtaken by the thought that I would gladly pay another $300 to be rid of this odoriferous weirdo. Getting shot of him proved to be as mammoth a task as I imagined it would and took me most of the afternoon. Like I said, I didn't want to rattle his cage too much, him knowing where I was staying and also him being considerably bigger than me and naturally possessing the renowned strength of a madman. He feigned to be asleep in a garden chair at one point and I did end up physically having to bat him over the head to 'wake him up' although I gave him plenty of warnings I was going to do this (I thought that might make him less angry). I also had to prevent him putting on a shirt of mine that he had taken from the washing line. He said all his clothes were dirty and as I wouldn't let him use the washing machine, he needed to borrow it. Errr...I d-o-n-'-t t-h-i-n-k s-o. It was at this point that I started looking for a heavy blunt instrument.
In the end it was the lure of buying him a drink that got him out of the garden. I chose a pub a long way away, bought one drink for us both and then walked away briskly without looking back taking a rather convoluted route home. Over that final drink he was veering between crying like a baby, apologising for his actions, bemoaning the fact he had lost his girlfriend (Rita, if you ever read this, move house, change your name and dye your hair and never open your door without looking through the spy hole!), proclaiming how liberating it was to have no money at all (this was a rather galling comment given his debt to me but I let it pass at this point), and him trying to chat girls up in the bar.
Sure enough, he rocked up at the house the next day with accusations that I had stolen his phone and more absurdly his wallet, like that would be any good given his penury and particularly ironic given his comments about being happiest with no money. I talked to him through the screen door and then refused to answer his knocks, hollers of apology and invites to go for a drink (I presume he was also inviting me to pay as well...that was jolly kind of him). I left a stern note on the door telling him where to go in no uncertain terms and thankfully, that was the last I saw or heard of Michael Palmer. A queerer incident I could not have dreamt up and one I would dearly not like to experience again.
Apart from the loss of $300 the incident has also created somewhat of a black mark in my copy book with Declan & Jules who were understandably not overly impressed when they heard of my unwelcome visitor to their home. With hind sight I would have done things a little differently. I hope the rift can be healed and my apologies to them for potentially putting their home at risk of goodness knows what.
Let this be a lesson to one and all...but mostly to me...again.
============THE END==========
Page 4 on Google listings!
This is very sad I know so I don't need any smart arsed comments but...having left it a few days I was intrigued to see exactly where Spratticus would feature in the Google listings for "dutch girl" hostel naked. Only made it to page 4 of the results. How shabby is that? Some of the sites listed above mine had nothing whatsoever to do with naked Dutch girls in hostels. Mind you, nor does mine, but they don't know that.
This isn't really helping any of us is it? No.
Stop it!
This isn't really helping any of us is it? No.
Stop it!
Friday, March 09, 2007
"dutch girl" hostel naked
OK, that's a bit of a misleading title for this post, I have to admit. No, you're not going to get some sordid account of backpacker shenanigans. Sorry. It's just I have been drawn into the dark and seedy world of web stats I think it was Simon Dye that got me hooked like some evil drug peddler...or was it me that got him hooked? Anyway, there's this tool on Google that allows you to see who's been visiting your site, where they came from, what pages they looked at and all sorts of other eye-pokingly useless info including (and this is where the title comes in) what people searched for on Google that chucked up your site in their search results.
So, the most popular Google search last week that led semi-naked and slightly fevered folk to Spratticus was, yup, you've probably guessed:
"dutch girl" hostel naked
Incredible. I couldn't quite see how they reached me (of course I had to do the search myself) but now I've written those hallowed words on Spratticus, rest assured, no one searching for "dutch girl" hostel naked will be able to miss my site. They'll be pretty disappointed though.
So, the most popular Google search last week that led semi-naked and slightly fevered folk to Spratticus was, yup, you've probably guessed:
"dutch girl" hostel naked
Incredible. I couldn't quite see how they reached me (of course I had to do the search myself) but now I've written those hallowed words on Spratticus, rest assured, no one searching for "dutch girl" hostel naked will be able to miss my site. They'll be pretty disappointed though.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Corruption rife in Western Australia
It seems that my CD of pics of my travs around Adelaide, Perth and the 'Great South' has become corrupted. I think it's been languishing in the bottom of my bag picking up dirty habits from my under-used woolly hat and yet-to-be-worn long sleeved shirt: gambling, drinking and smoking...the usual.
In short, I'll have to skip the visuals for these periods, which is a shame as there were some fine snaps. Don't worry, I have a back up CD but unfortunately it's in transit back to London.
In short, I'll have to skip the visuals for these periods, which is a shame as there were some fine snaps. Don't worry, I have a back up CD but unfortunately it's in transit back to London.
What was I doing in Melbourne?
Melbourne, Australia Dec 06 - Jan 07
Pre-Christmas dinner at Declan & Jules' and Christmas lunch at Jussy & James'.
Open fire (ish), fizz...and Coopers Ale of course.
James looking manly; the trad family Christmas Skype session; kite flying with Esme.
The cricket, woe oh woe the cricket (until we won the ODI series - HA!).
Never mind, have a beer (watch out for the Coopers Ale Davey, we know what happened last time!)
VD and friends post Mountian Goats gig - Neil 'enjoying' a delightful cocktail.
Bromwyn anticipating her delightful cocktail.
Spot of tennis at the Australian Open (Sharipova & Nadal...not playing each other. Rare moment when Nadal wasn't picking his wedgy out of his arse crack).
The demise of my favourite t-shirt despite extended and complicated surgery. Double skill thumbs aloft for burgers!
Pre-Christmas dinner at Declan & Jules' and Christmas lunch at Jussy & James'.
Open fire (ish), fizz...and Coopers Ale of course.
James looking manly; the trad family Christmas Skype session; kite flying with Esme.
The cricket, woe oh woe the cricket (until we won the ODI series - HA!).
Never mind, have a beer (watch out for the Coopers Ale Davey, we know what happened last time!)
VD and friends post Mountian Goats gig - Neil 'enjoying' a delightful cocktail.
Bromwyn anticipating her delightful cocktail.
Spot of tennis at the Australian Open (Sharipova & Nadal...not playing each other. Rare moment when Nadal wasn't picking his wedgy out of his arse crack).
The demise of my favourite t-shirt despite extended and complicated surgery. Double skill thumbs aloft for burgers!
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