With our final night looming I was keen to seize the day and experience a big helping of the Australian lifestyle. Now, as previously mentioned, the majority of men in Australia are built like bulls, have zero body hair and are covered in tattoos, and lying in bed staring at my ceiling I quietly thought: I can achieve one of those...'

Slinking out of the apartment door, I whisked down to the local shop under the pretence of buying some more bread. When I returned, I quickly stowed something in my rucksack (we will return to my purchase later) and placed the bread on the table ready for breakfast.

With Jodie's portable speakers and a beach towel in hand we made our way down to Coogee beach and carved out a spot next to the hundreds of people thronging the beach. After Chelsea had applied a thick layer of factor 50 grease to everyone, we all absorbed the sunshine and listened to the various, 'No worries mate's' and 'Fair one bro's' that littered the Aussie dialect.

Feeling particularly crisp, I decided to go for a dip in the pool just under the lifeguard station. There are tonnes of these in Sydney, where a concrete rectangle has been built just at the sea's edge, this lets the top of the waves flow into them and keeps them there making a relatively calm and moderately warmer swimming area.

Having built up an clinical tan line we decided to head back and get ready for our meal in the night, Jodie had arranged a meal with a few of her friends in a tapas bar for us which held a lot of promise.

With the arrival of Jodie's boyfriend, Ally, we finished our drinks and headed towards the restaurant. The meal was delectable with a spicy chorizo dish being my favourite of the evening, it reminded me of a dish my mum makes back home which made me strangely nostalgic for a brief few minutes.

With the evening and the wine in full flow we decided to head back towards Coogee beach and the incredibly 'cool' Pavilion bar. I say 'cool' whole heartedly, the building is three stories of very niche and interesting things. Downstairs is an open pizza oven with two bars, pools tables, ping pong tables and beer pong tables. Then you have a level with nothing much except for quirky pieces of artwork, and finally on the top floor you have three bars, a huge outdoor balcony and glass boxes (used as tables) filled with a whole host of enticing objects from birds eggs to different varieties of crab - it was right up my street.

After laughing myself hoarse and making a few friends in the process, we headed back home, but my night was far from over.

Under the cover of darkness and foolishly intoxicated I moved like a shadow towards the bathroom. While the rest of the apartment was sleeping I unsheathed my previously mentioned purchase: a tube of veet, hair removal cream. As I couldn't get a tattoo and I was destined to have the body composition of a birch tree I went for the only option I had left in order to become part Australian, a hairless chest.

Brandishing my 'paste spatula' like a man possessed, I audaciously coated my chest in a thick layer and waited the allocated ten minutes to remove the cream. With the faint aroma of burning hair tingling my nostrils I whipped off the cream and in my tiddly state gave a satisfied nod as I eyed my shiny chest in the mirror - 'Gorgeous', I muttered.

Perhaps 'tiddly' was underselling my intoxication a little because, unfortunately, my hand was unexpectedly again holding the veet tube and for some reason I convinced myself that I would look good, incredible even, if the only hair on my body was my eyebrows and my thinning thatch.

My idea - buoyed by the recent successes of my chest - quickly came to fruition. I unscrewed the veet tube and I'm sorry to say covered every inch of my body in the toxic smelling paste, the spatula was pushed to the absolute brink of its durability. With one foot up on the sink I left no hair uncoated and proceeded to pace the bathroom and excitedly awaiting my ten minute restraint.

Jumping in the shower I was slightly perplexed by the amount of hair that I seemed to be shedding, 'Where could it all be coming from?' I puzzled. An extensive scraping followed, resulting in my entire being emitting a slightly red glow and as soon as I dried myself the full weight of my previous decision began to weigh heavily on me.

Almost instantly after vacating the shower my b*llocks were set alight; I don't mean a light frisson, I mean I genuinely thought that they were melting. Panic quickly ensued and failing to drape them into the sink and reach the cold water I shimmied into the kitchen in a blind panic. I obviously made some commotion as, just when I'd nestled down onto the floor to rest my flaming scrotum onto a full ice cube tray I'd just commandeered, the light was flicked on and Chelsea was stood in the doorway, squinting in the light with her hands on her hips.

Looking at my red, hairless and naked body coopied over the rapidly melting ice cube tray with my testicles just in view, she silently turned around and left the room. I am writing this the following morning and she still hasn't mentioned it, the shame.