The entire next day was a write off for me. I knew I had to be up at about six the next morning if I was to be properly packed, have my tickets ready and squeez in a shower before my pickup for the tour I had booked which would take me right the way up the coast from Perth to Broome. That's why I Sunday, I walked around the CBD, got some dinner, did some writing and went back to the hostel for an early night. I'm sure some of my room mates thought I was some kind of pleb when they came into the room at nine that night and I was already asleep with the lights off. But what the fuck do I care...it's not like I'll ever see any of them again!

Six o'clock, trip day. Alarm goes. I spring into action...I pack my bags and jump into the clothes I had laid out for myself the night before. Aswell as being trip day, it was Paddy's Day, so I reckoned my green and white boardies, along with my white Irish rugby jersey would be a dashing combination. Trust me ladies, it was! By seven o'clock, I'm standing at the front of reception with my giant backpack, as well as my laptop bag and my bodhran in tow. Bus was a bit late, but by eight o'clock, I had been brought to the main depot, had my ticket taken, been checked off the list, was sitting in the truck (yes, it's a big ass 4x4 truck we're traveling in) and was ready to hit the road! Our driver I liked instantly. Freckle. We later learned that Freckle was an Australian slang term for asshole. Delightful. I knew I'd like Freckle from the outset. He had a temper. Good. That would keep all the slackers in line. He liked to drink. Very good. It was fucking Paddy's Day! I had big plans! And finally, he was a guide that knew his shit! That, in my opinion completed the Trinity of perfection. We'd get on very well.

The others though? Not so sure, I had a bus full of Germans/Dutch, apart from one Welsh girl and three English girls. Long story short I was the only English speaking male on the bus. Not to worry. Things usually seem to work out for me, and I reckoned that this little adventure would be no different. Off we went. That day was really great. It was the first day I really felt like I was on my own, but I had a great time! We visited the Pinnacles desert, and later went sandboarding! This really was an experience. Who'd have thunk a year beforehand that I'd be spending my next Paddy's Day having the craic in the desert! But there I was! The Pinnacles were an experience too. From a distance it looks like some eerie desert graveyard, covered with randomly places headstones, which is amazing in their sheer mass. But they're not hreadstones, in fact, they are the rembrants of an old cave, and at one stage had been stalagmites, or so I was told, and who am I to question Freckle!

That night was spent in a nice little spot. Horracks Beach. And the really good thing was that no-one seemed to have a problem with my idea of getting totally shit-faced! I had thought that maybe the gang might be a little dry after the looks I got in the bottleshop. Freckle had stopped the truck earlier in the day outside a Cellarbrations bottle shop and told us that if we wanted beer for the night we were to get it there. Off we piled! Some people got six packs of Carlton, I think someone got a bottle of wine, someone else got a few bottles of Vodka Cruiser (like Breezers). I, however, was the only person who bought a 24 bottle slab of Mercury Cider. Oh I had big plans alright. Actually after night one I regretted leaving some of my booze in Kay's before I left. I actually had too much alcohol to bring with me so I left quite a bit there. Four full bottles actually...a bottle of Black Sambuca, a bottle of Cointreau, a bottle of Blue Curacao and a bottle of Jager.

The reason I was regretting not bringing them is because I realised I had a pretty decent group that night, unlike my GOR trip. There was Mauritz, or something like that, the German, as well as Michael who was German as well and was traveling with his

Well, another couple of weeks past and another update for ye all. Honestly not a whole lot happening! Apart from work. Oh be-jeepers there's plenty of that! Last week I worked 52 hours, and I'm looking at another 50 hour week this week too.

A lot of the people I know over here have always said that I'm working too hard and not spending enough time enjoying the trip. I think that's bullshit to be perfectly honest though. I usually work 35 hours a week, in a pub where the craic is ninety and you can drink all the free piss you can handle when you're done! Now lets look at most of the fucking flashpackers that come over here. They call a recruitment agency where they eventually get a job in some shit hole of a call centre or god awful office where you become tempted to make a huge chain out of paper clips and then hang yourself from it. And what hours do they work. You got it, 40. So how am I working too hard? I don't get it. Yes the hours are fairly unsociable from the outside looking in...but let's be objective about this what's a more social job, trying to get people to change their electricity supplier by cold calling them then dragging your ass home on a tram crammed with other 9-5ers, or meeting new people everyday, having a few beers with your co-workers after every shift you work and then sharing a taxi home with them. You tell me!?

However, following that massive and slightly fucking wandering argument I will say that last week was a killer for me, it really took it out of me...and this week is gonna do exactly the same, but weeks like that are genuinely not the norm. Last week was St Kilda Festival, so obviously the pub is gonna be busier than normal when there's a free street party for 380,000 people taking place right outside the door. Then on top of that, Travis has just left, meaning I'm the most senior barman, which seems to have come with a shitload of responsibility, with fuck all more money. Actually who am I kidding! You get more money when you're made a supervisor, and I haven't been made a supervisor, so actually it's a shitload more responsibility for fuck all, apart from respect. Which kinda rocks.

Ya see there's a serious shortage of blokes in work, particularly now that Trav is gone, like the male crew for Monday's Neighbours night was me (having been put in charge by Phil), Ross, Paul and Grant (who are all newbies). I dread to think what that night would have been like if I had called in sick! A majority of the night would have been a fucking disaster. Then to top it all off...there's something going down in work. God only knows what it is, but something. Monday nights managers were meant to be Dmac and Dave Horman. Instead, I rocked up to find Steve Maguire (the overall Venue Manager) and Mark O'Rielly (MD of the company that owns the Elephant) running the show. Cock it.

I do know why Dmac wasn't there. Unfortunately his Dad passed away on Tuesday of last week. This kinda gutted me a little even. I'd never met the man, but myself and Dmac had been on Monday day shift, and he had made his own lunch that day. It was great too. Pasta with red pepper, chilli, pesto and some cheese. We then got into a conversation and he told me how his old man had done most of the cooking at home...something he seemed to enjoy talking about...then that Saturday he had to fire someone and seemed to take it really hard. Just in passing I asked if he was OK. He told me then about his Dad, although no-one else in work knew. My heart honestly sank. Dave is like a big brother to me over here. It's just not something you like to hear.

That weekend, I was able to witness the greatest concert of my life. The John Butler Trio live on Churchill Island, just off Phillip Island. It really was an amazing day! Highlights were Better Than, the drum solo, I Used To Get High For A Living, but without doubt the thing that blew both myself and Calle away was John himself doing the most mind blowing guitar solo you could ever im

Right...I'm gonna take a lengthy break from vomiting to bring y'all up to date. Today is an easy day to write about because all I've done is spatter the bowl in various forms. Fucking 6 dollar JagerBombs...recipe for disaster. Then add Cointreau Bombs and Midori Bombs to the mix. Well paint me blue and call me a smurf if didn't hit that shit hard. In retrospect, yes, a little too hard. I have a seriously painful leg. That's what you get for dancing on the bar with a German, taking a tumble, but wisely breaking her fall with your leg! Ouch.
My mouth tastes like the arse end of a dog aswell. Had to brush hard! Have what I reckon is a bruise on my neck, but honestly I can't be sure.

Anyway, lets take a quick rewind. Its been quiet a while since I've updated this...couple of reasons. I've been crazy busy with work. Luckily they've started to look after me with my “weekends” and I now get my two days off in a row! Its sweet, but I find myself spending a shitload of money on those days off (last night I spent over 200 dollars, and I dropped over three hundred bucks last Thursday night). Lots of changes in work over the last few weeks too. Gav is gone. Miss him! Claire and Willie are gone too, so is Chris and Nils. Few new faces as well. Gary is new, but is leaving soon as he just got a job in the airport. Andrew is new, and Irish, double whammy for him. Steph was new, but she's gone already. Susan, Dale, Lyndsay...all new too. Fuck, what an amazingly high turnover of workers...but still, it keeps it interesting!

The big time was Christmas and New Years...and they were some of the best times I think I've ever had. All you have to do to see how much fun Christmas was is to check the pictures on my bebo! Insanely good. Same for New Years, there was a retro party in the Elephant so we all dressed up for that. I organised with the lads for us to go as the Channel Four News team from anchorman. I was Ron Burgondy (and subsequently won a bottle of Midori as best dressed – KABLAMMO), Trav was Brick Tambland, Calle was Champ Kind and Horman was Brian Fantata. Such an amazing night. We were all finished up at 4am, so we started drinking...HARD! At about 6am they opened up the optics and let us drink whatever we wanted, hence Trav's pint of Southern Comfort!

We had to leave at 7...that was our deadline in the pub, so we went from there to Bar Roy's and I wound up being among the last group to leave. That was at about 12 noon on New Years day.

Unfortunately, over the whole Christmas period there were a few problems in the house. Gary had been off work after breaking his hand. Himself and Jill and Cara went out one night. Jill managed to get seperated from the group, Gary got mad and punched a wall. That was a sign of things to come really. He seemed to be very easily irritated and easily angered, so we had to ask him to leave the house. He's been gone a week or two now. It's a bit of a bitch. There's been plenty of times when Gary had my back, he was always a really good mate, and was one of the first people I met in Melbourne. Its not the same without him here, but before he left it wasn't like it was in Langridge Street anyway, so it's probably best just to put it behind us and get on with having a great time.

Other big news with me is Calle having to finish up in the Elephant. Calle is my best mate over here. The boy made me look forward to going to work. By our visas we aren't allowed to work more than six months with one employer, and his time was up, so he finished on Saturday night. He's still in Melbourne though, and was out with us last night too. Its tradition in the elephant to do a barrel speech when you leave, but recently because people have been coming and going so much, they'd lost their charm. Calle did not let that happen! The chap rocked up to staffies with a bottle of Jager, a shit load of Red Bull and a bag full of chips and crisps and stuff! Also myself and Amy donated a bottle of Black Sambuca to th