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.

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.

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.

Soapbox

Yesterday, I visited the immigration museum. This in itself could merit a fine, if somewhat trite, blog post, because the museum is well put together, pleasingly designed and just plain interesting. It also had stuffed blackbirds in dickie bows:

You can't see it, but the sign pronounces that they're singing 'bye bye, blackbird', which is just the kind of inane detail I love in a museum. This was part of an exhibit about all the animals which were exported to Australia and also included artful arrangements of cockroaches:

The first one to say the guy in the reflection is a cockroach is a dead man,

 And rats:

It just needs Rik as a judge.

All of which is very charming and makes for a nice, if somewhat trite, anecdote. However, the main reason I wanted to talk about the immigration museum was because of the context in which I saw it: I had just read in The Age that Julia Gillard was going to continue to allow employers to discriminate against people because of their sexuality and that she had previously declared that she wouldn't be implementing marriage equality.
And then I came across this display:

Which is about one of Australia's first mixed marriages in Australia between a greek immigrant and an aboriginal woman. The sign talked about the difficulties they faced as a mixed-ethnicity couple but then concluded that this was no longer an issue, and that the term 'mixed marriage' isn't even used anymore because Australia's just so damn progressive when it comes to love.

Ahem.

And then there was this display: 

Which touches on Jewish immigrants, and says how they weren't really accepted until the holocaust made people realise that anti-semitism isn't cool. There were other minority groups exterminated in the concentration camps, you know.
And then the entire second floor was dedicated to diversity and how great it is. In the interest of fairness, there was one instance of the word 'queer', thrown in amongst a bunch of other slurs which we were told can cause offence.

As I said, the museum was engaging and well-designed; I just wasn't feeling it. I don't know if I'll come back to Australia in my later life, but I certainly wouldn't consider moving here until some serious progress is made vis-a-vis equality. However, if that progress is ever made, I should have no problem coming back, because the museum included a replica of the Australian citizenry test, and I passed with flying colours.

Also of note: this is the only museum to have ever made me feel sea sick.

+2 to improvisation, -6 to navigation

I’ve just returned from a theatre games workshop- yet again, the first time I’ve done one since last year. It was being run by a bunch of ex-students of the University of Melbourne and there was even someone who was in Neighbours there! (A squee, I do confess, a squee.) It was billed to me as an improvisation workshop, but apart from ole reliable Spacejump (“it’s like a Russian doll”, “a one person activity that isn’t that”- theatre introductions are identical the world over, it would seem), there were actually very few games involving theatrical improvisation.

They were more the kind of games that are employed by enthusiastic teens whilst they take care of disinterested youths- but fun, nonetheless. I will be returning next week, assuming I am told the time- the world really is geared towards those with Facebook. It was nice to hang with folks my own age who aren’t the rec room 2 crew and I got a free sociolinguistics textbook out of it- I even met some ex-exchangers, and got a glimpse of what life may be like post-uni for those of us who have flown so close to the sun that is living abroad.

Today also marks the first time I felt I got the full value of my day ticket- I went from Fairfield, to Melbourne central, to Brunswick, back to Melbourne Central and eventually to Clifton Hill. It was in use for nigh on six hours!

I would also like to relate a small incident I had in trying to reach this workshop- as with everything worth doing, there were several minor inconveniences. First off it was, raining, Edinburgh-style. Mini-rivers, with tides and ox-bows, the whole shebang, sprang up like cupcake shops in an affluent cycle. But the real inconvenience was finding the place.

The workshop took place at ‘Broken Mirror Productions’- which I really expected to leave Google blank- but no, it was one of their first suggestions. I noted down the directions from Google maps dutifully, and they got me absolutely nowhere. Unless ‘left’ and ‘right’ have changed meaning in the past few days and I wasn’t informed- it was probably put on Facebook- I was lead to the middle of an alley, between two carpet shops, and the directions were proudly telling me that this was an avant garde arts space.

I then tried using Google navigator on my phone, and was there in minutes. Why they can’t share information between the two, I have no idea, but they’re obviously run by different people, and I gotta say maps, navigator are kicking your ass. You have two weeks to turn it around. 

P.S. I guess I have no sense of direction in Australia, either. Alack. 

Penguins and possums and fruit bats, oh my!

PENGUINS.

Sorry, I like to think I'm normally slightly more eloquent than that, but it has to be said: I SAW PENGUINS IN THE WILD! Real, live, tiny, cute, shy, beautiful PENGUINS!
John, a fellow Yarra-n, took Jason and me out to St. Kilda's beach last night; a short walk along the pier, a hop, skip and a jump along a frankly somewhat perillous walkway spanning the riled ocean, and there they were.

PENGUINS.

Real, live, fuzzy, breathing, squawking PENGUINS! I was a foot away from one at one point- I could have reached out and touched him, had I so desired. I didn't, because that would have been cruel and I'm not a cruel person, but by God, it was tempting. The species I saw were called 'Little Penguins', changed from the not so PC 'Fairy Penguins'. And they look like this:


Ladies.

 They are the most adorable thing one could imagine, and one looked right at me with his beady little eyes and I genuinely wanted to just squeal (ask Jason and I probably did.) Sadly, I was only allowed to coo over them for about half-an-hour as we had to return before our parking ticket ran out. But I will return. I vow this. I will see more

PENGUINS.

Real, live, terrified, kidnapped, mine now PENGUINS.

Epilogue:
To make sense of the title, Jason and I went for a stroll before I trip to see the- well, you know. And we saw a fruit bat, very large, very fast, very close.
And then another.
And another.
Then four.
Then five.
You see where I'm going with this? There were hundreds, filling the sky, clogging the horizon with their slightly creepy silhouettes. It was slightly like the scene in the wizard of oz, where the witch sends her little minions out to get them! and I had to stop myself from calling out 'Monkeys' in a Rik Hart baritone. I elected not to so as not to annoy Jason by talking even more about TWWOO.
Then, on the way back, we saw a possum- smaller than the one which crossed my path a couple of weeks ago- he scarpered when he saw us: not up a tree, as expected, but down a train. Proving that a leopard may change its spots and a possum its exits.

Hello from the future

It's five in the morning on July 13th here (my first real day in Australia is Friday the 13th, oh dear...). I have officially been beaten by jet lag, and cannot get back to sleep; my current plan is to exit yarra ASAISA (As Soon As Is Socially Acceptable), and go explore the city, taking time to do all those jobs one must do once one moves- open a bank account, get a new mobile, acquire some friends.
Ah yes, the eternal search for companionship. Once I'd finally settled in, had the tour and unpacked (I am now the sort of person who unpacks- deal with it), I was faced with a choice; either try and get some sleep, or go out there and meet my new comrades. Now, bear in mind I'd been travelling for 36 hours and had slept an estimated 6 hours during that time. I'll admit it, I was irritable. I was scared of what I might say, and how this may affect future friend-making. Case in point: I had gotten the 546, as instructed, but did not alight at the correct stop. *cue sad trumpet* I crossed the road to the bus stop opposite, where the same bus would pick me up and take me in the opposite direction. Soon after, a woman plodded up and I promptly asked her the time, she gave it to me, and then I foolishly asked her directions to Yarra house, lest I should be able to walk. She had never heard of such a place, but told me she thought the bus driver would have.
Forty or fifty times.
Not in a row, you understand, but interspersed with telling me her family history (no joke, one time her dad delivered furniture to Buckingham palace) asking me which suburb I wanted to go to, and interrogating me as to which university I was attending (she herself was a LaTrobe graduate). These conversational curiosities also bore repeating, in her eyes.
I nearly punched her.
She was the most insipid woman I had ever met, to paraphrase Austen, and I am not Elizabeth Bennet, I am not Emma Woodhouse and I am certainly not Fanny Price (heh heh, Fanny). Now, as anyone who knows me will attest, I am the most sweet-natured and kind soul you will ever meet- but beneath that burns a fire, which takes very little kindling to reach white hot terminal combustion. And this woman was piling on the logs like there was no tomorrow. She is lucky to be unharmed.
So, clearly I was in no state to meet my new best friends for life, and I decided to nap before heading for the trenches. I slept for four hours and then set off to the games room. Empty. I tried the recreation room. Empty. The kitchen? Empty.
I returned to my room, trod down the growing feeling I was going to be alone for a year, and circled back upon myself, where I found a man sitting in the games room. Success? I wish. The man was not unfriendly, don't get me wrong, but he was very happily watching TV and didn't need a new English friend. He asked the room at large (there was someone else there, asleep) what we wanted to watch, and, since it was on, I suggested the film 'Hanna'. This somewhat reminds me of the time I tried to seduce someone by showing them 'Batman Returns'.

Ladies.

This is not to say Hanna is a bad film, but it does not generate discussion- it's just too bizarre. The only thing one can think of saying is 'wha-huh?' Especially if you haven't seen it before. Alack.

So, once the film ended, I shot the man a smile and retreated to my room. I woke up four hours later, and broke a glass I had on my bedside table. Smooth. 

So, in conclusion, I've had 14 hours' sleep over the past three days, I broke the glass I was so kindly given by the RA, I've failed to meet anyone and I'm on course to live some kind of nocturnal existence while here. But, not for me the furrowed brow, tomorrow I can woo them all with my James Bond-style charm. Watch out Oz, the British are coming.

P.S. On the second leg of my journey, I was once more sat behind a baby, who screamed his lungs out the entire time. Guess how many mommies he had? That's right, only one. Give it up, breeders, gaybies are just better.

Plane-talkin'

I currently sit in the free wifi lounge of Seoul international airport, South Korea. This is officially the farthest I've ever been from 'home', wheree'er I choose that to be, the first time I've been out of Europe, the first time I've been to a country where I speak literally none of the language (I think 'Incheon' means 'Seoul', but personally I think it sounds like a new pokemon).
On the flight, I was seated in the mid-row seat, right behind a baby, so, as you can imagine, I was in for a fun ride. Except, neither proved an issue- the woman to my left was very talkative, but not overly so; she was also quite picky with her food, so I got two cakes and an extra omelette at breakfast (I had to choose between pre-made omelettes and pre-made porridge; is there no god?!); I don't think the man to my right spoke English, but he didn't get huffy when I accidentally elbowed him so I've decided I liked him. The baby was actually a delight- only two short bursts of tears, quickly allayed by one of her mothers (I took her stoic silence as conclusive proof that gay parents raise the best kids) or one of the stunningly beautiful women who sashayed up and down the aisles, bows in hair and water jugs in hand. They really were very acommodating- as far as I was aware, I was the only one awake on the plane at one point and one of them still thought to come and offer me refreshment. The in-flight movies were also not to be sniffed at- I caught up with The Lorax, Wrath of the Titans and Friends with Kids, so I'm pretty solid for next year's Oscars, I imagine. The one problem was, as previously alluded, I Could Not Sleep.
It was frustrating.
I was too hot.
I was too cramped.
I was too vertical.
I wanted to find out if the Lorax ever restored his beloved forest.
Kay, a creative writing teacher at Warwick University, who also happened to be the woman to my left, dozed off as soon as she wished. Same story with the wee bairn in front of me. Just like in Sleeping Beauty, I watched everyone else fall into a deep and magical sleep whilst I stared at what I presume is the Korean for lavatory. Then I played Pac-man, but the controls didn't work. Then I played Street Fighter but I always sucked at that game, so I gave up. I have some sleeping pills (sadly inaccessible during the last flight, which I have now stuffed into my trouser pocket, so hopefully the next journey will not expand my filmic horizons so broadly but will leave me feeling less like a punching bag with a bladder problem. But I may stay up to watch  the last five minutes of Friends with Kids, sadly stolen by the inconvenience of landing- I really hope Julia and Jason get together- they've earnt it.