There’s such a lot of world to see

Welcome to my 100th blog! You should get a telegram from the Queen for reading this far.

Rocking up to Rockhampton, we were very excited by all the cows that we were seeing. Let me clarify. There are more than two million cattle within a 250km radius of the city, and that could mean only one thing: steak!

We celebrated another successful day on the road when we got to the camp site by getting out of the van and doing our trademark dance. There were a number of songs that had been following us since Sydney, and we busted a groove to two of these, Mr Brightside by The Killers, and Place Your Hands by Reef, on the grass next to the van. Not quite dancing in the street, but dancing on the grass. No doubt endearing us to our middle class, middle aged neighbours. I’m sure I heard the mutter of “there goes the neighbourhood” as we rolled in to town. We then celebrated even more by doing a big pile of laundry. Oh, the glamour!

Because of all the laundry excitement, it was quite late (by Rockhampton standards, anyway), and it was just before 9pm by the time we got to the restaurant/bar/club. It was a strange drive there, looking very country and western, and very American. Yet this is not America – it’s the Australian take on it. We only had a couple of minutes, so we both ordered the biggest steak with all the works. Washed down with a bottle of wine, it was deeeelish.

The main reason we’d chosen that place was that it was everything rolled in to one – somewhere to eat, have a few drinks, listen to a band, and dance. And after we’d eaten and drank, we danced up a storm for the second time that evening. Again, the same songs that had been following us throughout Australia came up, and so we gave it some welly on the dance floor, jazz hands flying all over the place. Pure magic moment.

The male:female ration was distinctly off, though, with there being about 20 guys to every one girl (not an exaggeration in the slightest). It made it feel a bit of a meat market – ironic in a place that thrives on actual meat markets.

Full, happy, and with our dancing shoes worn out, we headed back to David Bowie, preparing for a long drive the next day.

Next stop along the road was Hervey Bay, chosen because it was the easiest place from which to get to Fraser Island. I had my first stint driving the Bowiemobile, and I’m glad to say I passed with flying colours. Andy did a sterling job navigating, too. Go, Team Bowie!

Hervey Bay seemed, if anything, even more of a retirement village than Noosa. (Just to digress, I’ve just remembered, I had so much fun saying “Noosa” in a Welsh accent – try it! Also the phrase, “Suzie from Noosa” in the same accent is so very funny. Or maybe I’d just spent too long in a camper van…) More amused looks when we rolled into town. The first job was to book on a day trip to Fraser Island the next day, before settling down to some barbequing.

Despite me having a mini-stress the next morning because we were running late (Jonesy handled it perfectly, making me a cup of tea and not once telling me I was being daft), we were collected as arranged and were soon on our way to Fraser Island.

Here you go, fact fans… Fraser Island is essentially a gigantic sandbar, measuring 120km by 50km. It’s the world’s biggest sand island, but in addition, it’s got the most amazingly diverse eco-system. We couldn’t take David Bowie across, as it’s stricly 4 wheel drives only on the sandy, hilly roads, so we had a moment of sorrow as we said goodbye to him, but we promised him we’d see him tonight.

We had to get a boat across and me, not being the world’s best sailor, started to feel a bit pukey, but fortunately it was nice enough to sit out on deck and enjoy the beautiful sea air. Greeting us when we arrived on Fraser was one of the island’s dingoes. It’s one of the best places to see them, as long as you keep your distance. They are, after all, wild animals, not cute and cuddly dogs, and keeping the distance and the fear they should have of humans is the best way to ensure they don’t attack any more people. I showed Andy my best Lindy Chamberlain impression (or rather, me doing Meryl Streep doing Lindy Chamberlain), “Dingo got my baby! Dingo got my baby!” What with that and my rendition of Space Oddity the day before, “Ground Control to Major Tom…. commencing countdown, engines ON”, I could tell he was impressed with my impressions!

None of us got attacked by the dingoes, so we made our way to the bus, which was a coach fitted out with huge 4WD wheels. It was ace! I want to get one when I get back, just for heading down to Sainsbury’s. I tell you, NO ONE would steal your car park space if you’re in one of those babies. From this point onwards, though, Andy and I just spent the day creased with laughter. We’d somehow managed to get on an OAP’s tour, and some of the characters were just wonderful. Our favourite was a guy whose badge announced him to be John. I got a taster of him early on – I wasn’t carrying a bag as Andy had one big enough for both of us. I was brushing my hair and, as I gave the brush back to him, John laughed and rolled his eyes as if amused that Andy was so under the thumb. That was the kind of guy he was.

I felt even more pukey on the bus, as obviously none of the roads are tarmacked, it was sand dunes all the way. Little wonder it felt like we were being thrown about in Major Tom’s tincan. Before long, though, we had stopped at a beautiful freshwater lake (one of 200 on the island), where Andy and I swam – none of the other old dears on the coach did though, and they thought we were incredibly daring for doing so. It was heavenly – cold, but so clean and clear, very theraputic.

We stopped for lunch – a buffet! Here’s where we won all our money back – and started to notice some odd behaviour from John. Whenever the coach stopped, he HAD to be, just HAD to be, the first off. This often meant batting old dears out of the way in his rush to be off, and do – precisely nothing. He’d just stand there, looking smug, as we all trooped off behind him. Of course, we saw this as a challenge, and on the one occasion when his wife was in the aisle seat, I gave Andy a sharp dig in the ribs and we beat them up. Obviously, we stopped to let others off as well, slowing them down even more. John didn’t even get off the coach that time, sitting there by the window looking disgusted at his wife’s tardiness. WE couldn’t stop laughing when she got back on and asked him, “What’s wrong?” and he answered, annoyed, “Nothing, just NOTHING”.

We stopped and admired some of the spectacular beaches of Fraser Island – swimming is forbidden because of sharks, honestly – and to see the wreck of the Maheno, and old battle ship slowly dying a rusty death on the beach.

John, though, had become our favourite past time that day. I came out of the toilets to find Andy talking to him. John turned to me and asked, “you’re not a Welshie as well, are you?” I told him I was from Manchester and he said, “no, you’re not, I’M from Manchester. Well, actually, I’m from Glossop. I bet you don’t know where that is”. I gave him a detailed description, including which road I would go on to get there, at which point he turned to Andy, rolled his eyes and said, “She’s a know-all, isn’t she?” Erm, no, I just answered your question. Mate. Apparently, Andy told me later, he’d been extremely offensive about Welsh people as well. So an all-round nice guy.

We had a walk through the rain-forest, which was amazingly serene and spectacular, a real treat of sound and vision, and gathered for a drink under a huge tree. John’s wife came up to us and turned out to be a delightful lady, really funny and interesting and kind, telling us she just loved our sense of humour, and that she thought it was wonderful we’d been laughing all day. If only she knew what (or who) we were laughing at.

One pukey boat ride later, we were back and reunited with David Bowie. The OAP company must have brushed off on us because we both conked out at about 7pm, shattered from all that beautiful fresh air, and exhausted from all the laughing.

Back in Sydney, Andy and I had arranged to meet up in Brisbane once I’d left Melbourne, and had decided to explore the east coast of Queensland. Initially, we were planning to do this by bus, until we struck on the idea of hiring a campervan. It seemed such an indeal way to do this – we’d have more independence, we’d have all our transport and accommodation in one package – everyone’s a winner! I did some research and found a company called Wicked Campers that were by far the cheapest option. not only that, but the coolest. Each one of their vans is individually spray-painted with quirky pictures and slogans – you can really see them coming. I pitched the idea to Andy, who was instantly on board. In his words, “they’re unique and strange-looking, like us”. Sold.

So Andy collected me from the airport (believe me, I needed a minder that day with the purse-loss fiasco and the alcohol-blood ratio), treated me to a hefty lunch, no doubt trying to sober me up, and we mosied on down through Brisbane to the Wicked Campers depot. WE signed up with no problems, and were given our van. Genius. The David Bowie van. It had “BOWIE” sprayed in huge letters down each side, his face on each side, and Bowie lyrics on the back: My burning desire started on Sunday, give me your heart and I’ll love you till Tuesday. Mars Bar for the first person to name the song. Unsurprisingly, this drew a lot of attention on the roads of Queensland; best of all was when we saw other Wicked Campers. It was like being in a little club.

Andy was on first shift driving (to let me loose behind the wheel would have been both illegal and insane after my night out), so I was on navigating duty. I assured him this was my speciality, having got my map-readers badge in Guides, and promptly managed to get us lost within the first 15 minutes. Andy was very sweet though, and reassured me he WANTED to see the airport again from a different angle.

Our destination that day was Noosa, a couple of hundred kilometres north of Brisbane. It sounded lovely – a real mix of posh and boho, just like us! On the way, we saw signs for Steve Irwin’s zoo, and actually turned off the road to go up there, until I noticed it was 4pm and it closed at 4.30pm, so not really worth it. We resolved to try and go on the way back down to Brisbane, which as you’ll realise, turned out to be quite a momentous decision.

We were both fairly apprehensive about driving, as neither of us had been behind a wheel since we’d been away (me, six months, Andy eight), but it turns out, it’s just like riding a bike. Well, not EXACTLY, in that you don’t have to pedal, but metaphorically. You know what I mean. Without further incident, we arrived in Noosa, headed straight for the supermarket (all camp sites in Australia have barbeques, in fact loads of places do – down at the beach, in parks. It’s wonderful), and stocked up on chops and kebabs. I also insisted that, for breakfast, we pick up a pack of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes. Y’see, when we were growing up, Mum was (thankfully) really strict with what we were allowed to eat. Michael and I both thank her now, as we are fortunate enough to have good teeth (no fillings at the age of 30, just to blow my own trumpet). We had certain treats, though, one of them being whenever we went to our caravan, we were allowed Crunchy Nut Cornflakes. So to me, it’s the cereal associated with camping. Hence it going in our trolley now.

We left the supermarket, marvelling at how quickly it goes dark here in the southern hemisphere – when we’d gone in it was daylight, and when we came out it was completely dark – and managed to get to the campsite, and fortunately, baggsied the last spot. We set up, barbequed up a storm, and settled in for the night, both of us commenting that it REALLY felt like we were on holiday. I know what you’re thinking – the last six months have been one long holiday, which is true, but this felt like the holidays I’d known as a child (as had Andy, as well, going camping on the Gower peninsula), and it felt wonderfully nostalgic.

We settled into the camping life as if to the manor born – again, I guess we’d had good training when we were younger. It was very amusing to be in the midst of a very middle-class, middle-aged culture and to roll up in a David Bowie van, and you should have seen some of the looks we got. It’s a lovely community, though, and we were soon “Good Morning”ing away with the best of them. We lived in the vain hope that some would take pity on us and feed us, but, alas, this never happened. Mum and Aunty Rosemary would have been proud of me, though, the way I was gossiping with the neighbours and getting their life stories out of them. The first two were Brits who’d been in Australia for nearly 30 years, they thought what we were doing was marvellous. They had me spitting my toast out with supressed laughter, though, when they found out Andy was Welsh. The wife spoke a couple of words of Welsh to him, Bore Da or something like that, when the husband turned to us and exclaimed, in all seriousness, “It’s like another language, isn’t it?”. Quite.

We went for a wander round Noosa, which was charming and pretty and had a delightful beach, before heading off in our van to Hervey Bay. And so we set the pattern. Day-in, day-out, we’d find lovely places up the coast, settle, and then head off. Happiness is…

By the way, for my own amusement more than anything, I’m going to be getting as many Bowie song titles into my blogs as possible. An as-yet undetermined prize to the person who spots the most.

As I mentioned earlier, it was Alice and Hugh’s talk of Neighbours that was the clincher in me deciding to come to Melbourne. Not only the Neighbours tour, but the Neighbours Night. This is a weekly event, held at the Elephant and Wheelbarrow pub in St Kilda, ostensibly a pub quiz, but with the chance to meet three Neighbours stars. Sign me up.

I’d got in the mood earlier in the day, by celebrating with my first haircut in six months (got to look my best for those stars), and then preparing to leave EARLY the next day. My flight was at 8am from Avalon Airport, which is an hour out of town; this basically meant getting a bus at 6am to get to the airport at 7am. With only one or two buses an hour, I could not miss that bus. And, when Alice and Hugh told me that last time they’d got in at about 4am, I knew I would be up against a challenge. I packed up completely, so I only had to brush my teeth and run out the door (and, frankly, the teeth wouldn’t be a priority).

To get myself even more in the mood, I visited the Melbourne Museum. This is a great place, one I’d definitely recommend visiting. They have fabulous Aboriginal and Natural History exhibitions, but the thing I was really wanting to see was in the Australiana section. It was …. drum roll….. the original set of the Robinson’s kitchen. Now, I know to some of you younger readers this might not mean a lot (Hugh, earlier, had asked me, “Who’s Charlene?”), but to me, it was mecca. I got even more excited when I opened the fridge door and spotted Charlene and Scott’s wedding cake. I had a slice but it just tasted cardboardy, to be honest.

Back at the apartment for a quick change and slap on of make up, and soon we were heading out. We met Alice and Hugh’s friend at the station, and got the tram out to St Kilda. It was easy enough to spot the other people heading out for it – basically, anyone British. It’s amazing how popular it is with British people, for reasons I’m not exactly sure of.

We got there, paid our extortionate $40 entrance fee (although we did get a free drink), met my friend Karen who I’d met on the Neighbours tour and signed up for this evening, and settled down to a high state of anticipation. Or I did, anyway, the others were just looking forward to it; I was bouncing off the ceilings. The organisers are clever, in that they keep you on the edge for two hours before anything happens, so obviously everyone keeps running to the bar. It was ace.

After the wait, the MC got up and started getting us all really hyped up. The show was about to start. The first star we would meet was Ned. I’d never even heard of Ned, but the fact that he was on Neighbours was good enough for me. The guy was delightful, posing for loads of photos with us and signing autographs, really taking the time to chat to us.

Maybe it’s because he’s new, as the other two weren’t as approachable. The second star was Steph Scully. Very pretty, about my height, very smiley, but didn’t take as much time with us as Ned. The last star was the evil Paul Robinson, who was very small in real life, like a Polly Pocket, and who really seemed to think he was someone special. I think I was quite sarcastic to his face, telling him I loved his work, because he wouldn’t sign an autograph for me. He had his photo taken with me but his face is more of a grimace than a smile. Still, where would he be without us, eh? Eh?

We got to ask the stars questions. Unfortunately, neither mine (To Paul: Do you still have the leather jacket you wore in the “Gonna Make You Feel Good” video?), nor Hugh’s (To Paul: Who’s Charlene?) was read out. There was an absolute classic, though. One of Paul’s big-time stalker-type fans was there, and he greeted her by name. She was wearing a denim jacket with his face on the back and “Stefan Dennis!” written in jaunty writing. Imagine our mirth when someone asked, To Paul: Does it scare you when you see people wearing clothing with your face on it?

The quiz is now a vague memory, but our team (titled Paul Robinson’s Prosthetic Leg) came fifth. I do remember Alice telling me to be quiet as I was giving the answers away to the team behind us (who ended up coming first – booooooo!). And I cheated and sent a text to Andy for one of the answers – for some reason I thought he would know the breed of dog currently on Neighbours. He didn’t. Which I’m sort of relieved about.

The night progressed on to prizes. I – to my shame – thought it would be a good idea to enter an air guitar competition. Even more to my shame, I only came second. The mortification. The neck pain the next day. Not good. I also ended up with a Harold Bishop t-shirt, somehow. I wear it with pride.

Our happiness was complete when we were treated to an hour’s set by Dr Karl’s band. It was so much fun, they did some good stuff and we enjoyed being the screaming fans down at the front of the stage. Like Beatlemania all over again!

Sadly though, as all nights do, it had to come to an end. And this is where it all went a bit pear-shaped for me, as I left my purse in a taxi. With my debit card, my credit card, and the money to get to the airport the next day. I realised as I got back to the apartment but, after getting a bit upset, realised there was nothing I could do that night. So, fully dressed (including my Harold Bishop t-shirt), I crashed out at about 3am.

When the alarm went at 5.30 – well, let’s just say I wasn’t sober yet, and was grateful that I’d packed and was already dressed. The teeth DID get brushed, though, and I somehow managed to get a free ride to the airport (thanks loads and loads to Hugh for helping me out with the card situation). Once there I started to call home to my banks to cancel my cards, which was a strange experience – to be doing something so serious with alcohol still in my body, AND wearing a Harold Bishop t-shirt. All done, I boarded the plane and sat next to an odd man who kept talking about Combine Harvesters to me. “Go on, in UK pounds, guess how much fuel they use a day?”. He actually poked me as well and said, “You’re not allowed to go to sleep!”. I tells ya, he’s lucky he didn’t get a slap.

Somehow, miraculously, I landed safe inBrisbane exactly when I was meant to. Andy was there to meet me, and I couldn’t think of a more welcome sight. We were about to head off on a great adventure.

The next day, though cold again, was dry and sunny, so Alice and I were persuaded to go fishing by Hugh, his brother, and their friend (also called Hugh). Was this against my better judgement? My first experience of fishing was at our caravan in the lake district when we were small, where both Michael and I showed a disconcerting willingness to hit the fish over the head; my second (and only other) fishing experience was with an ex-boyfriend who, I’m sure, only took me fishing to shut me up – he told me he wouldn’t catch any fish if they heard any noise. I think it says more about me than about him that I thought this was an acceptable date! Fortunately (for all of us), the day turned out nothing like that at all.

We were headed out to a place called Williamstown, and to a stretch of water in particular called the Warmies; it got that name because of some kind of power plant nearby that heats the water up, and all the fish become radioactive or something (well, not exactly that, but I don’t think you’d be eating them in a hurry). Down by the river it was quite chilly, and I was grateful for the warmth of my new hat, purchased the day before as a barrier to the cold Melbourne wind.

Before the guys settled down to their fishing, and Alice and I settled down to the important business of gossiping, we had to make a stop for fish and chips, with Alice and I also picking up a bottle of champagne (I’m cursed with good taste!). Seriously, does ANYTHING taste better than good food and cold champagne eaten outside with friends? If it does, I’ve never eaten it.

We were there for a few hours, eating, drinking, laughing, chatting. We took some classic photos that will be up on my site (SOON!), including one that Hugh took of Alice and I that has become an instant favourite, a real Kodak moment. One to frame when I get home. Along with all my other favourites – there really isn’t going to be a spare inch of wall at my house at this rate.

Hugh’s mum kindly picked us up, and then, after a quick stop back at the apartment, we headed out to a house party. By now, the effects of the champagne (and the other bottle of wine that I forgot to mention) were well and truly taking effect, to the point where we thought it would be a good idea for me to get in a shopping trolley and for Hugh to push me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is the behaviour of a mature 30 year old. We could not stop laughing for what seemed like hours.

At the house party, I was introduced to the Aussie version of cheap cider. Remember when you were underage and the drink of choice seemed to be that fowl cheap cider? The Aussie version is called Passion Pop. It costs $3 per bottle, and it tastes like it costs $3 per bottle. Pretty grim. Still, I had to give it a good try.

After this, the night pretty much continued in the same vein. We moved on to a pub, and then Alice unfortunately lost her bag, which put a dampner on the whole night, and before too long we were back at the ranch, Alice desperately trying to cancel her cards and her phone.

Things always seem better in the morning, and this was the case here. Yes, the bag was still gone, but Alice was her usual lovely chirpy self. As was Hugh, and the whole of his family – for this was a Big Day. We were going to the MCG (Melbourne Cricket Ground – a stone’s throw away from the apartment) for another footie match. Hugh and his family are Carlton fans, and they were playing Collingwood, of whom probably the most apt description I can give for UK readers is that they’re the Manchester United of Aussie Rules. The fans love them; everyone else hates them. Carlton aren’t doing too well this season, so I was grateful that I’d been to the Saints game a couple of days before, otherwise I might have got lumbered with being a Carlton fan. I did sport a scarf that Hugh gave me, though. Yeah, I know, I’m fickle. That’s me.

The MCG was a wonderful, huge, atmospheric stadium, and it was great to see such an exciting match there. Sadly Carlton lost, after rallying in the first couple of quarters, but I DID get to see my first few fights on the pitch, which excited me no end. This was what I’d been promised, and what kept me coming back for more. Yet again I was right in there with the crowd, screaming “BALL!” when the players refused to release it. And yet again I had a famous four and twenty pie, a quintessential footie snack. And it was deelish.

I crashed out early that night, exhausted from the previous night’s shenanigans and the cold air at the football game. I also knew I needed a good night’s sleep to prepare for the coming day. Possibly the most important day of my life. I was going to the Neighbours Night.

Those of you who were reading this blog back when I was in China, in May: first of all, God help you; second of all, thank you; third of all – remember Alice and Hugh from the Yangtze River Cruise? Way back then, they’d convinced me to include Melbourne in my Australia itinerary. I wish I could say it was because of the way they described the culture, the architecture, and the people of Melbourne, but I must hang my head in shame and admit it was for one reason and one reason only: Neighbours. That’s right, boys and girls, Melbourne is the home of the best soap in the world ever. Excited doesn’t even begin to describe my emotions.

I was really sad to leave Sydney, a city with which I’d fallen instantly in love, but so hyped up to be catching up with old friends. Well, by backpacking standards they were old friends, anyway. I arrived in the cold Melbourne afternoon, hugging my fleece around me and thinking longingly of the Sydney sunshine, then got the bus from Avalon Airport in to the city centre. Alice was still at work, so I had a couple of hours to amuse myself. I did this by spotting the number of ways Melbourne reminded me of Manchester. The resemblance is remarkable. The architecture is very similar, lots of tall forbidding Victorian buildings. It was also lovely to see another city with trams, surely one of the best ways of navigating a city. More trams, I say! The thing that most put me in mind of Manchester, though, was the relentless rain that was falling. Still, refusing to be gloomy, I headed for a lovely friendly cafe and sampled some of Melbourne’s famously good coffee until it was time to meet Alice.

I trudged up to Flinders Street station, waited at the top of the steps, and was delighted to see her on the other side of the road a few minutes later, jumping up and down and waving. We got on the train out to Hamilton, where her house is, and nattered the whole journey away, catching up on news. It turns out she had a nasty health scare in South East Asia, getting a bad case of DVT, and had to come home sooner than expected. This was horrible to hear, and such a relief to see her back to her old bubbly self. We spent the night at her house, wrapped in cosy dressing gowns, gossiping and planning. Bliss.

The next day was an early start – I went into the city with Alice – she went to work, and I set out to explore some of Melbourne. First priority, though, was booking myself on the Neighbours tour that afternoon. That done, I wandered through the streets and the shops, lost in my own world, investigating the cathedral and surrounding areas.

I sat and ate my sandwich lunch in the grounds of the cathedral, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the Neighbours bus. And when it came, there was no mistaking it. A bus with ‘Neighbours’ written in huge letters down the side of it could mean only one thing: Ramsay Street, baby! Once we’d been collected, our first stop was the office, where we collected our tickets. We were just being told the itinerary of the day when we heard a voice behind us and there was Dr Karl Kennedy. I nearly fell over. Honestly. He was ever so lovely, and posed for photos and signed autographs for all of us, even though he did laugh at me – all the people before me had been ever so polite and British, whereas I jumped with excitement at having my photo with him. What a very nice man. A very, very nice man. You know the rest…

Anyway, we then got on the bus and Dr K followed us on to wish us a good day and to give us some teasers on the plot. I’ll write these because these are just literally tasters – we got told loads of spoilers which I won’t write so, if you’re desperate to know them, send me an email and I can ruin it all for you. So, what Dr K was permitted to tell us was – this week they’ve just filmed a cliffhanger episode, in which someone gets shot, and something goes very, very wrong with a wedding. And then in November, he, Susan, and Issy are heading over to film some scenes in London. So look out for those, UK people!

As we set off on the bus, our guide played some mood music for us. Starting off with the Neighbours theme tune, we then progressed to songs by Delta Goodrem, Holly Valance, Kylie, Jason, and Stefan (”Gonna Make You Feel Good”!). Then one came on that shut a lot of people up. The guide turned round and said, “Who can tell me who this is?” I don’t know if I was proud or ashamed to be the only person to shout out, “Angry Anderson!” “And the name of the song?” Again, the only reply was yours truly: “Suddenly!” “And finally, on what occasion was it used in Neighbours?” Of course, I shouted loud and proud, “Charlene and Scott’s wedding!” All the other young uns turned and looked at me with a mixture of admiration and pity that, I admit, verged more on the pity side than on the admiration side. I guess I really am feeling my age.

First stop was Erinsborough High School although, to be frank, I barely recognised any of it. Still took photos though, obviously. We drove past the studios where they film Neighbours, but we couldn’t go in because it was a filming day and so many screaming Brits (always, always Brits) wouldn’t be good for the on-set ambiance. Put them off or something, the prima donnas.

And finally, we were at Neighbours mecca, aka Ramsay Street. Or Pin Oak Court, as it’s know in real life. It was so surreal to be there, not least because it seems so small compared to how it looks on screen. Our guide thinks they use special lenses on the camera to make it look that way, plus other tricks such as adding a ‘2? in front of all the house numbers, so ‘2? (Paul Robinson’s house) becomes ‘22?. Cunning! I had my photo taken outside all the houses, with a special emphasis on Charlene’s, naturally, and reminisced about all the people who had lived there in the past. Paul and Gayle, then the twins, Lou and Cheryl, Des and Daphne (”I love you, Clarkey” – was ever a sadder line uttered on tv?), Scott and Charlene, Plain Jane Superbrain, Mrs Mangel, Joe and Kerry, and, my personal favourite anti-hero, the little-remembered Sharon, who was Bronwyn’s sister. Anyone (apart from Michael) remember then? We hated Sharon with a passion. Not only did she have ridiculously short arms, she was either fat, gestating an elephant or had managed to dislocate her jaw like what those (sic) snakes do to gobble up a bewildered wildebeest, as we once discussed at length during our school summer holidays.

All too soon (but not before some excited text messages), it was time to leave. We watched some classic episodes on the way back – Libby’s wedding, Jim’s death (watch that again for classic acting moments), the birth of Paul and Christina’s baby in an ice cream van. Magic.

I waved a sad farewell to Ramsay Street, but not for long; I met Alice after work and we headed on to Hugh’s parents’ apartment in the city centre. It was lovely to see Hugh again, and a delight to meet his welcoming folks. I had another exciting night ahead of me: I was going to see my first Aussie Rules Football Game. Not being a fan up until then, I realised that from then on, I would have to be a St Kilda fan, with them being the team I would be rallying on that night.

And you know what? I loved it! I was getting really into the action, almost understanding the rules, enjoying the beer and pies (just like Goodison), cheering on the Saints, singing away – I even know their song now. I can even identify a couple of their players, check me out! Freakiest moment of the night was when I got talking to a guy in the beer queue who lives about 10 doors down from my Mum in Leigh. Small world indeed!

After a bad first quarter, Saints rallied to a fab victory, firmly cementing my position as a St Kilda fan, and brilliantly rounding off a fabulous day experiencing the best of Melbourne.

When I booked this trip, I always knew that I would be somewhere in Sydney on my 30th birthday. Where exactly was yet to be decided, but I knew I would be Down Under. As soon as I got to Sydney, I fell in love with it, and knew instantly I could think of no better place to celebrate the start of a new decade, a new phase in my life, than this wonderful city.

The one thing I did know, though, was that I didn’t want to wake up in a hostel on my 30th birthday. No offence to my dorm mates, with whom I was now bonding into a great little group of friends, but I just couldn’t face it. I wanted to start my 30s in the style with which I would hopefully see out the rest of them. And so I checked in to a swish boutique hotel, the Central Park Hotel. It was lovely to spoil myself so – it was more like an apartment, with two-storey windows, a wonderful living area, a comfy bed, and – joy of joys – a whirlpool bath. After months in Asia with little more than a cold shower, this was bliss.

The last night of my twenties was wonderful, as well. Andy took me out for a gorgeous meal (do I spy a date?), and we toasted the end of an era and, more importantly, the start of a new one. We managed to get told off by the waiter by how much food we’d left, but this just gave us something more to laugh about. I didn’t have anything to drink, in preparation for the next day.

I slept like a log, and so woke up a 30 year old feeling exactly like I did in my twenties! It was a real joy to open all my cards from home, and I said a prayer of thanks for all my lovely relatives and friends who’d sent the cards out here courtesy of Mike and Sheila in Perth. It meant the world, folks, and I love you all dearly for it. Mum’s card made me cry for the first time that day (it wouldn’t be the last!). I also had a lovely card from Andy, along with a thought-provoking present – a book on travel writing. Hmmmm… food for thought indeed.

I had a lovely lazy morning, and then wandered with Andy down to The Rocks for a beautiful lunch in the brilliant sunshine. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky (I think I must have behaved myself in my twenties in order for there to be such good weather on my birthday!). We then sat down by the Opera House and chatted for a couple of hours, me checking my watch every few minutes. I was incredibly excited.

The reason for my excitement? I’d booked to do a BridgeClimb over the Sydney Harbour Bridge. I knew this would be a memorable thing to do on my birthday, something to look back on forever. And this was the reason I hadn’t had anything to drink the night before or with my lunch – you have to pass an alcohol breath test before you go up. Safety is incredibly important to these guys, understandably when you see the heights you climb to.

I went and checked in for the climb, and cried for the second time that day. A week or so before my birthday, my brother Michael had apologised as he’d missed the date for posting my card out to Perth. I said the next address he could definitely get me at was New Zealand, and so had written off the thought of a card from him and Caroline (although I did grass him up to my mum, naturally!). However, my wonderful bro had done something amazing: he’d got in touch with BridgeClimb, somehow managed to get my card out to them, and they handed it over to me on check-in. Michael and Caroline – thankyou with all my heart.

I met the rest of my group, and was amazed to find there was another birthday girl in my group, although she was celebrating her 21st. What are the odds? We were all pretty excited, which couldn’t even be dampened when we were given our very daggy jumpsuits. Basically, because we would be walking over a major highway, everything we wore had to be clipped on to these jumpsuits. I had to take off my watch and my bracelets, we had to take out any hairclips – anything even as small as that falling down on the highway could cause a major accent. So we were given clip-on fleeces, clip-on baseball caps, clip-on everything. We were then given training on using our harnesses – we would be attached from the moment we stepped on to the moment we stepped off.

Soon we were off. And let me say right now – it was one of the best things I have ever done in my entire life. If you are ever in Sydney, DO IT! In fact – travel to Sydney JUST to do it. It’s going to be superlative overload in this description, but I refuse to apologise – it’s completely justified.

We got out on the bridge at 4pm, when the sun was still out and strong. We all had headsets (clip-on, naturally) so we could hear all the fascinating information our guide was giving us. The bridge was completed in 1932 at a then-astronomical $20m, and spans across the harbour, giving amazing views across the Sydney area. You start off underneath the bridge, hearing the traffic above you, and then climb up through two lanes of traffic, emerging on the top at the foot of one of the famous curves. At this moment, everyone was literally lost for words. To our right was the Opera House; to our left was The Rocks. By this time, the sun was breathing its last for the day, turning everything that beautiful pinky gold. At this point, we had photos taken:

At the top of the bridge, we had another group photo taken (jazz hands ahoy!), and then our lovely guide got the group to sing happy birthday to me and the other birthday girl. Aaah. What a moment to remember for the rest of my life. We walked across the top – yet another photo op – blew the famous Blinking Billy a kiss and made a wish, as is Sydney tradition, and then watched the sunset over a truly amazing city. Wow. Then we walked back down the other side. By this time it was dark, and we had a final photo taken with the lights of the city behind us:

Seemingly all too soon, but in reality about 2.5 hours after we stepped foot on the bridge, we were back down. And here is my new claim to fame – I can say I jumped off the Sydney Harbour Bridge. OK, it was off the last step, but nevertheless it’s true!

I walked back to my hotel, absolutely buzzing and high from the Climb, and knocked on the door. Andy had asked for my key, as there was football on that he wanted to watch while I was on the bridge. Or so he told me. In reality, he’d been busy preparing a surprise for me, with banners, balloons, flowers, streamers, a cake and candles, and champagne. Making me cry for the third time that day. Wow. His reason was that if I was at home people would be spoiling me, but I know for sure the real reason is that he’s a true gem and a superstar.

Wolfing the cake and champagne, I hastily changed, ready to go out and meet the gang from the hostel that night. We met Nicola, Marie, and Luke in the pub, and Martin was going to meet us later (in fact, I got a message from him later on but sadly didn’t hear my phone). The night went as I’m sure you’d expect – plenty of pubs, plenty of drinking, and plenty of dancing, including some favourite tunes on account of it was my birthday and therefore I felt justified in comandeering the DJ all night. So Mr Brightside, Kylie, the Pussycat Dolls and Wham were the order of the night.

A huge thankyou right now to everyone who made my birthday so very special and memorable, with an honorable mention to Jonesy, who made it a day in a million and made me forget to be homesick. I’ll never forget it, guys.

If this is the way my 30s are going to go, you can sign me up right now. I like it here.

One of the things that Mike in Perth had recommended I go and see when I was in Sydney was the Blue Mountain Range. Although they start 65km inland from Sydney, they are effectively part of the extended suburbs, and it’s possible to get there on the train direct from Sydney in a couple of hours. Andy and I had been to the supermarket the night before, and had stocked up well on the picnic foods. A proper valley day out, as Andy says (Jonesy, care to give a full definition?).

The Blue Mountains get their name from an apparent blue haze that hangs over them, which is the result of the oily mist given off by eucalyptus trees. It’s only visible from a distance, and even then is questionable – I kept insisting I could see it; Andy was more dubious.

We got off the train in Katoomba, 109km away from the centre of Sydney, and headed out through the small town towards the mountains. It was a lovely little town – the small size was definitely noticeable after the great metropolis that is Sydney. It was a lovely place to wander in, a real suburb, and we were walking through mainly residential streets on our way to the mountain ranges. It was also noticeabley cooler up there in the hills, and we were grateful that we’d brought a couple of layers.

We walked out to the Three Sisters viewpoint, for an amazing photo opportunity. The Three Sisters is the name given to a fabulous rock formation of three large monoliths in close proximity to each other. The views of those, and out over the rest of the mountain range, were stunning, and we stayed for a good while, just drinking in the views and feeling those batteries recharge.

Heading off to find a picnic spot, we passed a shop advertising free wine tasting, so naturally we ducked in and sampled their wares. We both fell in love with a locally produced Sauvignon Blanc, called Farmer’s Daughter, from Mudgee, and bought a lovely cold bottle to go with our picnic. We ended up in a lovely sunny park, overlooking the mountains, and dug eagerly into our picnic, the perfect accompaniment to our lovely wine. True to form, we chatted and laughed the day away, both looking round in shock to realise the sun had gone down from out of nowhere, and that we were very cold indeed.

Back on the train, I was in touch with my friends Elaine and Red, who I’d met in Vietnam, and who had since moved to Sydney. We arranged to meet up out in Bondi for a few drinks, so Andy and I went back to our hostel, quickly changed, and headed straight out there. It was fantastic to see them again, and it was as if no time had gone by – big hugs all round, and reminiscing about our time in Asia. It was lovely to see Andy in the middle of it – isn’t it a great feeling when new and old friends get on?

So I raised drinks that night to the Blue Mountains, and to friendships, new and old.

Apart fro the Opera House and the Harbour Bridge, is there anything more associated with Sydney than Bondi beach? I think you’ll find there’s not! This, then, became our destination the next day. We must have done something good, because the sun came out in force for our day on the sand.

Once again we got the train out, this time to Bondi Junction, followed by a bus to Bondi Beach. I had my smug face on (as per usual!) – I’d bought a weekly travel pass that I could use on the trains, buses and ferries, and so was mentally – or, in actual fact, out loud – totting up all Andy was spending and then looking very pleased with myself. Mature, I know, but I was making the most of the last days of my twenties.

Bondi itself was a really funky little offshoot of Sydney, where I would settle happily if I were to up sticks and move to Sydney (don’t worry, Aunty Rosemary, not on the cards – yet!). It was full of organic delis and little cafes. Real surfer heaven – and haven, I suppose! We turned a corner on the bus, and there it was – one of the most famous beaches in the world.

It was actually smaller, much smaller, than you expect. I had visions of miles and miles of golden sands, when in effect, it’s a medium-sized bay. The sand is gorgeously white, though, the sea turquoise, and with the sun out, it was very heaven. We had a real lazy morning, lying on the sand and chatting, watching the surfers (how very Bondi!), and wishing we’d brought our swimming cossies. That is, until we heard two surfers wandering past and talking about a shark that had been spotted. I’ll keep out of the water, thanks. I did want to send a text to everybody I know saying “Guess where I am? Go on, guess! That’s right, Bondi, baby!”

Another lovely lunch (we managed to stay off the wine this time!), and meandered our way back to the hostel. After a couple of laundry-type chores back at the ranch, we headed out for a scrumdiddlyumptious chinese meal, and then met the rest of our room mates in the hostel bar for a drink or three. Good stuff.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – I do love a good day out at the beach.

One of the plans that Andy and I had formulated the night before was to go and see Darling Harbour in the morning, followed by Manly in the afternoon. Of course, this meant waking up in the morning, not an easy thing to do after such a big night. However, any hopes of a lie-in were shattered by the arrival of our new dorm-mate. She issued a loud and cheery “Hello!”, followed by a comment that we were all still asleep, had it been a heavy night? I think I managed to nod in reply, when she announced to us all that her name was Nicola. I spotted another northern accent, and it was lovely to find out that she was another Manchester lass. Turns out she’d been through a bit of a time in the last couple of weeks before the start of her trip, and she was wonderfully brave coming out and starting it anyway. She’s a star, but by this time, Andy and I were in total fits of laughter just at the randomness of the morning, combined with memories from the night before. He kept catching my eye across the room and had me roaring with laughter. We set off again when another new room mate, Martin, came in and greeted us with what we later learned was his trademark, “ooh, hello”. Wonderful.

Now that we were both up and awake, we rallied and firmed up the plans over breakfast. We’d get the ferry round to Darling Harbour, have a walk round, see the Aquarium, some lunch, and then on to Manly on the other side of the harbour. We got the train down to the Rocks, where the ferry left, and I was able to show off with my superior knowledge of Sydney’s rail system. I tell you, just a couple of days in the place and I had it sussed. We laughed our way on to the ferry and were distracted by a school party on there, and soon it was time to get off and see the Aquarium.

I’d briefed Andy beforehand on my fear of sharks, so he was on hand to fend any off should they get too near. I don’t trust that glass (and I used to work for a glass company, so I should know, although, to be frank, I never paid that much attention). The aquarium was fantastic, and I’d definitely recommend a visit. They have so many varieties of aquatic life, from platypuses (is that the correct plural? I have a feeling it should be platypi or something), to crocodiles, stingrays (oh the irony!),

sealions and seals, nemo fish, to sharks. And get this – I touched a shark! I real living one! OK, I admit, it was only a baby and was about 20cm long, but I touched it. And the lady didn’t let me hurt it. I kept my fingers clear of its mouth, though. Baby or not, it was eeevil. I had a strange feeling, though, when there was a glass walkway over part of the aquarium tanks. I’ve seen them before at towers, and have no fear whatsoever of the heights, but although it was only over a few feet of water, I was scared of falling through, and would only jump from steel rafter to rafter.

Coming outo the strong sunlight, we decided our first priority was lunch. Because, dammit, the sun was out, we were in Sydney and, as Andy kept reminding me (though I’m sure he was just looking for an excuse), it was my birthday WEEK. We found a lovely bar overlooking Darling Harbour and we had lunch and – here’s where I get my excuse in early – I started off on a Diet Coke, I swear. Jonesy though, on the other hand, was nowhere near as restrained, and started on the wine. We finished those, looked at each other, and ordered a bottle of wine. And there went the day. That bottle turned into another, and the day turned into evening. We were just laughing and talking too much to move, literally falling over our words and our shared interests and coincidences. Is there any better feeling?

The night turned into our typical random funny night, though. We were soon joined by a VERY drunk man called Trevor, who kept stroking my hair and massaging Andy’s shoulders. “Get off me, Trevor” became our anthem that night. I was sure Andy was more his type than I was, although he denied it and swore he was straight. We eventually had to tell him we were married, it was our anniversary, and we wanted a bit of alone time before he would leave us alone. Great stuff.

By the time we’d left the trains had stopped running, so we had to walk home. One of the things we’d discovered was a shared love of karaoke, so we were delighted to see a karaoke bar open on the way back to the hostel. It was an Asian-style one, though, with private rooms for hire. We soon launched into all the old favourites – I did a top (in my mind) version of “You’re so vain”, and got the giggles at some of the typos in the lyrics – instead of “wife of a close friend”, I was told I should be singing “wife of a clothesman”. Legendary. I also did, for my family on the other side of the world, “Here, there, and everywhere”. We busted out the duets, honouring the Aussies with “Especially for you”, and my birthday with “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” (number one when I was born, fact fans), Andy did the valleys proud with a rendition of “The Green, Green Grass of Home” followed by “Sweet Caroline”, and we ended, for some reason that made sense at the time, with “Santa Claus is Coming To Town”. Don’t ask.

Fully karaoked up, we laughed our way back to the hostel, once again delighted with new friendships, and new plans for the morning.