Things they don't mention in the brochure

As I sit here, head aching, and my nose blocked up harder than a constipated drover (how's that for a mental picture), I thought it was high time I perhaps educated some of you to things that you won't hear about in London, until you arrive and find out yourself.

The hard way.

I mean sure, everyone tells you about the exchange rate, and the winter weather - but this is the real deal. So, read on.

First of all, as you might have gathered, I have a cold. A rather bad one actually. In addition to the symptoms outlined above, my throat feels like it's just been sandpapered, and I'm almost certain I can feel my eyeballs throbbing in time with my heart. This is like the 4th, or 5th cold I've had since I've been over here. Back home, I'd go a whole year and maybe get 1, or 2 - tops.

However, in London, travelling by tube, although convenient, is an ideal place to pick up whatever cold someone else in the carriage has. In rush hour, it's standing room only - they worked out each person has 0.25 square metres of space to stand in. You wouldn't transport cattle in conditions like that. So, with up to 40 people within about 2 metres of you at any given time, it's a safe bet that if they have something, you've got a good chance of getting it too.

This isn't uncommon for a lot of antipodeans either - in a sense it reminds me of when the europeans went to the New World, and brought all their diseases with them. Except, now we go to the Old World, and contract them ourselves.

Another thing you won't have heard of, is the Heathrow Injection. This insidious innoculation isn't an actual jab you receive at the airport - rather, it refers to the way in which many newcomers to London find themselves injected with about 10 extra kilos when they step off the plane, which doesn't appear for about 2 or 3 months, when all of a sudden it becomes apparent to the sufferer that they've indeed grown larger, and it wasn't just their imagination.

The causes of this sudden waistline explosion are many. Chief amongst the culprits are the ready availability, in large numbers of cheap late night takeaways, selling kebabs, fried chicken and hamburgers. There's also the attraction of mid-week and weekend drinking with all your new aussie mates at Walkabouts as you guzzle down snakebites at a rate of knots. Public transport is everywhere, so you may be disinclined to walk as much. And finally, the change in location and lifestyle means it's inevitable you'll take a while to adjust, and there's nothing like a good pizza to relieve homesickness, right?

Now, I didn't need to worry about this one - I'd had the vaccination for this particular disease before I left Brisbane, also known as the Alison Dawson shot. Essentially, when your mother has requested (in steely tones) that you whip yourself into shape by the time you get back, it's in your best interests to do so. However, for many other of my brethren, they aren't so fortunate, and consequently come home bearing not only holiday snaps, souvenirs and memories, but also a spare tyre.

What else is there?

I've already made mention of the rabid environmentalism you find over here.

There's also the British bureaucracy, which moves with all the pace and urgency of continental drift. Everything will take several weeks longer than they say it will. Deal with it.

I might leave at that for the time being since my head is killing me, but you get the idea. Be warned.

Magic at Royal Albert Hall

Ah, the joys of late night blogging.

The clocks went forward an hour today, as summer draws ever nearer to England - not that you'd notice it, it's been positively arctic this week - but nonetheless I find myself at my laptop at midnight on Sunday, not tired in the slightest, due to a combination of time movement, and the fact I slept in till midday.

So, rather than lie in bed and look up at, well, my ceiling, I thought I may as well recap yesterday, which consisted of going to the "Classical Spectacular" at Royal Albert Hall.

To be honest, I think it's been the best 30 quid I've ever outlaid. For this princely sum, I managed to purchase a ticket in the Royal Albert Hall, a few tiers up, right behind the conductor, and with a view of the entire stage. Not to mention a view of the orchestra, choir, tiers and the light show that accompanied the program.

And what a program it was. When they said Classical Spectacular, they weren't kidding. Some of the highlights included:

Land of Hope & Glory - They actually gave out little British flags with the program, which everyone madly waved around in the audience, as over five thousand people in the audience belted out Britain's unoffical national anthem. They also did the Hornpipe and Rule Britannia from British Sea Songs - so, although I will never, ever get a ticket to Last Night of the Proms, I heard all the best parts of it anyway.

They also had a tenor & a baritone there, who sang some classic operatic numbers - they did the duet from Bizet's the Pearl Fishers, as well the quintessential pieces for a baritone and tenor respectively - Largo al factum from the Barber of Seville, and Nessun Dorma from Turandot. The tenor also did the famous number from Rigoletto, while the baritone finished up with Rule Britannia.

Perhaps the highlight though, at least in terms of the music, was the finale - the 1812 overture, complete not only with orchestra & choir, but with riflemen, cannons, light show and fireworks. All inside the Royal Albert Hall. It was, in a word, magical.

And what a venue for it too. While I wasn't able to take my camera along, I can at least give you an idea of the setting...


This is the hall, from the outside.



And this is a pretty close shot of the view that I would have had. Imagine it packed out with people, the orchestra on stage, choir filling the rises...

The funny thing is, this spectacular was a far cry from where I was, literally 3 hours before the concert started. And that was ensconced in a chair at Finchley Road Walkabout, sinking a few pints and watching Australia's batsmen cane several layers of hell out of South Efffrika's bowling attack. While I had to leave at the close of Australia's innings, I was (reasonably) confident that we could win it.

And so we did.

I am starting to think it's high time I got out of London for a while though. For the first time, I joined into London society and was rude to someone on the tube.

*Wry smile*

They reckon when you start getting like the rest of London and start getting snappy at random people you need to take a break from the gigantic grey scab, as I like to call it.

And what better place than sunny Brisbane? See ya soon.

Non-political blog, for a change

Given that this is supposed to be a travel blog, I thought I might make a normal, non-offensive "yeah, this is what I've been up to" type post, rather than posting about things that have irked or intrigued me during my time here.

So, over the past few weeks - well, the constant has been work. We have all been working very hard at the office, but there may be an end in sight to constant overtime just to keep pace with the workload.

A new software program is being put into place that will hopefully speed up a lot of what we have to do at the moment with manual data entry and hard graft. In addition, we're finally hiring an office junior, which will mean a lot of the little things that interfere with my main job of sales and admin are no longer my responsibility.

Answering the phone, doing the mail, the filing, archiving, signing for courier packages, the banking, etc. Now, I don't mind doing these things, but they do take up a lot of time once you add it all up, and they also distract me from my main job. So yeah, it'll be good once this happens.

In other news, I went to see Chelsea play Porto in the Champions League, at Stamford Bridge stadium in Chelsea, with a Germanic friend of mine over here. For those unaware, the Champions League is the competition between the top football teams in Europe - it is the creme de la creme of world football, aside from the World Cup. Mind you, Chelsea cost more than any World Cup team - the Russian billionaire who owns them, Roman Abramovich, has poured over 300 million pounds into the club, so it's not a cheap exercise. It showed though - to use that old chestnut, to see Chelsea in action is truly poetry in motion. Simply sublime. I can see why football appeals to so many people, worldwide - when it is played well, there is no finer team game in terms of skill and tactics.

I'm not about to renounce Wests Tigers, but I am appreciative of football's talent, and genius. For the record, Chelsea won the game 2-1, to progress to the Quarter Finals.

Perhaps the thing I enjoyed most though, even moreso than the game, was the atmosphere. Non-stop singing, chanting and encouragement from all round the ground. It's perhaps not quite the pressure cooker of Lang Park come origin time, but it beats the hell out of anything you'd see in a run of the mill game back home. It's a huge adrenalin rush just to be in the ground.

And finally, some photos of a stroll I took down to the Thames Barrier (explained below.) Had a nice walk last Saturday down this way, walked about 6 miles, had to sprint a hundred metres or so to outpace 3 of Woolwich's finest who thought my camera would look nice in their hands rather than mine, and even managed to catch Ireland beating seven layers of hell out of England in the rugby.

So yeah, that's the past few weeks in a nutshell. Worked too long, watched football, nearly got mugged, and cheered for Ireland.

Am really starting to get homesick now that I have a definite date in my head as to when I'm home for my visit - really looking forward to it!

Ok, photo time.


This is Canary Wharf. Well, technically it's the Canada Tower, and Canary Wharf is the name of the financial district of London as a whole. But given that this is the tallest building in the UK, and one of the first skyscrapers to be built in the district, it tends to dominate the area.


This is the same financial district, taken after I'd slithered under the river via the tube. The Canada Tower is the building with the triangular top. (The fact it's the tallest, and the fact I mentioned it was the tallest building in the UK is also a bit of a giveaway.)


The Millenium Dome. Rather ironic, that it looks like a gigantic white elephant - for no finer term has ever been found to sum up this gigantic loss making monstrosity. It was originally an exhibition centre, and they've never found another use for it in 8 years. They were going to turn it into a super-casino, but Manchester wound up winning the bidding. So, it sits there, quietly rotting.


This rather odd-looking wall is the Thames Barrier. It's intended to prevent channel storms causing king tides, and a tidal surge up the Thames, that could easily flood a large chunk of London. This shot is taken on the downstream side - on the far side, heading upstream, the water level is a good metre and a half lower. You wouldn't want this dam wall breaking - it's not holding back the river, but the ocean itself.



And finally, a nice shot of a rainbow from the window of a Docklands Light Rail train, as I was coming back into Bank station from Canary Wharf, after one of London's frequent afternoon showers.

Bit dull, really. I'll see if I can slag off something else this weekend.

The 64000 Rand Question

Ladies & Gentlemen (or perhaps that should be "Dames en Heer"), today's blog is going to be about South Africa.

See, one thing you realise quite quickly when you get over here to London is that there are a lot of South Africans here. In fact, there's actually more South Africans in London than Australians. Which is impressive, given that the legend of the Aussie colonial boozing it up in the British capital has been going on for years, so you'd expect us to be the majority. Far from it. We just stand out more.

In coming over to England, South Africans tend to raise a variety of reasons, if asked. A common one is, like the Aussies and the Kiwis, they just wanted to get over to Europe and check the place out. Another is the exchange rate between the British pound and the South African Rand - sitting at about 14 Rand to the pound, it's nothing short of woeful, and hence a few pounds in your pocket translates to big rand back home. And finally, South Africans do have ancestral links to Britain - like us, they used to be a British crown colony, and later a dominion, and were a part of the commonwealth - left/were exiled for a few decades, and then were re-admitted.

And with this comment, you start treading on thin ice.

A lot of South Africans feel embarrassed about their past...particularly the recent past. They don't like to discuss it much, and understandably so.

So, I'll ask the 64000 Rand question myself, and answer it too.


Is there something wrong with South Africa today?


Ask this question of a South African, and you might get a range of responses. You might get a straight yes, or no. A yes, or no, but with a long justification. A shrug of the shoulders. More often than not though, you'll get a rambling answer of yes and no, and somewhere along the way, a comment of "You'd have to go there to understand it."

Now, I'm not bagging South Africans here. But I do find it interesting the way that they dance around the issue, and try and avoid mentioning the "A-word."

Apartheid ended about 15 years ago, meaning that every South African you encounter over here grew up in it, witnessed it's end, and also saw the aftermath, and the political shift that the country has undergone since it's demise.

Now, there's no question that apartheid had to end. South Africa couldn't continue to exist in such a fashion - shunned and ostracised for maintaining a regime that the rest of the world had decried as barbaric, and appallingly racist. The country was well and truly the pariah of the globe. Nowadays, it has moved on, and once more resumed it's rightful place in the international community.

But life is far from rosy in South Africa. The rainbow nation has shockingly high HIV rates, huge problems with crime and gang warfare. Theft and muggings are commonplace. White communities live behind electric fences and gated complex, while coloured communities still exist in abject squalor. While apartheid is dead and buried, division still remains. The bulk of the money is still in the hands of the white community - it is their spending, skills and expertise that keep the South African economy afloat. Coloured communities still exist in a dreadfully poor state, dependent on government handouts and aid in order to survive.

Now, mention this sort of thing to a South African, and they'll probably tell you that it isn't the whole story. And they're right - it isn't. South Africa is hardly Zimbabwe, or Iraq. A democratically elected government runs the country, regular society continues to exist, and the country remains stable, in that sense. There is a vibrant culture present, to a level unthinkable in Australia, which seems positively dour by comparison.

But these positives do not mean that the negatives have ceased to exist. They're still there - not the whole story of South Africa to be sure, but they're still there.

Looking at the history of South Africa since 1993, from a detached viewpoint, it's easy to see how the country went off the rails somewhat. The goings-on in South Africa are merely repeating the sort of behaviour you can read about in any society, where a race or ethnic group that has been repressed for generations, suddenly gains complete freedom from their masters. The South, after the Civil war is the classic case.

Just as it was in the Confederacy, so it was in South Africa. The coloured people, free at long last, celebrated with massive excess. Restrained for decades, the pent-up energy that comes from freedom led first to jubilation, and then, as it always does in these matters, to revenge. Without the grim shackles of apartheid restricting their movements, and free to mingle with their former superiors, it wasn't hard to predict what was going to happen.

Some would argue also, that the new government of South Africa has made a hash of running the country. It has been dogged by corruption, and scandal amongst the members of government. There are accusations of nepotism. There is the taint of "getting square" with some of the policies coming from the government, particularly those which target white South Africans.

The thing is - corruption, nepotism, scandal - these are all classic symptoms of an inexperience government. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. My home state of Queensland took a country farmer, shoehorned him into the position of Premier, and now wonders why he ran parliament as if it was his own private pub meeting. That was the only way he knew how to operate. Not for him the decorum of Westminster, rather, the favours and greased palms of Western Queensland.

Yet, the accusation of incompetence dies in the mouths of those in South Africa, who would level it against their government. And finally, belatedly, I get to the answer of my original question.

Yes, there is something wrong with South Africa. It is that the country is afraid to criticise the government, because it believes that to criticise the government is to endorse apartheid. South Africa has created an environment where if a white person stands up to the government and says that they have made a mess of it, that they are corrupt, that they have failed - it is to be read between the lines that this person is advocating a return to apartheid.

Even when that is not the case.

I honestly don't believe South Africa will move on, ever, until it gains enough national confidence, and self-respect, to understand that criticising the present, isn't about returning to the past. It's about being able to create a better future. South Africa has so much to offer the world, and so much to give - it would be a shame indeed to see such a wonderful country fail to deliver on it's future promise, purely because it felt unable to move on from a dark and distant time in it's past.

In England's green and (un)pleasant land

I hate environmentalists. I really do.

More to the point, I hate British environmentalists.

One thing I wasn't prepared for when I arrived over here was the sheer amount of environmental flavoured press you are literally inundated with, every day you spend here. You see it on TV, in the press, on the internet. Politicians and celebrities are always trying to outdo each other in just how green they can go. Local councils bombard your letterbox with leaflets encouraging you to recycle, use less water, turn off your lights, turn off your heater. Cars are sold purely on the basis of being green, despite the fact the rest of the car is shithouse.

It is so fucking depressing, it really is.

Let's get one thing straight. I'm all for saving the environment. What I can't stand are environmentalists. They are biggest bunch of humourless, nit-picking, miserable pricks I have encountered in my time over here. And yet, somehow, they wield power beyond their means in this country. How else does such a loathsome hatemonger as "Red Ken" Livingstone get elected Mayor of London? A man who, as Mayor of London, has consistently represented a minority of Londoners - those who are environmental, left-wing, poor and who aren't white. If you don't meet those criteria, you can fuck off.

But back to environmentalists. I find myself reaching for the knife to slash my wrists sometimes, when I see them on TV. It's invariably some beardy 40 something, speaking from through his thick glasses and unkempt air. He'll be crapping on about CO2 levels, or about global warming, and how this is inevitably going to consign Britain to a watery grave once the icecaps melt and drown us all.

Either that, or the "Carbon Footprint."

Oh man, this has got to be the best one yet. Apparently, environmentalists see Carbon as being bad. So, what they do these days is bash joe public over the head with all the statistics on their carbon usage. Using your car, catching a plane, turning on your heater, flicking on a light switch - these are fast becoming frowned upon activities.

It's one aspect of Britain I'm not going to miss.

Imagine my astonishment though, when I read that John Howard is getting rid of the old lightbulbs, in an attempt to win over greenies. You better believe the beard brigade over here seized on that one with gusto, although it was tempered with restraint - after all, to your average lefty, John Howard is still the enemy.

At this rate environmentalists will start insisting we take a dump less frequently, to reduce methane levels.

For making us feel like criminals, for simply living our lives the best we can, I hate environmentalists more than anyone else in existence.

(With the exception of Laurie.)