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Hi all
Time for the start of our big Oz adventure. As we waited in the immigration queue, having taken serious advantage of the cheap Jack Daniels situation (plus a bottle of Absolut Raspberry - no idea why. Ask Mand) we spotted Andy a few rows back just as we were getting to the front. A couple of dodgy questions from the miserable bint behind the counter and we were through quick smart.
We collected our luggage and to help speed our progress we decided to grab Andy’s as well. At this point I was set upon by a huge brute of a Customs sniffer dog. Ok it was actually a really cute Basset Hound (‘DON’T PET HIM’) who snuffled his way through my bag for a few moments. He was looking for illegal foodstuffs and so missed the 3 kilos of prime heroin I had nestled in the bottom. Result. Andy’s stuff came out and we grabbed it and not two minutes later the man himself arrived and we were all set and ready to go. Sweet.
Next stop Customs proper. Now we only had two trollies and had everyone’s gear piled on them, all expecting to go through together. Imagine our surprise then, when Andy and Kimbers disappeared from behind us and Andy’s bag set off the security lady. As she emptied his bag we began muttering about it not being our bag (images of Midnight Express flitting through my mind) and she pulled out a bar of soap. Holy s***, that’s not illegal is it? I mean I know most of them are called Bruce, live in the outback and don’t wash for weeks on end, but to actually make soap illegal? Turns out no, but it set the scanner off because it looked like something else. Feeling slightly shaken we headed out into the airport proper to wait for the other two. Long minutes passed. We went back in to look for them. Nothing. More long minutes passed. Back inside again, still no sign. Hmmmm. About three quarters of an hour after our initial exit, they came bundling out. They’d suddenly realised that when we pulled all Andy’s stuff of the conveyor belt, we’d neglected to pick up his guitar. Oops. He’d jumped from the line and gone back for it (incidentally, for some reason EVERYONE else was queuing in the Goods To Declare line, even the schoolchildren) and had promptly been accosted by Security. You can’t leave the line once you’re in it. A brief explanation followed and he was escorted back to baggage claim to pick it up and then escorted back to the line. Well done Security. Another master plot foiled. However, this ‘bizarre’ behaviour got him singled out by Customs. They ripped everything apart. They wanted to know how much money he had, bank statements, credit card statements, the lovely Customs guy even took time out of his busy schedule to read some of Andy’s diary. Now I might be a bit slow here, but isn’t all this Immigration’s job? I really don’t think it’s Customs’s job any road. Added to this, he was carrying my bag and had to try and explain that it wasn’t his. Laurel and Hardy couldn’t have made it more farcical if they tried.
But they got through and we found ourselves in the bright sunshine of an Australian spring day. And it was freezing. Seriously cold. To be fair it was probably about twenty degrees, but after the heat of Asia, it felt more like minus twenty. I for one was shivering like Johnny at the thought of a salad. I just don’t associate the word Australia with the word cold. At all. But there we were teeth chattering. Me and And sorted out a place to stay and we jumped in a taxi and headed off. To the Emperor’s Crown hostel.
The hostel is absolutely fantastic. A few people over the next few days asked us where we were staying and when w told them, they told us we wouldn’t find anywhere better than that, maybe in the whole of Australia. Not bad seeing as me and Andy picked it completely at random :o) The manager of the place is a guy called Lewis who hails from Canterbury which obviously makes him a Liverpool fan (by his own admission just because they were winning everything when he was a kid). We spent the first night in a dormitory and this is where me and Mand first met a short bloke by the name of Ali. But more about him later. The next morning we were moved into our own room. Two double beds, DVD player, television and a fridge. Sweet.
The next few days were spent trying to buy a car. Originally, we’d thought of getting a van between the four of us but after much discussion decided this probably wasn’t for the best. Four people living on top of each other for six months was definitely a recipe for disaster methinks. Especially the way I feel most mornings...
So we headed around town and looked at a few cars and they all seemed pretty much of a muchness price wise. On the way to our first stop however, something strange happened. I was walking along with my top off (I will not let my tan fade regardless of how much shivering I have to do to keep it) when a car drove past. The driver leaned out of his window and shouted ‘Put your shirt back on, hero’. Strange way of insulting you they have in this country. But my God did it make us laugh. Hysterics is probably a better word. It was just so random. Anyway, I’m a hero so there. We chose a car each at Autobarn to test drive, and they were both ok. But mine and Mand’s just didn’t seem quite right. No particular reason, just a gut feeling. We left to have a chat about the cars and we went to our very first Aussie Pub. An English-themed one. Which was nice. We decided to have a wee look around at some other cars before committing and went back to tell the dude.
Next morning we went back for a second test drive only to find that the guy had taken it for a drive to get the steering sorted (it was a little bit off) and someone had t-boned our car. It was totalled. And the guy was ‘spewing’. I think this means angry as fook, not actually blowing chunks. But there you go. You can’t deny gut feelings. What followed was a couple of days looking round for different cars one of which we test drove. When we stopped to change drivers, we couldn’t get the damn thing started again. Lucky escape we thought as we angrily walked back to the car yard. I told the bloke that his car was a pile of pants and that it conked out and refused to start again. ‘Did you touch the immobiliser?’ ‘The what?’ ‘The immobiliser’ ‘Didn’t know it had one’. I got in his pick up back to the car and he opened it, pushed the immobiliser back in and the b****** started first time. I know so much about cars, it’s scary...
After a few more yards, we eventually hit on one which stood about above the others. Let me introduce you to Priscilla (although she wasn’t called that when we got her, it took Julie to give us the name - thanks darling). A blue/grey Mitsubishi Verada station wagon, automatic transmission, a V6 engine (whatever that is), electric windows, power steering and best of all, cruise control. She’s beautiful. But, more importantly, owning a car gives me the chance to crash not just in a different country, but on a different continent. Sweet.
While we were driving about in it, still looking for Andy and Kimbers’s perfect car, something very very strange happened. We pulled out of a petrol station and as soon as I turned the wheel the horn started blaring. Panicking, I tried to reverse up. It carried on blaring. By now, we’d disolved into hysterics. With tears streaming down my face I tried reversing further and it stopped. Sweet. I pulled forward again and it started blaring again. By now we were holding up traffic and were laughing fit to burst. I looked back to apologise to the cars behind us and they were laughing as hard as we were. I tried to stop the noise by punching the steering wheel and it worked. For about two seconds. As we pulled away from the traffic lights if anything it was getting louder. There was a group of people on some kind of charity walk and they cheered and gave us a thumbs up as we went past. They thought we were beeping in support. I didn’t think it was possible to laugh any harder but I swear to god I nearly exploded at this point. I really AM a f***in hero. As we went blaring off into the distance I glanced into the rearview mirror to see them all waving us off up the road, some of them looking slightly puzzled by this point. After about another three km of high noise driving, Mand suddenly looks down and asks if I meant to have the handbrake on. Apparently if you drive Priscilla with her handbrake on, she lets you know you f***ed up. Ah well, you live and learn... Something else I learned from one of the guys back at the hostel is that it’s illegal to park in the opposite direction to the traffic in Australia. Apparently this is to keep the streets looking tidy with everyone facing the right direction. Now that’s just f***ed up.
We also did a spot of food shopping in Perth which is as boring as it sounds. Except for two things. The first was Kimbers freaking out in the supermarket and having to run out. ‘This is just too much reality’ she wailed as she fled virtually in tears. It’s cruel to laugh, but then I’m not renowned for my kindness. The second was our first drunk aborigine. He was pure trashed and hurling abuse at anyone and everyone in the vicinity. This wasn’t quite so funny, but is a memory I’ll ‘treasure’ for the rest of my life.
The other shopping we did in Perth was for all our camping gear. Now this is a country that is totally geared towards the outdoors. They’ve got stuff you don’t even know you need. Apparently one of the things that you shouldn’t be without in the bush is an egg slicer. Seriously. We didn’t buy one. We’re just crazy. But we did buy the most comfy mattress in the world. Ever. It’s a really thick foam jobby that auto inflates. We love it. And now I’m even boring myself, so we’ll move swiftly on to the fact that most Aussies are really pissed off at our tans. I mean seriously pissed off. To the point where I reckon one in five mentions it. Woo hoo. What makes it even better is that non-Australians actually think we are Australians. Yeah baby, been here five minutes and already getting mistaken for a local.
G’day sports
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