14.06.2006 20 °C
While living in Sydney I managed to reach my 30th birthday against all expectations. Thanks to Alex, a surprise party was thrown at a Mexican restaurant for me. Much tequilla was drunk and it was a good night had by all. Considering my lightweight tendancies I manged to survive without too many problems as followed on to a few bars and a Japanese style karaoke booth.
Being 30 for me means getting old and I don’t like getting old. Unfortunately, it was a pity that all those around me don’t quite have the same outlook. Gone are the long hours (days) of partying for these suckers. My birthday was actually the next day and although a few of us made it out for the free festival over the road from our flat, they all crashed and burned by the evening. Very lame. So it was up to me to carry on alone with three girls (none of them my own) until the routine kick out by the bouncers at 3am who are averse to my customary glazed expression. Thats said, by then I was very pissed and had to get out the taxi 500 yards before its final destination to do some lying down on the floor. Unfortunately this comfort was short lived as I was politely awoken by a Chinaman “no sleep here, no sleep here” after which he kindly walked me along the road until he went a bit too far and held my hand. Now normally I would have reacted in the befitting manner of any alpha male who had his heterosexuality comprimised and simply waved the oriental fag away which as far as I remember done the trick. What is worrying is that I seem to have had a subsequent black out and by the time I had came to I found myself walking around a completely unrecogniseable part of town. I flagged down a taxi and it soon occured to me that I had walked a good 2 miles past my flat at least. Luckily all my clothes and cash were in tact so I safely assume that I wasn’t arse raped in an opium den somewhere and was just a little disorientated in my drunken stuppour.
The following weeks were a routine of work, get pissed on the Friday, Cinema on the Tuesday, DVD on a Sunday. A few big nights came and went but eventually the routine was getting to me and I jacked in the job in time for the World Cup. Unfortunately I couldn’t jack in my lightweigtedness and the fact that the games were being played at 11pm, 1am, 3am and finally 5am, soon took their toll. That said there were some great World Cup moments - none of them involving England. None more so when Australia and South Korea beat Japan and Togo respectively, and the big roadblocking street parties at 3 and 5 in the morning that followed. The large Korean population were especially enthusiastic but their impeccable conformity was the highlight of the celebrations. First, they lined the streets cheering, waving their flags, blowing their horns across the road from each other. Then, when the green man told them to cross they joined in the middle to congratulate each other. But as soon as the red man returned they quickly scampered back to the pavements. Eventually after about 10 minutes if this, they rightfully just said sod it and sealed off the main thoroughfare causing the police to redirect the traffic.
The World Cup had started promisingly but by the end it turned out to be a bit of a bore I thought as negative tactics took hold. That and the fact that England were typically amateur, incohesive, passionless and, well, shite.
It was all drawing to a close. Me and Alex took in a night of classical music at the Opera House (Holst) and a champagne and oyster cruise around the stunning harbour. Then the house finished off our mini era with a big caneage session with Gene Farris djing at a central club and at 5 mins before closing I naturally got chucked out for being too wrecked. I really need to stop letting my face looked more relaxed than I actually am and then there wouldn’t be any bother.
So the Sydney experience was over and me and Alex were back on the road/in the air. There were still more exciting times ahead.