We are in Australia!!!!

---

Our first sight of Australia was of steep cliffs over a gorgeous blue, foaming sea and a wide expanse of green forest. Hardly the barren, red, desiccated desert we had imagined. Allan, in the first of his many favours to us, picked us up at the airport.
“Welcome to Australia mate, took you bloody long enough!”
Indeed, nine years had passed since he and I had first met in London, both temping for Ofsted. Since then Allan had completed his European odyssey and returned to Australia. Nine years. When you say it like that, you wonder where it all went...
Luckily, I'd had the opportunity to see Allan again only a few months before, when he and his brother Mark, stopped over in London for a few days on a whirlwind tour of Europe. Allan had shown Mark some of his old haunts and, fittingly, we four met in a pub, and drank lots of beer. Some things never change. Except this time, England held the Ashes.
Mark, like his brother, was infinitely kind to us. He had offered to put us up for a few days at his house in Sydney, but upon arrival he immediately announced, while giving us our own key, that we were welcome to stay as long as we liked and to feel at home. His FANTASTIC house was only a few minutes drive from Allan's, in the The Shire. A southern, affluent suburb of Sydney, which I had never really believed in until I had to explain where we were staying to the nice border-control lady and then when we first drove through it and I read the roadsign. I mean, when someone tells you that they live in The Shire, no matter if they hold onto this assertion for nine years, you really can't help feeling, somehow, that you are having your leg pulled, but no, The Shire existed and was a jolly nice place too.
After, very few hours sleep in Auckland, a lot of wine and beer and a very early start (thank you so much again...!) we were in need of some coffee and breakfast. All four of us made our way to Southgate, a local shopping centre (a place we were to frequent in the months to come) and got stuck into some food.
That night, in classic Aussie fashion, we had kangaroo steaks on the BBQ and the three lads went to the pub. When the pub shut we went home and finished a case of Tooheys on Mark's top deck (Yes, there was a ground level deck and a first floor deck – told you it was fantastic). About 4am, with the first inkling of dawn, I'd reached my limit, still on NZ time and knackered from the early start. Well and truly pickled, I found my way downstairs, tripped over our still unpacked luggage and fell into a coma.
About 11am the next day I managed to rise and co-ordinate myself sufficiently enough not to drown in the shower or fall over whilst towelling off. Hearing voices from the upper living room, I wandered, shakily, up the stairs with a cup of tea. There, Al was sitting on the sofa and Mark was crucified on the floor. The sun shone through the windows in majestic fashion. I noticed Al's eyes resembled piss-holes in the snow and Mark was giggling like a school-girl. When you see photos of Mark you will come to understand that giggling of any kind, particularly like an adolescent girl, is not an activity to be easily associated with Mark – next to him Hercules would feel shamed.
“How you boys feeling?”
“Good mate, yourself?”
“I've been worse. What time did you get to bed?”
“Still to come mate.”
“Huh?”
“Haven't got there yet, we just finished the last of the wine now.”
“You haven't been to bed yet?”
“Nope.”
I remind everyone that by now it is around midday. Every drop of alcohol in the house was gone. We'd been to the pub, stayed till closing and drank beer with our BBQ before we'd gone out. We'd bought a case of Tooheys and three bottles of red wine. Gone. Mark had spirits at his house. Gone. We'd started in the late afternoon yesterday. It was midday for Christ's sake and they'd only just finished, only because there was no more alcohol of any variety available. It was, simply, the most impressive binge I have ever seen. I felt proud having taken even a small part in it.
Mark springs to his feet impressively, announces that he is going for a piss and zig zags alarmingly into his bedroom. Al looks at me if he can't quite believe I'm in Australia.
“Tea and breakfast?” I offer.
“That would be superb mate.” Al grins.
Of course, by the time I bring up a cooked breakfast, complete with some awesome peppered bacon, and a jug of tea, Al is flat out on the sofa, like he's been painted onto it and it is only by shaking him like one would to an irate child that he wakes up and seems to vaguely recall why I'm here, what's on the plate and what he is expected to do with it. Mark has disappeared into his bedroom and won't be seen again for the next ten hours, despite repeated knocking and calling at his door. We eat his share.
The rest of the day passes very quietly as our livers try to deal with the enormous task at hand. I make friends with Thor and Hera, Mark's two rottwiellers, a relationship helped along by a strong featuring of Scooby Snacks, it must be admitted. These beasts look likely to eat residents of The Shire but warm to Del and I, seemingly straight away. Mark had Thor do attack dog training and both of them do obedience training. They are superbly trained animals. If you were a master thief, carried a ray gun and a utility belt and there was a pot of gold the size of Australia in Mark's house, I still would think you were foolish and sure to be eaten alive. However, over the course of the two months we stayed with Mark and his girlfriend, Georgia, these two dogs were regular companions and came close on several occasions to licking us to death. Seeing Mark discipline and teach them was also interesting and enlightening.
Over the course of the next two weeks we get accustomed to the local area, helped along by Allan and Mark driving us around on excursions large and small: We have lunch at a picturesque hotel near a viewing point about half an hour away; do some food shopping at Southgate; wander around Corulla, a nice seaside town with a gorgeous, archetypal Aussie beach, complete with babes; and take the train into Sydney to see the Botanical Gardens, Harbour Bridge and Opera House.
Alongside this we organise Australian Tax Numbers, try to find some work (thank God for Mark's internet), re-think fruit picking as job option and try to grow accustomed, unsuccessfully, to the relentless heat and humidity of Sydney's summer.
Alongside all of this, Al and I drink Del's weight in beer whenever possible.

One day, Al announces we are going for a walk. I like walks so this is good news. We have to be up early, which is not good news, to avoid the punishing heat. One curious aspect of living with Mark and being friends with Allan, is that Del and I forever feel like we are lazing the morning away. Chiefly, this is because we are. Bed is warm and soft and sleeping is just so good. Tea is for mid-morning and breakfast is really lunch. For Mark and Allen, and fair play to them, mid-morning is round about 9am.
For two weeks now I have threatened to join Mark for a gym session, but every morning he returns before I am up. Now, I just say I am coming out of habit and Mark nods politely and repeats kindly that it would be good to do a session together, and we both know he'll be changing the weights on the dumbell on his own.
So, arranging to meet at 8am is a polite late start time for Al and a worryingly early one for us. However, come 8am Al arrives and we are somewhat near ready after just finishing breakfast. We're off to the Royal National Park, on the south coast of Sydney. It only takes forty minutes to drive to but as we leave the car we realize the air conditioning has been protecting us from the truth, we should have started earlier. Our plan, or Allan's plan, is for us to walk a few miles, through some Aussie coastal scrubland and bush, to an isolated spot called Marley Beach, inaccessible by road.
The walk starts in bush that it too high to see over but as we continue and get higher the bush drops away and we can walk to or three abreast. The rocks are dimpled and pitted in places, leaving small pools of water to throw a refreshing palm-full of water over one's shoulders. Allan points out a water dragon, sunning itself on rock next to a pool but it flashes away before I can take a photo. We gain more height and suddenly we're walking on a cliff edge. Underfoot has turned from hard rock and dry dust to brilliant white sandstone, which on the surface has solid eddies and contour lines swirling around us. We venture over to the edge to take a few cliff and sea shots, which get a little shaky as we realise we're standing on a sandstone overhang and retreat post haste.
We continue down to the beach and chill for a while. Upon our return to the car Al produces a cool box full of sandwiches and his legend is complete. The rest of the day is spent swimming and lazing around the bank of a river mouth, watching the kids throw themselves off a cliff into the warm river water. Summertime in Oz.
The rest of our time in Sylvania passes in a bit of a blur of trying to find jobs, finding jobs, drinks with Al and laughing at Mark masturbating his dog (Thor, poor thing, wasn't to co-ordinated).
We both find temp jobs. My first involves ringing all the pharmacies in Australia on behalf of Invida Australia, an advertising firm, informing grumpy pharmacists of a new wonder-capsule, made of krill, that fights cholesterol. The most memorable part of the job is my first day/interview. My first day of work in 6 months, I am as hungover as it is possible to be and still be able to walk upright. Al, thanks man, drives me to the station as the twenty minute walk is far beyond my capability, although this doesn't stop him laughing at me most of the way. I try to talk sense in the interview about understanding how important a good diet is in keeping cholesterol levels down, while sweating alcohol fumes into the office air-conditioning.
Del bags a receptionist job overlooking Sydney Harbour. Not bad, especially when the Queen Elizabeth then the Queen Mary comes to town and docks directly below her. Then, I get a two week job that turns into three, booking appointments for building consultants to inspect teacher's housing, for Sergon Building consultants, on behalf of the Teacher's Housing Authority. I work alongside an American guy called Brent and we both get bored, surf the web, look out the window at Sydney Harbour (I'm on the opposite side of the harbour to Del, in fact, I can see her office building) and occasionally make some phone calls after implementing an electronic system that does most of the work for us. OK, Brent comes up with the e-solution, while I go along with it. Edwina, our boss, (6 feet plus, Amazonian stature, good-natured, Aussie-farm girl come good in the big city), in fact the manager of several projects, is impressed and makes some enquiries about trying to get me a more regular job. Soon afterwards, she comes into my office (he he, well, some executive's office who isn't in, which I'm using to surf the web) and announces a potential job for Cunningham Lindsey (CL), loss adjusters, in Brisbane and another in Melbourne, helping out with managing insurance claims following the Queensland and Victoria floods, respectively.
To cut a longish story short, I get the job in Melbourne. Del, almost gets a receptionist job in Melbourne too, then it falls through. I ring the Melbourne CL office and explain that my fiancée is pretty and awesome. They hire her too. We start on Monday next week, the day is Tuesday. Thank goodness for the e-solution because the next few days are spent finding a flat and booking flights. One of the first phone calls I make to my new boss is to ask for the Monday off work.

We arrive in Melbourne early on Sunday morning. (Thanks for the lift to the airport, Allan! You get an idea of how much we owe this man!) The sun is shining and it is warm. *Sigh* Little do we know that this is a rather unusual occurrence in Melbourne.
We find our way to Footscray, a western suburb of the city, with a reputation for being rough in years gone by, but now slowly undergoing a process of gentrification but still with an immigrant heart. We arrive at the station, laden down with baggage and are met by Jane, one of our potential housemates. She drives us to her house, which we inspect, like better than the thought of traipsing across Melbourne again with all our bags to see another potential flat and say we'll take it. At $600 a month, plus bills, it is half the price of a comparative room in Sydney.
Monday we go to the DFO (Direct Factory Outlet) in Harbourtown to buy some more work clothes, our other ones have either dissolved in the Sydney heat or have lacked the ability to procreate – indeed, four shirts is the minimum number a man needs for a week of work.
On Tuesday, we're ready to begin our three-month careers as loss adjusters. Jodie, our new boss, is a delight. Our team comprises of Janelle, who grows to become a good friend, Daniel from Barnsley also on a working-holiday visa, Alex joins the week after (and later saves our souls), and The Manatee. All have backgrounds in insurance and so know vaguely what the score is, except The Manatee, who likes to eat sea grass and waddle around the warm shallow waters, trying not to overexert herself.

---

Photos

The flying Foxes
They are wild bats in the botanical gardens of central sydney- Des chauves-souris fructivores!