You Can't Use Eggs (7-13/4/09)

TUESDAY 7TH APRIL

I think today is the only day so far on my trip that I don’t have anything of any note to write about. The only thing I did all day was to go to the local Bi-Lo and buy a ready cooked chicken for Kel, a pint of chocolate milk and a copy of the Australian edition of Zoo magazine. Shannon is feeling better today; although the stitches are still a bit sore.

WEDNESDAY 8TH APRIL

Today with Kel at work and Mackenzie at day care, Louise, Shannon and myself go to a little town on the coast called Forster. It looks to me like a little bit like second-home town for the rich. There are hundreds of luxury flats all along the beach front; most of them look like they’re empty for about 10 months of the year. We park up by the beach and just watch the ocean. I can see why people would want a second home here; the beach is exquisite and the sea is as clear as any I’ve ever seen. I even see a dolphin just swimming along, surfacing every so often patrolling for sharks. The girls go for a pub lunch and I have a couple of pints. This is actually only the second time I’ve had a pint in a pub in Australia (Once was in the RSL in Wynyard. Another time in Adelaide the barmaid swore that a 15oz glass was a pint. I told her it might be in Australia and America, but its 20ozs in England. No wonder neither of them can drink properly.). It shows as well as I get it in what the old fellas back home would call a ‘jug’ equipped with a handle. I feel like I’m in an episode of The Sweeney.

THURSDAY 9TH APRIL

For some reason I got up at 04:30a.m to watch Liverpool get outclassed by Chelsea. At half time during the ads I decided to have a look what is on terrestrial TV in Australia at this ungodly hour. What I stumbled across was a TV Evangelist named Benny Hinn (perhaps after all it’s not an ungodly hour). Now I’m not into TV Evangelism but this guy was as rubbish as the rest of them. If you sped the tape up and put on the Benny Hill music, then maybe I’d have bought a ticket to one of his seminars.Today Shannon told us that we’d been invited to go going camping for two nights from tomorrow at a farm about 30 minutes away. Louise and I aren’t bothered as Shannon and Kel said that there won’t be much happening as it’s a holiday weekend. It’s all agreed so now we have to go shopping for food and beer. I hate shopping.Oh my Lord. I hate grocery shopping at the best of times and today’s no different as it’s Easter weekend starting tomorrow. The local supermarket is absolutely chock-a-block. I don’t think I’ve ever a seen this many people in such a small place. People are just wandering around aimlessly, it’s a haphazard mess. People are like sheep when it comes to holiday shopping; all they do is follow the crowd and bleat. Hundreds of people are banging trolleys into each other, putting anything and everything into their carts. Then there’s the old people. All they want is a tin of condensed milk, a tin of cat food and a bag of wine gums but they still use what seems like a supersized trolley and they can’t see more than three feet in front of themselves. Somehow these 4ft 8in 70yr olds have the power of a second row forward when they have a shopping trolley under their control, so when they inevitably run into you, you end up like them, in need of a hip replacement. I’d like to say that it’s any different back home but it’s not; it’s exactly the same but at Christmas time when the shops are closed for two days. Here however the supermarket’s not even closed for the whole weekend; it’s only closed for one day on Good Friday.I still hate shopping

FRIDAY 10TH APRIL (GOOD FRIDAY)

Having got up at 08:00a.m, I’m raring to go, I’m like a kid when it comes to camping. We pack the car up and wait for the rest of the group; Shannon’s brother Aaron and his girlfriend Sarah. When they turn up they also bring Shannon and Aaron’s younger brother Jye (pronounced like the gi in gigantic), who is affectionately known by the family as Red, due to his bright ginger hair. We get to the campsite and there are already a few people there that Kel and Shannon know, so we all get acquainted.Due to going to the Glastonbury Festival for the last two years (I’m not going this year and I’m pissed because it’s being headlined by Springsteen and Neil Young), Louise and I are experts at putting up tents in the shitiest of conditions. Because it’s dry and sunny we have the tent and the inflatable mattress up in less than fifteen minutes. Good job all round. Meanwhile Aaron and Sarah put their tent up wrong at the first attempt; they make a schoolboy error and don’t put the cross poles in first, the result is a collapsed mess of poles and fabric. Kel and Shannon are worse still. They have an eight man tent with about six thousand compartments. After a lot of shouting and arm waving the rest of us give them a hand the tent is up in ten minutes. It’s not really an eight man, it’s closer to six, and there are four very spacious compartments. As we put up our tent first, I reward myself with a crate of Toohey’s New; which I consumed forthwith. In between drinks we manage to drag ourselves away from the campsite and go tramping around the fields. I manage to lose a flip-flop (for some reason Aussies call them thongs) as soon as I step into the stream; this gives me another reason why I shouldn’t be wearing them. Our ‘tour guide’ for the mini expedition is Kylie (yes, really) and she retrieved my thong that had floated 50 yards downstream.We go back to the campsite and apart from eating 15 prawns I don’t remember much else. Apparently I drank all bar one of the twenty four bottles of beer I had and one can of rum and coke. Then I proceeded to sing Born To Run word for word (with air drums) before throwing up said prawns, and collapsing in bed.

SATURDAY 11TH APRIL

Woke up with a head as thick as a hotel heiress so Louise went out for two hours without me. In the mean time it took me until I almost baked to death inside the tent before I moved (out of interest, why are tents freezing in winter and like an industrial oven in the summer?). After showering and having the best hangover food ever (two bacon and egg baps), I waited for Louise and the rest of the gang to return where I was told of last night’s escapades. After sweating a bit more a group of us headed to Ellenburgh Falls which is in fact the biggest waterfall in the southern hemisphere. When we arrived we bumped into the obligatory group of Japanese tourists; one of whom was carrying a steamer full of cooked rice, and then went for a look. The top of the falls was only cordoned off in 2000 due to a young boy getting caught in the current and falling to his death. Before that happened you were free to swim at the top which to me seems a pretty dangerous thing to do. After a short walk, we had the choice to go to the bottom of the falls (a mere 645 steps) or walk 400yds to the opposite side to get a view of the falls in all its glory. We did the latter as none of us were in any mood for lunch time step class. A quick stop at the viewing point and a few photographs later, we get back in the car and drive the 10 miles back (over bumpy gravel roads just to make my guts churn a bit more) to the campsite.Back at the site I just sit feeling sorry for myself and have eat loads of stodge to try and get rid of the last remnants of my hangover.Before long I feel well enough to drink again. But it turns out to be a false dawn as after three bottles I get nauseas and give in; I stick to soft drinks and tea for the rest of the night. For some reason my hangovers are lasting well into the next day. I think I’m past my optimum drinking age and ability at a mere 28 years of age.

SUNDAY 12TH APRIL

Today is Easter Sunday and it’s supposed to represent the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Back in the UK however, it’s a day for giving each other chocolate eggs. And being British I am no exception and I give Louise one (an egg) and she gives me one (also an egg). Somewhere along the line they say it’s intended to represent spring time and the dawn of new life i.e. the birth of chicks or other egg hatching based animals. How is it then, in Australia they have the same tradition? Over here on this very day we’re in bloody autumn not spring; surely kids here should wake up to a load of sludgy brown leaves that have been left by the Easter Sheep (or a more apt autumnal based animal that I can’t think of right now: what about a stoat?).I don’t know I’m just rambling. Never mind, I’ve got to pack up my tent now and see what’s within the four kinder surprises’ that I’ve been left by the Easter Stoat.

MONDAY 13TH APRIL

After the five of us cabbaged out yesterday afternoon, we thought we’d go and do something a little more constructive today. With that thought in mind we headed for Taree to see what the bright lights of the small to mid-sized town had to offer.As it happened only the supermarkets were open due to it being holiday Monday so I spent a couple of hours wandering like a lost soul. However, I did manage to pick up a live DVD of ‘The Highwaymen’ for only AU$10, which I thought was a bargain.Louise treated us to some of her delightful cooking for tea and cooked roast pork with all the extras. It was amazing; it’s the first time in over six months since I’ve had a genuine roast dinner. We even had Yorkshire pudding and stuffing; pure ecstasy on a plate.
After dinner we sat a watched a show called ‘The Biggest Loser.’ Although it sounds like it, it’s not a show where a bunch of sci-fi nerds sit and discuss what the new Star Trek film is going to be like. In fact it’s a show where really fat people (by really fat I mean clinically obese) go on TV to try and lose the most weight. Essentially what it boils down to is, we the happily fat people sit and watch unhappy fat people on TV exercise just enough to be at a reasonable weight. Because they then lose the entire weight of a 13 year old girl, they then think they have the right to then bore us to death with the story of their ‘journey’ from being a fatty to a not so fatty whilst crying about how proud their equally fat partners/parents are of their achievements. What they should do is not exercise; they should put them in a blueberry pie eating contest and whoever throws up first is ‘The Biggest Loser.’ For a start it would be more entertaining and I wouldn’t want to kick the TV in every time I see the smug presenters face. To keep it fresh they should change the pie flavour every week, and if they want to go out on a limb, maybe they should make a strawberry flan for the really special occasions.