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.