Who's For a Kebab!

Kebabs! an institution of the drunk Britain, many evenings I've had wandering down Cowley Road, Lothian Road, Commercial Street(replace Kebab with baked tattie!), when the notion hits that what I really, really, really need is a piece of unnamed meat wacked in a flat bread and then stuffed with raw salad vegetables and then smothered in fire starting chilli sauce.
Well fast forward till now, here I am in Australia and I've made 2 shocking discoveries:

1) Kebabs aren't in fact a British delicacy, but actually originate from the Middle East

and

2) Australians appear to be as much in love with them as we are back home but, wait for it, eat them sober!


I do remember speaking to a few of our Australian chums back home, and they were always quick to mention(when the subject turned to Kebabs) that their Kebabs were so much better than those in Britain. Well it's taken a trip to Byron Bay, half way up the east coast of Australia, to find out that they were telling the truth.
There I was, tent all erected in the hippy commune, wearing my new cargo style shorts(the women in the shop said they'd make me look cool!) hand in hand with Jules walking down to the beach. When Jules pulls up, "fancy a Kebab",
"What"
"A kebab! There different here, and I'm hungry"
"hmmm, alright then"

So off we trot into the kebab shop, to my horror I wasn't confronted by the comforting figure of a hairy Turkish gentleman with a big belly, larger moustache and a variety of stains on his white apron. No, quite the opposite I was confronted by an attractive enough young lady, wearing a polo shirt, which happened to be very clean.
That wasn't the only difference, lookin up at the menu, my choice wasn't Doner(small, medium or large) and Chicken Doner(Thurs only), but seafood assortment, lamb, beef, chicken, kangaroo, emu, snake, crocodile, widgittygrub, koala, cookaburra, cockatoo, the choice was endless(well big) and most importantly every meat had a name.
Jules opted for the vegetarian, which in Britain would have meant a slightly larger scoop of the lettuce, tomato, onion combo but in OZ actually meant a choice of a mighty selection of healthy looking salads and vegetables. I opted for the chicken, which wasn't shaved from a large cone shaped object, but actually contained chicken breast, and impressively it was Monday.
So, we both had our bases, and now just to choose the sauce, chilli or garlic mayonnaise or if your wacky, a combination of the two. Well, the young lady asks
"what sauce would you like?, we have sweet chilli, hot chilli, satay, barbecue, honey mustard, citric fusion, tomato salsa, tiryaki, garlic mayonnaise with a hint of tyme, a lovely white wine vinegar dressing, and my personal favourite, a rich seafood sauce caught fresh this morning!"
"hot chilli" I say, well, there's only so much variety a guy can handle.
Then she does something completely unexpected, something which I'm sure she's spent the best part of a year at evening class to prefect. I can only liken this to the ability to draw shamrocks in the top of Guinness. She takes the meat filled bread and folds it into the perfect wrap, no hesitation, no fumbling, quick as you like, one second a sprawling mass, the next a perfectly formed ready to eat masterpiece of middle east Australian culinary fusion. Rolls it in a piece of paper, hands me a napkin and says "enjoy the rest of your day"
Well, hold on a minute, now I like to think of myself as a bit of a connoisseur of Kebabs, I've travelled the length and breadth of our own country and I've been in hundreds if not thousands of kebab shops, hell! I've even been to Turkey, and never have I seen such a sight. Kebabs aren't meant to be neat, your meant to wake up the next morning and either have
a) the most stained shirt you've ever seen
or, and probably worse
b) used the kebab as a pillow

But here in the land down under, the kebab has evolved into a respectable lunch time snack, neat, clean and tasty. I am however sure of one thing though, if your sitting on a beach in the 40 degree heat of midday in Byron Bay, hot chilli sauce is not such a good idea!

See Gary and Julia without them seeing you. Only less creepy and weird than that sounds...

Wig | Barquing

Some time ago, you might recall that Gary and Julia starred in a dodgy (not that sort of dodgy) short student film going by the name of "Norman's Land". It just so happens - as these things do - that the big screen* premiere of this film will be taking place in their absence. Tsk. On the plus side, anyone in the vicinity of East Oxford on the 29th January is welcome to attend if you really have nothing else better to do (like picking toe-nails, cleaning gutters, juggling tramps, that sort of thing) the film is one of about twenty short films made over the last year at the OFVM in Oxford, but according to the programme they sent me, it looks like its one of the first - so you could run away early.
Tickets are £3 (yes, they're charging real British pounds) and the venue is the Pegasus Theatre on Magdalen Road. Everything kicks off at about 7.30 or so.

Of course, I think I've foisted the bloody thing on everyone and anyone who's made the mistake of being in the vicinity of both me and a DVD player, so I appreciate that anyone living near Oxford as probably seen it by now, but if you're pining for G&J and find that Google Earth's GPS stalker spy-bot plugins are a little bit creepy, then the invitation is there…

*probably not that big. I'm thinking a 14 inch television on a stand in front of a row of stackable chairs.

Bored Shorts!

We arrive in Coff's Harbour, probably about half way between Sydney and Brisbane. Although Sydney does have beaches, Bondi been the most famous of the bunch, this is out first real visit to a beach resort.
Something always puzzled me about Australia and hot beach type places in general, in Britain a lot of emphasis is put on the clothes you wear, both in terms of personal individuality and creating an image of status. Now, given that the average Australian doesn't wear that many clothes, in actualiy a pair of shorts and a pair of flip flops, I always imagined Australia to be a highly developed nation where personal ego had been left behind some hundred or so years ago.
To my surprise I know understand that the battle of clothing is very much thriving in the land of down under. Instead of a nice piece of jewellery or a lovely suit or the latest branded jumper, the competition lies in the pattern and colour of your Board(surfing clobber) shorts. There are some fantastic examples and the shops are full of them, reds, greens, blues, all with big prints of flowers and palm trees. Not totally unlike the pair of burmuda shorts I made in Home Economics all those years ago.
One step on the beach I was quickly to realise I was sightly out of my depth, and my standard blue navy shorts were receiving evil glances and the odd "tssskkk". Something had to be done! Instead of tramping to our nearest surf shop and joining the rat race, we chose to go canoeing up the nearby river, as I always say "if you can't beat them, complete avoidance!"
That night in an odd coincidence my shorts disappeared in an unexpained laundry incident?
Well of to the hippy beach resort of Byron Bay, where I might just purchase a new pair of shorts, not because I want to fit in but because I have to!

The Missing Ticket!

Well after our Sydney sandwich with a delicious Blue Mountain filling, it was time to head on up the coast. Our destination Coffs Harbour, leaving the big city behind and ready to build that tan and hit those beaches.
A night spent in the Maze Backpackers(to be recommended - good atmosphere), and a ridiculously early start. We were reasonably sensible and bought an alarm clock, nobody wants to feel stupid and miss the bus. Up at 5.30, showered, packed, teeth brushed and out the door. Now rather good at walking any distance under 1km with heavy backpacks we arrive at the central station to check in. Unfortunately that's when things go a bit wrong!
We cue for about 10mins(even at 6.00) then up to the checkout to be met by a rather sarcastic young gentleman, "tickets, your not getting on if you haven't got tickets"(he obviously felt agreaved at pulling the early shift), no "hello" or even a "GDay". We pop the tickets on the counter. We had bought the tickets the 4 days earlier, you go in and state what days and times you want and they whack it into the computer and give you a print out of your itinery.
"your not on this bus, your booked on tomorrows bus"
a collective "what!"
We were clearly on this bus, we had been very clear of the dates and we had hostel bookings and onward bus trips around this date.
"that's what's on the computer!, and there's nothing I can do about it!, can I ask you to step aside"
"We booked the bus for today! it must have been inputted incorrectly"
"There is nothing I can do, the bus is full"

At this point, we learn a valuable lesson, in life there is in general two types of people, the type who think insularly and find comfort in rules and regulations and then there are, lucky for us, those who like problem solving and helping out others who find themselves in a jam.

The bus driver walks past the counter, hearing our dilema.....

"I'll go get the bigger bus!"

Too Hot To Fox Trot!

Given that I'm from the middle of nowhere in the North Sea and Jules is from the tropical paradise of Gloucestershire, perhaps given the temperatures were now being subjected to, our time before our departure should not have been spent saying a big cheerio to everyone but spent in the Botanical Gardens Hot House.
If you've read my previous blog entry you'll know fine well that on our arrival in Sydney I got struck down by what could only be described as a killer bug, and if not for incredible level of fitness(honed on guiness and pies) who knows what would have happened. So New Years Eve I spend in bed, New Years day comes around and I'm feeeling a tad better, certainly good enough to have a little saunter to the corner shop or perhaps even a trip into town on the bus.
"Get up Gary you lazy git! We've got a twelve hour rave to get to"(not a direct quote)
No more than six hours earlier a subtle move would have ended in a quicker more bold move to the bathroom. Now the prospect of continuous hardcore raving(to the non cultured, pretty much takes the form of trying to take off using you hands in an up and down movement), fills my somewhat empty stomach with a gut wrenching dred.
"Rosie will be here in a couple of minutes"(not a direct quote)
And Rosie does turn up a couple of minutes later, there was no pre arrangements, we're talking purely the supernatural forces of ravers coming together to go to a mass organised dance party.
Off we trot, stopping at a few bleary eyed friends abodes to sink a few beers. Fair play to these Australians, still partying fromt he night before, a trip to see Brightons finest Fatboy Slim, at yet another dance party.
All the time as we're shuttling about thinking "god, it's bloody hot isn't it" and "god, how long does it take to acclimatise?"
Arrive at the dance party we do, to find that I've forgotten to take my photo ID, apparently that's essential and apparently I'll not get in without it, and apparently they forgot to mention that on the tickets!(not covering up a mistake on my part!). I however have a cunning trick, a fail safe in any desperate situation when your lacking any other option. All you have to do is pretend to be an ignorant Scotsman and have a elongated conversation about the history of beards, and you'll be amazed at how good that makes burley bouncers feel about there own wisdom and crucially there own beard(only works when choosing the ticket kiosk attended by a man or women with a beard).
In we go, 20,000 people in a large field, 2 people dancing and 19,998 people crambed under the three trees on the ouskirts of the field. This did not change until 10 hours into the Dance party. The problem not poor DJ's, not the Sydney local's dislike for Dance music, but the fact that, unfotunately, they chose to hold a hugh Dance party on the hottest day in history in Sydney. I heard conflicting reports but an official source later leaked a whopping 45 degrees. Of the 2 people dancing, later taken to hospital with serious burns from melted head torches!

I Have A Comment!

Hey Everyone,

Just wanted to say cheers for the comments, it's brilliant being able to get responces on the website. Feel free to go mental and write weird stuff(thanks Keith)
If anyone is unsure how to go about this, you will see under each post there is the word "comment" just click on it and write away.
I know most people know this already, just casting the net wide.

The Great Blue Mountain Fly Adventure

Well with Sydney a distant memory, and twangs of longing firmly twinging in our stomachs, we head for the Blue Mountains, which I thought looked more green, but I guess when it comes the time for me to become a little more significant than I am now and find myself in a position to name things I'll probably feel more confident to argue that point a little more strongly.
Anyway the truth of the matter, given a bit of a timetabling error on our parts we will be staying in a Sydney for another night after all, so the twangs and the twinges will soon be eased, and besides we couldn't turn down the chance to have a night out at Sydney's only Latin American dancing club/tapas resteraunt hybrid could we!
We're staying in Katooba, around 2 hours outside Sydney by train, or if your on our train, 24hours in the presence of screaming babies(time relative to feeling, not actual time). We've booked into the Central Blue Mountain backpackers. Our first choice the YHA was full so in moments when you can't rely on that trusty Hostel International symbol, you've just got to go with a bit of luck. All looked good it's a newly built facility, boasting close proximity to the town, with all mod cons and probably more importantly it was the only hostel in town with any vacancies - Post Katoomba I now understand why!
I remember when I first pitched up in halls at universtity, I was shocked to later discover that the accomodation buildings were modelled on Swedish prisons. Perhaps given the rowdy nature of students I can understand the need for sealing doors and mobilised cut off walls, but at the time it seemed a little extreme, not to mention my unease at the evening tazering before dinner. In the same way to discover that your hostel used to be a mental institution also caused a feeling of concern. Fair enough you think, what the building used to be doesn't really play too much relevance to the new owners, well it does if they don't change anything! Oh yes! still the medical smell, still the clinical white appearance, still the ramps for pushing trolleys up, still the signs, still the women behind reception handing out small cups of pills. Couple this with, guess what the company next door is? A funeral directors!
Two days we were stying in the the Central Backpackers, each day we left early in the morning and didn't get back till late at night. I'll tell you in a small town of 800 or so, finding things to occupy you for 2 days requires a large degree of creativity.
First day easy enough, there is a beatiful nature trail throught the rainforest which starts with the steepest vertical train ride in the world, then finishes with a wonderful cable car ride over the canopy. A quick pint, a bit of a meal then that's your lot, 1 day done.
Day 2 - given that we've already done the attractions of Katoomba, a little harder this one. But we've got a rabbit up our sleeves! It was pissing down on day one and the clouds were really low. This made it virtually impossible to see the wonderful 3 sisters( 3 free standing rock formations) so we can try and do that. But on day 2 although it has stopped raining, the clouds are still really low and it's not looking overly encouraging.
We get of the bus to discover to our disappointment that they still are not visible, but to our greater horror, we've stepped onto the set of the SWARM. God almighty! there was no escape your stuck on a viewing point with relatively no shelter, fly after fly landing on your face, back, legs, trying to enter your ears and your nose. The efforts of waving a magazine in a fan like action not working, the efforts of around 100 people trying to wave a magazine in a fan like action both comical and not to mention a little scary given the repercusions of the butterfly effect. Things I learned from my time in Katoomba, Australian cork hats are not a comedy item but are in fact incredibly practical, if you plan to take over a hostel from a mental institution for heaven sake! change the decor and flys stop being irritating and start being scary when the group together in teams of around 200 and create a living backpack!

Shock Horror!, Reports Suggest, Sydney is loosing it's colour

Shock Horror!, Reports Suggest, Sydney is loosing it's colour | busgt

I know it's been a little bit of time coming but here it is the first picture to come out of Australia. Never fear I obviously don't mean the first ever picture, not that likely given the proximity to Tiawan.
We took this little shot on one of our many visits to Circular Quey area of the city. If you're not familiar with Sydney, as the photo suggests it's right next to the Opera House and the Harbour Bridge. It is also where all the ferries go from and where all the buses stop(some tie in there, I'm not sure?) I do incidently have normal shots of the above mentioned attractions if you'd prefer to see them, just add a feedback comment and I'll post them up.

Comin at you in full effec'

In a cruel offering a kid a lolly and snatching it back off her, kind of way, I am happy to announce that myself and Jules have bought a camera and yes, as you will have noticed, we have not put up any photos as of yet. Never fear however they are on their way, we have taken some shots(sometimes at great personal danger re. The Great Blue Mountain fly adventure(post to come!)) and as soon as I remember to turn up to the internet cafe with the damn lead they will appear in a space very similiar to this one.