Losing it

A year ago last Tuesday, things were pretty decent all things considered. Happily married, in a relationship with the person I loved more than anything in the world, great new job, loads of mates and a whole bucket of self-confidence. On a health kick, off the booze and fags, blissfully smug in my having the cake and eating it existence. My diary tells me that I was going to Kew that night for dinner and drinks. Ten days in, and 2016 felt just fine. Good things were going to happen.

Last Tuesday was a bit different. I spent most of the day in my pyjamas, on the sofa in the living room, with the curtains drawn. I’d not showered, washed or changed for three days, and had “Too Much Love Will Kill You” by Queen on repeat. Really loudly. I was desperate for a piss, but wouldn’t let myself go upstairs to the toilet, because my purple dressing gown belt was on the top of the landing, and the last time we hung out it all got a bit daft. I’d eaten a tub of cornflake cakes, an entire selection box, and was halfway through a tray of After Eight mints. I’d also run out of fags, but was unable to go to the shop round the corner because I’d come to realise that they were selling me Russian counterfeit goods, which could – most likely would – damage my health. So I’d have to make the walk to newsagents down the road.

None of this struck me as in any way odd. The eating, the not washing, the inability to go upstairs and use the bathroom, the binge-listening to late era Queen, not even the plot hatched by the fella from Peacocks Food and Wine to poison me with Russian knock-off fags. But the thought of going to the shop in my pyjamas was doing my head in. Would people notice if I had a coat on? Was it really okay for a normal bloke like me to go out in pyjama bottoms? Would people assume they were hareem pants, maybe? Could they pass for skater trousers at a push? I spent a good hour turning this over in my head, bladder bursting, Freddie giving it big guns on the stereo. I finally gave in, tucked the bottoms into my reindeer slipper socks, put my coat on and left the house. “You’ll be fine”, I told myself. “Just be yourself and no one will look at the trousers.”

***

November 11^th 2016 was the day that I officially lost my mind, in the somehow fitting setting of a conference centre car park in Kent. I’d not been well for quite a while before, something which is alarmingly clear with hindsight. Weeks of relative lows, followed by flashes of euphoria fuelled by a naïve belief that everything would be alright in the end if I just wanted it bad enough. So not great, but sort of manageable. I could do my job, see my friends, cook a meal and use social media without the risk of harming myself or anyone else. You know – usual, normal stuff. For a long while after November 11^th, I couldn’t do any of these things. So that’s why I fix on that date. The day I lost my mind.

I stopped going to work pretty much straight away, and found myself a therapist the day after. There are other people who have written far more eloquently than I could ever manage about the appalling lack of NHS mental health provision – most brilliantly Isabel Hardman – so I won’t bother. But suffice to say I only got the help I desperately needed by paying for it. I still am – and Emma is worth whatever it’s cost ten times over, and almost certainly kept me from doing something properly silly early on – but god knows what people without the money do. Anyhow, I soon settled into a pretty standard routine. I’d walk loads, ten miles or more a day, under the guise of making myself better. I’d spend hours making sure my Instagram made it clear that I wasn’t well enough to work, but also gave off the sort of vibes of someone deeply committed to getting better as quickly as possible. I’d also be totally honest with my friends and family about how bad things were. I had depression, but wasn’t ashamed. I didn’t know what had brought it on, but I’d beat it in the end. Because I was Luke Holland, and that’s the sort of thing he’d do.

But it was all a bluff. A trick. A ruse. A load of bollocks. Because the walks would always be to places I knew would take me back to a bad place, soundtracked with a playlist purpose-built to fuel my sadness. And – deep down - I knew why I felt this way. But I also knew I’d never tell my friends. Or my family. And it made my skin crawl with shame, sadness and anger. It made me want to curl up in a corner and never see anyone again. It pushed down on me like a lead weight of guilt, the sadness, fear and worry I’d inflicted on so many people doing somersaults in my head from morning to night. It made me want to stop it all – for me and everyone else, especially the people I loved. It made me want to die. And that’s not a great thing to want. And that’s how the days would pass, in a fug of dirty, dark and nasty emotions. The clouds just refused to pass. And as fully signed up lunatic, everything takes so much longer. It’s like living your life in cat years; each day is a week, each week a month, each… well. You get the picture.

And all the while, I’d pick at the scab that my enforced absence from everyday life caused. I’d fill in the blanks in conversations, chats, drinks and catch-ups that I was no longer part of. Before long, the blanks became bigger than the things themselves. I was no longer stitching together a story that I had been part of, but instead creating another story all together, one filled with actions, motivations and betrayals that most likely bore no relation to reality. 

Meanwhile those that did cut harder, deeper and more ruthlessly than you can imagine. I’d sit on the floor, sit on the garden wall or park benches on any number of London streets and wait for a message that was never going to come. I felt betrayed. I felt replaced. And I felt sadness that I can’t ever put into words. And most horrifyingly of all, I could feel myself changing. Changing from Luke, who was funny, clever and great to be around but struggling with depression, into Luke who had depression. My illness was becoming my defining characteristic. And for a narcissist – even a mad one – this was bad news indeed.

And then a few things happened. On one of my walks, stopping underneath a bridge near Clapham Junction, I was reminded of a conversation I’d had with a very dear friend a lifetime ago. In the conversation, they fixed me with a look I will never forget and simply said “I don’t think I will ever be happy again. And it terrifies me.” And I remembered not understanding quite what this meant, quite how anyone could ever feel this way. But I also remembered how much I wanted to help. How much I wanted this to not be the case. And how much all their friends wanted this to not be the case as well. And here I was, fully convinced that I’d never be happy again. Ever. But I figured that I should give it a go. And that I should stop obsessing about the couple of people who hadn’t called, and let all those that had throw their arms around me and try and sort me out.

And I have. And it’s helped. Loads. Because if truth be told, people have been genuinely brilliant. My family have been beyond brilliant.. Firm friends have shown why they’re firm friends to begin with, while some pals have gone above and beyond, their kindness as astonishing as that from people who I barely knew from the internet getting in touch with a wink, a goat gif or some small piece of advice to lift me up. I’ve not been judged. I’ve not been pigeon holed. I’ve not been patronised. I’ve just been helped, in a kaleidoscope of ways that I’ll never understand, never feel entitled to, but will always be eternally grateful for. I’ve also been inspired, uplifted and empowered reading some of the astonishing things that fellow sufferers are doing for themselves and others. Bryony Gordon’s fabulousMental Health Mates in particular has been huge for me. Sunday’s walk round a sodden Clapham Common with a bunch of people, all with mental health problems, was actually brilliant. And a damn sight more fun than it looks on paper. Talking. Supporting. Helping. And laughing. Especially the laughing.

I’m not better. Not by a long chalk. I still don’t read. Apart from this, and a very self-conscious note I wrote then deleted prior to my tussle with the dressing gown a while ago, I don’t write. I’m still not back at work. I still drift in and out of conversations, nights out and time with friends. And some days the curtains still stay drawn for much of the day. But I’ve not listened to Queen for a week, have some new routes to walk, and realise how fabulous my family and friends are. I’m determined to repay my old ones, keep my new ones, and find a way to win back some of those I’ve lost. I’m determined to write another piece sometime soon about what happened when I went to the shop in my pyjamas (it was genuinely brilliant, if you’re wondering). Moreover, I truly, really, desperately want to get better. I want to be happy again. And for the first time in an age, I reckon that I will be.

Paperback

Crying on the tube on the way into work is not something I’ve done a great deal of. Not really my thing. So when I found myself sat on the Circle Line, just after 9am this morning, with tears rolling down my face, I wasn’t quite sure what to do, not quite sure where I should look. What I was sure of, without question, is why I’d found myself in this way-too-awkward-for-London spot to begin with. It was because I was listening to “Paperback” by The Scooters. So, for the first time in a long time, I got to blame my friend Anthony for making me look like a pillock in public.

Ant has done this to me far too many times to mention. Making me request “Madame George” from the bemused grunge DJ on a Thursday night out in Metros. Making me tell “that story about Ian and his mobile phone” yet again to a smattering of bored customers the other side of the bar in the Royal Oak. Insisting that taking my shirt of and belting out “Born to Run” with a crap busker on Queen Street at 3am was a really, really good idea. Demanding I join him and the rest of the band to sing “Everybody Needs Somebody To Love” when they played my 21st birthday party, despite me not knowing any of the words. All Ant’s fault. All plainly ridiculous. All destined to end up with me looking like a div. And all things I did because Ant said I should. He has that sort of effect on people.

The thing is, Ant left us a couple of years ago. And that was actually the last time – before this morning – that he’d made me cry. Again, not directly. But when my mam called me on the way into work and told me that Ant had died, everything froze. I stopped, stone still, in the middle of the street and wept like a baby. And then I started calling people. Friends, pals, people that I used to know, so I could try and share the appalling sadness that someone that was always so very alive – that made others feel alive – was no longer with us.

And I kept talking about Ant for the next few weeks. Arrangements to travel home for the funeral. Telling people – any people – about what an amazing person Ant was, the things he’d done for me, how he’d opened up a world of music, books, words and experiences to me as a kid and become one of my dearest friends in the world. I talked, incessantly, about how much I loved this person who’d done more than almost anyone to help make me the gobby chancer I am today, the nights out, the all-day shifts at the Oak, the more contemplative evenings round my place listening to scratched records and talking non-stop about nothing in particular. And I told them about how I would always turn to Ant – Uni trouble, girl trouble, money trouble – when I was in a pickle, and he’d always sort me out. Always.

What I didn’t talk to people about as much, in fact I didn’t talk to people about at all, was that I’d not seen Ant for almost a year. In fact, I couldn’t remember saying goodbye to him the last time we’d caught up. And it meant that however hard I tried, I couldn’t say goodbye to him now, either.

And it was the same a few weeks later when all of Cardiff – and a fair whack of the rest of the country – turned out in St Albans for Ant’s service. People spoke so movingly about Ant – Chris, Bob, Ant’s sisters. And he still pulled a crowd. Standing room only at the back and outside. And after, in Gassy Jacks, surrounded by people who I’d known and loved for all my life and plenty more I knew and loved by the end, we watched Chris, Bob, Tim and Simon play the songs we all loved so much. Their songs. Ant’s songs. And we drank, and I crept out the side in the pissing rain to sneak a fag while my mam wasn’t looking, and I ended up staggering blind drunk down Cathays Terrace with my mate Ian (after Mark made good on his promise to get the last train back to Maidenhead), talking non-stop about nothing in particular like the old days. But I still hadn’t said goodbye.

And I guess that’s why I’m writing all this down, haphazardly on my phone, and why I might even try and think of a way to share it with people at some point. Because this morning, like quite a few mornings over the past few months, I found myself listening to Ant to try and get things straight. I can’t talk to him anymore, but he’s been there, almost every day, over a pretty shitty month. And this morning, he did it again. He got my head straight. Sorted me out. Dusted me down to face the day. And weirdly, finally, on a golden morning out of Paddington, sitting on the Circle Line listening to Paperback, I finally got round to it. I said goodbye to Ant. And then I wrote about it. And after the tears had dried, and the awkward looking commuters on the train had found a way to stop staring, I smiled. I smiled, and I put the song on again.

A change is as good as a rest

A couple of years back, Louise and I were forced to take down our beloved travel blog amid a pretty intense bout of political hackery and general nastiness back home in Wales. Prior to that, I'd been meaning to tweak things a bit following our return to the UK, and start blogging about stuff I liked, mainly food, music and steam trains. Though, most likely, mainly food and music.

Anyhow, a couple of years have passed, and we're no longer in lovely Wales, having attached handkerchiefs to the end our collective stick and moved to London. I'm still eating (well, currently dieting, but that's a blog I'll never write), drinking (most months), listening to music (taste still impeccable) and travelling (though now sadly punctuated by long periods of work). And this, thrillingly, is my blog about these things. 

I've also brought with me most of the posts from our time away, because I loved writing them with Louise and got a kick out of people reading them too. I might even get around to writing about the last legs of the trip that we never managed to properly record.

And why Stink of Shoe Polish? Well, long ago in a land far away, it was the name of a magazine that I ran with my good friends Hosk and Ryan. Full of reviews with split infinitives, ads that no one ever paid for and restaurant reviews of places we'd never really visited, it was actually pretty darn cool. Both Ryan and Hosk are even more boring than I am nowadays, but back then were the weird older friends that my parents worried about. In many ways they still are. I hope they like the reference, and hope they don't sue for a third of the Google Ad traffic. If they do, my dreams of buying a loft conversion in Clapham will remain just that - dreams.

Stay warm.

Gotta Keep Moving On

Flying out of the chilled, beautiful and really rather moreish Darwin and into Sanur in Bali was a little like swapping a tub of Ben and Jerries for a Cornetto. Or to borrow a phrase popular across South East Asia - same, same, but different. While the climate might be similar and there were beaches, that's where any similarity ended. In a nutshell, Sanur was shite. In fact, it was grimy, full of rats, devoid of character and shite. And as such, I'll not waste too long writing about it, save to say that highlights were pancakes and fish - separately, not together - at Titi's fabulous beach cafe, and sneaking into Five Star resorts to use their pools. Oh, and the crazy bus to Ubud, where we washed up next.

Though undoubtedly geared slap-bang at the tourists who flock here by the bus load and sadly lacking any sort of beach, Ubud was not only a vast improvement on Sanur, but something of a little charmer in its own way. If you manage to turn a blind eye to the confused families on package tours and the hoards of modern day Shirley Valentines all trying to 'find themselves' thanks to the hideous "Eat, Pray, Love", Ubud is a really rewarding stop on any tour of the area. Our traditional bungalow was basic but beautifuly set, with shrines, sun and birdsong waking us each morning. Strolling through the town is pleasant enough, while a short hop out one end and into the rice fields that run alongside is quite magical - almost deserted, you could be in another world. Of the many places vying for your foodie dollar, newcomer Mingles deserves a special pat on the back for great cocktails, genuinely inventive fusion menu and great staff. Not quite as tasty but infinitely more worthy, though, is Sjaki-Tari-Us, staffed by and local young people with varying disabillities, and funding a wonderful Dutch-backed project that provides the only schooling and outreach work for similar young people in the reguion.

Another cheap flight with Air Asia took us to Phuket Town, perhaps best known as the location for the pretty dire film adaptation of The Beach, way back when it wasn't quite so spooky that Leonardo DiCaprio looked about twelve. Grungy but unremarkable, if I'd have known how terrible Kho Samui was going to be, I'd have pushed Louise to stay a day or two longer. Sadly I didn't, and so took a ferry to the island, arriving into a beachside bungalow in the supposedly more relaxed, less wanker-filled Bo Phut town late that night. Next morning, and things looked pretty good, our little complex having a few sun loungers, bar and its own private beach cove. And the half day we spent relaxing there, and in the sea, was really rather lovely, until we spolied it all by walking further along the beach, and into the broken glass, floating medical supply bottles, animal excrement and stray dogs that were the hallmark of the this stretch of supposedly beautiful coastline. The town was pretty dire to boot, saved only by a certain dusty charm and a handful of decent restaurants. Still, at least it wasn't Sanur.

Our plan had been to spend the next few days island hopping, but torrential rain and the promise of much more changed our plans for us. So instead, it was back aboard the trusty overnight bus, the trains being full, and onto Bangkok.

As the hub from which almsot every transport spoke runs, we would visit Bangkok a total of three times during our time in the region, spending a cumulative week there. Thailand's capital is feted by many (namely 18 year olds from Croydon and Lonely Planet writers) as a huge, overpowering mecca of neon and general madness, from which you may or may not escape with your life and sanity intact. We found it a little bit like a budget-Hong Kong, pleasant enough in its own way but nothing like the full-on sensory assault we'd been expecting. In fact, if anything, it was a little tame. That said, our digs near the infamous Khao San Road at the Rambuttri Village Inn were amusingly cheap if brutally spartan, while the sight of the Thai tourist industry making a killing while playing dumb to packs of spotty Brits and French blokes in Aladdin Pants was pretty amusing. It goes without saying that the richest rewards lie away from this ghetto, and there are certainly plenty of rich pickings to be had. A walk through Chinatown gives any visitor a fantastic glimpse into the manic world of commerce at every level and trade imaginable, and is suitably grubby and dank to boot.

A great day out in its own right and a top way to avoid overpriced tuk-tuks and mind-boggling traffic congestion, the ferry along the river Mae Nam Chao Phraya is the locals preferred way to get about and costs next to nothing. Knocking spots off the 'tourist specials' that charge ten times as much with fewer stops - and no locals to watch - we used the ferry to take us half way from Khao San to the sprawling weekend market in Chatuchak, completing the journey on the Skytrain. The market itself is a sight to behold, with more hawkers plying their wares unofficially outside the market site than most other markets have full stop. Once inside the complex, you just need to surrender to the human traffic and lose yourself amidst the madness. A teeming blend of pretty much everything from tourist tat, jewelery and electronics to achingly hip local designers, folorn looking animals to flowers and household cleaners, this mighty living, breathing shrine to the Gods of retail and bartering is an assault on all the senses. Go - just don't expect to actually find what you were looking for.

What I certainly wouldn't recommend is wasting your time on is the idenikit chain hotels, shopping malls and on-street dildo and viagra salesmen that make up Sukhumvit Road. Unless, of course, you want to go shopping - the malls looked well equipped - or pay for sex with a local on Soy Cowboy, a strip of knocking shops and Go Go bars that looked even more tragic by day than I imagine it would at night. While passing no judgement on those who work in the industry, I still found the parade of pot bellied, sunburned, seedy-looking Europeans parading their paid-for fuck buddies skin crawling. Even more baffling was the dead-eyed look of their Thai comapnions who, like the Ruttles, are only in it for the money. If the men can't see this sadness, they are blind; if they can but carry on with the charde anyway, they are something much, much worse. At the other end of Sukhumvit is a tourist trap of a more benign nature, in the form of Jim Thimpson's house. An American silk trader who fell in love with Thailand before vanishing in mysterious circumstances, the house he built in Bangkok used wood and techniques from former traditional Thai abodes. While the house is quite something, the whole experience is diminhed a little by the shocking developments around the house, and the slightly 'wham, bam, thank you mam' nature of the group tour.

Our second stint in town saw us swap the Falang-filled ghetto of Khao San for a dash of the 'real' (well, more real) Bangkok amongst the gem, gold and cloth traders in Silom, in an inredibly priced (if windowless) room at the rather swanky New Road Guest House. As well as being within walking distance of most Embassies, and as such perfect for dodging the agencies an sorting onward travel to most neighbouring countries, it is also blessed with an abundance of of great cheap local eatreries. It is also a walk to (and in my rat-arsed case, a short cab ride back from) Patpong, one time rival to Soy Cowboy, now reinvented as a Disneyland with tits and arse, erotic shows replacing many of the knocking shops. While the bars still have a fair few men too ugly and boring to get get their rocks off without flashing the Bhat, there are now more couples of all sexes and, a little weirdly, a fair few families. We also used the nearby river taxi stop to boat down to Wat Pho, one of Bangkok's most beautiful temple complexes, complete with a reclining Buddah of epic proportions. It's well worth arriving early as we did to avoid the tour buses that start flocking in from mid morning, bringing with them an apparently endless trail of disrespectful Falangs who really don't seem to understand why wearing a bkini to a place of worship is a no-no.

But the undoubted highlight of our time in Bangkok didn't actually take place in the city at all, but on a rare tourist train for local Thais (we were two of four foreigners on the excursion) to Kanchanaburi, via the fabled Bridge Over The River Kwai and Erawan Falls. Though the train leaves at 6.30am and returns more than twelve hours later, the day flew by, with the journey - first by foot, then by train - over the famous bridge the obvious highpoint. The waterfalls at Erawan were beautiful, while the Allied cemetry at Kanchanaburi was unexpecedly, joltingly moving. Throw in the chance to spend time chatting to some charming Thai people, and you've got a pretty perfect day. And for the princley sum of two quid each.

Stay warm,
Luke and Louise

(Posted by Luke)

The Last Waltz

After leaving Melbourne we had only a few weeks left in Australia, here's what we did:
Tasmania

A few weeks before leaving Melbourne we jetted over to Tasmania for a long weekend (with Jet Star, not the 'grounded for safety reasons' Tiger). To do it justice you probably need about three weeks but thanks to our fabulous friend, and excellent host, Frances we managed to get the most we could out of the little time we had on this action packed island.

First stop Saturday morning was the animal sanctuary to see Tasmanian Devils, who were cute, but strangely not very devilish -instead they seemed to be jogging quite amiably. More exciting still we got to feed kangaroos. Having beaten all the children to the sanctuary we were surrounded by very hungry kangaroos jumping and grabbing for food. From here we set  out on a road trip across Tasmania, stopping in small towns  and viewing beautiful countryside not dissimilar to Wales and reaching the amazing, snow-covered cradle mountain. We stayed overnight in the winter wonderland that is the national park, saw walabies, potoroos and quolls in the wild, and had a few local beers. In the morning we did a short trek around the lake made longer but all the more magical as we did it in snow and ice, and with hardly anyone else there. The views, despite the clouds, were picture postcard.

After our fantastic road trip we stayed with Frances in the Tasmanian capital Hobart, and had a day to explore this small but historic city. The cobbled streets around the harbour are quaint and some of the historic Victorian buildings are lovely but the real gem for Hobart visitors (other than the excellent pubs) was a trip to the MONA gallery. Newly opened it has a fantastically quirky collection of modern art from all different artists. You are issued with a Mona Ipad on arrival which not only provides you with information and background n each piece but allows you to vote love or hate for every piece. If that's not enough for you the winery and brewery on the same site are great and the ferry journey to the gallery is a good trip out in itself!

Newcastle

Upon finally departing Melbourne for good, we flew North to Sydney and caught a train up to the nearby small city of Newcastle to catch up with our friend and other South American travel companion Choppy. Choppy's family had kindly offered to put us up, but on arrival we were delighted-  if not a little overwhelmed - by the warm welcome and hospitality we received from the Chapman family, from fine dinning in a local restaurant to delicious home barbecued shrimps we were greeted with! On top of that Choppy was an excellent guide and showed us round Newcastle. Newcastle has become a popular back backer destination and its easy to see why. Quiet and laid back compared to its noisy neighbour, Newcastle has a homely charm with some fantastic art deco architecture in the centre and fabulous beaches. We did promise that we would return the hospitality  when the Chapman clan next hit Europe - and our offer still stands.

Sydney

With our time in Australia growing short we embarked on a trail of some of Australia's greatest hits - and where better to start than in Australia's largest and most famous city. Compared to our many months in Melbourne we had only three days to get to know Sydney, and so obviously it's impossible to compare them fairly. Sydney is probably the better tourist city with its iconic harbour and opera house, the famous Bondi beach and an unbeatable walk across the harbour bridge. There are an array of 'must sees' in Sydney. Sydney is also famous for its good weather, and despite being winter it didn't disappoint with unseasonal sunny days and a late-summer vibe the whole time we were there.

Sydney centre is easy to walk around and has got really varied architecture which you can take in, in a few hours. The opera house was smaller than we expected but still impressive. Luke pointed out that a lot of the modern skyline in Sydney looks very brown and seventies "like an early episode of Columbo", but wandering around you find a few stunning buildings too. We loved the Botanic Gardens which are vast and beautiful and have glorious views out over the harbour. As well as a walk over the harbour bridge, if you haven't got the time or money to do a bridge climb climbing one of the bridges towers to see the view is really worth it. Other highlights were an evening eating in Chinatown and a few drinks in Sydney's oldest pub.

I think its fair to say that we weren't blown away by the historic rocks area. Perhaps like many things it was hyped up to better than it actually was or maybe we're just too British, but the history wasn't that exciting to us. Looking at Australia's oldest houses, Luke turned to me and said the house he grew up in Splott is not only older, but is actually nicer and better preserved.

Whilst architecture and history are perhaps not everyone's cup of tea, the location is the real highlight of Sydney and the scenery is breath taking. Taking the ferry to Manley was worth every second just to see this spectacular harbour, but our personal highlight was the 5km coastal walk we did to Bondi beach.

I read an article about Sydney when I first arrived in Australia (by an Aussie) which explained that Sydney was the best city in the world because it was like London but with good weather and beautiful beaches. I'd say it got two out of three right -beaches tick, weather tick, London not a  patch.

Considering our time in Melbourne it would be unfair to compare Sydney with it but we did anyway, and in our very biased opinion Melbourne wins hands down. Sydney probably has more for the tourist, it definitely has the better beaches and the better weather. Its also brash and in your face and easily absorbed in a few days. Melbourne takes longer to love, but when you fall for her no other Aussie city is quite as good!

Journeying North to Brisbane 

We could probably write a whole blog just on the overnight train journey we made from Sydney to Brisbane- of all the the crazy overnight train and bus journeys we've done, this one made me realise its often better when you can't understand what the locals are saying. Phrases like “Yeah I was just shooting up in the toilet,” So what you take to help you come down off a hit?” and “Do you want me to take him? I've just done six years for trying to kill a peadaphile and I don't mind doing it again.”

Sadly we have limited time to catch up our blog so I will just say our eventful night was spent in a carriage with two heroin addicts, an alcoholic Crocodile Dundee, two hyperactive children, an inattentive mother, a drunken alleged peadophile, some armed police, some very efficient staff and a few mentalists thrown in for good measure. The highlight of  the night was a man being removed from the train in cuffs and wrestled to the ground on the platform. Warning to anyone planning on catching the train - the staff did act like this was normal.

Our trip from Brisbane to Cairns was by contrast very quiet and relaxed. We started off with a day in Brisbane – recovering and catching up with the ever lovely Scott Bewley. Brisbane is one of Australia's most liveable cities, with good bars and good weather. We did take a walk about but there is little for the discerning tourist to see. That said it is a great place to just hang out, have some beers and watch the world go by.

We had managed to get a relocation campervan which cost us only one Aussie dollar - on the proviso that we travel the 1700 km to Cairns in four days. As we didn't have time on our hands this deal was perfect for us, and we were delighted when we picked up our family sized van. As it was filthy, with a smashed window and a million kilometres on the clock, I'm glad I didn't pay more than a dollar, but our road trip was truly awesome. We didn't have much time for sight seeing but the scenery from rolling fields to sugar canes and from gorgeous beaches to tropical gorgeous beaches was, as ever stunning. It was nice as well to be able to stop wherever we wanted in some small bonkers towns away from the cities.

Cairns
Cairns doesn't feel like a city at all, instead it seems like a rather dull but perfectly pleasant town. Our time here was made infinitely better by staying in Travellers Oasis, by far our favourite Australian hostel.

There is nothing to see or do in the city itself but the reason for coming here is to take a boat out to the great barrier reef. The great barrier reef was hyped up to us by close friends, work colleagues, random people we met in restaurants, every Australian travel guide and all the greatest wonders of the world books and sites and TV shows. There are some things in life where your expectations are so high that you feel they can only disappoint. I'd always wanted to go to the great barrier reef and  having been in Australia for nearly six months by now it was difficult to keep my expectations down. Crazy really then, that it didn't disappoint us!

We took a day trip out to the outer reef with Passions of Paradise. The perfect day trip for unconfident swimmers as they take you to a calm sandy island where you can swim out to the reef from. I tried diving for the first time, and Luke (an unconfident swimmer at best) snorkelled right out over the reef with a waterproof camera.

And it was truly magical - the number of brightly coloured fish and coral you see, is unbelievable. Its hard to put into words how majestic and beautiful it is seeing this underwater world. It really is all you imagine and more! And its not often you can say that.

After seeing the great barrier reef we hired a car and drove up to Cape Tribulation. It seems incredibly repetitive to say the scenery was stunning, but this is the tropics where exoctic lush rainforests filled with brightly coloured birds and butterflies meet stunning smooth white sandy beaches. Throw in a bunch of bananas for under four dollars and some fantastic ice cream and it was a heavenly end to our time down under.

Til next time, stay warm,

Louise and Luke

(Posted by Louise)

...As Heaven that you take me to. Life in Melbourne Part Two.

Bernie. In Simon's cube. On some chairs.

Going Out ...and Staying In
It's fair to say that Melbourne is not a cheap place to drink, especially if you rock up with the ever dwindling Pound Sterling. It is however a fantastic place to drink, with a range of locally brewed  beers on offer that really blow your mind – and in our case, the bottle-shop-running beer connoisseur Bernie to guide us through them all! Add to that several excellent wine growing regions in the area an you have the start of a good night. Throw in the food and good pubs already mentioned by Luke and Melbourne really is a great place to go out.

One of the best places for a night on the tiles are Smith and Brunswick Streets where not only are the good bars too numerous to list, but there is always some sort of live music, comedy or dancing to be found. Yah Yahs is a great place to for crazy dancing and our unbelievably messy last night out finished off in a random club with the ancient looking Northern Soul legend,  DJ and Warrington native Vince Peach on the decks.

Luke, Dee and Vince Peach. 'Nuff said.

With all this dancing and drinking to be done it's
surprising that we found so much time for trivia, but find time we did, with our team Quiz On My Ten Dollar Jugs (Aka BARRY).  The aforementioned Great  Northern pub has a decent quiz night on a Wednesday which we frequented, however our team and knowledge base was better to suited to the Sunday Night music quiz in the Empress - which we won several times. Our favourite quiz of all the quizzes, however, was Tuesday night in the Railway with Greg. The epitome of an old school quiz master, he gave us a few nudges in the right direction when we were simply too Anglo to cope with the Aussie rules questions (and before Crispi and Chris joined the team!). He also seemed genuinely sad to see us leave on our last night, and we were – the beer might have been pretty terrible, but the Railway was a bit of home away from home. Also worth a mention a a trivia alternative is the excellent Bogan Bingo (also on Wednesday nights) which is bingo with a distinctly bogan twist.

After seven months on the road it was great to not only have a place we called home, but a garden to go with it and -as we might have mentioned fabulous flatmates. This resulted in an array of fun packed, and often messy, nights staying in as well as going out, from the traditional Aussie barbie to fancy dress Eurovison night! We also celebrated and watched the royal wedding with a fancy dress British themed house party at Chris and Kate's, and celebrated Luke and Bernie's birthdays with Seventies VS Eighties themed house party.

Looking back I can't remember how I found the time to work or save any money! (Louise)

The People
Though we lived in Australia for close on six months, we travelled relatively little. As such, I'm in no place to pass sweeping judgement on the nation's psyche, or pretend to have crawled under the skin on the Australian people. Having said that, there's no escaping the fact that – aided and abetted by a print and broadcast media that, with the honourable exception of ABC, SBS and The Age, are uniformly repugnant in their right-wing zealotry -  quite a few Aussies have a beef with their indigenous peoples. And foreigners in general. And immigrants. And climate change. And Greenies. And 'scroungers'.  And....

Now Melbourne is by no means free of such prejudices – perceived or real – but as a city and a people, both Melbourne and Melburnians seem far more at ease with themselves and their history than some of their fellow citizens in other states. As home to the fabulous Immigration Museum, Melbourne retains a quiet pride at its history of accepting, if not always welcoming, peoples from around the world. Indeed, as the vibrant Greek and Chinese areas of the CBD show to this day, much of Melbourne's reputation for great food and culture is thanks to these very people. And even though the Liberals recently took control of the State legislature, most people reacted with thinly-veiled disgust when the new administration tried to axe the Aboriginal 'Welcome to Country' given at the start of Government events and visits. Indeed, such was the backlash that there was a hastily-beat and amusingly cack-handed retreat beat.

And though the locals might not have the unbeatably sunny chipperness of the Kiwis (which is not always a bad thing), they are a pretty welcoming bunch, usually keen to help new arrivals get the most out of their city. From the pubs – and quizzes – we frequented, to the local cafés and eateries, through to our local shops, we were made to feel like we we were not only welcome to stay a while, but would be welcome to make the place our home. To such an extent that, was we've already said, we very nearly did. (Luke)

Museums and Galleries

Melbourne could be described as the cultural capital of Australia, whilst it doesn't have as many tourist hotspots as Sydney it does have a great selection of galleries and museums - many of which we didn't fit in during our five months there.

The Melbourne museum had a rather overpriced Tutankhamen exhibit on whilst we were in Melbourne which we skipped in favour of its better permanent displays. It has a great outdoors section on Victorian natural history, a fantastic history of the city and a truly brilliant section on Aboriginal art and history. Less interesting for Brits is an entire display on a famous horse, and an obsession with excavating “really old” ruins from as far back as 150 years ago.

The Immigration museum gives a fantastic history of the development of Australia through immigration and its immigration policy - still very much a hot topic in Australia today. It described the multicultural city that Melbourne was even a hundred years ago, and outlined the shocking All White Australia policy that even the Australian Labor party held until the mid seventies. Fun can be had trying out the different boat cabins from different eras, but the highlight for was trying your hand at being an immigration officer, where you get to decide whether someone should be given right to remain. Whilst taking a neutral stand on modern day immigration policy the museum does subtly point out that (aside from the Aboriginal communities) the majority of Australians today are themselves descendants of the dreaded boat people.

The Melbourne Jail is well worth a visit, Though full ticket prices are very expensive. With your ticket you can visit  both the original Victorian jail and the more modern jail which only stopped functioning 1990s. The jail provides an insight into Australia's much loved (by tourists as much as Australians) history of  criminality. The jail is particularly popular because national hero and folklore legend Ned Kelly was imprisoned and eventually executed here. What great cause did he champion that makes him still so popular with Australians today? Well as far as I can tell, thieving, mainly.

The modern Federation Square in the centre of Melbourne is a good place to start if you like museums and galleries. Opposite the main Flinders Street Station, with several cafes, restaurants and the tourist office, all the trams stop here and its always busy. It has a good vibe and hosts many of the many festivals, showing how good a new build square can be when you get it right.

Melbourne is a wash with galleries with something for everyone's tastes. Personal highlights included the Ian Potter Gallery, the National Gallery of Victoria, and a great temporary art exhibition made from Lego.

Working in Melbourne
While Lou coasted through her working life in Melbourne – found a job early on, never loved it or hated it, end of  story – my employment history was a little more varied. My first job, making fresh pastas and sauces for a bunch of right shithouses in Carlton North, was an utter nightmare that makes me shudder to this day. Second gig with a portly, constantly wired but very lovely Croatian-Australian and his fledgeling ad agency was amusing enough, though it was pretty clear that he was paying me from his overdraft and I'd already tired of writing articles about stainless-steel work surfaces and industrial chest freezers.

Melbourne - and St Kilda - icon, Luna Park

And then came City of Port Phillip Council. My three month placement as Media Advisor, covering while the full-time post holder worked at the UN in New York, was in itself a highlight of my time in Australia. Though I'm sure that already time has dimmed some of the frustrations I felt during my time there, it was a real pleasure to work with so many talented, committed and – to my eyes at least – politically sound people. An award-winning Council, CoPP today is still a  little bruised after an unbelievably rancorous planning issue erupted into a media and political dog fight that even shocked me, and led to a change of Council and blood-letting across the organisation. (A quick Google of 'St Kilda Triangle' will give you more of a gist if you want one.) However, under the leadership of crack CEO Kay Rundle, a new Executive Management Team, and a freshly blooded  elected chamber, the Council has re-grouped with speed and aplomb. It was also incredibly interesting to see how a local authority worked on the other side of the world. In essence, it seemed to be 'same, same but different' –  only seven Councillors, far fewer statutory obligations and a funding structure that made me wince. In essence, the services you get from your council depends on what they want to fund and the priorities of the elected members. Not a problem at CoPP – but possibly a recipe for disaster in less community focused councils.

St Kilda Town Hall, and CoPP HQ.

Not only was I made to feel incredibly welcome in the organisation, with my advice and contributions welcomed and considered, I learned a great deal and made a great many friends. What was meant to be a stop-gap way to trouser a few quid while on the road quickly became a job that I cared about very much. I also enjoyed it hugely, quite possibly due to the unusual number of media shit storms that erupted during my time in town – challenges for sure, but also what I (secretly) enjoy. Respect for my former co-workers prevents me from recounting any 'closed door' stories here, but I really did have a blast. Naming colleagues is always a dangerous game as well as some invariably get accidentally dropped, but former State Government advisor Brooke was one of the finest strategic minds I've ever had the pleasure of working with, and made my time much easier. (She was also amusingly foul mouthed when the mood took, which made me feel far more comfortable.) Sian was a great line manager and good friend, while both my Mayors – Rachel and Judith – were truly dedicated professionals. Yuki tolerating my language, Carol with a smile as fab as her baking, Shob with her BBC obsession, Anna's encyclopedic council knowledge.Indeed, the whole Communications and Engagement Team were great, making a gobby Welsh bloke feel far more comfortable than they needed to.  Some friendships and working relationships were only just blossoming when it was time for me to leave. I miss them all very much – almost as much as I miss the salary. And I'm really chuffed that I got through this without mentioning Sue killing any dogs... (Luke)

Our friends
But for both of us, the real highlight of our time in town was the great group of people that we shared it with.

Team Barry, combining brains and wit with indisputable sex appeal.

 Dee and Bernie – the dream housemates; Nat and Crispi, music-loving quiz regulars; Chris and Pauline, lovely and for a time our only friends in  town; Simon and Jade, incomparable fun and purveyors of filth; Kate and Chris, quizzing stalwarts and an absolute hoot.

And last, but by no means least - always there with a comforting hug on those long lonely, job hunting days -Greystoke. We salute you all!

So bye bye Melbourne - hello the end of Oz.

Stay warm,

Luke and Louise

xx

If Paradise is half as nice … Life in Melbourne Part One

Much is made – by both wanky residents and even wankier travel writers – about Melbourne's 'liveability'. Indeed, only a few weeks ago, it was named the most liveable city in the world by the annual Global Livability Survey, and as it was on the BBC, it must be true. And though we've stayed in bigger, more visceral, sweeter, more exciting and some downright more intoxicating cities during our travels, Melbourne was – with the brief exception of beautiful Buenos Aires – the only place we really called home. In short, we fell utterly, giddily and a little embarrassingly in love with Melbourne. And to honour that fact, here is our Top Ten utterly subjective, highly selective and quite possibly factually inaccurate reasons why we almost moved to the land Down Under. (Luke)


1. Winners and Losers

Straight in at Number One is this Melbourne-based drama of sweeping, Pinter-esque proportions, a beautifully scripted and hard hitting slice of... okay, okay. I lie. It's a painfully contrived, terribly acted slice of utter arse, broadcast weekly on Channel Seven. We loved it – and are still in pieces about missing the season finale. Reason enough to apply for residency – Google it now, and never look back. (Luke)



2. Food

Breaking with the habit of a lifetime, I didn't put food at the top of the list. But truth be told I should  have, as Melbourne is without a doubt the most fabulously foodie city we've visited. It is a challenge in itself to find a bad meal in the city, but as my amusing new body shape is testament to, it's a challenge I took up with gusto. And them some.

Ably aided and abetted by Bernie and Dee – possibly the only two people in the world who enjoy eating out as well and regularly as us – we took in a dizzying array of pubs, cafés and restaurants, serving everything from Thai to steaks, with at least half a dozen Chicken Parmigianas in between. (For the record, the finest specimen of this wonderful Aussie staple can be found at our local boozer – The Great Northern on Rathdowne Street, Carlton North.) But where else to recommend? For starters, head to the suburbs for the best grub. The CBD has a few gems – Post Deng Cafe  in China Town for a bargain lunch, and Cookie for some Thai with a twist in a fantastic setting – but the real actions lies elsewhere.

For some classic, and classy, French fayre with amusingly surly service, Madam Sousou on Brunswick Street, Fitzroy is hard to beat, with a nifty Euro wine list to boot. Markov Place, again in our Carlton North stomping ground, is well worth a visit for some top notch modern dishes with a Spanish / South American flavour. Book ahead a push through the over-filled bar area at the front and bag a table in the huge, welcoming space out back. The wine list has a few top-notch Argentinians, the bubbles are not too pricey and the lamb sublime – as is the chocolate fondants that the kitchen knocks out at an alarming speed and quality.

Honourable mention also to Residential Kitchen on the Carlton North stretch of Lygon Street. Good breakfasts for a lazy Saturday morning, but their Sunday roasts are the real winner, complete with home-made horseradish sauce and a desert tasting platter that you can't help but finish. Lastly – and this list really is appallingly brief – are the cafes that line suburban streets across the city, though – surprise, surprise – we were most au fait with our locals in Carlton North. At a pinch, I'd say that Black Ruby on Rathdowne Street kicked out the finest breakfast brunch I've ever seen – and let's not shit ourselves, that's quite a few. (Luke)

Festivals and Events

What ever the day, week or month there is always something going on in Melbourne. The first day we arrived we couldn't catch the tram we needed as a Greek festival dominated the Greek quarter of the city centre with dancing, kebabs and baklava. You can make the mistake on arrival in Melbourne of thinking you've been pretty lucky to get there the same weekend a festival or event is taking place - what you soon realise is its difficult to find a weekend when there isn't. During our time there, there was the Australian Grand Prix, a food and drink festival, a magic festival, a jazz festival, an architecture festival and a beer festival to name just a few. The main difficulty living in Melbourne is trying to fit in everything you want to!

We particularly enjoyed several evenings at the comedy festival, which runs through out March and is the Southern Hemisphere's biggest.

Another memorable day out was the charity Aussie rules football, a  massive fundraising effort for local charities organised by PBS and Triple J radio stations. Melbourne's leading alternative radio station, PBS is funded purely by donations and the breakfast show is also hosted by the lovely Crispi, a good mate of ours. A good day was had by all, Luke and I got to see an Aussie football match, and after the match we were able to run on to the pitch and play ball! (LM)

Hidden fun and the Suburbs

Melbourne CBD (or city centre) is relatively small as city centres go, but it certainly packs a lot in – a couple of universities, a state parliament, China town, the Greek quarter, an array of shopping centres, some gorgeous victorian architecture and the financial district to name a few. It is however, at first glance a little disappointing.

More disappointing still was our first Saturday night. Everyone had told us that Melbourne is great for going out in. We thought its Saturday night, we've arrived  in the most expensive place on our trip so far, and have no money. So hey - let's go drinking! Which we would have, if we'd been able to find a pub worth going to. We ended up with a take out beer on our hotel roof, pondering the question “just where is Melbourne's famed nightlife to be found?”

We discovered the anwer on meeting my old work colleague and now Melbourne residents, Chris and Pauline for a drink in the CBD a few weeks later. And the answer is “hidden”. The directions to any good bar in the CBD always involve at least one of the following sentences:
“Once you get the corner of that street turn down the second alleyway on the right”.
“You jut need to walk up three flights of stairs and the entrance is up there.”
“ If you get to … you've probably missed it.”
“Its got a green door, but there's no sign and it'll probably look closed even if it isn't.”
“If you didn't know it was there you wouldn't see it.”
It made me think of prohibition. It's a bit baffling at first but endearing in the end and contrasts to the brashness of places like Sydney. It's like being let in to a secret.

The real action however happens not in the CBD but in the suburbs...

Toorak was where we spent the majority of our first few weeks in Melbourne. South of the river, this quiet plush neighbourhood holds some great examples of Melbourne's typical victorian houses, covered in Art Nouveau style wrought iron. You can loose yourself for a few hours in the park and botanical gardens which stretch from here to the CBD. You an also while away a few hours wondering from here to Prahan where you find a fantastic array of op shops (charity shops) and Prahan's great, though absurdly overpriced, foody market.

St Kilda is a famous backpacker haven only twenty minutes south of the river and on the beach, home to hostels, bars and an iconic fairground. To be honest we found it rather quiet when we stayed their midweek, and if anything its a little seedy and grubby, but the little pier made it worth a walk about. St Kilda is however home to two Melbourne greats  - the fabulous South Melbourne Market …. and SBS's Rockwiz.

Brighton is further out and posher than St Kilda, but also on the coast. The beaches here are lovely on a sunny day and its home to an array of fancy cafes. It is famous for its picture perfect, brightly coloured beach houses.

Richmond hosts many of Melbourne's Vietnamese and Thai communities, and as such has a dearth of great restaurants with some of the best South East Asian food outside of South East Asia. I'm sure there is a lot more to this lovely Eastern suburb, but we went there for the food (I know unusual for us).

Fitzroy and Collingwood are clearly the coolest suburbs in Melbourne, and host the best nightlife. Smith Street and Brunswick streets have a grungy edge to them, and great pubs on every corner. This is also the place to get your ultimate op shop bargins – its all about the vintage in this part of Melbourne.

Carlton, home to Melbourne's Italian community, is rich with gelati, pizzerias and tales of the Mafia. Lygon Street I the many drag here and whilst many of the Italian restaurants on this stretch kick out below average Italian food (and I'm told some are still home to Mafioso), the atmosphere and the coffee are fab all the same. It is also home to Melbourne university and Melbourne museum.

Carlton North (Rathdowne Village) was by far our favourite suburb, but of course we our biased, was our home for our time in Melbourne. A stretch of quiet, leafy roads with typically Melbourne victorian houses decorated in intricated wood and wrought iron fronted shops. This area is swimming in great cafes, great pubs and great people. The “village” also has an excellent post office and library! (LM)

5. Being in touching distance of glorious scenery
Its almost impossible to fit five months of greatest hits into two blogs. Even more so if you spend much of that time boring people with all the food you liked to eat and places to hang out in. So I will try to keep this brief in an attempt to bring our blog up to date.

Melbourne is clearly a fantastic city to hang out in – but its also located in spitting distance of some real magic. Here is a list of our favourite trips out. We'll let the pictures do the talking...

Puffing Billy and the Dandenongs
We took a Easter trip out to the Dandenong mountain ranges, as well as enjoying the countryside you can get there by the Puffing Billy Steam train.

The Yarra Valley and the Wineries
The Yarra Valley is one of the most scenic localities near Melbourne made all the better as a day trip by its selection of world class wineries. We had a magic and fantastic trip round a good few of these wineries (and having a good few glasses of wine) with Chris and Pauline one lovely Sunday. We also fit in a trip to a gallery!

 


Healesville and Healesville Sanctuary
Healesville is the main town in the Yarra Valley and it is a lovely day trip in itself. We did two trips there. Once, by public transport, to eat and be merry with Bernie and Dee in the local pub and in Giant Steps winery, and a second time to visit the amazing Healesville animal sanctuary.

 


Philip Island
We stayed overnight on the lovely Philip Island for Luke's birthday, which is famous for its little penguins. The trip highlights for us however, was seeing koalas for the first time in the koala reservation and seeing an echidna in the wild!

 

The Great Ocean Road
Back on the road in a campervan, we drove down the great ocean road in Victoria's winter bank holiday weekend and enjoyed the breath taking and rugged coastline. Highlights of the weekend included seeing koalas and kangaroos in the wild and seeing a particularly famous light house.

Ramsey Street
No stay in Melbourne is complete without a visit to the one and only Ramsey Street. Not only can you get your picture taken in the street where Charlene, Scott, Lou and Harold (to name but a few) have all stood, but you can film your own scenes from the street! Watch this space for our Oscar winning attempts! (LM)

Until next time, stay warm,
Luke and Louise

Posted by Louise and Luke.