There is a phenomenon in Australia called "Schoolies' Week", when school leavers descend in late November on Surfers Paradise on the Gold Coast. There, they celebrate their freedom and grown-up status by partying, getting drunk and generally behaving in a raucous and childish manner.

They could not have picked a more suitable location.

Surfers Paradise was on our original schedule of stops as we headed towards Brisbane, but we stayed an extra night in Byron Bay because we liked it so much. That turned out to be a very, very wise decision.

As we drove along the Gold Coast it was like entering another world, an endless nightmare existence of high-rise hotels, fast-food chains and bargain basement shops. At the epicentre of this tourist hell was Surfers Paradise itself.

We could see it as we rounded a turn. It looked as though some malevolent god had picked up Torremolinos or Sunny Beach and dumped it on the Queensland sea-shore. Huge towers blighted the skyline, each competing to reach the highest and pack in the most guests.

We drove through this concrete Hades with our mouths open. I would have shut my eyes, but I was driving. Katy persuaded me to stop for a few minutes while she ran to the beach to take a few photos. I refused even to get out of the car.

To be fair the resort improved to the north and Katy informs me that on a spit of land extending in that direction there is a luxury hotel used by Ant and Dec and their cast of D-listers when they produce "I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here".

For me, that summed up Surfers Paradise and indeed the rest of the Gold Coast - "I'm Not A Celebrity, But Get Me The **** Out Of Here!"

So we drove off, hopefully never to return.

Richard