Monday, 17/09/2012 - 94 A.D.
You know this guy? Oh yes, you do. It’s Karl Pilkington, the mate-cum-emotional-punch-bag of Ricky Gervais and master of the miserable Mancunian wit. This guy should be the ambassador for Britain to the rest of the world, if only because of his sheer level of popularity across the globe. I don’t know whether it was An idiot abroad or the The office or the various podcasts, but everyone we run into, no matter their nationality, has heard of and loves him. After quoting Pilkington references at the rate of several an hour with Cass and Tim, I thought he was worth a mention.
It was to be another What Carcass Day, but by default, rather than out of necessity. As mentioned in yesterday’s blog, Timbo was off to visit his colleagues at Sydney’s Unilever office with the aim of maybe coming to work down here at some point in the future. That meant he had an hour’s train ride north to Epping, wherever that was. Me? I had an hour’s train ride south to Miranda, wherever that was.
I’d finally sorted out the iPod situation, one which had been a musical thorn in my side since Cairns. Deciding that it would be a bad idea to buy a brand spanking new machine that could easily be lost, stolen or eaten, I decided to opt for a refurbished pre-owned job. After coming close to ordering one through Ebay and Gumtree, I found a chain of computer shops called E. B. Games that did them with a three month guarantee. Okay, so given that I’ll only be in Oz for another week, the guarantee doesn’t mean much, but at least it fills you with a bit of confidence. Plus one of the shops actually had a 5th generation nano with 16 gigabyte capacity – the rarest of the rare! So I had to have it.
Therefore I found myself on a train heading for a place called Miranda in the southern suburbs of Sydney, not exactly a tourist destination. But it is near Botany Bay…but so is the airport, which is where I was separated from my iPod in the first place! No, don’t think about that. My now-that-I’m-35-resolution is to contemplate less. And possibly to do more, but definitely to contemplate less. Move on, Jimmy, don’t dwell on the past. Incidentally, Tim occasionally calls me “Jimmy”, but only ever when we’re on one of our treks and he needs to get my attention quickly. I’m not going to contemplate why that’s the case, but I’d make a few notes just in case I forgot to mention it at a later date.
The E. B. Games store was located in a shopping centre called Westfield that was oh-so-fortunately located right next to the train station. I went in, showed my order number, got the merchandise, got out, and got back on a train heading north. My whole time in Miranda couldn’t have been much more than ten minutes. It felt like being on a special forces mission – get down to the pick-up point undercover, acquire the secret microchip and get out of there as quickly as possible before the locals get wise to your presence. And the goods were in mint condition, at least on the outside. I wouldn’t be able to tell just how well it worked until I got back to headquarters.
Anyone know what “pokies” are? We’ve been wracking our brains for ages because we keep seeing signs for them everywhere. See if you can come up with the answer by the end of this post. And what of this post? What was I doing next? Oh yeah, having my lunch on the train and heading for a world famous landmark – Bondi Beach. Yeah, yeah, I’m not exactly a beach person, etc., etc., but the end of the line I was on went to Bondi Junction so as I’d paid for the ticket I thought I might as well pop down there for a look. And I had sod all else planned for the afternoon.
You’re expected to alight from the train and get a connecting bus for the 1.6 kilometres or so to the beach, but I was having none of that. I needed to walk off that Chelsea-QPR goal less draw from the night before. And the sun was really starting to come out. First thing in the morning it had been grey skies all over and the vague threat of rain and consequently I’d not even brought suncream out with me. Who do I think I am? Never leave home without the suncream!
Cass and Tim had told me that Bondi Beach was certainly the most famous beach in the country, but by no means the best, not even having the greatest surf on offer. As you know, I’ve seen a few beaches in my time here and when I arrived I found the clifftop walk along the ocean more of a thrill than being on the actual sands. Plus it was very quiet, probably due to being a Monday afternoon and the aforementioned grey skies putting people off. Anyway, I couldn’t stick around too long because of the fear of sunburn.
I also had to get back to base to see if I’d received an email from a priest. Paul the priest, to be exact. Accommodation in Canberra, our next destination, was proving tricky to find. We had planned for two nights on the 18th and 19th, but could only get a room for the 19th. Therefore we’d tried to couchsurf on the 18th and Paul had tentatively agreed to put us up, but he hadn’t been in touch for the last few days and we had to make a decision. If he’d emailed when I got back then we’d happily surf across to his parish, but if he hadn’t then we’d book another night in the YWCA and stick around in Sydney, which is a city we’re more than happy to do another night in. Upon returning to the room, there were no priestly emails, so that put an end to any Father Ted-style shenanigans we may have had planned. Some would say that’s a good thing. We just thought it might be yet another adventure within an adventure.
After booking the extra night, I got down to business with my new toy. Upon powering it up I learned that the iPod was previously owned by someone called Julie who must have been a child given the picture of a birthday cake with few candles on the screensaver, as well as the gargantuan amount of crap teeny bop music spread across the 16 gigabytes. I immediately removed the screensaver, the dross that counts for "muzak" these days and set about adding my own fantastically kool tunes to the memory.
And then it rained in Sydney. And pokies are slot machines.
I thought pokies were walkways for slow people.
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