Hello, Did you know that Byron Bay is not actually named after the gallivanting Lord Byron but in fact his nautical grandfather, a chum of the famous Captain Cook? Although it turns out Cook wasn't a captain when he found Australia but only a Lieutenant. You're not really interested? OK. You should try thinking of things to amuse yourself on 12 hour bus journeys then you too will find it fascinating that nobody knows why New South Wales is so called. I mean, Captain Cook (who named it) had never been to South Wales. Well, why would you? The last three weeks have stepped up the activity a bit. The "life tick list" has been seeing some action. Petronas towers. Tick. Nice place but I see why most people give KL the dubious honour of seeing it on the way to somewhere else. It's trying desperately to catch up Singapore. Not that anywhere can quite so successfully meet your pre-formed stereotype expectations as Singapore. Surprise, Singapore really is so clean it looks like it the litter bin is a religious deity. There really is an eighty pound fine for dropping litter (do it a second time and it's a night in the clink). But, here's the thing, I thought anything so sterile would be devoid of life. It's not. Staying in a part of town called Little India was a bustling, colourful set from a Bollywood movie. And get down and kiss the ground (for you really would be safe to do so)...a hot shower for the first time in nearly two months. When I arrived at Melbourne airport I may knowingly or otherwise have adopted a little bit of a slight old school mother country colonial tone. The kind of tone of voice or smug grin that says "I can't believe I have to show you my passport" or "we gave you this language and look what you do with the end of sentences". The customs lady may have picked this up as she chose me for the random long detailed bag search....for flowers, eggs and fruit! Strange things strike you in your first twenty four hours. For example I wanted to laugh every time I heard a strong Australian accent. For some reason a little part of me thought people really didn't speak like Joe Mangle did they? At one stage I asked a man if he spoke my language. He just smiled and gave me a vegemite sandwich*. Sadly I have not heard anyone say "flamin' galar" but I have heard "you little ripper" (tick). Other things I had heard and never processed between my ears was that Australia is big. No, it's huge. It's 12 hours from Melbourne to Sydney on bus. Another 16 from Sydney to Brisbane. What else? Ah, yes, it's insanely dangerous to live here. There are so many ways to meet your maker**. My favourite is rip currents when you're swimming or surfing. It seemed such a harmless thing to do. The Beach Boys never sung about that. Skipped right past Canberra, apparently a universally boring place.Iit is, curiously, however the only place in Australia it is legal to buy fireworks and hard core pornography and grow weed. An interesting insight in to how to pass your time in the middle of nowhere. If you want to hear stories of lost passports and terrible misfortunates then not yet, although I have gone through five sets of hats/shades and two room keys. Instead here's more desperately dodging the 'life is sunny' in Australia cliche. A quick run down of Melbounre would be to say it's cool, relaxed, vibrant, cosmopolitan, sunny, cultured and generally perhaps the best place to live on earth. There, said it all in one sentence. Took in an evening at the Commonwealth Games and visited Ramsay Street (tick). I further embarrassed myself by going to a "Neighbours night" where you essentially drink as much beer as you can and meet some of the cast. See photos for what happens when you ask Paul Robinson to pose with an evil expression. And so Sydney. Here's the thing. It's not as good as Melbourne, but you know that when you leave Melbourne. But this is a little bit fussy. Sydney, in it's less than modest way, hosts one of the most fantastic views in the world. Knowing exactly what the opera house and bridge look like from a lifetime for pictures does not stop you being gobsmacked by them and the harbour they frame for the first time. You always have to stop and look them, there is no alternative. The opera house is brilliant for the way it picks up the light from sun and sea and reflects it in a different way every time you see it. But it's the bridge that wins. It just does. Other than gawping at that view I spent my time absolving my soul of the Neighbours shame so I took in a concert at the Opera House (tick), that said I'm not sure a night out in the infamous Kings Cross (tick) helped. I read lots before leaving about all the wonderful afflictions that could attach themselves to you. The lethal (Malaria, Rabbies), the excruciatingly painful (Diptheria), the fantastic sounding (Yellow Feaver, Dengue Fever) and the and the out of this world scary (Tapeworm). Instead I got Tonsilitis. Draw your own conclusions and they're probably all right. Almost up to date. Veered of the beaten track to a place called Port Stephens for some wildlife overload. Nutkins couldn't do this: Koala in a tree in the hostel (tick), giant spider in the car (tick), dolphins (tick), pelicans (no tick). Now in Byron with plenty of crusty hippies who probably arrived in 1972 and have long since lost contact with mission control. Overall the Surfer is God, dude. I am modest enough not to claim immortality but I can surf, duuuuuuuuuuuuuuude (photo evidence). Ok, so new photos on the website now including such cultural delights as Paul Robinson and some bloke from Neighbours we'd never heard of, lots of football look-a-likes on promotion celebration night and some avante garde art and bridges for Andy. I have not mentioned Reading FC as it makes me upset. Paul. I HAVE NOT FOUND ONE BAR SERVING FOSTERS