the plankmeister's interweblet

Wednesday, February 20, 2002

Brisbane : Australia

Today was - as is becoming pretty much the norm now - boring. However, to pass the time tonight we went to a party. Justin's love interest - a young lady by the name of Emma - has moved in to a new house and is hosting a party to celebrate. After visiting the bottle shop (that's Aussie speak for Off-licence) to purchase a couple of boxes of hideous but cheerfully cheap wine, Steve, Dan, Justin and I convey ourselves by means of a train to a place called Fortitude Valley. We walk in seemingly random directions, assured by Justin that he knows precisely where we are going, and end up in the red light district. "Want any business love?" inquired an old and frightfully weatherbeaten hag. Ululating in dismay, we vacate her immediate vicinity off in a random direction which is "the right way... I promise" and venture down a darkened street with an if-we-get-any-later-we'll-miss-the-party kind of brisk pace to our stroll. Out of the darkness a figure emerges and a voice says "Hiya, about time too!" It's Emma. We've found it! Internally, I re-assess Justin's successful efforts at random navigation and make a mental note to try it myself at some point. Emma takes us through the house to the back garden, where there is a veritable bounty of partying people. Well... ok. So there's a few people sat on a bench chatting in the way most people do when they go to parties: "Where do you come from? How long have you been in Oz?" and the like. Feeling like outsiders, (which, quite literally, we were) we stand in our own little sub-party and drink our cheap but quite hideous wine. Justin is away in a corner regaling Emma with stories of daring and intrigue, ("God plank talks some shite" - Justin) and spotting some free space at the end of the table, Steve, Dan and I take seats and are promptly engaged in conversation by a mad Aussie woman and a gay Kiwi. And a welsh bird. The gay Kiwi is so astoundingly camp it's almost worrying. How on earth he's not wearing a big fluffy pink dress I don't know. The Aussie chick (she most certainly had a screw loose. Several. In fact when she shook her head it rattled) told us in great detail how she predicted the Concorde crash because 3 years earlier she "saw the sky and it was blood-red." Spooky! I asked her for next weeks lottery numbers but she got them wrong. Obviously there hadn't been any blood-red skies for a while. Then came the vegetable extract debate. "Vegemite, Marmite or Promite?" Heated arguments ensued, but all were agreed, upon the liberation of a jar of Promite from the Aussie chicks seemingly magic pockets. Fingers were dipped and licked and contorted facials followed with many cries of "Fuck me that's strong." Promite is essentially double concentrated Marmite. And in some bizarre and indescribable way, it's moreish. After single-handedly eating what must have been a tablespoon of it, I swear I felt like I was tripping. This stuff should be banned! Steve was similarly taken by Promite, and the Aussie chick donated the jar to him for later consumption. (though it didn't actually get consumed, did it Steve?) Subjects moved around in various directions in the course of conversation until I talked at length with Emma about the curious goings-on inside Showgirls where she seemed to show quite an interest. It transpired that she was thinking of applying for work there "As an 'Exotic Dancer'?" I asked, eyebrows raised. "No way! No... just as bar staff." Much to my surprise she didn't consider me to be a disgusting pervert for frequenting said establishment. Bonus! One of Emma's friends, a startlingly sexy young lady with the dubious name of Miriam, was quite enebriated and was throwing herself around the dancefloor (well... ok... a patch of grass) with a Mexican man who had a shocked look on his face. And rightly so. I'd be wearing a shocked face if Miriam was doing to me the things she was doing to him. Quite remarkable. The point in the evening arrived when all the wine had been consumed and it naturally felt as if the time to leave had elapsed. So we did. And on the way out, the police arrived. The split second before they appeared in the doorway, Steve was about to set off a fire extinguisher but was discouraged by Justin. Just as well! Steve may have found himself in a spot of bother! As we left, the police returned from telling the party revellers to turn down the music (There'd been 3 complaints) and Steve struck up a conversation with them after he heard them whispering into the back of the van. "Is that a dog in there?" He asked. "No, it's just a German." replied the cop, not a trace of Irony in his voice. We all found this intensely funny and promptly fell about laughing. With Justin as our random navigator we set off to the station and our train home. Along the way, I decide to run around in a drunken state, but with a difference. I'm looking upwards so I can't see what's in front of me and running with considerable vigour into things. Initially, the others were shouting instructions like "Stop! Turn left! Go!" etc, to steer me around obstructions. However, at some point they discovered it would be much funnier to steer me into things. Any normal person would've stopped when they realised what was going on. I, however, an not normal. So I continued. For pretty much the entire walk back to the station. Much laughter. The wine we had been subjecting ourselves to was doing its allotted task admirably, and I was, quite frankly, wankered. It was a few moments before we boarded the train that I chose to do my usual drunken collapsing japery. As the train was about to leave, and I couldn't be roused from my semi-concious pickled state, Steve and Justin dragged me onto the train. Much to the horror of the train's security guard. "Where are you getting off?" I heard him demand. "Next stop!" someone replied. "Just as well." retorted the disgruntled guard and stumped off down the carriage. Once on the train, I livened up somewhat, and affixed myself to the ceiling by way of hanging upside-down from a pole while making thrusting motions and impersonating a Dalek (Davros to be precise) much to the delight of Dan who finds my Dalek impersonation to be "The funniest thing I've ever heard."Apparrently, once more (as I did this lastnight too) random strangers are also laughing at our drunken antics. Me and Steve had been Irish accents all night too, with the obvious "I'm gonna put a bomb under your car." in a sinister voice. Steve approached the train guard and said "I'm gonna put a bomb under your train!" in a voice not unlike that of a mischievous leprechaun. The guard was not impressed, to say the least. When we alighted at our destination, I once more felt the urge to feel the ground beneath my back and accordingly laid down in a very uncontrolled fashion. The others decided it might be funny to use me as an impromptu mop to clean the floor with and dragged me about for several hilarious minutes, culminating in being dragged past the ticket inspector. By this time I was fully concious but just enjoying being dragged around. "You got your ticket there, mate?" Inquired the unimpressed ticket inspector, sipping his coffee. In my reclined position I checked my pockets. No ticket. Oh dear. What am I going to do now. The others have scarpered (after taking a photo or two) and are watching from a distance, giggling like small children being naughty. My options are limited. So in an over-animated explosion of movement I jump up and run down the station concourse crying in an over-excited voice "I lost my ticket! Don't arrest me! AAARRRGGGHHHH!!!!" When minimum safe distance was reached, (the distance at which the ticket inspector would not be bothered to give chase and extract from me the price of the ticket) I - for some unknown and totally unknowable reason - launched my shoe through the air from a big swing of my leg, whereupon it sailed - sailed is probably the wrong word now I think how fast it went. Errmmm. Cannoned is more appropriate - whereupon it cannoned through the air as if launched from one, and smacked into something out of view on a roof. I was aghast! My lovely shoe! Lost upon a roof! With much grunting and heaving and struggling, I attempted to clamber up to retrieve my shoe. It was wedged tightly in a gap about half the width of the shoe. It must've been going at a fair old pace to get stuck like that! With the others' help I got onto the roof proper and dislodged the offending shoe and returned to the ground. Onward! To the Downunder Bar. Whereupon we appropriated a correction pen and set about writing our names on the bar as many thousands have done before. Our mark was left:

Much drinking was done. Then at chucking out time (3am) we retired to our rooms where the evening's japery continued. The Canadian girls were up and about and drunk and mischievous, and Steve and Kelly decided it might be a good idea to place themselves at opposite ends of the corridor and throw the jar of Promite to each other. With the lid off. There was Promite everywhere. The grumpy cleaner is going to be exceedingly grumpy tomorrow! Then, allegedly, though no-one else remembers doing or seeing it, Steve and I had a naked race around the hostel. However, Candice remained resolute and insisted that we had. Just aswell there's no photo's, else I'd be obliged to put them on! Just as I was about to climb into my bed after buying a bottle of water from reception, a man in boxer shorts enters our room in a very agitated state and declares "Someone's going to get a smack in the face!" while looking at me. Wearing my best puzzled look, I inquire as to what his problem is. "Some c*nt banging on my door at 5 in the morning waking me up! You muppet!" Other streams of profanity issued forth for several minutes, until he became bored with his tirrade of abuse and stumped off to bed grumbling. "What was all that about?" I ask no-one in particular, whereupon Kelly informs me that Steve had emptied our large and unwieldy rubbish bin on the floor in front of the next room's door and then repeatedly banged on the door to rouse the occupants. They seemingly were not amused or impressed. Neither with the cleaner be. At about 5:30 I flop into bed and am instantly taken by a deep and open-mouthed sleep. What a thoroughly enjoyable evening's entertainment that was!