Best wishes

This'll have to be a quick one as it's after midnight, I've been up since 6.30 and am Christmas-crackered. But as I may well not get another chance before the big night, here's a resounding 'Happy New Year!' to all of you who might be reading (actually I get ten hours' start on you don't I? Bugger, you'll all be popping corks as my hangover kicks in...try & keep it down won't you? Cheers), here's a photo of me looking like a gimp, and here's my heartfelt wishes for a happy, healthy and, dare we ask too much, even a prosperous 2007. This year for me has been, as you can imagine, a bit more eventful than most; I'll be intrigued to see if the new one can trump it. Here's hoping. Bye for now.

The 'G'

Nothing gangsta-related: it's Melburnians' nickname for their local cricket ground, the MCG, where I went yesterday afternoon to see England being polished off on the third day of the fourth test. Obviously I could have wished the sporting circumstances slightly different, but it was worth the $30 just for the atmosphere (80,000 people make quite a racket), for the chance to see some legendary players in action for almost the last time, and for the advert reading 'Advanced Hair Studio Congratulates Shane Warne on 700' (anyone remember that buttock-clenchingly embarrassing ad for hair replacement he did with Graham Gooch a few years back? Bet he loves being reminded of that one) Great stuff, although must admit I was glad not to be wearing anything identifying me as an England supporter - overheard one English fan being asked if he needed a lighter for his hat, ouch...

Brass monkeys

Don't believe all the hype: contrary to reputation and Neighbours, Oz does actually get some weather that's more Bognor than Bondi. My uncle had told me that Christmas Day in Melbourne last year was 42 degrees, leading me to thoughts of Factor 40 and barbies on the beach; what he hadn't mentioned was that Boxing Day was a shocking 19. And this is their summer remember! This year's Christmas was even more schizo - oscillated wildly between rainstorm and blazing sun all day; and today was just bleedin' freezing. Or at least it seemed so to me: I've found (surprise) I've got used rather quickly to days of at least 30 degrees, and am in no way nostalgic for the British winter. Sorry Blighty.
New plans are afoot: seeing as I'm a lot closer right now than I ever will be again (and, furthermore, a very generous friend has invited me to stay), it looks like I'll be having a look at New Zealand the month after next. To anyone who's already been: tips? Recommendations? Hopefully I should be in Wellington for a few days before enjoying a leisurely pootle around South Island for three weeks or so. After that I'm likely to be stony broke and shining people's shoes or something.
Hope you all had lovely Christmasses and got everything you wanted (one of my presents seemed almost too apt - the latest edition of the Darwin Awards, I wonder if I'm a future winner?), take care of yourselves.

Not proud

Friends, I fear you will no longer think of me in the same way. I have crossed the divide, gone over to the dark side, defected; I am one of them now. I never thought I would, always maintained I was immune to the appeal and was even smug about those more susceptible than I. No longer.
Last night, ladies and gentlemen, I participated in karaoke. I write this from somewhere underneath a stonking hangover, blurred scenes from the evening's revels flitting through my aching cranium, trying to reject those memories too ridiculous to possibly be accurate but failing, because they are and there are witnesses. Chief crimes against humanity included 'Tubthumping', delivered, inexplicably, in an R&B-stylee croon; 'Do the Locomotion' (yes, the Kylie version, and no, we weren't in the Blue Oyster Bar) and (God help me) 'The Final Countdown'. I also seem to recall finding myself, presumably after the last shred of shame had departed, genuinely disappointed by the absence of Dirty Dancing's 'Time of My Life' from the menu. I am not proud. However, even if it did necessitate drinking until I couldn't see, surprisingly enough it still wasn't as terrible as I'd imagined. And of course it's also hernia-inducingly funny watching other very drunk people do it, although I realise the restaurant staff may well not agree on that one.
Off to explore Melbourne some more today, seems less imposing and a bit more low-key than Sydney so far. More soon. 'til next time.

Pics

Just a quickie: Blue Mountains, zoo (yes another one) and me trying to take arty photos thru the window of the coach to Melbourne are avilable to view here (in 'Sydney' and 'Melbourne', obviously).
Comedy (to me anyway) detail: gents' loo at one of the coach stops yesterday, condom machine dispensing 'Savage Bliss'; in the future all prophylactics will sound like West German hair metal bands.

Still here

Hello again, sorry to leave you for such long periods but believe me it hurts me more than it does you - no, really, that much...
So, I'm holed up at my aunt's (she's actually my cousin-once-removed but the few times I've tried that out on people it's got the who's-this-pommie-w*nker look so aunt it is) in southern Sydney, trying to avoid any sports or news channel and doing my best to block out the rampant tribal screams of victorious Aussie cricket fans filling the night air. 3-0, ugh. Only good thing is, it might make it a bit easier for yours truly to get a last-day ticket at the MCG seeing as no-one'll care what happens... Every cloud eh?
Other than watching England's demise from a beer-addled daze on my relative's sofa, I've been spending my last week in Sydney being shown the coast down to Wollongong, and today visiting the Blue Mountains - gorgeous (you might not remember giving it but cheers for the recommendation Gav!), even if strictly speaking they're not actually blue, or mountains. Piffling trivialities. Photos up tomorrow hopefully.
Off again for now; I'll try and be a bit more constant in my affections from now on, my preciouses.

Someone's gotta do it

Mmm, more luxury: ride with my relative and his business partner in business partner's boat round Sydney Harbour and environs at the weekend, in the back washing down smoked salmon with a rather cheeky claret. This I could get used to.
Checked out my second zoo of the trip last week, Taronga Park - it's got nice views of downtown Sydney, which makes for slightly odd photo ops like this. Pretty cool bird and seal shows; apologies to any w*nking monkey fans (I know you're out there) but no action this time.
Other than that, have generally spent my time wandering more or less aimlessly round various bits of the city - was relieved to note that not everywhere is quite so scarily flawless as the centre: Surry Hills, the sort of studenty/backpackery area, is a bit more scruff but charming with it. If I didn't have the sweet-as option I've got, that's where I reckon I'd be.
In other news, they're experiencing ridiculous bush fires round Melbourne at the moment, so getting there (currently scheduled for the 20th, by coach) could be interesting. I've got quite a decent honey-basted-lamb-like tan going on right now but that could soon be converted to flame-grilled if I'm not careful.

Duck and cover

Hello, your idling correspondent here again, idling. I have dragged myself sufficiently far from what my Dad would call the seething pit (i.e. bed: he doesn't consider me a victim of diabolical possession) to be able to see Sydney a few more times, which has been nice. Just to reiterate what I was saying before, it's almost eerie: EVERYTHING is brand-spanking new, even the old stuff (the best building restorations I've seen). Not a derelict building in sight (literally, not one). Everything works. Everything looks scrubbed and/or polished. It's a city you can see your face in. And an urban planner's wet dream (mmm, there's a thought). So perfect it almost puts Orpington in the shade.
That said, I did have an enraged bird attack me yesterday in the Botanical Gardens (not a Benny Hill sketch: I mean of the feathered variety). Just dropped out of the air onto the unsuspecting bonce of yours truly, eliciting a (manly) wail of discomfort and a brief but pithy diatribe against its species. I suspect now that this was punishment for failing to exude sufficient bronzed health and confidence within city limits. I need to get rugby shoulders and a shriekingly loud necktie, instanter.
Re. the cricket, thank god I'm living with the only family in Australia who couldn't give a toss. As it is, well, I'd take the piss - let's just hope that by the time I need to get work, which will probably be in a pom-bashing-themed sports bar serving pissed-up pom-bashing Australians, they'll have forgotten all about it. I mean it's not like we went on about it last time is it? Oh.

And the living is easy

Compare and contrast: I'm now being beautifully looked after by my mum's cousin and his family in northern Sydney, being actively encouraged to drink beer (from my stocked-up private fridge), watch the cricket (on one of their 18,000 widescreen sets) or go swimming (in, yep, their backyard pool).....aaah..... sorry to anyone who's found the cock-ups over the last couple of months more diverting than the successes (that includes me) but it doesn't look like there's going to be many more anytime soon. Aside from the evil Delhi Belly (Sydney Syndrome perhaps?) that's been playing havoc with my innards, nice.
I've had a couple of guided tours by the fam round the city, and I must say it's gorgeous: dunno if it's the light (they actually get some here) or a crazed cleaning regime or what, but the whole place just gleams - the people too; I feel very pasty and unwholesome by comparison. Perhaps I should get some sunbathing in, hmm...toodloo for now :o)