Moving...

The blog. Not me. Its gonna be at http://www.blogabond.com/chat_shit

Go say hey. Oh, and leave lotsa lovely comments...

CLICK

Why...

...do customers insist on calling me to practice their Stupid?

My Hair Is Evil And Must Be Stopped

On account of a combination of a lack of time, abject laziness and being utterly bored of the stereotypical regulation Short N Spiky cut I've been letting my hair get to what passes for long in my world and ok, so whilst its not quite down to my arse quite frankly its frightening.

Back in the UK, years of bleach on bleach meant my hair was in shocking condition, the ends couldn't be legally defined as hair anymore and if you coupled that with the Nasty In Between Stage of hair growth you got something resembling a Tumble Dried Hamster intent on world domination. Since I started travelling and decided that money was better spent on goon rather than hair dye my barnet has recovered and is apparently taking revenge. Current Hair Terror Status is verging on mulletous. Attempts to tame it with overpriced product have proved futile, only the cunning use of hats can slow the onslaught of the follicle uprising.

Mullets are generally frowned upon in civilised society apart from in some parts of Australia such as Adelaide and also right here in New Zealand where, looking around, you'd think they were fucking compulsory. See, three months in the country and I'm practically local.

Now where did I leave that sheep?

Life So Far

I'm ill and not "Where's All My Money Gone, Why Do I Smell Of Kebabs And What's This Traffic Cone Doing In My Bed" kind of ill.
More of a "Sat In The Office Coughing Into The Air Conditioning Whilst Wishing I Wasn't A Temp So I Could Take Full Advantage Of The Company Sick Pay Scheme" kind of ill which of course is infinitely worse but at least I'm legally allowed to bitch about it without smug looks from people eating fry ups.

And yes I said office, I'm a Call Centre Monkey again and no, I have no idea how this happened but my sanity already started packing last week and is threatening to move out permanently.

I do not like customers. I do not wish to service them. It doesn't help that customers take Stupid Lessons and are under the impression that their phone call is the most important thing to happen to me that day.

I wanted to work in a factory, I called the agency and told them I wanted to make the same thing over and over again for 8 hours a day because that's the kind of ambitious go-getter I am. Apparently they had nothing like that but they practically creamed themselves when they saw I'd spent two years taking verbal abuse off the good people of the UK because the inept depots once again failed to deliver their water on time and this was somehow my fucking fault. Not that I'm bitter or anything. Oh no.

*twitches a bit*

I also spend 2 hours a day at the backpackers vacuuming, mopping and hoping to god that the wet patch I just put my hand in on a mattress was where someones hot water bottle leaked and isn't in fact piss and I spend Friday and Saturday nights getting a room full of queers drunk up at Family Bar although I'm not sure any of this will counteract the fattening effects of working in an office with a vending machine full of cookies and a Subway across the car park so basically I'm doomed, at least my waistline is anyway. And my pocket, I need three jobs just so I can afford the vast quantities of chocolate required to survive working in customer service and the vodka required to overcome the trauma of dealing with people who I'm surprised have the mental capacity to operate a telephone, let alone use it to call me and make my day miserable.

Anyway, if you'll excuse me I'm off to drink some tea and take calls from people who are under the grave misconception that I give a flying fuck.

A Word Of Advice

Maybe it's just me.

Maybe it's because I'm weirded out by empty backpackers run by a man in a baseball hat that somehow looks slightly too large for his head and his European missus, or maybe it's just because I think you should be allowed to bring your mates into the place you're staying with it after all being your temporary home.

It could be because I resent being told I essentially have go to bed at 11pm because they're closing the TV room, communal area, kitchen and dining room at that time or perhaps its just because I prefer to do my own laundry as opposed to handing it over to two people who are barely about.

So yeah. Maybe it's just me that hated staying at Auckland International Backpacker in Parnell.

Probably because I have issues with people other than my mother washing the skid marks out of my knickers.

One Month In The Capital

With Wellington being the nation's capital an all that there are plenty of things to do to keep you entertained and some of them don't even involve alcohol. Most do involve coffee on account of the copious amounts of cafes, each one with its little fan club that claims it does the Best Coffee In Wellington. Well whatever gets your rocks off, once you've added the three spoons of sugar that makes coffee palatable it all tastes the same to me.

Aaanyway, here we go. Tourist type stuff I got up to before taking off up north to the nation's Should Be The Capital, Auckland.

Wellington Cable Car.... Rowena's Lodge.... Wellington From Mt Vic; At Night

Cable Car To The Botanic Gardens
On account of the fact New Zealand is made entirely of hills you'll find that some of the tourist attractions involved climbing up them or rolling down them. In Wellington they have a handy cable car that'll take you up one of the aforementioned hills up to the Botanic Gardens where you get to spend a few hours wandering round and looking at trees and more hills.

Wellington is one of those places that'll either get you really fit really quickly or have you crawling to the NHS and begging for a new pair of lungs.


Mount Victoria
Take a group of backpackers. Remove alcohol. Add boredom and a Mancunian bloke called Dan who suggests we all walk up Mount Victoria in the dark.

It's a stunning view from the top in all honesty, I still haven't been up in the daylight though. When I pass back through I'll head back up there. In the car.


Red Rock Seal Colony
So you drive for about 15 minutes to the beginning of the 4WD only road, park up and begin the 1.5 hour trek to see the seals that are sprawled out over the rocks at various points along the walk. It's so cool to see them.

I could so easily be a seal, me. I could get fat and blubbery and spend my days lounging around looking bored and stinking of fish. In fact catch me on any given Sunday and I'm almost there.



Getting Away
It took me a grand total of three days to get fed up of answering the retarded questions of people that in England we'd describe as A Bit Council and picking stuff up that the general public were too fucking lazy to return to the shelves themselves for a measly, piddling NZ$12 per hour so I handed my notice in and headed up to Auckland. It took a mere 10 hours by car to get there followed by about 90 minutes of driving round the city, swearing loudly at the map book which was clearly lying to me. After not being able to find the backpackers I was booked into I ended up in a tent for two nights at City Garden Lodge before there was room inside.

As feral and outdoorsy as I like to think I am not even I'm happy about camping out when the temperature drops to 1 degree and you're kept awake all night wondering if the tent you borrowed leaks.

Fair weather camper indeed. I want to go back to the Tropics.

Random Nuggets Of Information #5

Getting to a new place and Settling In means I haven't had a great deal to blog about that doesn't involve stress and/or drinking. Fortunately my ego is big enough to continue telling the world all about me me me whether they're interested or not so brace yourself for a few paragraphs all about my first month in, as the locals say, Nu Zuland.

I have no idea how they'd pronounce "elocution."


Finding Work
Three weeks it took me to get a job. Three bloody weeks! I've never attended so many interviews that have those inane questions such as;
"Why do you want to work here?" (Because you'll give me money.)
"What's the most important thing you look for in a job." (Wages.)
"How would your best friend describe you?" (An anally retentive nerd with bad hair and appalling taste in music.)
"Describe yourself in 5 words." (Seriously? Ok. Cold, tired, narky and sexually frustrated.)
"And what could you bring to the company?" (Donuts on Fridays if that's what it takes!)

Eventually I got 40 hours a week in a national chain store where for the first time in 10 years I have to take my piercings out for work. Yep, I'm a corporate retail whore. Every day before work I put all my jewellery in little sealy bags and wave goodbye to my thought processes for 8.5 hours, then I don my bright red shirt complete with name badge in case enough of my brain disintegrates and I forget who I am and spend the day rearranging things on racks.

And How Can I Help You?
It's the most boring job in the world surpassed only by that time I decided that making plastic envelopes was a viable career option but it's a job init. They pay shit wages but they do pay wages and after all, that's the most important thing we look for in a job, right?

...Right?


New Wheels
I'm now the proud owner of a Toyota Camry station wagon. Thankfully it's not the 3.9 litre 6 cylinder beast my last car was given the shocking price of fuel over here but it's big enough to sleep two people without kicking each other in the head or waking up with cramps. And by waking up I mean from the kind of broken attempt at sleep that happens when you're folded in half on the back seat of a sedan. I'm also a bit disturbed at the longness of it and anyone who ever saw me try and park the Falcon will understand why but I love it. Not as much as the Falcon yet, I loved that car about as much as it's possible to love a car without it being A Bit Funny but I'm sure once me and the Camry (who is apparently called Harry) are on the road we'll develop that special bond that single people with no pets have with their vehicles.

Shaggin' Wagon

And In Other News
About 4 years after everyone else in the world I'm now addicted to playing Scrabulous through Facebook. I'm not very good at it though, I get excited if I can make words of more than four points and it doesn't help that I keep getting letters the Welsh would cream over. But come on, bring it on, I'll 'av ya.


The Only Gay In The Village
If this continues I'll have to be physically restrained in the cucumber section at New World.

That is all.

Welcome To New Zealand, Eh Bro

The question I get asked more than any other is, "How do you get through customs?" which is a reference to the unnecessary amount of metal I have through various parts of my head. My usual reply (which is always accompanied by a "my my aren't you funny and original and I've never heard that one before" sort of laugh) is "No worries, I never get stopped." Now I was never particularly good in English Lit, my understanding of irony isn't strong but I think this might be it.

So I made it to New Zealand yesterday with only minor hassles and by minor I mean being accused of smuggling drugs by a dog with a penchant for squeaky toys being handled by an eight foot Maori woman. I may be exaggerating slightly but when you're sat there while a man shouts at you for putting your hand in your pockets with visions of latex gloves flashing through your mind things do seem a bit out of proportion, I mean, I've never been in trouble with the police or customs before. This was a whole new thing for me. I shake when I'm pulled over for a random breath test even if I haven't had a drink for three days. I don't deal well with people in uniforms thinking I've done stuff I haven't, I just ooze guilt from every pore, I feel like I have "I DID IT AND DAMMIT I'D DO IT AGAIN!" written across my forehead in permanent marker.

Before the customs guy searched my bag he told me if they didn't find anything they might strip search me and you know what was going through my mind? Honestly? All I could think was, fuck, I wish I'd bothered shaving this morning. If I was gonna have to get naked in front of strangers whilst stone cold sober I could at least look vaguely hot instead of having a minge you could sand door frames with. I made a mental note to improve personal grooming before any future flights just in case.

So he searched my bags and jacket, all the time asking me loads of questions about my drug use and have I come into contact with anyone who uses drugs and if I did drugs it was ok as long as I didn't try and bring them into New Zealand. He emptied everything out onto an aluminium bench, went through all my pockets (bear in mind I wear combat trousers, I'm a huge fan of pockets) and by the time he'd gone through my bags and found nothing he let me go.

Without a strip search.

Shame. It'd have been the most action I'd seen in a fortnight.

Bula, Fiji

Arrived Fiji: 09/05/08
Left Fiji: 20/05/08

New Zealand conjures up many images. A country steeped in tribal history and culture, it makes me think of the Haka and fierce warriors, beautiful countryside and stunning vistas. It also conjures up images of sheep, snow and rain as opposed to sunshine, beaches and tropical warm waters ideal for someone who is adverse to being a bit nippy to learn to scuba dive in.

So I went to Fiji for 11 days.

Over 300 islands make up Fiji. Places like the Yasawas and Robinson Crusoe island are where the backpackers flood to but I just wanted a quiet time. Oh come on, I'm only a year off Nearly Thirty, the idea of sitting on my arse and reading a book appeals to me now and anyways I didn't want any alcohol related distractions while I was learning to dive. I'd booked a dorm room at McDonalds Beach Cottages on Nananu-I-Ra island, sort of at the top of the Viti Levu (the main island), where the biggest inconvenience is waiting for your hammock to swing the right way so you can reach your beer.

After one night in Nadi I was picked up by a taxi driver called Andy who would be driving me to the boat that'd take me to the island. Its a two and a half hour drive (cost FJD$130), most of which I slept for, waking up at intervals to find I was leaning as far to the right as my seat belt would allow because it doesn't matter where you sit, there's something about sleeping whilst sitting up that causes you to gravitate towards the person sitting closest to you with you tongue hanging out and drool trickling down your chin in search of a stranger's shoulder. The shoulder of your partner or best friend will do if there's no one else but if there's someone you've never met in your life then that's where the drool wants to be and will defy physics to get there.

I digress. *wipes chops*

After the drive and a 15 minute boat ride I checked into McDonalds, introduced myself to Mark and Margaret who were also staying there, got a beer and as I sat down the heavens opened with that kind of warm, torrential rain you only find in the tropics.

Top: Andy.... Obligatory Hammock Photo.... Sunset Over Nananu-I-Ra
Bottom: Mark And Margaret (No, Mark Isn't Nekkid In That Photo).... McDonald's Boat.... Pretty
It rained for a few of the days I was there but you generally don't mind when it's that warm, the Fijians were freezing but I just kept it in mind that I was going to a place that warranted central heating and engine coolant was called anti-freeze and counted my lucky stars. And anyway, after couple of days I started my course with Kaviti Divers and spent most of my time underwater.

The course started with a man called Bola rocking up to where I was chilling one evening, handing me a PADI handbook and asking me to complete sections 1 to 3 before I started the actual course in two days time. I assured him I would then proceed to get drunk with Mark and Margaret on Fiji Bitter, the section of my brain that contained the information on which sections I was meant to complete being semi destroyed. The next day I began my studies hoping that I'd remembered which bits to do.

I haven't had to learn anything out of a book for over ten years let alone do tests, by the end of it my brain was fried and my highlighter pen had run out. I only had it for drawing on maps, education wasn't part of the deal and clearly it had issues with it but that was the boring bit over with. Jiorji was my instructor, a good bloke who greeted me with the words, "Bula bula! Welcome to sunshine Fiji!" I glanced back at the drizzle. Right.

After a few confined water dives and practising skills I hope I never have to use such as losing my regulator or mask or my air running out (come on, how much practise can prepare you for that kind of panic??) we headed out one morning to the Bligh Waters for my first open water dive. How exciting?

Diver!.... Some Fish An Stuff.... Sea Snake.... Lion Fish.... Jiorji And A Fat, Red Me
Despite not pumping my body full of goon and snake bite the previous night I was still sick as a dog. Apparently this time it was because I had sausage for breakfast. I wouldn't mind but they weren't even good sausages. The sausages I deposited into the Bligh Waters were the worst bangers I've ever eaten in my life. But anyway, I still got a couple of dives in but had to abandon the third dive in favour of alternating between curling up in a small ball, whimpering quietly and hanging my head over the side.

The Bligh Waters are a stunning place to learn to dive though, we saw some of the coolest things. After a day off we went back out to finish my course then I went out on my certified dive. Over the course of all my dives we saw Murray eels, heaps of fish and coral, barracudas, a white tipped reef shark, a sea snake and a couple of lion fish. Two years in the land of Things That Can Poison You Or Tear You Limb From Limb taught me nothing, I still followed the sea snake for a photo op. I think they're pretty venomous, they just don't care enough to bite you is all. Lion fish are poisonous too. I'm not sure if you have to actually suck them in order to die or if they just have to take a fancy to your extremities. I'll look it up and let you know.

I fucking love diving so much, seriously, its amazing. It's a whole different world, I can't wait to start diving in other parts of the world and to do some more courses. It ain't cheap but hey, gotta have a hobby apart from travel and what two hobbies go better together than travel and diving? Apart from drinking and shagging but that aside.

Anyway, its official. Finally I'm a diver.

And not just of the muff variety.

Bye Then, Australia

It's been an awesome 2 years in Australia and I leave tomorrow for a quick holiday in Fiji. I've seen and done some amazing things and met the best people to do them with. From the arid, red deserts of the centre to the laid back variety of the west and the bustling, busy east, we've done a lap and taken a drive to the middle. Some people are gonna be mates for life, we'll meet again somewhere around the world, maybe go on another adventure or just relive the hot days and messy goon nights. Other people I'll lose touch with as time goes by, we had fun and I'll never forget them but every single one of these people, these fleeting moments have made Australia the once in a lifetime adventure it was.

The places I've been and the things I've seen have been incredible but the people I've done them with made it special. Anyone can stand and gaze over a stunning lookout, relax in a naturally thermal pool, swim in a crystal clear waterfall plunge pool, watch a spectacular sunset or breathtaking moon rise but if you have your mates to share it with it somehow brings it to life. You have someone to laugh with, play with and someone to talk about the day with as you chill out in the garden at a backpackers with a cask of goon or as you kick back round a camp fire and stare at the unimaginable blanket of stars above you.

Backpackers on the same journey as you become your family and you become theirs, you see them day after day at the hostel or you head out on a road trip together and you quickly get to know and trust them like you've known them for years, you can't remember life without them. You cook together, eat together, drink together and sleep together. Not like that you filthy minded... ok sometimes yeah...

Even the people you meet when you settle in a town or city for a while, the locals all affect you and change the course of your life in some small way. Four months are like eight while you travel, its not a so-called normal life or situation, everything seems somehow intensified or speeded up. You sweep into the lives of locals, become their friends and they become part of who you are and affect the way you think then you're gone again just as quickly, an insignificant blip in time and you wonder if they'll remember you like you'll remember them, if you affected them like they touched you and added that bit extra to your life. Sometimes these are the hardest people to say goodbye to, I've said it before, its so hard to explain to someone why you have to leave when sometimes you don't want to, you just know its the best decision.

I think that sometimes I lose touch with whats important. Its not about how many mountains you can climb or rivers you can swim, how many places you can travel to or cultures you can absorb, its about who you do it with because that person or those people are the ones that are going to make your adventure everything it can be and so much more. It doesn't have to be the same people for every journey or road trip, it could be with someone you've known for a while or someone you met a week ago in the hostel and drunkenly agreed you were going to head to the next destination together (yep, that's happened). You might even think you'll be doing part of the journey alone them someone wanders up and asks if they can come too.

And the hardest part, the part I'll never get used to is letting go and saying goodbye. Starting afresh with a new country and a whole new set of people to get to know but then isn't that what its all about? Meeting people? Starting new friendships without letting the old ones fall by the wayside? Going on new and totally different adventures with new and totally different people?

Bring on the unknown.