Yes

I'm about to leave Melbourne for... not forever, but for the foreseeable future. I'll write a proper post in the near future, but for now I just wanted to post this:
The sun was shining on the sea,
The birds were in the skies,
The wizard packed his suitcase up
And said his last goodbyes-
His friends pretended not to see
The tears in his eyes

'Will I be back?'  The Wizard asked,
His voice small and aquake
He questioned at the kookaburras,
Who refused his thirst to slake,
They couldn't answer, for in the end,
That was the wizard's choice to make

There and Back Again

Putting the Thrills Back into No-Frills Flying
I write you, dear reader, against all odds, from a hostel in Queenstown, New Zealand, with the Lion King playing in the background.
I say 'against all odds' because did you know that when flying internationally using one airline and another back, you need an 'itinerary', otherwise known as proof that you plan to leave? Cos I didn't. I had actually booked my ticket back, fortunately, but had not confirmed the e-ticket, or whatnot.
And my phone resolutely refused to access my email.
And the flight was leaving in twenty minutes.
A nice lady from jetstar offered to take me to the Qwantas lounge and use their computers to print out my itinerary- the Qwantas lounge being the furthest possible point from anywhere else in the airport. I arrived there with five minutes to go, ran off a copy and sprinted to the gate...where I had to wait for fifteen minutes.
Following this, I experienced possibly the most beautiful plane ride in existence, photos attached. At one point, I think I could have dropped fron the plane straight onto a mountaintop without breaking a bone, so close were they.
Also, there was a farm literally right next to the runway, which I guess is different, if not particularly practical.
On the other side of the plane ride, I went through the toughest security measures I've seen in my life. They X-rayed my bag for fruit. Twice. If I'd had fruit, I'm pretty sure they'd be dead from radiation. The security made it very clear they did NOT approve of my laissez-faire attitude to where I was heading etc. And then they finally let me go.
Queenstown is extremely beautiful. It's built around a giant lake, carved into the mountainside and extremely wet. I'd forgotten how humid the air in Australia is- by comparison, you get half your RDA of water with every lungful, and it's always lightly chilled.
I've explored the city centre a bit, but it was already getting dark, so I'll redouble my efforts tomorrow morning. I did however find a bar called 'tardis', and checked through the windows, but it seemed exactly the same size on the inside.

You know those dreams where you're falling...

When I was nine, I fell off my bed, which was a high bed, and fractured two vertebrae at the base of my spine. The fractures were very minor, but, given their position, they managed to make certain everyday tasks extremely difficult. That was a fall of six foot.

I just jumped off FORTY THREE FOOT bridge. 

Admittedly, this time there was a piece of rope around my ankles, so I didn't actually hit the floor (well, the river, but you get the idea).

I set out at ten in the morning, because I'm a modern man and I like to free fall before my breakfast, and we drove to the Kawarau Bridge, which is actually the original bungy jump site in the world, so, yeah, suck on them apples. 

There was surprisingly little paperwork beforehand; they just weighed me, told me to empty my pockets (duh) had me sign a little waiver, because y'know, this was kind of my idea in the first place, they're just the enablers, and then sent me out on the bridge.

It was snowing- I had taken off my coat for comfort, and now I regretted that; I watched the two other girls from my tour group drop, both delivering paralysing screams as they fell, and then it was my turn. they fitted a harness on me- rather loosely, I felt- and then wrapped a towel around my legs, then tied some cables, then hooked some latches onto the cables and then asked me to shuffle to the edge; I stood there, toes dangling over oblivion, smiled for both the cameras, somewhat unconvincingly, and then it was '3, 2, 1-', I stepped off the platform.

A loud 'Oh my God' was heard throughout the valley.

The water rushed up towards me, and I was convinced I wasn't going to stop, and then the rope jerked, and I was left, dangling upside down, my tshirt around head, and a lifeboat, some way off, coming slowly towards me, with a large pole extended towards me, asking how I was feeling- 'undignified'. 

I grabbed onto the pole, they grabbed onto my wrists, and I was lowered upside down onto the life boat. The guys there asked me a few questions, including 'can you see us?', presumably to check my retina hadn't detached, and then I climbed back up the slope to collect my belongings. 

I would wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone who's considering it- yes, it's terrifying, but I do feel somewhat invincible now and am no longer going to bother looking both ways before I cross the street, so think how much time I'll save as a consequence of this jump. But, in all seriousness, I feel I've accomplished something, even though all I did was step off a plank of wood- it's the rope that deserves the credit. A Japanese businessman asked to have his photo taken with me afterward and called me a 'hero', and I'm worried I've achieved some kind of international notoriety- there were, in fact, a gaggle of Japanese tourists, taking photos and congratulating me on the way back, but none of whom were jumping themselves, which creeped me out. I may turn up online as 'fat jumping man' or somesuch. Oh well, at least I'll be able to prove I did it. 

Tour'd of the Rings

First, a quick confession: I took my Lord of the Rings Tour before my Bungy jump, but I wanted to blog about that right after I'd done it, so you could all get the juicy viscerality and stream of conscience nonsense that that merited.
When I booked my LOTR tour, I was promised a very personal experience, and that I got: there were only five people on the tour; hell, for the first half of it, there were only three.
I was picked up from my accomodation by a cheery middle-aged lady and ushered into a van, where sat two other LOTR fans. Honestly, even robbed of the context of the tour, I could have guessed they were fans. They had the look (as do I, I imagine). Our first stop was the Rydges hotel where the cast and crew stayed when they were filming- thankfully, this stop was brief, cos honestly I didn't care.
Next, we went onto where they filmed this scene:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LWVPp0uhtu0
And something became apparent- I was glad I was taking this tour a mere thirteen years after filming, because the landscape had changed a lot. Kathleen, our tour guide, had a couple of sturdy lanscape features which she pointed out to prove that she was telling the truth, but in between the changes they made for the film (planting some new trees, digital correction etc.) and the vagaries of time, it was sometimes difficult to see the resemblance between the scenes (all played to us on an Ipad before setting off). However, Kathleen then got us to recreate the scenes and took pictures and this appealed to the am-dram ham inside me, so I can't complain.
I lay where Elijah Wood and Sean Astin had thirteen years previous and squeed a little inside me. This is so lame, but I could actually see the oliphaunt in my mind's eye, and I got lost in the story in a way that I haven't for quite a while, if only for a few minutes.
We explored this site, because the entire scene is shot on one location, but out of order, if you understand me- Frodo and Sam switched sides of the river bank several times.
After, we headed to a spot where you could see three different locales from a distance (sadly, access is restricted, them being private land and all), took some photos and then headed off for lunch.
At lunch, we were joined by a young married couple- the young woman hadn't actually seen LOTR, and I felt very sorry for her, because even Kathleen was something of a fangirl. We got to look at some classified documents, which Kathleen had somehow acquired, like call sheets, a handmade shooting calendar (with some really freaky drawings), and the original shooting script, which was given a fake title to keep out locals. This fake film was called 'Jamboree' and was a coming of age epic about scouting. With three separate installments. Honestly, that's dumber than what they pulled with Argo. How did anyone fall for that?!

So, after this, we headed to where they shot Isildur (in both senses of the word 'shoot'); and Kathleen told how someone actually bought a replica one ring (which amount to something like $5000) and then threw it into the river there, but I looked and sadly could not find it. Drat.
We then headed on to where Arwen shows down the Nazghul, and this was probably the place which had changed the least from the film, even though that scene was shot at two different rivers, and I dipped my toe into the waters which carried the Black Riders away and squee'd a little. And then we got back into the SUV and it nearly fell into the river like the horses of the film, to be swept out to sea; yes, the river bank began to give beneath the vehicle, and we hightailed it out of there, backwards, watching the scenery collapse before us like an Emmerich film. Definitely
Next, we headed to the side of a lake where we got to play with replica weapons from the film and take photos, which I will upload as soon as I unpack my camera. Needless to say, I excelled with all forms of damage inducing implement and definitely did not open up my arm with a nazghul blade.

This was the end of the tour, and I was really glad I'd taken it, because it made the Lord of the Rings seem that much more real to me, and I also got to see some absolutely stunning scenery and swing a broad sword, which is always a bonus, whether an innocent bystander is involved or not.

My Tumble Down the Hill

I'm just gonna do away with chronology and tell you about my OGO experience, even though Zealandia and a few others actually preceded it. Essentially, they put me in a giant plastic bubble, filled it with warm water and rolled me down a hill. It was like taking a very dynamic bath, on a rollercoaster; my only complaint was that it only lasted two minutes.

Are You from The Valley?

Zealandia is an attempt to return a valley in Auckland to its natural state, i.e. pre-human arrival. They have species which went nearly extinct (some which were though extinct), wondering around, pecking at your shoelaces, and you can see them all in their natural environment. Awesome.

They also have a walk around the lake, which should not really be attempted alone in the rain, but there it is. I walked for, I believe, in all four hours, thoroughly ruining my shoes and making it look like I'd tried to drown myself in a mud bath. It was still quite enjoyable, though, just because the New Zealand bush is so lush and pretty. Also, I got to hang out with a weird prehistoric chicken thing, so there's always that.

Jet setter

So, I road on a jet boat. It was extremely thrilling. We went at speeds which I have only experienced in the car of one Michael Maclaren, and that at least had a roof, so I didn't end up looking like Syndrome from the Incredibles- I have a lot of hair, OK? We did tricks, like turning around and stopping really quickly, which seem like pretty basic tricks, to be honest, but OK, and I got so wet that several people thought I had fallen into the harbour. I didn't (for once), but it was a fun way to see more of Auckland, and we saw someone else Bungee Jumping, but from only forty foot, the baby.

Charlotte's web...of FUN

So, last night was Charlotte's birthday party and, following in the tradition begun during the TWWOO afterparty, I definitely did NOT finish a whole bottle of vodka all by myself, reprise my monologue from Good Person of Szechuan and then fall asleep on someone's feet.
Honestly. I did none of that stuff.

I was gonna try and pass this off as a pic from last night, but, let's be honest, my hair has not looked this for quite a while

I arrived at chez Chalusinszky fashionably late at eighteen minutes past the designated time of arrival to find that I was the first guest there. Remembering that old rhyming wisdom of the 'guest who's first is always the worst', I quickly disproved it by deigning to drink cole's own orangle-related soft drink from a silver goblet, clearly establishing myself as a man of both distinction and caprice in one fell swoop.
The party escalated quickly, with new guests arriving en masse and enmassing en cuisine; soon the place was stuffed with well-wishers, onlookers and one incredibly timid ginger tabby. Someone suggested we diversify our clustering and we spread out and, as ever, I was a mingler, treading nimbly twixt the multitudinous social groups, making sure all experienced my presence and only moving on when I felt my glory had been basked in for long enough, or the conversation turned to Game of Thrones.
I met the many colorful characters that inhabit Charlotte's world, made polite but scintillating smalltalk and complimented on my overall Britishness.
And then the prospect of 'The Charlotte Chronicles 4: The Quest for the Pooey Lizard' was raised and I was gone. Yes, I laughed for several minutes, and while people inquired if I was OK or needed medical assistance, Charlotte kept her cool, having seen this all before after Declan's unfortunate incident with the pepper, and Simon kept nursing his hand after having hit it into a wall (which was hilarious, by the way).
I remember dancing to 'Greased Lightning', searching for Narnia in Charlotte's wardrobe and finding only the false back where she keeps her collection of children's teeth, and being locked out in the backgarden at two in the morning. I remember a man with hair like a Lion's mane, a discussion of the antisemitism of Bananas in Pyjamas and some suspiciously erotic wrestling between two shoeless hippies.
Charlotte was kind enough to offer me a bed for the evening, and I readily took it, only to discover it was the favourite resting place of aforementioned timid tabby and waking up looking like Garfield fresh out of the tumble dryer. However, we then went for possibly the most delicious breakfast I have had in Oz, and I got a wee bit sad that I'd only discovered the dispenserie of such a month before I leave and that in all honesty I will probably never return there (yet again, I still got to go more than most people ever will etc.).
So, happy birthday, Nose Finger! And, since you specifically requested I write this blog post, I'm counting it as your present. Suck it!

From one award-winning apostle to another

Back in August, you may remember me blogging about my jealousy (or lack thereof) of Jason visiting the Great Ocean Road with a gaggle of schoolgirls; I assure you I was only jealous of the former part.

I'm my own girlfriend.

Well, jealousy debt repaid, you green eyed monster: I too have seen the seven(ish) apostles, the falling falls and the sandy white beaches of the Great Ocean Road. So there.

We started off around nine, having rented a car from East Coast car rentals. We were: Laura, a German psychology student on exchange for the semester; Anna, her schoolfriend taking a few months off while studying for her masters; Charlotte, an English lass who studies full time in Melbourne; myself. I had never met any of the others, only having joined the party by responding to a post online. I also, sadly, was bereft of any photographic equipment, and so have had to pull images from Google searches (hopefully, I'll be able to acquire a few from my fellow day trippers as well).

The first thing I want to report is that I saw the following sign.

Found here (and in Villawood, presumably)

It made me inordinately happy. I don't know why.

After driving for a bit (I'll be honest, my time keeping skills leave something to be desired), we took our first stop- a beach just outside Torquay (not that Torquay- the Australian one*) we stopped for a few minutes and admired the scenery, which was extremely picturesque: this is the main reason for visiting the Great Ocean Road, incidentally, to see the luscious sights. If you'd told my fifteen year old self that I would one day willingly submit to a twelve hour journey just to stare at mountains et al, I would've laughed in your face and returned to playing Dungeons and Dragons. Good times.

We stopped at another beach, and actually descended (because the road runs along some quite severe cliffs, which drop unexpectedly onto tumultuous beaches) onto the sands this time for a spot of beach-being, and I may have carved 'Moi Smells' into the sand, for sentiment's sake. After delighting in the sound of the swell and the sight of the sand, we returned to our Auto and made for Lorne, where we had lunch in a nice little cafe overlooking the sea. We chatted about this and that- where we'd been, where we were going- we were all of a travelling bent, obviously, so this allowed for some quite worldly banter.

After this, we drove to the Sheoak Falls in a valley which was just so beautiful that I'm not even going to bother to describe it. It was pure Australiana.

Found here.

We spent some time drinking in the beauty of it- I dipped my feet in the pool and almost immediately lost feeling in my toes. I'm sad that, in all likelihood, I will only see it once- but then I tell myself that this more than most people.

I should point out that it was around this time that the sun came out, making the journey seem slightly more energetic.

From the falls, we sped on to a spot by the Kennet river where we were told we could see koalas. While there, we met some fellow dispatriated Europeans who were literally feeding parrots out of their hands. They gave us some seed so we could try it out, and it was immensely enjoyable, even when a parrot started to claw at my scalp (I guess in the end, my mum was right- something did try and nest in my hair). After having had our fill of playing that crazy bird lady from Mary Poppins, we went on to spot some Koalas hanging high in the trees. Whenever I see Koalas in the wild (and that is a 'whenever' now- I love my life!), I'm always struck by the fact that they're not more afraid of heights; they're so tiny and they live in such high places, and they're quite rotund so they bulge out over the branches quite a lot...I just worry for them is all.

After this, we made a beeline for the apostles. Now, I saw a beeline, but that's not really possible on the GOR, as we in the know call it.

Found here

That is an aerial shot of the road upon which we were travelling- as you can tell, it's somewhat bendy. Now, I have suffered from carsickness since I was a young'un, and I was reminded of this fact yesterday. Not wanting to be a hassle (not that there's anything that could be done anyway- it's not like Laura chose to drive bendily), I closed my eyes to try and alleviate the symptoms.
When I opened them, we were there. I estimate I was only asleep for thirty minutes, and for most of that, we were driving through repetitive forest, so I don't think I missed much. Anyway, we drove back in the dark, so I'll never know.

But, yes, the apostles.

Found here

For those not in the know, as I was before visiting Oz, the apostles are limestone stacks, all clustered together like Penguins. You'd think, being a Wenlock boy, I'd be sick to vomiting of limestone, but I have to admit....they're quite beautiful. I don't know why- there's just something so striking about them up close. The severity of the cliffs, plus the roaring oceans, plus these portly little monoliths...it's just dramatic. And very affecting. There was also possibly the most direct warning sign I've seen in my life-

"Don't cross fence. Unstable Cliff. You'll fall and DIE."

Alrighty then. Roger that. After watching the stacks erode in real time for a while, we decided it was time to head back. I could describe the return journey, but I've decided to save it for Volume 2: Mr. Trackwork Goes to Villawood. Just know it contained a lot of talk about murder.
A LOT.

*Honestly surprised I had to point that out.

Let's misbehave

I was just lunching with the absolutely incorrigible Charlotte Salusinszky, and explaining about my anxiety about returning to Great Britain when she came up with absolutely the best solution to the problem: a time machine.
That way I could totally do everything I wanted to in Australia, get bored with it and then still make it in time to catch my flight. Wouldn't that just be swell? So, if anyone has one spare that they could let me use, I'd really appreciate it.
While lunching, Charlotte offhandedly expressed her wonder at one of my descriptions of myself from my Edinburgh time, specifically with regards to desperation for attention et al, and I was proud to see how far I'd come (at least in one person's view) in just a year. 

Speaking of delisting my bucket list, so a mere bucket will be left, I'll be visiting the Great Ocean Road tomorrow. My first thought on this is that Australians like prefixing their tourist attractions with 'Great', which makes me feel like they're compensating for something. My second was that I'll be going with a bunch of strangers, which made me nervous, but then I thought of Phillip Island, and how awesomely that turned out.

Some were known to remark that it was 'neato'.

It's hard to believe that that yank above has now graduated with highest honours. Well done, Hannibal, sir. Now you can get back to solving that Buffalo Bill case.

In other news, we had a mini-Aussie Rules reunion on Sunday, which involved Pancake Parlour, which I kind of think of as my equivalent to Central Perk from Friends, even though I've been to about three different branches of it. I say 'mini-' because it was only me, my stage sister Emily and Alan-a, who insists upon placing a hyphon in her name for some strange reason and has been literally throwing fits because she has not appeared on this blog yet. So hello to Alan.
A.

In other news, I have an essay due in in a week and I'm already nine tenths of the way through it, so expect to rest on my laurels for the rest of the week, and so an influx of more posts like this, which really didn't have any content. Alack.

King Kong, King Kong, he's very, very big and he's very, very strong

I saw King Kong on Thursday, as an end of semester treat (yes, I've now finished my final semester at Melbourne), and, since some of my friends have expressed an interest in seeing it, I will put down my thoughts that they might be better advised as to whether or not to part with their hard earned money.

I will say it upfront that the music and acting are terrible: of all the songs, I remember only two, and even then only because they were established songs I already knew and I was wondering if they were public domain or not. One, possibly more, of the songs, were electro-dance tracks, and this is terrible because not only is the play set in the 1920s, when such songs did not exist, but also because that's one of the few attractive features of the 20s in my eyes. The title of this blogpost is a direct example of the deft lyrics you will encounter if you go and see this show. You can only imagine the other delights that await you.
Similarly, the characters are poorly drawn and not interesting in the slightest- I don't even remember their names, despite them being shoehorned into the dialogue every five minutes. They're boring and annoying and honestly just being in their company seems like a waste of one's life- I'm not surprised the lass falls for the ape, as he's by far the most intellectually stimulating of the people she meets; what I can't fathom is what Kong sees in her.
And this brings me to the turning point of this review: the ape is AMAZING.

Just amazing.
For one thing, it's huge- I was way in the back (cheap seats, y'know) and I really got the feeling that there was a forty foot gorilla in front of me. I just couldn't comprehend how they could manoeuvre something like that about the stage- it was at least four times the height of anyone on stage. It was mind-blowing.
And for another, the facial expressions this thing pulls are phenomenal- you really see the emotion in every single thing he does, more so than in anyone else on stage, but that's not saying much. At one point, the puppet made eye contact with me, and I started welling up. I actually started to tear up. It was fantastic.
The staging on the whole is very...exciting. Overly so at times. They really capture the feeling of a ship at one point, but at another they completely fail to capture the feeling of a city, opting instead for a coked-up nightclub. At one point, our heroine is being unconvincingly chased by the police or mobsters or rapists or something (it's not made clear), and runs right into a vaudeville show. Why? How? Who knows? Who cares? It's a chance to have a completely gratuitous chorus of girls in panties! YAY! This experience is repeated when the same heroine has a dream sequence where of bunch of actresses or hookers or showgirls or drag queens (it's not made clear) tell her to get dolled up before her screen test, only for the director to tell her she doesn't need to change the way she looks for the public. Thank God they got the ticket-shilling lingerie models on display before he told her that, right? Phew.
All in all, I actually would recommend King Kong. The puppet is just that fucking good. Just arrive forty minutes late and avoid the tedious "human" ""interaction"" at the beginning.

365

A year from today, I will be finished with my undergraduate degree.

This is quite a terrifying thought: it signifies onrushing adulthood, a looming crossroads and that there have been three years since I finished sixth form, which I cannot fathom.

Unusually, I can actually recall my last day at Shrewsbury; frollicking in the meadows, building human pyrids, my friends sneaking me drinks at weatherspoon's cos I'd forgotten my ID. I simply cannot comprehend that that happened three years ago. It makes no sense.

I am inordinately grateful that I took this year in Melbourne, for a multitude of reasons, but at the moment because it's given me an increased fervour for my subject. Before coming to Melbourne, I was seriously considering dropping out of uni, convinced that I'd made the wrong choice, that I had no future in my elected domain, that I was going to fail. I watched in envy as Becky and James and Sam took everything in their stride and I couldn't even manage a single step forward (or so it felt- I obviously made some advances in academia, else I wouldn't be here). I refuse to take all the blame for this melancholy- I truly feel that Edinburgh put some of their worst feet forward during second year (incidentally, this criticism is moot now because I was the last year to do my course): syntax, phonetics and globish all in one year? It's like they wanted us to stop caring. But, yes; I was dissatisfied and dreading honours. Now? I kinda wanna do post-grad; obviously, some of that comes from there being more choice in honours, but I think it also is due to Melbourne Uni's different approach to the tertiary educational experience and, most importantly, some of the professors I've had here. 

I'm trying very hard not to completely disregard Edinburgh; when skyping Daniel recently, he accused me of exaggerating my dissatisfaction there, and that's not at all what I'm aiming to do. But, I also feel I have to be honest (or else, what is the point of this blog?) and I really credit Melbourne with rejuvenating my appreciation of my course. 

Ask me in a year what I want to do and maybe the answer will be radically different, but currently further education is top of the list. 

...I kinda wish it was something less expensive.

And, to make this post not just words, here's a picture of Victoria and I molesting a giant Manta. And, no, there's no glass.

It's Later Now

So, Aussie Rules is finished, and, with it, the penultimate stage of my time in Oz. We are not entering the final chapter of my time here (I was gonna use the final chapter title from The Wonderful Wizard of Oz as the title for this post, but that's Home Again, which doesn't really suit this post, and the chapter before that is the rather esoteric (and spoilerish) Glinda the Good Witch Grants Dorothy's Wish, so I'll have to come up with something on my own). Granted, I have two assignments, one test and one exam to go before I'm done with uni, but I saw Aussie Rules as the last bastion of mid-exchange-year-Rory, a lad who could still sleep in if he wanted to, or take on a show, after all he'd have time later to see Oz- well, It's Later Now (ok, title found).
To mark this occasion, I have booked my tickets for New Zealand, and, even more excitingly, shaved my face. Yes, I took the advice of that drunk lady on the train and got a hair cut. Just not on my pate. I have a few other plans for my time here (hopefully Uluru and more penguins).

Ladies. 

Aussie Rules went very well; my hats off to Andrew for pulling off the frankly bizarre idea he pitched to me all the way back in October ('No, see, cos football is Islam...'). I had some one thank me personally for my performance and say he'd come specifically to see me (having been bowled over by me in Confetti and Everything) and honestly this was a lot more pleasant than the fan I had in Edinburgh, who walked up to me in the middle of the meadows and whispered 'multim olim' in my ear AT ONE IN THE FUCKING MORNING. But, yes, Aussie Rules was a success, and I'm proud to have it as my final impression upon the melbourne acting scene (though not the theatre scene in general- hello, BESTies).
Speaking of theatre, it was over two weeks ago, but I needs must mention the Amadeus pre-show sing-off. If only because I got to fulfill my dreams of singing 'American Pie', 'Moonriver', 'Blue Moon' and 'Mr. Sandman' before an extremely captive audience. Also, on the final night I did what can only be called an astonishing rendition of the song below.

Let that image burn into your retinas.

In other news, I skyped with Esmond on Friday, and it was lovely: we spoke for two and a half hours, and despite ten months apart, we still fell into conversation so easily. It's nice to know I'll have at least one friend when I return to the Great Wet North (I thought of that on Wednesday and by God, I'll get the mileage out of it).

In other other news, it was Victoria's birthday last Saturday, and, wouldn'tcha know, she had a sci-fi party, so naturally....

The very definition of a coquette.

What? You can't guess? I'm Poison Ivy from Batman and Robin. Duh. I mean, the hair's a little off, and I've really made no effort at all apart from holding a plastic flower and wearing a Batman-related T-shirt, but I think everyone can agree I've adequately captured the campy awfulness of that film.
The party was a lot of fun, and I got to see Victoria's assorted friends, probably for the last time before I head off; as Ryan North is wont to say, 'partying is such sweet sorrow'.

Last night was Eurovision here in Ozland, and, much like with the Olympics, I found myself the token pom in a group of Aussies watching something distinctly English. I got a lot of mileage out of the fact that no one gave us any points (it's all political, I tell ya), but I didn't realise how seriously the Antipodeans take the damn thing. Everyone, that is, except the closed captions guy, who added such delightful additions as 'you can guess what she said' and 'what's she gonna do with flowers? Put them down.'
Victoria, Aspen, Michael and myself were enraptured by the cheesiness, and I found Aspen's knowledge of past contestants to be vastly superior to my own, which isn't actually saying all that much, but she remembered 'I'm in love with a fairytale', which I only recall because it was the night I came out. Funny old world, innit?

Finally, when I was crossing the road this morning, my hood slipped (yes, it's finally started raining in Oz- laugh it up, Edinburghers), and when I lifted it, there was a car right in front of me. It was really very terrifying. I also realised I hadn't updated this thing in ages and I didn't want to die without you guys having heard my inane prattle for a month! Hence, this post.
Blame the hood.

Boasting, unadulterated boasting

This is another post I never thought I'd write, but I'm just so happy right now that I feel it's completely justified.
As some of you may know, I starred in Amadeus in my first year- during that time, I received my first ever personal review for my acting. It wasn't positive. It wasn't exactly negative, but I remember the phrases 'graceful as a hippo', 'screeching' and 'not quite there' (I searched for the review, but couldn't find it on google- I don't quite know why I'm resurrecting it on the web).
I just got in the review for the current production of Amadeus. And what I love are the parrallels- this review, as with the previous, is just on some guy's blog. They don't know me, they're not writing for an official publication, they're not a theatre critic. It's just some person's opinion.
And in that person's opinion, I am 'amusing'. That's all they said, but that's more than enough. I have improved. I have palpably improved. There is real, undeniable proof that I am making progress in one of the fields to which I have decided to donate my energy, and that makes me so very, very happy.
Go me.

P.S. That old review said some very mean things about Rik. We are not amused.

The thousand yard stare of a man who burned to death and lived to tell the tale.

Karma

I have been trying to avoid posts like this on this blog, as I've wanted to downplay my spiteful streak whilst down under, but Henriette said I was allowed a little bit of gloating every now and then and I choose now, rather than then.

Today, I had my practical phonetics tutorial- it was on Praat, a programme with which I am passingly familiar. My tutor, whom we will call Dick, because that's a name people can have and no other reason, asked us to name certain phones as they came up; I answered his questions, correctly, I might add; he snapped at me 'why don't you stop butting in and give other people a chance to answer?', so I didn't answer any more questions during the tute.
And neither did anyone else.

There were entire minutes of silence, where Dick fervently waited for someone to identify the correct phoneme, and no one did. These silences were so pregnant people kept on asking exactly how many babies it had in there. And all Dick could find to punctuate these soundless eons? The only words he could find to fill this room, so devoid of the noise that he claims to understand? 'I feel like a failure'.

Good.You should, Dick.
I fully intend to not answer any more questions in Dick's classroom, and let the deafening sound of his own complete incompetence ring loud in his ears as a class full of undergraduates show him exactly how little he has taught them. I'll let the crippling screech of his inadequacy echo throughout that cacophonous room and smile as he sinks deeper into a depression of his own making.
Because I am nothing if not obedient.

Oh, and to add a cherry to this delicious revenge cream cake; he handed out assignments today and I got a H1.
Match point, dick*.

*Deliberately left uncapitalised.

Opportunity is not a lengthy visitor

And then it was May.

We are not amused.

I must confess a touch of panic about doing all that I want before I leave- I have seventy days left in Australia, if you count the final few hours I will spend trying to sleep in Sydney Airport, which I am doing only to give this post a nice round number to which to attach itself.
I've been trying to make lists of all those things I want to do before I must shuffle off this antipodean coil, but there are just so many. In the top ten there are certainly see the penguins again (either St Kilda or Philip Island, it doesn't matter which- hell, even the aquarium would count if I do the motherfuckin' PENGUIN PASSPORT!), visit Tasmania or New Zealand (Old Zealand just looks dull, to be frank), or both if there's money. I want to see another part of Australia- Adelaide, Perth or maybe even Uluru, which I apparent keep mispronouncing as 'Ayres rock'.
I think back to Jason, and the madcap antics of his final days here- which were only in December, but now seem like they happened before the invention of Radio (I swear, I remember them in Sepia with title cards)- how he kept repeating all the things he longed to accomplish in Oz, and how, when he clicked his heels together and vanished from sight, there were still so many he hadn't brought to fruition; like visiting the Silver K Gallery or the Ballarat Wildlife Park. And then I look back on my Edinburgh bucket list and see that I only did about half the things on there before I got the heck outta dodge, and I begin to think that maybe you'll never do everything you want to, no matter where you are; I'm sure there must be something in Shropshire I haven't done, like...
...
Moving on.

So, I'm waiting until my exam timetable is released, which, according to my venticelli, will be this Friday, and then I'm gonna plot out my remaining few weeks here, and just try to see as much as possible and remind myself that you can find pictures of everything on Google, so travel's just flogging a dead horse anyway.

After being bitten by a retroactive spider...

So, I've decided that this is my blog and I can do what I want and I'm gonna write a blog post a month after the fact, and what can all of you do about it?
(You may have noticed that there have been three different blog posts in the last two days- this is because I have an assignment due and it's never so easy to write as when you're meant to be doing something else.)

So, 24 hour play- Andrew encouraged me to do it, and I'm so glad I did. It's not the first such endeavor I've undertaken, but it's the first time I've been on the acting side of the coin. As you will see at the end, this was quite a debut.
The 24 hour plays at Melbourne are structured differently to those of Bedlam (fancy that!). For one thing, things are much more randomised; writers and directors find each other in a weird mating ritual involving blindfolds, a circle of onlookers and, at least in my case, a half-eaten mannequin with the word 'Kerrick' scrawled on it (and, honestly, all the best rituals do); each writer/director pair is then assigned the number of actors to which they will have access using dice. I decided to join group number one because a) I wanted to meet new people and thus, sadly, not team up with Andrew and b) I hadn't spoken for, like, eight minutes and that's just too long.

As you can see, I chose the cheery bunch.

Group number one would later become B.E.S.T., whom I believe I have posted about before- they consisted of Laura, David, Wilson, Maddi, a third Daniel, a second Declan and a first Greta. Declan was our director, Wilson our writer. We were then assigned, through the use of slips of paper in various hats, a random object (a paintbrush), a starting location (a wedding), an event that must happen over the course of the play (someone winning something) and two words we must include ('clutter' and 'hydrocarbon') he concocted for us a dark comedy called 'confetti and everything'. Set in a post-apocalyptic wasteland and concerning the adventures of a princess and a painter, I played an alcoholic priest and...well, I won't spoil it.

Over the course of the rehearsals, I acquired several new in-jokes ('mazel tov' and 'deep inside death' being the primary among them), some new friends and a badass top hat, which I sadly didn't just steal for myself. Definitely worth the eleven hours' rehearsing, I feel. 

So, without further adieu, gracious ladies, obliging gentlemen, and, of course, Jari, I present to you, Confetti and Everything.

"If you want to milk plows or cow fields"

So far, in the course of my adventures in Oz, I've acted against someone who's in Neighbours and auditioned against someone who was in Summer Heights High, not to mention being the same audience as Geoffrey "I'm disinclined to acquiesce to your request" Rush. But now, I think, I have reached a whole new height of star-interaction.
For, you see, yesterday, Tuesday the 9th April 2013, at 2.15pm, on a sunny afternoon in Melbourne, I made a short film with none other than motherfucking Sportacus from Lazytown.

As badass as scarface?

Not only that- I had actual lines (the humorous spoonerism that resulted from such makes the titles of this post) in a film with Sportacus. I was even DIRECTED by Sportacus. He told me he liked my line reading.
Swoon.


Daniel, you're not the only one who's acting career has taken a major leap forward in the past two weeks. 

The most easter(n)ly break yet

Wow, what a break!
This was my fourth consecutive easter away from home (I know, I know, I'm such a rebel) and probably the most jam-packed that I can remember.

On Good Friday, Victoria, Michael and I went to the Melbourne Aquarium (Michael was the host of the Australia Day barbecue I attended, and also Aspen's sweetheart); I always enjoy aquariums and zoos- there's just something about watching animals that I find incredibly interesting, even when they're not really doing anything.

I swear to God I stared at this thing for ten solid minutes, waiting for it to move.

Also, there were PENGUINS! And there's even something called 'the Penguin Passport' where you can ENTER THE MOTHERFUCKING PENGUIN ENCLOSURE!!!!!
So, yeah, that's happening.

On Sunday, we had an easter egg hunt, which was so well thought through that half the eggs weren't even found and, to my knowledge, there are still some to be claimed. Victoria and I also teamed up for an egg and spoon race, and came second, but only because I wasn't allowed to use my pasta spoon, which is, apparently, 'cheating'.

The next day, I travelled to Somers to stay at Maddi's (one of the B.E.S.T.ies) summer house for a couple of days. It was totes sweet: we swam, played pictionary (I won), Smart ass (I won) and Jenga (I toppled it and thus, you guessed it, won), had fires on the beach (which is illegal, so if anyone asks we sat on the beach at night in a rough circle around a patch of sand). But the best part is that Laura and David declared their love for one another while I was trying to sleep- I just love being friends with couples.

I stayed at Maddi's until wednesday, then returned for an evening Amadeus rehearsal.

The next two days were spent rehearsing Aussie Rules, during which I learnt some yoga positions and got to practice dying in other people's spotlights, both of which are, I think, skills entirely transferable to the workplace.

Then, on Friday evening, I travelled to an Amadeus rehearsal camp in the most cineliterarily named town I've ever encountered- 'Rosebud' (I really wanted to patronise the Rosebud cinema, but sadly did not get round to it.)
'Rehearsal camps' are apparently a not uncommon thing at Melbourne Uni (and, I think, Australian theatre in general), but I had never heard of one before. From my direct experience, they involve: acting, singing, alcohol, photoshoots, improvisation, king's cup, alcohol, would you rather?, truth or dare, alcohol and lots of conversation about the Amish. I can only assume that this is typical.
I also got to go for a quick dip in the sea in between run throughs, meaning I swam in the sea twice in a week when there's still snow on the ground back home. This is my life now.

There are two superlatives connected to this easter break: it was the week I spent least time on the internet in at least five years, as neither Maddi's house nor the Rosebud brothel had internet, so for four days out of nine I didn't log on at all.
It was also the holiday where I drank the most, with another four days ending in tipsyness. Progress. 

But all good things must come to an end and I am now back in the world of schoolery: I have an assignment due on Thursday and have just recieved inspiration for a possible linguistic study in the future. Fun times?

La voce to me

Yesterday, I went about the course of collecting actual Linguistic data (I know, I know living red letter). I ventured into the suburbs of Central Melbourne with a flotilla of my fellow Linguistadors and recorded a 22-month-old girl named Molly talking at us.
It was actually a lot of fun: Molly showed us her DVDs and was surprisingly film literate for a toddler, having seen Finding Nemo, Alice in Wonderland and The Little Mermaid, which is more than Esmond- although she insisted Ursula the sea witch was nice and liked Ariel. Not an interpretation I'd encountered before.

Although...

She also argued with her mother over whether a pink koala toy was a pig or a marsupial and won with the astounding display of reasoning 'koalas aren't pink', which none of us could refute (although Koala joeys are hairless.) She also brought a little of that lovely child reasoning when, upon being informed that a dentist was a 'doctor who looks at your teeth', she inquired, with some alarm, 'why?!'
All in all, not a bad way to collect data for one's subject; in fact, Barbara told us about a man who gave his children special backpacks which would record his young children speaking...and caught his wife carrying on with, as Barbara put it, 'Mr. Neighbor'.
So, practical, too.

In other news, I went to two parties this weekend, and so am just the belle of the ball, aren't I? One was a get together with the guys from B.E.S.T., who were my 24 hour play group (I meant to blog about that...oops), where we watched a bunch of movie musicals and realised just how rapey Grease is. Sadly, I had to go to bed before Les Mis was put on, otherwise I very well may have brought Gavroche back to life, nine years (what the hell?) after his untimely death.
T'other was an Amadeus get-to-know-the-cast affair, where two very promising candidates for quotes of the year were delivered. One came from Henry Shaw, director extraordinaire, and was in the manner of a film trailer voice-over; t'other came from Dave, who plays Salieri, and was a brand new species of Pokemon; both can be found on the Quotes page.

And, finally, according to Victoria Andrew, I was in tune for an entire song last Wednesday. This is a personal record.

He ate your father in front of you

So, Daniel got into Drama school. Aside from being the single biggest contributor to this blog (after myself, of course), Daniel also holds the distinction of being one of the few actors I have 'discovered'.

And what a discovery it was.

Of course, Danny boy himself might dispute this, and argue that he even had some professional roles in Spain but buckus, I say, that damn Spider is where your career started in the English speaking world!

This guy.

The only person whom I believe could challenge me as title-bearer of Godfather of Daniel's theatrical career is Ian, and though Daniel did indeed have lines in Vatnsdal, I don't believe that play truly tapped into Daniel's talents. His cackling, baton-twirling, cross-dressing talents. All of which TWWOO used to great, if somewhat psychodelic, effect.
And, thus, I'm very proud to say that another one of my babies has hatched into a beautiful butterfly. Now, Joseph just needs to make something of his life.
Like that'll ever happen.

In less self-congratulatory news, I got to watch someone else directing my work for the first time last Sunday. This is only the second time someone else has actually helmed a project to which I contributed the script: but during The Ten Minuters I only ever saw the finished product, not the 'making of'. And I have to say, it was weird- seeing my words come to life but with no control over how they lived. I now know how my parents feel. No wonder they're always so disappointed with me.
P.S. For Posterity's sake, this play is Aladdin, a pantomime I've written to be performed for sick children. (And also children who are ill- get it?)

And finally, I've started Language in Aboriginal Australia and it's really fascinating- the culture is so different from what I'm used to that it means everything I'm learning is completely unexpected and brand new. I haven't had that for a while.
First Language Acquisition is also proving as interesting as I'd hoped and I was actually presented with some tangible proof for innatism, which I never imagined would happen and may merit further investigation.
Phonetics has sadly segued into ear training, which boils down to weeks and weeks of watching one's tutor/professor repeat the same sound twice and ask 'did you hear the difference that time?' to which the answer is inevitably 'no'. Not as frustrating as syntax, certainly, but quite bad.
So, all in all, quite a good term so far.

"Do you know how fragile the human skull is?"

Work has now begun in earnest for Aussie Rules. Last night, we had the first rehearsal, in which Andrew had us do a theatrical exercise wherein I wanted to leave the room by a certain door and my costar was to block me. At first, we weren't allowed to touch, and Andrew told me to leave the room by any means possible. This lead to me uttering the title of this blog post, utterly deadpan and entirely serious to said costar. After that, Andrew said we were allowed to get physical and I walked right out, nearly clipping Tom's head on the door frame on the way out.
It's now been a long time since we I've rehearsed something (not counting 24 hour play), and I forgot how intense such sessions could get. I think a large part of this is due to Andrew, who is very confrontational in his directorial style (in no way a criticism), and the other is that this is my first part since, I believe, Vatnsdal which isn't mostly comical- I'd forgotten how difficult it is to be sincere and unaffected when acting (Tom quite correctly noticed I was 'blocking' during one exercise, when I couldn't stop laughing). But it's always a goal of Andrew's to intrude into people's comfort zones, and why shouldn't that include his actors?

For a role that is almost entirely comic, look no further than Emperor Joseph, whom I will be realising in Amadeus. Yes, things have come full circle (about a year early, I'm disappointed to say), and I am once again starring in Peter Shaffer's tale of jealousy and nipples; however, in a twist that shows how much I've advanced as an actor and a person, I'm no longer the shouty, pompous German but now the serene, foolish emperor. It was odd at the readthrough to hear the lines with which I was so familiar (in the way you're familiar with the living room of a house you lived in five years ago), with completely different accents, inflections, and, in some cases, genders to the voices that I was used to. Rik Hart, for example, the epitome of old-school British Gentlemanliness, was substituted for an Australian girl, and that was when I first felt I wasn't in Kansas anymore. Interestingly, David K. Barnes being replaced by a petite Aussie lass felt completely natural. I think maybe because Strack is quite effeminate himself.
Maybe.
As for my own reading, I'll admit there's more than a dash of Sasha in there, but fuck it, what's he gonna do? Tall me to death?

Above: Artist's rendition of Sasha preparing for battle.

In other news, I've exchanged Semantics for Language in Aboriginal Australia, which will hopefully be insightful and uniquely Australian.And, in First Language Acquisition, we are once again touching on Innatism versus socialisation theories, and I still don't understand Innatism because there just seem to be so many flaws in the theory. (Innatism holds that humans can acquire language without really being taught it- my problems with this idea are numerous). I asked my professor, and she just said 'exactly', which, although affirming because I was right, wasn't all that helpful. I'll have to ask Jimminy about it, I think he's an innatist (fool).

Bach Too's Cool

Uni started again yesterday.
I have now had a taster of the three subjects I'm enrolled in for this semester- Semantics, Phonetics and First Language Acquisition.
First up was Semantics, taught by David Thewlis in an oscar-worthy performance as Brett Baker, who also taught me Syntax last year. I'm trying not to hold that against him, I really am. Suffice to say we won't be studying pragmatics this year, which I personally think is one of the most interesting areas of semantics (it's to do with implication and context- which are absolutely fascinating linguistically). I'm currently trying to switch Semantics for Language in Aboriginal Australia, which for some reason is not offered at Edinburgh.
Next was Phonetics, and the professor seemed oddly nervous- I don't know if it's his first time teaching or he just had a bomb strapped to his leg, but he repeated himself a lot and at the...end just...kind of...faded... ...a....way. Sadly, he's up against the titan that is Patrick Honeybone as my previous professor in phonetics and, well, that's an extremely tough act to follow. Like Invocal. Or Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs (Daniel.) As for phonetics, it's not my favourite field anyway, as it's rather dry- lots of science, TONNES of biology- but it's not as bad as syntax, as I can at least see the need to study phonetics, and it does have some interesting facets. 
Finally, I headed to First Language Acquisition- the Professor of which has the same name as my grandmother and only paternal aunt. What a small world. First Language Acquisition has always been one of my favourite topics cos babies are just so damn cute when they try to talk. Case in point:

 

I'm pretty sure he calls me 'Nony' in that clip. I dunno if that's better or worse than 'Ory', which was Sam's attempt. 

Anyway, in First Language Acquisition we have to go and record a child talking and interact with it, which will at the very least be a different way to spend an afternoon (though I essentially did exactly that every Friday morning for eighteen months). I'm quite looking forward to this course actually, especially since my professor said she was a sociolinguist by trade, meaning maybe in later life I can combine two of my favourite fields after all (if we can just work in watching penguins somehow I'll have it made).

The Jungle Blog

So, this one has been a long time coming, but I was trying to get some photos/videos off my phone, who was refusing to co-operate. However, thanks to the magic of Andrew Victoria, we're back in business. So, without further ado, my trip to the rainforest.

NB: For the vast majority of the time, I couldn't actually see my phone screen due to the glare of the sun, so there's a very real possibility that these pictures are awful.

So, I had to get up really early to go into the rainforest- I was picked up by the tour bus from N Joy and we sped along toward adventure. My tour guide was kinda weird- he kept acknowledging that no one really wanted to listen to him, but this didn't seem to deter him from speaking. He was also morbidly obsessed with Steve Irwin and kept touting how we would be able to see the actual spot where Irwin died (Neato!). We stopped off at a look out point where one could see some of the reef and the jungle.

We then sped along toward a wildlife sanctuary, where there were cassowaries, which can split a man in half, and ducks, which can't but had a go anyway- while I was feeding an adorable little kangaroo, a horrid bird flew up at me to try and get the food for itself, after I specifically refused it anyway for not being cute enough. Yes, I said boo to a goose and in response was viciously attacked. (This would actually be a theme of that day- being attacked by animals.)
But not before I held a koala, a python, and a motherfucking crocodile. Yeah, that's right. An actual, living crocodile. And I held it, with my unprotected human hands. How badass am I right now?
However, the croc wasn't half as problematic as the drop-bear, oh, I'm sorry, I mean 'koala'.
A koala which tried to eat me. As in, sniffed out its meal, leant back and opened its maw- at which point, the keeper stepped in and pulled him out of my grasp. The Koala was named 'grizzly' (I wonder why), so I can say I've faced being eaten by bears both drop and grizzly. I'm pretty sure I'm the most bad ass person in my social circle now. And I'm not even finished yet.
So, in the sanctuary, I saw pelicans, cassowaries and a lungfish (which is fucking horrific, btw), crossing three other animals off my Ozzie bucket list (how do I only have four months left?!). I also fed kangaroos for the second time, as well as some weird birds, and, inadvertently, one overly-eager duck. 
Then, it was on to the river and this is where things get really bad ass.
Anyone who read the last post and clicked on the link at the end will have read how crocodiles on the Daintree river have been becoming more aggressive, and that one croc actually attacked a river ferry a couple of years ago. This is the croc that I encountered on my trip along the river. We were chugging along, and I'll admit I was kinda bored, having only really seen mangroves at this point. Then I spotted two eyes popping out of the river, staring, I thought, right at me. I pointed them out and we all marvelled at this pair of eyes, which belonged to a croc named 'Scarface', as our guide informed us. After a while, the eyes submerged and we all thought that was that. I'll show you my picture versus one I found on google:

So, that's what I saw; pretty cool, but not all that threatening, right?

Found here

That was what I was actually up against. And I say 'up against' because guess what? Scarface resurfaced, and our guide informed us he was stalking the boat. 'Don't worry, though' he added, 'they hardly ever attack boats'. This was not as comforting as he thought. Had I read the article before I went, I might well have abandoned ship then and there, even though this would have simply put me even more in Scarface's domain. So, I can now say I've been stalked by a monocular bull croc named 'Scarface'. Jari, step down as the badass-king of our friendship group. We have a new monarch of badassery.

This guy.

After the river cruise, we stopped off at the point where you could see EXACTLY WHERE STEVE IRWIN DIED! ERMAGERD! After telling us how he died for the third time, TJ, our tour guide, let us off the bus and made us wait at this point for what felt like an inordinately long amount of time. I think he wanted us to fully appreciate that THIS IS THE PLACE WHERE STEVE MOTHERFUCKIN' IRWIN CEASED TO LIVE!!1!

Taste the death.

Then, we had lunch at an ice cream factory. Sadly, this is not what it sounds like- lunch was provided by the tour group and we sat and ate outside the ice cream factory. Still, I did sample some of the ice cream and it was delicious- chilli and chocolate, which I always think of as mine and Freya's flavour. There was maybe a touch too much chilli in there, so rather than cooling my pallet (Cairns is tropical, you know), it just made me reach for the water jug.
Also, while eating I walked into a spider's web. My natural reaction was to shake myself free and then to move on as though nothing had happened. This is the spider into whose web I had walked:

It's known as the Golden Orb spider and can kill people. And I shook its web whilst entangled in it. This is my life now.
Oh, also, the ice cream factory's toilets had a confusing use policy:

"Strictly" *nudge**nudge**wink**wink*. This reminds me of Rik's story about a friend who became a "Taxi driver".

After this, it was onto the rainforest, and I fulfilled another childhood wish by trekking into the jungle, even going barefoot at one point.

Sadly, this was a rather uneventful trek, even though we saw some more venomous spiders and I ate a live ant (I was told I could- it tasted of lemon). We were told to look out for cassowaries, which, as previously stated, can split one in half, but sadly none approached. Oh well, I'm still more badass than you, Dr. Fowkes and all (y)our little friends.

The next and final stop was at the beach, where I encountered this lovely sign:

I love the way the tentacles are artfully missing his lack-of-crotch.
I also want to point out that the beach looked like this:

Ok, the photo doesn't do it justice. Just understand that it was fucking beautiful- the water was pristine and inviting and full of killer jellyfish. *Sigh* Nice one, God, you got us. Also, I totally wrote 'Moi Smells' in the sand but it didn't come out in the picture- but it was definitely there, so, yeah. It's been written on both hemispheres. It's official now.

Anyway, after this we pretty much just headed back to the hostel, but I wanna share one final anecdote with y'all. On the way back, I struck up a conversation with one of my fellow tourees (I don't like how much that sounds like 'Tory', oh well), whose name was Peter. Peter was having a mid-life crisis. You could tell because he kept saying 'this is my trip around the world and then after this, it's settling down and having kids' and then laughing hysterically. Peter lived in San Francisco, but had been all over and was basically filling in the blanks on his travel check-sheet before he reproduced and his life ended. I can only hope I've done as much when my mid-life crisis comes around.
God bless you, Pete, wherever you are, and God help your children.

More photographs to be found here.

That funny reefer man

So...I went to the reef.
That's one to tick off the bucket list.
I also saw Nemo, Dory and a giant clam ('lives under the sea, lots of legs!').
That's another.
And I faced up to one of my greatest ever fears, being stung by a jellyfish.
That was...underwhelming.

Let's start at the beginning, shall we? So, the day after I posted about how glorious N Joy was, I went to the reef. I'm gonna throw in some Travel Writer-y stuff here and say I went with 'Reef Experience', who were extrememly competent and provide breakfast, lunch, sun cream and ginger tablets for the faint of stomach. I also hired an underwater camera through N Joy, and the camera worked very well, but I found the price of replacing one of the parts, which fell to the bottom of the sea bed, to be kinda extortionate.

The boat ride took a lot longer, and was a lot bumpier (though I resisted the ginger*), than I expected; I was one of the only people there on their own, and was thus encouraged to 'follow other divers like a creeper'.

Got your feet.

It made the ride there kinda dull, but they did provide a marine biology lecture, which I attended and remember exactly nothing about. Time well spent.
Finally, we arrived. I'd signed up for introductory diving, and so was given a class in how to breathe, see and avoid touching stuff. I was in group 13 for diving, and so had to wait a while before I took my turn and was informed I could go snorkelling if I so desired.
Good Lord, but snorkelling is awkward. In fact, one could say it was 'snorkward'. But one wouldn't, because one is not a clown. I'd nominally been snorkelling once in Corsica, but all I remember is freaking out because of this big red fish and instead opting to playing gorillas in the shallows. Time well spent.
For one thing, my mask didn't fit- surprise, surprise, my head was too big. I asked for a replacement from a nice American lass named Amanda, who, it transpired, was the boat's resident Marine Biologist (I had honestly forgotten it was she who gave the lecture- snorkward!). She told me I was the politest person they'd ever had aboard, which made me feel good, and then she gave me a new mask which worked a little better, but I still had to get a replacement for the actual scubaing. It turned out this final mask was 'prescription' and is meant to be saved for people with actual medical conditions.
And it still didn't fit correctly.
Anyway, back to snorkelling. I also found it extremely awkward to breathe at first, simply because the natural rhythm involves using one's nose, and this is a big no no for snorkelling. I swallowed huge amounts of sea water, and had to get out of the water several times to soothe my aching throat.
But it was fucking beautiful- in fact, one of the times I swallowed the most water was because I simply couldn't stop myself from gasping at the beauty.
Here are just a few photos:

 

 

and the entire bunch can be found here.

I'd never been open water swimming before, and I'd be lying if I said the experience wasn't slightly disconcerting. But I didn't have a heart attack, which I was a little worried about. However, I was stung by a jellyfish, which I was a LOT worried about.
Now, those who know me very, very well will know that jellyfish are possibly the creature I'm scared of the most. Had I seen the one that stung me, I may not have been able to get into the water, having turned down the opportunity to hire a wetsuit (Amanda assuring me that I wouldn't be stung- nice going, yank!). But it was a drive by stinging- it got me on the back of the leg, then floated off to injure other people. And honestly, I didn't think anything of it- I just thought it was a random sensation caused by the change in pressure. It was only when I got back to N Joy and was showering that I noticed the huge red welt on the back of my leg.
And, honestly, I'm glad it happened that way: it meant I got to see the reef and realise that maybe not all stingers are the devil's minions. Interestingly, though, the day after I went to the reef at least one company stopped going out to the reef cos there were just too many box jellyfish. So, I lucked out there.
Now, to scuba diving. My instructor was named Becky, and she was a scouser. Apart from that, I can't fault her, though, as she was extremely good at pointing out everything I might miss, and had a love of clownfish bordering on the obsessive (I found Nemo. Several times.) She had to hold my hand the entire time because I am what we in the business call a 'bad diver' (also, they'd misjudged the weights I'd need, and I floated away if I wasn't anchored down). I can spout a bunch of cliches about how the reef is like another planet (lack of oxygen, strange plant life, aforementioned floating away due to lack of gravity), and how it's like an underwater forest, but I honestly couldn't do it justice, so I'll just say wait until I post the videos (photos were tricky with Becky holding my hand).
I actually went on two dives, paying for the second aboard the boat, simply because it was too good an experience to turn down a second go. It really was incredible, and if at all possible, I'm gonna return before I leave; my only regret was that I didn't see any turtles, despite visiting a turtle breeding ground. But that's a minor complaint. Everything else was perfect.

Coming soon: Drop bears, spiders and Scarface the crocodile.

*Be Dorothy.