Ok, so we’ve booked our UK holiday! Go see the calendar for our bookings to date (scroll to June/July).

I must say though, we haven’t half had a lot of luck. First stroke of luck was with the airfares. I was looking at booking us on Emirates, as we’ve flown with them in the past and they have always had the best deals. Their catering is ever so good too, which on a long haul is a BIG bonus. I found the best deal they could offer, for the dates we wanted, and their price was $7200 for the three of us. Bethy now counts as “full fare”, as she is over twelve, the tight bastards.

No other airline seemed to be able to match that fare, so it was looking like a goer, I was all fired up to burn my credit card a bit more.

I was booking online when I found out that I needed our passport numbers to complete the booking. Problem. Bethy’s passport had expired, and we were waiting for the new one to arrive, this was on a Friday, and we expected the passport to arrive on the Tuesday. No problems, we’ll wait until it arrives, and then book.

Reading the Sunday rag at work I came across an advert; “Virgin Atlantic Sale“, may as well have a look? Next thing you know I’m sending Beardy Branson my credit card details, (he didn’t want my passport number?) and we got our flights for …$4,549.80. A grand saving of $2662.00!!

Not only that, but instead of spending a 7 hour wait in Dubai airport, we get an overnight hotel stop in Hong Kong, duty free heaven. In fact we’ll have enough time to get a quick view around Hong Kong which should be interesting to say the least.

More good news the other day, when the $Aussie cleared 49p for the first time ever. The last time I went back (Oct 07) it was 41 p. (The first time Lee-Anne came over it was 33p)

That 8p difference may not sound very much, but if you think we will be taking over $10,000 in spending money, then the £800 ($1,191 US) we’ll get for free isn’t to be sniffed at!

Ok so we’re booking places to stay (don’t worry, if you’re desperate, we will still come to your house, and soil your towels, see below). We had decided that, when we go back to my home town, we would rent a place to stay for the week, rather than put up at me Mam’s. She doesn’t really have the beds, and the last time we stayed with her we ended up on air beds, which weren’t much fun. Not only that, but the disruption we cause to her routine makes her uncomfortable, which isn’t really fair on her.

So we were looking to rent a place. We’d seen some beachfront apartments we fancied, and put in an enquiry for one. The geezer wrote back saying that we could only rent Saturday to Saturday, (we wanted Friday to Friday,) and that he couldn’t give us a definite “yes” on the week we wanted until the end of April. Not great customer service there then.

But we were prepared to wait as the apartment on offer suited all our needs, and was only £450.00 for the week. We’d even made our mind up to stay an extra night in N. Wales, to fit in with his Saturday to Saturday stipulation, when…

We found a better apartment in the same block, one which would have us Friday to Friday, for … £350 for the week.

Oh in N. Wales we’ve found, and booked, a pine built cabin, in a woods, with views over Cadair Idris, for the days we wanted, at a cheap as chips price, so we looked no further. Bethy’s keen to have a crack at hiking Snowdon, so as you can imagine, I’m not discouraging her in this endeavour.

For a kid of 14 this will be her third; “literally halfway round the world trip.” The jet setting so and so. By the time I had hit 14 I hadn’t even left Wales yet. Not only that, but in September she’s jetting off to Japan with the school for a week.

So our plan, so far is, fly Aus- Hong Kong –Thiefrow. Arrive UK, spend a couple of nights in Bristol recovering from jet lag. Pick up a hire car, drive to North Wales, spend three days there hiking. Drive down through the length of Wales, stay in Llanelli for a week….. BIG GAP……Drive to somewhere close to Bristol (Bethy fancies Stratford on Avon for its literary legacy, she’s clever like that.) Drop car at Bristol, get coach /train to Heathrow, fly home.

Any ideas what we can do, and where we can stay, in the …BIG GAP… please e-mail us with your bids.

The funny thing is that this will be Lee-Anne and Bethy’s first summer holiday in the UK. Due to the Aus/UK seasons being opposite, and therefore Bethy having her long summer break in the middle of UK winter, they’ve only seen the UK in the cold, foggy, wet, drizzley, damp, season.

This trip should prove to be no different then.

Oh, as well as Bethy’s passport needing renewal, my “Spousal Visa” was due to run out this month, so I popped along to the Department of Immigration and renewed it. One of the handy things about living in Canberra is you have easy access to all the major government departments.

While I was there I started the process of becoming an Aussie. No I didn’t fuck a kanagaroo, I started applying for citizenship, mainly by paying the $250 fee for the application pack. I’m going for joint UK/Australian citizenship. The next step is to take the “Citizenship test”. No sweat, seeing as it all seems to be about Don Bradman’s batting averages, I’ll piss it.

So what else have we been up to? Well we’ve been to see a couple of stand up comedy shows

First up was Steve Coogan at Canberra Theatre; I have to say straight up that I am a big fan of Coogan, and have all the Alan Partridge DVD’s and CD’s of the radio shows, including his “On the Hour” and “The day today” stuff, and I rate; “24 Hour Party People” as one of the best music films ever made.

I was a bit apprehensive as neither Bethy nor Lee-Anne knew any of Coogan’s characters other than Alan Partridge.

The show kicked off promptly(ish) at 8.00 pm with the theatre half to two thirds full. I was reasonably impressed by this, as I didn’t think Coogan had that much exposure here, certainly my lot had never heard of him before I came over.

First up was Pauline Calf, Coogan’s foul mouthed, Mancunian, over sexed, only female character. She was funny in a cringe making way, and had Bethy alternatively in tears of laughter and shocked revulsion, with her tales of her sex life. Pauline also gave a reading from her new book; “She Shat Herself.” Which wasn’t exactly Barbara Cartland stuff, as you can imagine.

Next up Paul Calf, beer swigging, student hating, and misanthropic. He didn’t do much for any of us, he had a few moments, but had no great hook to hang his humour on. (When I’ve seen Coogan in the past, Calf has been far more violent, and far less understanding of the world about him, to far better effect.)

There was then a filmed section featuring “Duncan Thickett, the world’s worse comedian”. This didn’t work well at all, as the film and sound were way out of synch.

Tony Ferrino the “Portugese” power ballad crooner, ended up the first half, and for me was the highlight of the night. The songs were cringe-makingly bad, though sung well. The lyrical humour was highlighted by contradictory backdrops which had me holding my sides with laughter. I felt so sorry for the poor girl dragged up on stage for a romantic ballad “Ordinary Girl,” but I still wet myself with laughter at the song.

The second half was all Alan Partridge. It was great to see the old monster back on stage. The “theme” was Partridge trying to sell himself as a “motivational speaker,” on tour. (Sponsored by “Whiskas”). This worked well, and good use of props gave added bite. The Partridge routine relies a bit on you knowing his shtick, and there were some dead spots during this, when only me and a couple of others picked up the references. Also it was obvious that he had dropped Brit references and tried to shoehorn in some Aussie icons at times, to mixed success.

His presentation of a “Live Chat Show” on Radio Norwich, by faux satellite link up, was hamstrung by the obvious use of pre-recorded “callers,” and, although true Partridge, never quite hit the spot. The ending was abrupt and, apart from a curtain call, there was no encore.

We left the theatre at 9.50 pm, just under two hours with a very short intermission.

Verdict; Ok. Good. Not great. Not bad I suppose for the money, $70 a ticket. Some parts were uproariously funny, some were as flat as a witch’s tit.

It was spoiled for me by being under-rehearsed, and his obvious need to have, and constant reference to,  prompt cards onstage for each of the acts (apart from Ferrino). Partridge was done entirely from cue cards. Though it was great to see the characters again, the act was a bit stale as I’d seen them all before, and there was nothing new. The Ferrino skit was word for word what I saw in Plymouth in 2001, though still funny.

6/10 must try harder.

However Dylan Moran’s gig a week later just blew Coogan out of the water, no real comparison. Ok, the styles are different, Coogan is a character comedian, whereas Moran is a raconteur, but the difference in quality was astounding.

Even when Moran went off the boil and lost his way he was still able to draw a few laughs on his way back. His response to heckles, though not the best I’ve ever heard, was good. He was onstage for a reasonable length of time, did an encore too, rare for a comedian that.

No props apart from his wine glass. No smoking either. (Has he quit?)

His grossly overblown, quasi-surreal take on life, his willingness to go into full blown vernacular, his stream of consciousness, were all first rate.

The best stand up I’ve seen since Billy C. 10/10 world class.

Now some sad news.

When we  were down at Cook shops one day, Bethy and I came upon a bunch of flowers on a too familiar table, and a sad note informing customers that Damian Caesar had passed on suddenly.

Damian was a quite profoundly disabled  chap, who used to sell sweets and other items outside our local shop, to raise funds for the ACT “Boccia” team, (a sport for the wheelchair bound.)

Despite his disabilities, Damian was always happy and chatty, and regular users of Cook shops would always stop and pass the time of day with him when he was outside. I made a point of saying hello, and passing the time of day, as it seemed only right.

I really do miss his cheery; “Alright matey!?” when I go down there. He once sold me some shower gel, which, when I used it, brought me out in a bright pink rash. Boy did he laugh when Lee-Anne told him about that! I’ve taken to saying hello to him under my breath, when I pass his usual spot. Ok, I’m a soft bastard. He was a decent chap, and the world has lost a colourful character. We sent a donation to the Boccia club in his name.

The other day I used my voucher for the foot massage (which includes a good shoulder, neck, and back massage, funnily enough), and I can honestly say that it was fantastic. Again, no pain is spared, and I’ve learned that when asked; “How firm would you like me to be?”, never reply, “As firm as you can be,” as this roughly translates as; “Why not see if you can make me scream?”

The turn over at that place is very good, I saw at least half a dozen people come and go in the hour I was there (2.00 – 3.00 pm on a Thursday, hardly peak hours?)

The young lady who attended to me, was courteous, solicitous, and went out of her way to make it a very pleasant experience. I cannot imagine it is much fun attending to people’s feet for a living, but she made me feel like I was doing her a favour letting her rub my feet. (Again, I tipped well, these people will remember that the next time I’m in.)

And what a bloody grip? Jebuz, if I had a grip like that my sex life would be improved no end.

Now I’m, as you may have guessed, not one for these alternative health practices, and reflexology has never really hit my radar, but believe me, when she was working on my feet I had reactions in several different parts of my body. (No, not the bloody obvious part, thank you.) At one point I had a burning sensation in my ear, my hands went all numb, and my stomach started gurgling. (Though that could be the cheese and brinjal pickle sarnie I had for lunch).

On one of my days off, I decided to take a spin out into the wilds, in the hope of getting some wildlife shots. I only got as far as the city centre however, when I saw the cops putting up road blocks, and people lining the main route through the city, as if a parade was about to pass. Which is exactly what happened. Here’s what the local rag reported;

Key routes throughout Canberra will come to a standstill today as up to 800 members of an outlaw motorcycle club parade through the streets to mourn a gunned down club member.

A huge security operation is expected with ACT Policing pledging to keep a visible and heavily armed presence, including the use of the Specialist Response and Security group, throughout the event, which is expected to be the biggest bikie funeral the capital has seen.

Club sources told The Canberra Times they expected it to be the biggest Rebels’ funeral held to date.

Richard ”Rebel Rick” John Roberts, 57, a life member of the Rebels Motorcycle Club, and his associate Gregory Carrigan, were shot dead in Chisholm in Canberra’s south on Tuesday.

Up to 800 club members are expected to take part in today’s funeral procession from the southern suburbs to Queanbeyan then to Gungahlin, back to the NSW town and finally across the border via the Federal Highway.

So I stopped and took pictures of this wildlife instead.Seeing as I was dressed up  in my leathers, and was pretending to look respectful, I didn’t get my lights punched in. Some mean looking mothers at the funeral, some even meaner looking bikers too. By taking a short cut I was able to get pictures from two different sites during the courtage. There were thousands of choppers, and the  parade looked like every ZZ Top fan on earth had hit Canberra to see this guy off.

I’ve been getting out on the bike a fair deal, by god it’s fun! And, for a change, totally legal. What wasn’t so fun was the other day, when I decided to go see if anyone was flying at Spring Hill. Any excuse for a jaunt on the bike. I got to Spring just in time to watch some of the boys take off, so I jumped off the bike and started firing off some shots on my camera. I  got so engrossed in this that I lost track of time. I realised this and phoned Lee-Anne just to let her know I was ok, and would be heading for home soon. Two minutes later I phoned her again to tell her that she had to come pick me up as I’d left the ignition on on the bike (hence the day riding lights stay on), and I now had a flat battery. She kindly came out, bringing the tools to take out the battery, and then drove me home, via Glenn’s where we borrowed his battery charger.

I was worried about leaving the bike in a field in the middle on nowhere, but as there was no passing traffic, and we had the battery, I figured it would be safe.

The next morning I couldn’t find the keys for the bike anywhere, and a sinking feeling in my guts told me exactly where I had left them, where the cause of the problem all started from. In the frigging ignition of the bike.

We drove out there oat 6.00 am, luckily we’re used to being up at that time to go to the gym. Fortunately the bike was still there, as were the keys. Also the farmer hadn’t locked the paddock gates after the flying had finished. We got the, now fully charged, battery into the bike, and I meekly followed Lee-Anne home.

I know what you’re thinking, and you’re probably right. I am a twat.