Two Aussie girls in a quaint English college town

The other weekend Alli and I went to Cambridge, and discovered where England is hiding all of their good looking men – on the punting boats on the Cam River. I’m serious, I have never seen so many attractive guys in one spot in all my time in England. Needless to say, we spent quite a bit of time down by the river that weekend.

Cambridge is a gorgeous little town, nicer than Bath I might even say, because it isn’t quite so touristy.

Alli and I took the train from Kings Cross on Saturday morning and 45 minutes and a good gossip later, arrived in Cambridge. I’m not sure if they layed it on just for our arrival, but the stench of horse manure was the first thing that hit us when we arrived. It was rather awful.

After dropping our bags off at our cheap and compact (but cute) hotel we walked the mile and a half into the city to begin our sightseeing – at H&M, where I contemplated purchasing a jumper because of the overcast weather and my stingy packing. Instead I bought a sequin top, which turned out to be a better investment as the sun came out and the day turned in to a beautiful one.

We walked through the town, and around the amazing Kings College, and headed down for our highly anticipated boat ride. Cambridge is famous for its river Cam and the punting boats. According to Wikipedia…

A punt is a flat-bottomed boat with a square-cut bow, designed for use in small rivers or other shallow water. Punting refers to boating in a punt. The punter generally propels the punt by pushing against the river bed with a pole. A punt should not be confused with a gondola, which is propelled by an oar rather than a pole.

Alli and I sat up the front of the boat, enjoying the sun and the views, and playing the ubiquitous travelling game – Tap That. It is Sparky, Bec and mine’s favourite game, and if you have travelled with us before you will know how to play it…

Saturday night Alli and I had an uber romantic meal at an outdoor Italian restaurant, where we got the party started with some champagne. Then we met up with some friends of Alli’s at where else but the Slug and Lettuce. After a bottle of wine and a couple of cocktails between us, we decided to call it a night.

We were up at a reasonable time and were in reasonable health, which is a rare occurance when Alli and I travel together. We made our way back into town and set ourselves up in a park beside the river, watching all the self punters run into each other and fall into the water – hilarious!

Sunday afternoon we visited Alli’s friend’s mum for lunch, before making our way back to the train station and then spending most of the trip back sleeping and sweating it out in a cattle class train.

Another thing to cross off on my “to do before I leave England” list!

Croatia holler!

I have been putting off writing a blog entry about my Croatia holiday for two reasons. Firstly, so much happened that the thought of having to type it all up was daunting. Secondly, I have post Croatia depression. Honestly, it was one of the best holidays I have ever had.

Before I get started on my day-by-day account of what happened, I need to introduce the main characters.
· Moi, your favourite blogger
· Bec, holiday organiser el supremo
· Charlotte, “my French friend”, who added a bit of class to the whole show
· Mark, aka Sparky, partner of Matt and everyone’s partner in crime
· Matt, aka Matty, a source of entertainment (even when he wasn’t there)
· Stuart, aka Stu, Scottish friend of the boys and the gayest man in the village
· Alan, aka The Force (he had a range of shirts bearing the name of emergency services), Matt’s friend from Australia

And then there are the secondary characters
· Tucker’s Daughter, the Australian guy who was travelling by himself because his girlfriend broke up with him, he was everyone’s best mate and tried to be the hero in every situation. Yes, he was “that” guy on the group trip.
· Peachy, who apparently looked like Hugh Grant, though we only ever paid attention to his pert bum
· Matchy Matchy, who wore the same little board shorts as Peachy
· Five Pounder, a kid that Sparky saw at the airport and bet me £5 was going to be on our boat (Sparky, I still owe you)
· Blink 182, an emo looking guy with a lip ring who was strangely good looking
· Josh and his girlfriend Savannah, our favourite people on the boat
· Zof, our faithful bartender on board and Matty’s best friend and Charlotte’s suitor by the end of the trip
· Merv, an American guy on the other boat that had chops like Merv Hughes
· Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee, wog twins on one of the other boats that had the ugliest ponytails you have ever seen
· Emanuel, our boat, and Penelope and Labrador, the party boats – our flotilla, our Groove Armada if you like. We travelled together and moored together. The tour rep told us that in August there are 25 boats in the group (thank god we went in May).

Saturday
With less than an hour sleep under our belts (and some of us with several beers under our belts), we all bundled in to a taxi at 3am to Gatwick airport, and began the Girls and Gays cruise! Most of us slept on the plane, while others took photos of us, but we all pepped up once we landed in Split. After withdrawing some Croatian kunas (henceforth known as hakuna matatas) we hopped on the bus and headed down to the harbour to meet up with our boat, the Emanuel. On the bus trip I was talking to Sparky, and responded to something he said with an attitude-filled “Holler!” in the style of Missy Elliot. This became the catch phrase for the week. We killed a couple of hours walking along the waterfront and purchasing cheesy cowboy hats, before we boarded and enjoyed a mushroom surprise lunch en route to Hvar. Just a side note, when ever I refer to “we” or “the gang” or “hos and mos”, I mean the main cast of seven. So, we conducted our own walking tour around Hvar, traipsing up and down the back streets and taking lots of silly photos. Dinner was a quiet affair on the waterfront as we were all a bit tired, and we enjoyed our first pizza of the trip. Being so close to Italy, there are a lot of Italian restaurants in Croatia. We had an early night while the rest of the boat went out drinking and bonding until the early hours of the morning.

Sunday
The boat set off early and was all a-gossip at breakfast. Five Pounder had been jumping between boats the previous evening when he landed awkwardly and hurt his ankles. He spent the following two days in his cabin before visiting a doctor in Dubrovnik and finding out that he had fractured one ankle and shattered the other. With no travel insurance, he flew home for surgery. Anyway, mid morning the boat pulled into a calm bay and we all had a swim off the side of the boat. The water was cold, amazingly clear, and fabulously refreshing. After lunch of a strange dry mince and pasta sheets only lasagne, we arrived in Trstenik and had another swim. Sparky and I swam to shore with the aid of some cheap inflatables that we bought in Hvar, and Matty and Stu decided to swim double the distance to some (rather small) sea caves with the aid of an inflatable boxing kangaroo, whilst wearing a Bushtucker Man akubra hat. Needless to say, they got in to trouble. Matty popped the roo on the swim back, so Stu had to swim back to the boat and fetch a kid’s boogie board to rescue him. Afterwards Matt claimed that he had probably lost 2kgs during the adventure, though we pointed out that it was more than likely because he had stopped drinking beers for an hour and his beer gut had subsided. Trstenik was the smallest port we visited, with one restaurant and a shop that closed about 10 minutes after we docked, so dinner was a BBQ on the boat that night and we all retired fairly early.

Monday
By Monday we had started to settle in to a routine: get up, have cheese and salami on bread for breakfast, slather on the sunscreen, lounge on the top deck for an hour or so, head downstairs for some shade action, slather on the sunscreen, have a swim, have lunch, have a shower, slather on the sunscreen, arrive in port and sightsee. Dubrovnik was a wonderful little city. The old town is surrounded by walls, which Sparky and Bec and I walked around until we found Café Buza which sits on the cliff face and looks out to the Adriatic Sea. We met up with the rest of the gang and spent the afternoon cooling down in the shade, drinking, enjoying fabulously appropriate music (retro), watching cliff divers, and reminding each other of how awesome it was to be us at that point in time. After a shower and freshen up on the boat, we had dinner at some back alley restaurant that Matty got us dragged in to, followed by a couple of quiet drinks in an Irish pub (as is tradition when travelling with Sparky and Bec). Well, it was quiet until the rest of the freakin boat turned up and they were all crazy drunk. We stayed for a while and then headed back to the boat for a nightcap, but unfortunately Zof had clocked off. The rest of the boat partied like animals and made an absolute racket when they got back to the boat around 2:30am. The air-conditioning wasn’t working so we had our windows open, which gave me a front row to their antics. I finally managed to drift off to sleep when I was awoken by a screaching girl. Some of the boat had been drinking at the bar where Brit Lapthorn was last seen (first mistake) when they had an altercation with some locals, a glass was thrown, they tried to confront them (second mistake) and the locals pulled knives. The Aussies got in to a cab but the locals followed them, and then kept driving by the boat antagonising them. A couple of the boys decided to get off the boat and go talk to them (third mistake) so their girlfriends turned into banshees (fourth mistake), screaming for them to come back onboard (“I’ve put you in danger too many times Craig!”) and generally stirring everyone up. Fortunately the tour rep came out, told everyone to shut up and go to bed and lock their cabins, and the drama ended. Many stories were told about this over the following days, but I have no doubt that the drama was brought about because of the idiots from our boat.

Tuesday
Not surprisingly, breakfast on Tuesday morning was a quiet affair. But oh how I was falling in love with cheese and salami! We followed our standard morning routine before we pulled in to Mljet (pronounced Mlee-yet), and hired us some scooters. We lied to the man and told him that we had all ridden a scooter, before precariously pulling out on to the street and trying not to run into each other. Our first stop was the National Park, where the group had a swim in a huge salt water lake while Bec and I sat in the shade and took photos and shouted at them to perform poses. We spent the rest of the afternoon riding around the island, through little water side villages, past crumbling buildings, and up and down the mountains. It was fantastic! We picked up some drinks on the way back, had a few drinks and a swim near the boat, and watched the sun set. Then we went to one of the three restaurants and had a great dinner, where Matty entertained us with lots of PFSs (Price Family Stories). Mljet was probably the highlight of the trip; it was just an absolutely wonderful day.

Wednesday
We all woke up excited on Wednesday, because Bec had finished her course of antibiotics and could finally get her drink on! Korcula was the birthplace of Marco Polo, a fact that is commemorated by a museum that was closed and a styrofoam statue by the bay. Interestingly, the town is shaped like a fish, with the straight streets to the bay to channel the cool sea breezes, curved streets to the mountain to avoid the cold winds, and a wide straight street down the middle so that the people could run down to the bay and defend their city. The girls did some jewellery shopping (filigree, coral, and turquoise are the local trinkets) while the gays tagged along and ate ice-creams. We had a swim on the beach, which was surprisingly free of sea urchins (the spiny buggers were everywhere) but unfortunately there were still sea slugs, which Matty picked up and tried to squirt on us. Matt was hilarious, he brought along a pair of goggles and would spend twice as much time in the water as the rest of us, because he would hunt for treasure on the sea bed. All he came up with was some crappy plastic toys and a funny shaped rock, but he was pretty happy. After our swim we showered and dolled ourselves up, and celebrated Bec’s first beer on the top deck of the boat as the sun went down. Then we found ourselves a great table at a waterfront restaurant with a guy playing the guitar and had a really nice candlelit dinner. And got drunk. From there we went to a bar at the top of one of the turrets, where you had to climb a steep ladder to get up, and your cocktails were brought up in a bucket. We socialised with some of the people from the boat, and then split up as they went to Des Locos bar to make the most of happy hour and we went to Gaudi bar to make the most of being able to drink outdoors without wearing a jacket and scarf. Things got a little drunk and silly, and we had a great time, finally retiring to bed around 5am. We thought it was strange that no one from Des Locos had come to Gaudi, considering it stayed open a lot later, until we found out that people from the boat had gotten in to a massive bar brawl with some locals. Apparently chairs were being swung about, guys were doing fly kicks, and the Aussies were outnumbered. Matchy Matchy sustained a concussion and a fractured wrist and spent the rest of the holiday moping.

Thursday
Makarska was really nice, but my ability to appreciate it was limited by my screaming hangover. The mountains behind the waterfront village looked fake, and Bec claimed that they were actually made of styrofoam like the Marco Polo statue. The tour rep told us that she had been up there a couple of weeks ago and there was still snow at the top. Crazy when you consider that we were enjoying 25 degree sunshine in the port. We slept through breakfast and only woke up once we had gotten into port. Our ragamuffin group managed to get dressed and walk to the beach, where the cold Adriatic Sea revived us. Honestly, there is nothing better for a hangover than a fresh swim. We had an uninspiring lunch on the boat, before some of us went back for a second swim and some of us napped the afternoon away. I of course did the latter. We had dinner at another waterfront restaurant, as we just could not get enough of the gloriously warm weather and being able to be outdoors wearing just a t-shirt. The restful day was capped off with a couple of vodka cranberries on the back deck of the boat.

Friday
We made it down for breakfast on Friday (I wasn’t missing out on salami and cheese again), before the boat pulled in to a small port so we could have a swim at Copacabana beach. I have to say, the beach really ruined the song for me. The shore was dirty and sandy, unlike the pebbly beaches we were used to. And the water was waist-deep for 100 metres offshore, and full of sea reeds and little crabs that nibbled on your ankle. On the upside, Friday was activity day! Some people stayed on the boat, while others did a day trip to Bosnia, while the rest of us went on the river rafting trip in Cetina. After rafting in Tully and New Zealand, this was pretty tame, but still really fun. Not to mention that our skipper was hot! We arrived in Split late afternoon, back where we had started from, and already feeling a little sad at the thought of our holiday being over. We wandered the back streets and found a really nice restaurant for our last meal, where we had another hit of pag, a local cheese sort of like parmesan. The night was topped off with some drinks overlooking the bay, and then maybe another couple back on the boat.

Saturday
The last day of the trip wasn’t the best. We knew the holiday was over, and we had 12 hours to kill in between getting kicked off the boat at 9am and our flight leaving at 9pm. We stored our luggage and then set off on a hike to the swimming beach, during which Bec and I did a lot of heat-induced sighing. Then we set up camp in the shade in the park and had a little rest, while Matt and Alan decided to go on a hike around the foreshore. They walked for 35 minutes before finding a beach front bar, where they gave up on the hike and started drinking, while Sparky, Bec, Charlotte and I had a civilised and sober lunch back at the harbour. We spent the rest of the afternoon doing some souvenir shopping, eating gelato, and drinking in a little bar. With the sun still in the sky but the heat of the day passed (a glorious time of day), we gathered ourselves up and headed to the airport in a collectively sombre and reluctant mood.

I had the best tan, I mean time, in Croatia. It was a wonderful wonderful holiday, and given the opportunity, I would go back in a Split second (ha ha ha, get it, Split!).


"We're going where the sun shines brightly, we're going where the sea is blue, we've seen it in the movies, now let's see if it's true"
Summer Holiday, Cliff Richard

Oh we do like to be beside the seaside

Last Sunday Laura, Mark (aka Spark), Matt and I grabbed our bikinis and went to Brighton for the day. As it turned out, we didn’t need our swimmers after all. Brighton put on a typically British day for us, with grey skies and intermittent showers. Perfect!

We arose at an ungodly hour for a Sunday morning, packed our sandwiches and scarves, and caught the 8:30am train to the beach. The train was fairly empty but we managed to pick a seat near the grossest passenger who kept coughing up his left lung. The first time he did it we all looked at each other with surprise, the second time we looked at each other with disgust, the third time we all grabbed our bags and ran to the next carriage without saying a word to each other.

The first port of call in the little seaside town was a café so we could all get a hit of caffeine. After that we trundled down to the pebbled beach for the obligatory dipping of our toes (in this case finger tips), skimming of rocks, and photo opportunities. Then we hit the shops to buy Sparky a coat, as the flimsy little jacket he had been getting around in for the past few months was not going to cut it against the ocean breezes.

A trip to Brighton would not be complete without a visit to the pier and it’s rides and amusement arcades. We went on a tame looking little rollercoaster called the Crazy Mouse, which was actually rather terrifying given its rattling rails and lifting carriages. I screamed the entire way, it was awesome!

Another compulsory tourist activity is chips’n’vinegar by the seaside, which of course we had to partake in. With bellies full of warm carbohydrates we hit the Crazy Golf course (are you sensing a theme here? Crazy!). Being a semi-frequent visitor of the Victoria Park mini golf, I have to say that Crazy Golf left a lot to be desired. The green was concrete rather than grass, and clearly built in a time before spirit levels. I managed to putt the ball about two feet away from the hole, but the uneven green and the wind ended up blowing it in for a hole in one!

By this stage we had pretty much exhausted all of the possibilities Brighton presented to us on a dreary day, so hosted our own pub crawl on the way back up the hill to the train station, stopping in at the Varsity Bar, the Fishbowl, and Quadrant. Though to be honest the only reason we stopped at Quadrant was because Sparky and I have bladders the size of thimbles and needed to use the bathroom.

We collapsed into our seats on the train with rosy cheeks after being windblown all day. I fell asleep about 10 minutes into the return trip, only to be woken up as the muscles in my neck relaxed in my slumber and I smacked my head on the window. Ouch.

All in all, a lovely day!

OCD, me me me

It would seem that I have a mild case of OCD. Amber raised the issue with me a while ago and I laughed it off, but it’s true.

In my notebook at work, I have to have red margins on every page. One afternoon I sat down with a new notebook and ruled red margins on every single page. I also have to have the date written at the top of the page in red pen, and underlined. Not so bad, you’re thinking. Except that each day I have to alternate between blue and black pen.

When stepping off the escalator I have to lead with my right foot. I’ve never thought about it or done it intentionally, but realised this the other day. And sometimes I will do this funny little dance of tiny steps so that I get the timing right.

I always shave/dry/moisturise my right leg first.

Walking along the footpath I sometimes have to dodge cracks. Because if I step on too many cracks with one foot then it feels heavy, so I have to purposely step on cracks with my other foot to even it up. And then Mark went and put the idea in my head that I can't step on cracks or gum. Do you know how hard that is over here? There is a serious gum problem - Amber went to a seminar about it. Apparently it costs £2 to remove each piece of gum from the pavement. Did you know that?

Snaps!

Snaps to Facthunt, for our SIXTH consecutive trivia win!

Snaps to Tesco Direct, for delivering my new mattress! Sayonara crappy old mattress with the springs that nearly dislocated my shoulder, oh, you shall not be missed.

Snaps to the Barley Mow, our new favourite (non local) pub! It was well worth the three-tube hour-long trip to Shoreditch just to enjoy the generous hospitality of Eddie, Laura and Greg. Magners for £2, unlimited credits on the jukebox, free run of the place after 11pm, hilarious foreign accents, and ridiculous card tricks – you know I’ll be going back.

Snaps to me for getting a new job! A 10-week contract with a great company and the title of ‘Marketing & Events Executive’. Best part is that I don’t have to do another Birmingham conference with my current job. I am fabulous in London, Birmingham not so much.

Snaps to Marks & Spencer! I will never tire of their chicken laksa noodle salad. I’ve had it at least a dozen times since I’ve been here, and it just keeps getting better. M&S, you don’t put a foot wrong.

Snaps to The People’s Post Office! You may make me wait half an hour in the queue, but it only cost me £6.45 to send a large package to Australia.

Snaps to Mark and Matt for giving us a Wii console! The dance mat is super fun, even if Amber is mega competitive and won’t tell me how to use the hand controls so she can be the best at ‘Rhythm is a Dancer’.

Sunny Sunday in South West Londy

So, it was my 25B (I refuse to say I’m 26) birthday on the weekend. We went out in Soho on Saturday night and had a bit of fun. There was French champagne, my faithful partner in crime, old school friends, new gay husbands, jugs of cosmopolitans, dancing with bathroom attendants, aviator sunglasses, stacks on, long stemmed roses, posed photos, Jazzify street performances, cold samosas, a sea captains hat, and a fry up when we got home. And that’s all I am going to say about that.

I'm not a huge fan of birthdays, but this one was pretty good despite being so far away from my family. I loved all of my cards and flowers and presents, thank you all so much!

As for what we did on my actual birthday, I'm going to let Amber tell that story. So how about a warm round of applause for our guest blogger, Amby!

London days begin early in May - sun rises at around 5 am and doesn't set until nearly 10 pm. An unseasonable week of fantastic weather sets the scene for last Sunday which was a long day full of observations of life in the capital Britain.

AM
After returning home rather late the previous evening (nudged Cinderella out of the way as I made my way through the door), Amanda, Matt, Mark and I ventured down to 'The Slug' to watch a much anticipated Brisbane Broncos vs. Manly Sea Eagles match. As we were all feeling the effects of the previous night (Mandy's 25Bth birthday) we kicked off the morning with some grease (big burger with lots of lard) and a pinch of the hair of the dog (in my case a pint of Magner's Irish cider). The weather was absolutely glorious (27 degrees and sunny), so not surprisingly, all of the pasty locals and their mangy dogs had also ventured out - the fact that there was a Chelsea vs. Bolton football (soccer) semi also added to the colourful delights that filled the streets of Fulham. As the Brisbane Broncos descended into a fiery ball of failure, the 'Slug' slowly filled itself with rowdy soccer yobs either dressed in non-flattering costumes, too tight jerseys or, worst of all, the teams' 'away' jersey (featuring bare chest, beer belly and hairy sponsorship). As the game wound down I had the good fortune to comment to a middle-aged Bobby about my preference for rugby league over the wussy round ball sport. He agreed and we launched into a great conversation about Wigan and the glory days of Ellery Hanley - he asked me if I was going to be back at the pub 'tonight' - he was concerned about my safety I think. So I assured him I would be staying out of the way of any riots, chanting or police violence - he looked disappointed.

EARLY PM
Mandy and I left the Slug (the crowd had become suffocating and Matt and Mark had already deserted us in favour of Sunday lounging at home). As we made our way down the street we were greeted by more and more 'away jerseys'. Disgusted by the lack of dignity of these football fans, Mandy reported her concerns to some young cops keeping an eye on proceedings. "Is that legal in this country?" Mandy asked pointing at a particularly large white specimen whose chafing could not only be seen but heard. One of the cops looked at his fellow countryman with a wry grin before replying "Yes ... but it shouldn't be!". The freak show didn't stop there. Between Farm Lane and Brompton Park Crescent is a small green space - good for exercising dogs or having a snooze or a read on nice days (it's just a shortcut to me). As we entered the green space a man (in a Chelsea jersey of course) walked past us with his young son and wife and other child trailing. As he passed he suddenly jerked his head to the side, placed one finger over his nostril and blew as hard as he could. Yes folks - he pulled out the bushman's hankie!!! On the ground. In front of his family. In front of us. My stomach lurched and I looked at his wife wondering how she ever mustered the courage to produce those two children with that man.

PM
Probably should have stayed in after the morning of atrocities but it's rare that the weather is that good so M&A&M&A headed out the park adjoining our estate. We spread out some sheets as a makeshift picnic blanket and celebrated Mandy's birthday with some Marks and Spencer salad, Mumm champagne and some games of Uno. Luckily I had finished eating when three fat and rather white flamed-haired teenage girls entered the arena accompanied by a skinny little turd of a boy kicking a soccer ball. Two of the 'rangas' were holding hands and I thought it lucky that biology will prevent them from producing a child with both of their genes. The foursome began to kick a soccer ball around the park (even though it was clearly signed that ball games are not allowed!) and every time one of the ten-tonne trio 'scored' she would put the shirt over her head and run about like seismic occurrence. Needless to say this was just gross and like a car crash we all just couldn't stop looking. Eventually the sideshow had to end and the feral foursome walked towards the exit of the park. Two rangas holding hands again, third ranga third wheeling but then things got just that bit worse. The turdy kid walks over the ranga lesbians and proceeds to put his hands down the back of one of their pants. I think this was in a wedgie attempt but instead he just pulled this unfortunate girl's shorts down far enough for most of the park's inhabitants to dry-retch.

LATER PM
Meanwhile, a 'gentleman' entered the park wearing jeans, a button up shirt and carrying his lunch and a newspaper. He sat down approx ten metres from our party and proceeded to eat his lunch. Lunch eaten - check. He then took his shirt off. Shirt off - check. He then proceeded to read his newspaper. Newspaper read - check. He then lay down for a nap. Nap - check. He then not very subtly took off his jeans to expose a pair of non-elasticised Primark jockey shorts and flashed all of equipment in our direction. Who does that????????????? Lucky for us Mandy took a photo.

Time to leave the park and indeed the day behind. After an obligatory evening of delivered oriental food and Sex and City, the sun set on the longest Sunday in South-West Londy.....