Hi all

So we left Adelaide in the blazing sunshine and headed off to what was to be our resting place for the next few months. Melbourne. The plan, in case you've forgotten, was to get a place, get jobs and generally settle and save some money. Beautiful.

We ended up leaving late, and as a result weren't going to get into Melbourne until maybe half nine, so we phoned ahead and let them know. Obviously, despite the fact we were in a different state (I don't mean not drunk, I mean Victoria) the rule of miserable counter jockey still held true. In effect they told us to f*** right off and that we must be crazy if we thought that they could possibly stay open for an extra half an hour to accommodate a couple of paying guests. The thing is, we were actually expecting it. Were we finally acclimatising to the Australian way of life? Possibly. Nevertheless we already had a back up plan. We phoned the other campsite which was on the side nearer us (but further from central Melbourne) and were pleasantly surprised to get a lady who was not only prepared to stay open, but promised if she did have to leave she'd put a phone number on the door so someone could come and book us in. Ridiculous.

As it happened, this proved unnecessary and before we knew it we were putting up the tent in wind and rain and wondering just what the hell Melbourne weather was all about. Something which we and others have wondered a million times since. I know it's an old cliché but they really do get four seasons in one day here. Its nuts. But a watch of the cricket highlights (which left me feeling much like the weather) and a fat Chinese take away found us snuggled up and sound asleep before we knew it. Fantastico.

Next morning and we were up with the larks, in gorgeous burning sunshine and off to the other campsite. We were actually in two minds whether or not to do it, seeing as the people here were so friendly and, dare I say it, professional, but decided that it'd be better if we were closer to the centre of Melbourne. And what an absolutely top choice it turned out to be. As soon as we were set up we headed to the tv room with some serious munchies and some even more serious beer and wine to watch England's continuing slide into oblivion. There we were met by the sight of a good-looking guy with dark features and even darker hair, and a pretty blond girl dressed like Joseph and his Technicolor whatnot. Let me introduce Matt and Leah.

First off, they're cockneys. Yeah, I know, but it's not their fault. Secondly, they're top-notch people. Ok, so Matt has that ingrained Larndarn attitude of believing that London is the centre of the universe and that people who don't want to live there are obviously carnts and in need of serious psychological help. But hey, he was sitting in a campsite in Melbourne talking about wine and possibly emigrating here at the time, so let's not let that bother us.

Not too long later, but long enough to be pretty trashed, we were joined by another two English guys. One was a brummie and had long bushy hair, huge sideburns and reminded me immediately of Noddy Holder (which needless to say made him instantly endearing) and the other guy looked slightly grubby and didn't seem to want to look anyone in the eye. Interesting. Let me introduce Scotty and Michael. Now it turns out that Michael was actually about to leave for home (indeed he did the following morning and so drifted out of our lives forever) but Scotty is another matter altogether. But it's going to take a bit of explaining so you'll have to bear with me.

Scotty and Michael came out together (not in the homosexual sense, but in the travelling sense) and had started up in Darwin. After a few weeks kicking around Darwin and taking in Uluru, Alice Springs and a couple of other places that slip my mind, they then headed to Broome with the intention of heading down to Perth and then Margaret River (where they'd already had some work in the wineries). Sweet. But when they were on Cable Beach something unexpected and seriously unwelcome happened. They got trashed in a bar and then headed out with a couple of locals in 4 x 4s for some off-roading along the beach. Trouble is the guy driving Scotty lost control and flipped the car. The driver died on impact and Scotty was put in a coma for three days. He awoke three days later in Perth Hospital (having arrived by helicopter) with a fractured skull, a bruised brain, one lung punctured from a few broken ribs, at least one broken vertebrae and several other not so serious but no less painful broken bones. Nice.

Now rather than fly home at the first opportunity, he had a chat with Michael and they decided they'd hang around for a bit while Scotty got better, go and get their car (which was still up in Broome because Michael can't drive) and settle for a bit longer than expected in Margaret River, convalescence being the name of the game. Cool. So after a few weeks of lazing around in hospital pulling nurses with his dodgy brummie wit (you can't keep a good man down) it was finally time to skedaddle. This they duly did, headed up to Broome, and laid a wreath on the beach for the driver. With Scotty still in a pretty bad way i.e. not able to walk too well due to his back (he calls himself Scotty the Cripple now) and still with swelling in his brain as well as the general pain from his body not least of all his ribs and the slowly repairing lung, he then drove the pair of them back down to Margaret River. Where Michael informed him that he'd had enough and was going to fly home. Oops.

You could say that Scotty was a little bit put out by this turn of events (in the same way that the Pakistanis are slightly put out by Salman Rushdie's knighthood) but agreed anyway to drive Michael across to Melbourne so at least they'd get to see a bit more of the country and he figured it was better than sitting around feeling sorry for himself on his own in a caravan in Margaret River. Fair one. The thing is, Michael by this time was out of money, and so Scotty also found himself paying for everything. Along the way, things obviously got a little bit frosty between the pair, culminating with Scotty head butting Michael and sticking a right-hander on him. Once again, you can't keep a good man down. Even a crippled one. The last six days of the journey were spent in virtual silence. They also managed to get themselves and their car attacked by a bunch of drunken locals after upsetting them in a pub somewhere along the way. And that was how they found themselves in Melbourne, with Scotty still looking like he'd been, well, in a car wreck, with his travelling companion f***ing off, leaving him with a car load of stuff in a car that was all but knackered. Oh yeah, and Christmas only eleven days away. Beautiful.

So here we all are, sitting in a caravan park outside Melbourne, thrown together by the fates, with no-one really knowing quite what's going on with their lives, watching England getting well and truly smashed by the Aussies. What else was there to do, but get well and truly drunk. For a couple of days. Now that's what I'm talking about.

Laters all

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