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!