Sydney

Back at Eva's, a crisis was looming; a voice on the tannoy informed us: 

"There is a THIEF in the hostel. I repeat, a THIEF in the hostel. Two wallets were taken from a plastic bag in the internet room. If ANYONE has any information, please come forward." 

(Pause) 

"The wallets have been returned, but the money is GONE." 

(Another pause. You could tell she didn't want to leave us feeling all bad about it, so back she came again.) 

"It's a shame when these things happen. But there you are." 

Indeed. My only feeling on the subject was that you'd have to have a Black Belt in Stupidity to leave your wallets in a plastic bag for everyone to see.  But there you are. 

Adapting to hostel life wasn't too difficult. To be honest, we didn't spend much time with the other residents, firstly because the communal area had only benches to sit on, which were very hard on the arse, but also because they seemed like a miserable lot who didn't even smile or acknowledge me when I said "hello". 

Mind you, this may have been due to my accent. I have to say that Poms are a real pain in the arse abroad, and this fact seems to be acknowledged by everybody. 

They are UNDOUBTEDLY the loudest, most irritating, most arrogant people you come across. Talking very loudly so you KNOW that they've come all this way FROM ENGLAND DON'T YOU KNOW and gosh, aren't they impressive? 

It's embarrassing, really. Even the Germans were better-behaved than us, and the Americans were positively NICE. But the English seem way too pleased with themselves for my liking.  (And if you are currently feeling smug about the fact that you are Scottish or Irish; don't.  You guys like to HANG OUT WITH THE ENGLISH when you are abroad.)

Mind you, there was one obnoxious Austrian chick who gave Caro shit one morning, we also heard her complaining about the English who "only care about cheap beer." 

Aside from the Pommie accents, the noisiest things around were the birds, which woke us every morning like this: 

"AAAAAAHHHHH!! AAAAAAHHHHH!!!! AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!" 

I'd have preferred "cheep cheep" but I suppose it does get you out of bed on a morning. (Usually thinking: "Oh god, who's being murdered out there???")  But I now have to interrupt this pleasant travelogue for an important John Hopoate Update:

If you are anything like me, you will have wondered what developed from the amazing yet true John Hopoate finger up the arse scandal which was breaking in New Zealand.  It was while in Sydney that I received the news that John had become the posterboy for the New Zealand Cancer Society, pushing the message that prostate exams don’t have to be painful.  

I am not kidding here.  We now return you to Caro and Symon in Sydney.
Now I’ve found a good way to get the vibe of a place you are visiting is to immediately tune in to the local radio stations and I have to say that Australian radio was VERY entertaining.  

While in Sydney I listened to a "How Oz Are You?" competition on Sydney's new radio station "Nova 969".  I thoroughly enjoyed the stories of Ozzie blokes who tied their wives' cats to treadmills because they thought they were getting too fat, or trying to "bog up" their dented cars by melting Yoplait cartons into the holes ("It's the same colour, mate.")  But my favourite had to the story of the Ozzie Dad who got caught illegally parking and was charged 90 dollars ("Bloody hell, bloody parking bastards, who do they think they are??" etc etc.)  Anyway, so Dad sends off his cheque to the council who promptly send it back.  Dad, outraged, calls up the council, "What's the matter isn't my (very bad word) money good enough for ya???"  The council reply, yes but they can't cash a cheque for "ninety BLOODY dollars" which dad had accidentally written there.  I don't think you can get much more Oz than that.