Well the next two days were just chilling in Caboolture with
Phil and Lily before heading off to Brisbane to meet the guys.
Upon arrival at my digs in Brissy, I was met with a bottle
of beer and a welcome back, how the horses treating ya? Sorted out phone and
hit Chinatown to stock up on some bits and pieces, back to hotel, shower and
into the International to meet up with the guys, a couple in there and it was
into the valley to check out the scene ,which comprised of one in the Elephant
and a few more in the Tempo whilst a battle of the bands type thing was being
fought out. Once this was over ,it was actually quite good, we hit the Pig. It
was half empty but a few brits around to chew the fat with before waddling off
home.
Awoke bright and early smashed some breakfast and hit the
town to see what was new, not a lot actually but it was bloody hot and the
girls were dressed accordingly. The evening plan was to hit the local then into
the Pig for the pre match banter, this was royally fucked up like most of the week’s
plans, but why fret it, just go with it, everything works itself out in the
end.
Met up with Ron and the others turned up in their own time,
Pig was heaving so hit the Bavarian café and then the Exchange which made a
pleasant change as had done neither last time. Beer, like in the UK , often
precedes kebab and Brisbane was no different , top kebab just need to teach
them that chilli sauce should have chilli as well as sugar in it, taxi back and
await the big day.
Well it duly arrived along with a text from the boys
informing me they are on the bus!!!!!! Was going to walk in anyway and 60
minutes later was outside the Gabba, which like most of the aussies that
inhabit it, it is soulless, charmless just a big dome with no atmosphere, St
Mary’s anyone.
Met the lads took our seats
and preceded to watch Cookie lose the toss, not good, looked like a
motor way from our vantage point. Unfortunately the aussies seemed to think it
was a mine field , apart from Johnson being bowled by a corker the other seemed
to throw their wicket away…. Oh look Watsons still chases everything, Clarke
can’t play the short ball, Rogers was a one hit wonder and who the fuck is
Bailey ????
Warner looks a class act but looks can be deceiving , and Haddin
is a class act but 8 down on the first day at the Gabba, would of ripped your
arm off at the start of the day, so as I walked back to the station to get home,
was well pleased with the effort put in, found happy hour in the Central hotel
and went back to hostel for shower before hitting the clubs again, however,
sitting in the sun all day had had a rather funny effect on me , and the next
thing I knew I was waking up at 3am with
a glass of wine next to me, drank the wine and went back to sleep dreaming of 3
day tests and centuries.
Day 2. Well it
started so well, knock the two wickets over in 5 overs and out came Cook and
Carbarry little partnership going, stay there till lunch and we can sit here
all afternoon with the playgroup on my left, and they won’t bother me at all.
Well that was the plan , and as we are
all now to painfully aware Mr Lehmann has conjured up a rather nasty little
plan to fuck us over, short pitched bowling and very aggressive actions
throughout the match, and it worked a treat England were shocking , no answer
what so ever and suffice to say apart from the 24 year old next to me, who
shall we say had tits and arse to match, oh if only she wasn’t Australian, it
was a truly shocking day and how the fuck did Lyon look like a world beater
.Endured the cricket and the ritual that is ‘Pashing’( which involves guys
shoving their tongues into someone’s mouth)I think it is like a mating thing
,you know like territory marking not that I blame him ,but even Australians
have evolved a bit from that, anyway lasted till tea and caught up with the
boys in the German bar, a few pints of Becks later and it didn’t seem so bad.
Hit the central bar again and enjoyed the happy hour, yeah be happy only £5 a
pint, have to admit the beer here is a much marked improvement on 3 years ago,
but the cost is all so fucking familiar. Shower and change of clothes and we
were in the Valley, did the usual haunts along with one called the Kaliber
lounge , more like Cheeks, crap beer and sticky carpets, still there was plenty
of flesh on offer even if most of it was Andy P’s.
Woke up with, well lets be honest here , a wee tiny
hangover. Decided to take the day off from getting baked, and have it large in
the TAB, which I did and wished I hadn’t, back to hostel and spent most the
night drinking Samuel Adams and Tatachilla , chewing the fat with all the other
England fans, witnessed a magnificent thunderstorm which briefly raised the
spirits and had an early night determined not to awaken with such a banging
head. Mission was accomplished but could still not face the taunting of the
locals so decided to be all cultural instead and took in the art museum and few
other arty farty things around the South bank, which was actually lovely,
managed, before the storms, to get back to the room and watch the game ebb to
and fro , from wickets tumbling and the rain falling, Root looks a little
battler and the looks between him and mitch were gems, but it was never going
to happen and a sad end to the day as England capitulated.
As for the sledging, what happens on the pitch should stay
there, Warner should think before he speaks, what the fuck am I saying he’s
Australian for fucks sake. Bailey the little cunt should learn to keep still
when fielding at short leg, it was that cunt that started it all, watch it closely
and you will see him moving as Mitch bowls and his shadow right on a length,
moves all over the place, Jimmy picks up on it and has words, Clarkie gets
involved and then it all goes tits up. The umpires should of seen it and sorted
the muggy little cunt out straight away . I have no doubt England will be a lot
mentally stronger at Adelaide and put in a better shift.
Sunday night was a charity night down the Pig so arranged to
meet the lads at 8 and enjoy the camaraderie, and like all my plans that week
it fell to shit. Still it was a top night with cracking company and a couple of
local ladies who enjoyed the banter and oh so the constant attention they were
getting from the BA lads, me , well was bitten once and just chilled with it
all. Have to say Aggers is rather a splendid bloke and the geezer with the
trumpet is top drawer as well. Had far too much ale and potted off home, all
packed and ready to go.
Checked out the next day, met Phil and hit Caboolture, like
good little boys we played house, looked busy and when the wife came home, ran
errands and purchased ourselves curry and beer, which wasn’t bad at all.
Tuesday meant the arrival of Andy P who’s ambition before he
flew home was to see a kangaroo, Phil with his insider knowledge knew just the
place they like to mob up at. Sure enough there they were , so we scoped the
area, went for a beer and planned our secret attack on their manor, well I say
attack it was more like a full frontal assault on their patch ,which
unfortunately led to 3 of Aldershots finest being put firmly in their place by
a roo and her Joey, there were these pasty looking fellas running and hiding
behind a car as this 3’ high individual stood there and beckoned us forward, oh
if only we had a forth, we could of surrounded it and laid into the roo’s main
firm , but there wasn’t. As we hightailed it out of dodge the relief of
surviving was palpable, not a word was said all the way back home, nor will it
be spoken of again. We decided that BBQ and beer would wipe the memory of this
debacle, so sat down and scoffed , which is a pretty accurate description of
what occurred, a couple of hours later and Andy was airport bound and Phil was
breaking full bottles of beer everywhere, whether this was born of frustration
by being done by a solitary kangaroo, well, we will never know, suffice to say
it was a sombre evening of you tube and new music.
On a happier note The Skints and The Supernovas now have a
Brisbane fan club, should they ever wish to visit. The plan for Wednesday was
drawn up, Factor 50, fishing, food and then an evenings entertainment at the
trots or harness racing as they call it here, so the rods were checked and
checked again, a few practise casts and the great white hunters were all set. A
beer or fourage was in order so err, we did.
Morning arrived and a BBQ sandwich was consumed, bait
purchased and fishing spot found, what followed was well , embarrassing to say
the least , it turned into a competition to see who could get snagged, lose
bait/lures on the fewest occasions, pretty sure I got a beating a red headed
step child couldn’t of survived, so with a catch as empty as my love life, we
headed over to Bribie to pick up our chauffeur for the evening. This was
achieved and after a shower we headed for the chariot races.
This was going to be painful, having seen it on telly I
couldn’t work out what the fuck was going on. Nearest thing I could fathom out
was that a pikey lad with his trackie bottoms and dealer boots would sit in a
chariot and shout out ‘Yippee Ki A mutha fuckas’ and off they would run. Now
this wasn’t far from the truth, but bloody hell I would not do it, no brakes
and horses and chariots all over the shop, massive kudos to the guys and galls
who do this, yes it is cowboy/girl country. It was a great night watching these
wannabe cowboys getting nutted in the back of the head by the horse behind(the
horses have their legs all bondaged up like, so can’t gallop just literally
trot and if the horse infront slows, the one behind piles into the back of
them, must be seen to be believed. Suffice to say in such a pikeyish sport I had
a field day ,5 races produced 3 winners a second and a trifecta(also known as
an exotic , as fucking if). This resulted in beer a plenty and a profit !!!!!
Found me a king sized tin of GnT in the bottle shop on the way home and
duly crashed once it had been drunk.
Thursday was my last day and as a dutiful guest volunteered
to mow the lawn and cook dinner. Well the dinner was always going to be a piece
of piss, Risotto, end of !! The lawn however , well that’s another storey, got
the petrol mower started all right and 20 minutes later was back in the fridge
for a beer, job done you may think, bollocks was it, lets just say 2 hours
later and was still going, only ended up being saved by a lack of petrol in the engine, that is one
hell of a garden you got there Mr Canning.
Suitcase was all packed ,Risotto eaten and transported to
the airport. Brisbane ,Hong Kong and then Heathrow.
So what was learned on this trip……….?
Firstly, I will always walk through that door that is left
open for me by someone who immediately hides behind another. Then again that’s
nothing new.
Secondly, the typical Australians obnoxiousness is mainly
down to the fact that they are an island race that treats all foreigners with
distain, not their fault, take a look at us and the rest of the world, what
hope did they have?
Thirdly, come what may I have an inkling that this Ashes
series will drag cricket back to an era that they will both regret being in and whatever
that wanker Warne is saying over there, he’s saying the exact opposite to his
convict brethren.
Lost count but next comes the fact that I have now experienced
a Queensland summer, fucking bonza mate.
Mr + Mrs Phil + Lily Canning are the real heroes of the
show, for allowing me to crash at theirs and abuse their hospitality.
Will try to post some links here for the chariots and
supernovas and George ‘the cunt’ Baileys fielding.
So now for May/June 2014, Nashville- Las Vegas baby, New
Orleans……. Watch this space.
All the best.
Ian.
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