Bollocks - Blogabond

On account of the fact I've had fuck all money and therefore no motivation to peel myself off whatever couch happens to be handy apart from when I have to go and slave in a field I haven't quite managed to put together a suitably coherent post. I mean, I've been up to stuff since I got to Darwin, not much though because there's no fucking work in Darwin but yeah, stuff has occurred.

The following has been brought to you by abject laziness, a touch of boredom and no small amount of confusion as to why my usually fantastically reliable luck appears to have taken a holiday.

See I Did Have A Life Before Australia
So I was mincing through Darwin pretending like I was employable or something when I saw a man in a sarong and I thought, "Hmm. Man in a sarong" because lets face it, men in sarongs walking through Darwin are about as common as lesbians with 31 piercings walking through Darwin. Then I recognised him, it was Tristan, the stoner hippy Aussie I lived with at Stockmore Street in Oxford for a year about 4 or 5 years ago during one of the vaguer, messier periods of my life. There were some fun nights and days at Stockmore Street with our digital TV, PS2, mixing decks and an abundance of people who came round our place to party. The UV Wall was the centre of attention, I was a perverse mix of cybergoth, punk and crusty, kittens made great toys for fucked people and the Smily Army started to grow.

Tristan In The Old Days Of Stockmore Street

But still, good times and I do miss them but they weren't good for me. Tristan now works and lives at The Rock, an indoor rock climbing gym based in a WWII water tank, its fucking cool and means I get to go and play on fibreglass rock face 9 metres higher than normal. Regular readers will be aware of my fascination with putting myself in High Up places then wondering why because I generally like it better when incapacitation or death isn't imminent. Chilling with Tris is like we were never apart and the other guys at the gym are cool an all.

One Of The Lads

NOT My Most Flattering Angle

Anyway, so that's the main Darwin story. These days I stay in touch with everyone whether they mean anything to me or not. I'm in touch with random people I met only once and with people who didn't touch me in ways others did and I don't mean that in a filthy way. Well, not everybody anyway.

But the point is I've been reunited with someone I should never have lost touch with in the first place and hopefully, where ever I am or where ever he is we'll manage to stay mates from here on in.

The Top End City
The first thing you need to know about Darwin is that it's hot. Its winter in Australia but Darwin doesn't do winter. It does the Wet (50C and close to 100% humidity, monsoonal rains, cyclones and flash floods) and the Dry (around 30C in the day, never drops below 20C even at night, still quite humid, chance of rain is minimal). The Dry is when every backpacker and his Ford Falcon is in Darwin, I made the mistake of rocking up at the height of the Dry when there's more people than jobs.

Random Overheard Comment Whilst Watching The Sunset @ Mindil Beach Sunset Markets: "Wow, its like a big ball of fire init!"

Mindil Beach Sunset

Really? Ya reckon??

Apart from the odd retard, Mindil Beach on a Thursday and Sunday evening is the place to be. Live music (usually involves didge) and loads of food plus the usual home made jewellery and tie-dye which is compulsory at every market. And and and! Unless you have a severe addiction to buying stuff you don't want or need its free.

I had a couple of good nights out in Darwin, one thanks to the misguided notion that I might get work soon and one thanks to the Vic and their penchant for cheap or free food, party games and giving away beer. I think they work on the theory the drunker we are the larier we'll be and the more fun the night'll be.

Good Times

Nice Jugs, Krystal

Oh how right they are.

Twisting My Melon, Man
Ever tried to imagine Hell On Earth?

Take a mate and go down Coles or Tescos or whatever supermarket happens to own the country you live in. Feeling a bit posh? Try Waitrose. Students and backpackers, stick to the Co-Op.

Find a decent sized watermelon and play catch with it. Now imagine doing this for a minimum of four hours a day seven days a week.

In an oven.

On account of the fact I have tits and therefore can't be trusted to pick enough melons I get to do other things such as Drive The Tractor or Put Things In Boxes. It's definitely easier but this still has to be the worst job I've ever had surpassed only by that time I decided that cleaning in the slaughter room in an abattoir was a viable career option, instead of sheep heads hitting me in the noggin its melons hitting me in the tits but its still almost as unpleasant.

Melon The Flea Bitten Mutt

Backpacker House

The backpacker house is cool, its like a hostel without the rules and the omnipotent "Don't Do This, Don't Do That" signs everywhere. The other people are wicked, you get four dogs to play with and if you don't mind the fleas its all good. The only other thing you have to deal with is being patronised by the sons although after receiving detailed and comprehensive instructions on how to use a rubber stamp I did manage not to slap Sam. Do I get a medal?

But yeah. Fuck it. Fuck melons. I'm off to the Lesbian Metropolis that is Alice Springs, not that I saw any dykes last time I was there but to be honest its difficult to notice much when you constantly have your face buried in a pint of beer.

Curly And Krystal's Goodbye Message At The End Of The Loooong Dirt Road To The Melon Farm

Kindred Spirits
I have discovered that the Taiwanese have the same appalling taste in cheesy music as I have.

Always good to know you're not alone as a minority.

written by

Koala Bear on August 21, 2007 from Batchelor, Australia

from the travel blog: Sod Off Great Big Mission Round Oz

tagged Work and Bollocks

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