Hi all

So we left Port Augusta, home of the Indigenous cross dresser, and almost before we knew it we were lost in Adelaide. Seriously lost. Nothing particularly new in that to be fair, but it was rush hour. Which meant we spent the next hour sitting in traffic with the temperature needle off the chart. Stress is not my favourite mental state and after several verbal explosions between the two of us (it was obviously Mand's fault we were lost in the one way system of a city we'd never been in during rush hour with the car overheating. I mean, come on...) we eventually rolled into the campsite. Where we were met by that special breed of counter jockey that Australia seems to excel in and Mand loves so much. Perfect.

By now we were ready for comfort food and, seeing as it was about thirty odd degrees, a nice quiet sit down in an air conditioned pub somewhere. Fish and chips and a pint were definitely order of the day. So after getting directions from Mr and Mrs Mardy we headed off on the 'ten minute' walk to the chip shop. Twenty sweaty minutes later we finally arrived at our destination. On the way, we passed a couple of dreadlocked tramp looking girls of about twenty or so. Who looked at us like we were insects before fixing their gazes upon my tattoo muttered to each other then giggled in that special way girls have to let you know just how much they're taking the piss. And on they sauntered giving the impression that they were far too cool for school. By this point, my patience was at breaking point. Alas, my Superman eye lasers went un-noticed but what the f*** eh? It's not like I was ever going to see them again and let's be honest, who really cares what a couple of b****y, up their own arse, middle class wannabe working class students think anyway? Not me obviously. Ahem.

We passed the chip shop by unspoken mutual consent and headed instead straight for the pub where we were served by Mr and Mrs Mardy's daughter (Incompetence I think her name was) and at last sat back with two ice cold pints of Stella. And it was by far the most wonderful beer I have ever tasted in my entire life. Bliss. So we had another one. And another. By now Incompetence Mardy had been replaced by a guy who actually wanted to chat to me when I went to the bar. Outstanding. We chatted about tattoos for a couple of minutes and when it came to charging me he all but gave them to me. So surprised was I that I actually asked him if he'd got the price wrong. Gimp. He just looked at me and winked. Beautiful.

By now we were actually a little light headed (or to put it another way half cut) and decided that we'd go get the food, head back and eat it, put on our best (or at least cleanest) clothes and head out to get as lashed as humanly possible. Top firkin drawer. Back at the chip shop we were confronted with Uncle Mardy who told us that they'd finished frying for the day. 'But it's only five past eight' 'Yeah, we stop frying at eight o'clock'. My f***ing God. For one second I could actually see myself shoving his head into the fryer. Instead I just snorted, looked at him for moment longer than he was comfortable with and stomped out like a five year old who'd been denied some M & Ms. Grrrrrr. Still, new plan. We'd get some beers, head back to the campsite, get changed and drunk, then head out into town and get something to eat when we got there. This is a plan that we've tried many many times before and never ever has it ever worked. But what the hey, you've got to try right?

Back at the campsite (after getting a quick rundown from the dude in the beer shop about bars and clubs) and we got a nice surprise. The two scraggy b****es from earlier turned out to be our next door neighbours. Along with an equally scraggy looking bloke, also resplendent in dreadlocks. Ah, expressing your individuality by dressing the same as your friends. Never really understood it myself. And actually, while I'm on the subject, I've never understood white people (especially for some reason girls and even more especially posh girls) who wear their hair in dreadlocks. It riles me in a way that I just can't explain. I think it's because dreadlocks are a Rastafarian (and so a religious) way of wearing your hair to signify the foregoing of the physical being, in favour of the spiritual. But somewhere along the line it's been appropriated by the antithesis of this culture for the completely opposite purpose. And that pisses me off a lot more than it should. Maybe I'm just threatened by their coolness...

Anyhoo, you can probably guess that by this point we weren't much enamoured by our neighbours and after a few more beers we were both feeling a little mischievous. So we sat back and decided to strike up a conversation with them and maybe release some of the pent up stress we were feeling by pissing them off. Transference (or 'kick the cat' syndrome) I think it's called.

Now for the last half an hour or so they'd been doing their best to sound as cool as they possibly could whilst at the same time letting us know just how superior they were. They talked about all the cool places they'd been and the amazing experiences they'd had (all of them in Australia mind), and they talked about it in that way people do when they want the people next to them to over hear. Kind of sad, but we've all done it. Making 'cool' but incredibly stupid and ill thought out statements about things and then glancing over to make sure we were listening. For our part we just kept looking at each other and smirking whenever they did it, like we knew so much more than they did. Playground stuff, but it seemed to fit the way we were feeling. And it made their statements get more and more outlandish.

Now, something else that became readily apparent was that despite their pseudo-Australian accents, they were English. Well, the two girls were. Now this is something else that grates on me. English people that take on Aussie accents. I mean for f***'s sake. If you spent a week in India you wouldn't come back with an Indian accent. So why do it in Australia? This led me to make our opening gambit. I asked in an overly loud voice to Mand if Australians found it insulting that people came over and adopted their accents. Because I certainly would. In fact, I hypothesised, I'd probably find it really rude and patronising, and I can't understand why anybody would do it. Maybe to make themselves sound cooler, I ventured. There was a kind of stunned silence from the neighbours. And when they resumed the Aussie accents on the two girls had miraculously disappeared. Now that's more like it.

A couple of minutes went by and our new friends started chatting about leaving to go into town. And for the first time we spoke directly to them. Something along the lines of 'Where are you going in town?' Not the most inspired of openers, but it did have a curious effect. Something close to fear flitted across their faces 'Erm we're not really sure' 'Oh cos we spoke to a guy in the beer shop and he told us about a couple of decent bars with live music and that' We told them which ones and where they were 'Oh no, we're not going there, we're going to blahdy blah there's a live band we've heard about playing there' 'Oh really? What kind of music?' 'Oh you know, alternative rock' 'Sounds alright, what time does it close?' 'Dunno, but we're probably not staying too late' All f***in righty then. I suddenly got a glimpse into their uber cool minds. Now I was wearing a shirt and jeans, and Mand was wearing a dress and to be totally honest we looked great. These three were dressed in baggy, holey, ill fitting rags. Alternative/indie rock uniform. Exactly the sort of s*** I'd have been wearing back in the heady days of my teenage and early twenties. And I'd have probably reacted in exactly the same way back then when confronted with horror of horrors, a guy in a smart shirt and a fit girl in a dress. That is, treated them like they had the plague. Realising this, it seemed absolutely right to invite ourselves along. 'Cool, that sounds alright, we might join you' They looked absolutely terrified.

Now can you imagine that you think you're the coolest most rocked out guys known to man, and you're going to a club where everybody else thinks they are too, and you turn up with two people who are the exact opposite of what you and everyone else considers themselves to be? What would people think? With this in mind, they all went into babble mode. 'It won't be open late...we don't know what time it closes...we're not even sure where it is...the band might not even be on...it might be tickets only...there are plenty of dance clubs in town'. And there it was. Now, I'd have probably forgiven them for not wanting us to go there (let's face it we weren't being particularly friendly), but the last one really got to me, especially in my stressed and slightly inebriated state. In short, they might as well have said 'We know what kind of people you are, we're not interested in getting to know you in any way shape or form, you obviously have no idea or appreciation of music, we detest you and everything you stand for' and it angered the f*** out of me. Not so much that they thought that, but more the fact that they can make these suppositions without so much as once asking us what sort of music we were into, and making all kinds of untrue inferences simply because of the way we were dressed.

Now this is something I try really hard not to do (although you might not believe it reading this) and whenever I do do it, I'm invariably right. That's what experience of talking to anyone and everyone who crosses your path over the last fifteen years does for you. And I couldn't care less for the most part. I'll still chat, drink and have a laugh and I absolutely guarantee we'll find middle ground somewhere. Unless you're an absolute t*** in which case I'll tell you and leave it at that. But maybe that's just me. I like talking to people, especially people who are into different things than me. It's like an ongoing education on life. Jesus I'm up my own arse...

So anyway, I decided to burst their bubble. Not music wise, because that would have ended in me frothing at the mouth and ranting at them like a deranged lunatic. Besides, I quite liked the fact that they could feel completely confident in such an assertion based on thin air (although the next morning I did get up and put the Happy Mondays on really loud, followed by The Kinks and The Killers. Just to prove a point you understand). Instead, I asked them where they were from.

You might think this is a pretty innocuous question, but I knew better. See, here they are thousands of miles from home doing their best to be the coolest people in Australia, like they're intrepid explorers, with no past and no future, living on the edge of the moment. When in actual fact what they really are is a couple of middle class girls from England who have a nice decent hard working mum and dad back at home, who'll send them money when they need it, and who'll be settling down into boring mundane jobs on their not too distant return. I told you I try not to judge people. But I also told you when I do I'm never wrong. The first one made a feeble attempt to maintain the charade. 'God, I hate it when people say that, I'm not really FROM anywhere' (Said in a kind of mystical cool hippy kind of way.) 'Oh. You're English though right?' 'Yeah' 'It's just that when I first heard you I thought you might be from Australia' (I said with a smirk.) 'Yeah I'm English' 'Whereabouts?' 'Well, I was born in Leeds' (Hmmm, what aren't you saying?) 'Sweet. We went to Uni in Leeds. Nice town, good people. How long did you live there for?' 'Eighteen years' (There it is) 'Eighteen years?' 'Yeah' 'So really then you could say you're from Leeds' At this point she just looks down at her feet and goes 'I suppose so' Like a kid who's been caught out in a lie. Bubble burst. 'Do you think it's been ruined by all the students moving in up there? Cos we spoke to loads of locals who reckon that students have ruined the place. You know, driving up house prices and all that' 'Yeah' 'Your mum and dad must be happy though. Their house must be worth a fortune' 'Yeah' At this point she looked so deflated I thought she was going collapse on the floor. Not quite the live by your own rules rebel you'd like to think are you? While this brief and not very enlightening conversation was going on, the other one had kind of sidled away back towards their van. 'What about you? You from Leeds as well?' 'No, I'm from Hertfordshire...I'm just off to the toilet' Good answer...

With that, the guy starts packing up all their stuff (and to his credit was looking at me in a slightly less condescending way, although if anything it was with slightly more dislike) and they start to get ready to leave. And Mand asks if they're going to the centre of town. He says they are and then Mand takes up the baton. 'Why don't we all share a cab?' He looks really uncomfortable. 'Erm no, I don't think so.' 'Why not?' 'Well....we don't know where we're going exactly' 'Yeah, but a bus isn't going to help is it? We'll just get out wherever you do' Panic strikes him. He obviously thinks we're still going to tag along on their alternative rock piss fest.'They won't let five of us in a cab' 'They will if we get a five seater' 'We don't have a number for a cab company' 'We can get one from the office' I love it when Mand gets like this. Sometimes she just loves seeing people squirm and talks in a kind of singsong voice. She also keeps smiling the sweetest of sweet smiles and her logic (at least at these times) is impeccable 'I think its closed' 'We've got a Lonely Planet in the car that'll probably have a number in it. If not we can just head out to the main road and flag one down' 'No, the bus will be cheaper I reckon' 'Not with five of us. And the driver might know exactly where you want to go' At this point, matey boy had blatantly run out of options but still couldn't bring himself to say 'We don't want to share a cab with you. We simply don't like you' Luckily for him Hertfordshire girl returns from the toilet and with a mumbled 'See you later' they headed off to the bus stop, while Mand took a long swig of her beer and settled back with a sigh of contentment. And then we both giggled like school children for five minutes. I know this all sounds really, really petty and to be honest, it is. But the truth is I f***in hate people like that and I think you had to be there to witness the full extent of their disdain for us and just how deflated we made them feel in return.

But with our beers duly finished and feeling like we could easily drink Adelaide dry it was time to head to the bus stop and out on the town. Our friends were still there when we got there and studiously avoided looking at us as we all stood in a two metre radius of each other until the bus turned up. On they got and sat down and after sharing a quick joke with the driver (don't ask) just to show how easy we were to get along with, and how much fun we were having, matey boy tries to join in with some banality that was supposed to prove that he was just as funny as me (as if). A long stare from us and silence from the driver soon put paid to that and we went and settled at the back and struck up conversations with anyone who happened to be sitting nearby. We really are so cool it hurts.

Laters all

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