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Images that go with this bit can be found here.

Friday 19 th. June.

We woke up at 5.30 am, as is our routine these days, and had our final session at the gym. One last chance to get my rapidly aging body into shape. As a adjunct to this, I’d been on the wagon for the past 10 weeks. Effect? Bugger all. While at the gym I managed to do the amazing stunt of tripping over a jogging machine. Not whilst running on it, just by not noticing it was in front of me when I was walking. There must have been some lycra about. Just to compliment me Lee-Anne stuffed her hand into the weights stack of the fly machine, and bruised all her knuckles. That makes us evens then.

I  had my tasks for the day, all written out for me by Lee-Anne. First off, go to our local bank and get some Hong Kong Dollars for our stay. They didn’t have any.

Ok, drive into the city and spend a fruitless hour trying to swap some $Au for $HK. After visiting every single bank in the city, and there are lots,  I managed to get us about $100 worth. That would have to do, it’s enough to get us a beer or two at the hotel, so that’s the important things sorted.

I also bought a new lens cap for my camera.

Then I had to get our car washed, ready to be stored for the month. I had a voucher for a freebee at the local car wash, no worries. I drove up to the car wash entrance, and entered the code on the voucher into the controls. Nothing happened, so I tried it again. Sod all. I checked the voucher, still in date, no small print, so I went to the counter to complain. A small Indian chap was on service there, so I showed him the voucher; “Closed” he replied. Of course this set me off into full rant mode; “What you mean closed, it’s open and working, it’s the middle of the bloody day, you can’t tell me it’s closed, I just saw some geezer go through there, I want a car wash”.

“Not closed, Coles,” he said pointing at the voucher.

Oops, I was only at the wrong garage, wasn’t I? The car wash I actually had the voucher for, Coles, was miles away. So I went there, it worked there.

I got home, and weighed our dogs. Why? Well, while we were away they were staying at the mother in laws as a treat. (As a treat for us that is, it saves us the kennelling bill.) We always give the mother in law grief for over-feeding them, and giving them snacks, and other “little treats”. This time she had insisted that we weigh them before leaving, and again when we return, to ensure they hadn’t bloated while we were away.

In case you’re interested, Barnum weighs 24 k, Millie 10 K (the little porker!)

While I was doing some house cleaning I get a phone call from Lee-Anne at work; “I’m a bit pissed, can you come and pick me up?” It would seem that a small celebratory drink, organised to celebrate Friday or something, had got a bit out of hand. I collected her, she was rather jolly.

Back home, whilst cleaning, I found two lens caps, lens caps of the sort which I had bough a third of earlier today. That’s handy.

Bethy returned home from school, and the three of us pitched in to make the house presentable. I disconnected the car battery, took the battery out of my bike, and locked up the garage. We emptied the fridge.

Later that evening, Bethy’s dad, Glenn, called around with a batch of Turkish Pide’s (a sort of folded pizza, yummy.) This was our going away meal, very decent of him, it saved a lot of buggering about.

Saturday 20 th July.

Getting off to a good start.

The mother in law called round, as agreed, in order to drive us to the bus depot in the city, from where we were due to catch the interstate coach to Sydney airport.

We were only a mile out from home, when the taxi in front of us has to swerve to dodge a Roo. Skippy, for  reasons best known to himself, had decided to stroll across four lanes of morning rush hour traffic. Only great driving by the taxi driver, and the fact that the mother in law is no speed queen, saved us from becoming an item on the Radio Canberra traffic news.

The coach journey itself was uneventful; enlivened only by the girl in the seat in front of us doing some really wiffy farts.

We got to Sydney airport in plenty of time, and set up camp. We had checked in online, a weird and wonderful new idea, one which saves oodles of time. Oodles of time to sit on our arses being bored.

Then we found out that the Starbucks at Sydney airport was woefully inadequate for our needs, not even a bloody croissant to tide us over. Oh joy, not a decent snack of any description, and three hours to wait. No wonder the buggers are going bust.

Eventually our flight gets called. At the customs/security check, we had the great pleasure of getting stuck behind a fuckwit, a fuckwit who was arguing he should be allowed to take an open, half empty, bottle of sunscreen onto the plane, against all the regulations. I mean, it’s not going to hurt you to buy a new bottle at your destination is it for gods sake?

Lee-Anne had to stop me twatting him.

We were flying with Virgin Atlantic, not bad service I must say, though you do get rather sick of the sight of Beardy Branson’s mugshot on every bloody thing.

I watched a few movies to pass the time.

Bronson; One of the best movies I’ve seen in some time, go see it yourself.

Gran Torino; Too American for my tastes, Clint should know better.

Lesbian Vampire Killers; Utter arse.

The Story of Anvil: I damn near peed myself, hysterical.

Oh, the food wasn’t too bad, relatively, for airline food.

We landed at Hong Kong in the early evening, it was like walking into a steam bath, humid does not even begin to describe it. We got an airport courtesy minibus to our hotel The Marriott Hong Kong.

At the hotel reception there were three queues to check in. We joined one. We were only a couple of people from the front of it, and so we waited. Then the person serving our queue went for a fag or something, so we all joined the second queue. Then the person serving the second queue went to see how his mate was getting on with his smoke break, so we all joined the one queue. Then the person serving this queue decided it was all very unfair of them to leave her serving everyone, and went to complain her boss. Who was in Beijing. I think she walked there.

Eventually we got our room key. Lee-Anne had requested one as high up the hotel as possible, so we could have a view of HK. We had a room on the eighth floor, and it was very sumptuous. But had no view. We were facing the wrong way, unfortunately, HK was the other side of the hotel.

The views from our corridor, over the sky scrapers and masses of islands which make up Hong Kong, were superb.

Lee-Anne and Bethy decided to watch some Hong Kongese TV, just for shits and giggles. Lee-Anne said she’d join me at the bar later. I warned her not to leave me alone there too long, not that I needed to, she knows what I’m like.

Once in a hotel Osaka, on transit from the UK to Aus for the very first time, I was “befriended” by four Japanese businessmen. (I realised after 15 mins they wanted to practice their English on me, fair enough.) I somehow accidentally convinced them that I was a something of a single malt connoisseur. We then spent the evening running the racks of the bar, (with them paying, I didn’t put my hand in my pocket all night.) I gave them vivid and earthy descriptions of each malt, the distillery it was made at, the distilling process and each of the quirks of the process which gave each malt its distinctive flavour. All total bollocks of course. One of them had to be carried to his room by his mate after passing out, the last I saw of the others they were asleep on the bar.  I managed to get my flight the next day, but spent most of the journey in the toilet.

I went to the hotel bar, and got fell into a conversation with an Aussie guy who was off to Egypt to sell IT stuff. I noticed they sold Hoegaardden beer, something I hadn’t drunk on draft since I was last in Holland, so I ordered one. It came in a bucket sized glass. I damn nearly orgasmed. I’d had a couple of these when Lee-Anne joined us, she was impressed by the glass; “I’ve only had two, honest!”

The bar man, seeing we were settling in for a few put a couple of big bowls of snacks in front of us. They contained what looked like peanuts plus ”bits”. The bits turned out to be dried chilli, just what you (don’t) need in an atmosphere like Honk Kong’s.

Sunday 21 st June.

A good night’s kip was had by us all, what with us being knackered by yesterday’s journey, and so we woke up late for us. (8.00 am or so, local time.)

We hit the buffet breakfast, at which I had an “interesting” repast. My main meal consisted of fried turnip cake with chilli sauce*, hash browns, scrambled eggs, and pancakes. I then had a big bowl of yogurt and fresh fruit, three of which fruit I had never even seen before, they were yummy.

We made enquiries at reception about doing some touristy stuff in HK, but there wasn’t really the time left before our flight to do this justice. Instead we took a stroll around the hotel area, and watched some coolies unloading boats and stuff, very ethnic and nice. However after a very short time we looked as if someone had thrown a bucket of water over us, being drenched through to the skin with sweat, so we legged it back to the hotel.

While them two freshened up, I hit the hotel gym. It was very well equipped, and I started to have a good work out, so as to knacker myself in order to get some rest on the plane. After a while however, three families of Chinese people walked in, and they encouraged their kids to use the equipment as a playground. I was contemplating dropping some dumbbells on the kids, but decided to go for a shower instead.

We got into the airport and I visited the alleged “wonderland” of consumerism which I had been told of. It was crap, the prices (divide by six to get $Au) were no cheaper than ordinary stores at home. I did get a bottle of 16 year old Highland Park at a reasonable rate though, so not all bad.

The next leg of the flight was on an older plane with a rubbish in-flight entertainment system. I read a couple of books, and then watched a Renee Harlin movie just for the profound philosophical insights it would offer.

We landed at Heathrow in mid evening, no hassles at customs, and we were back on British soil! Hooray!!

A van took us to the car hire place. We had booked a Vauxhall car. The surly Eastern European bitch at the car hire place got very uppity when we refused to earn her a bonus by taking all the extras, extras we had already refused when booking online. “You must have this insurance extra cover; it covers you for the first £600 of any damage”. Lee-Anne, sweetly replied “My travel insurance covers me for the first £1000 of any damage.”

“GPS?” “We’re Buying one”

“Bigger car!” “Don’t need one.”

Eventually she gave up trying to sell us shite, and gave us the go ahead, “Go to rank one and take any car, give this voucher to the man at the gates.”

 

“Ja vull mien commandant!”

 

We got to rank one only to find the only car we could extract from the double parked bays was a little Seat Ibiza, so we took that. As it turns out it was a great little motor.

I drove to Oxford. On the motorway we were passed by everything. My god, I had forgotten how fast every bugger drives in the UK. In Aus there’s no point. What’s the point in driving 10-15-20 k over the speed limit when driving such huge distances, when you’ll only knacker yourself and your car out, and your journey will only be twenty minutes shorter? Anyway, I found it greatly amusing to drive at Aussie speeds on the motorway, and stuff everyone.

We got to our hotel in Oxford, a non-descript chain hotel, but smart and convenient. Check in found me trying to pay by credit card, and failing. My credit card I had only used online before, now people were asking me for my PIN number. Which I didn’t know. So we paid cash, sorted. Ok, so we got our key, then found the elevator wasn’t working, so we had to haul our huge suitcases up a flight of stairs, not fun. We got to the room to find that it was still totally unmade up, the last occupants must have been practicing for a wrestling tag match or something, they certainly made a mess of it.

Back to reception to complain, they were ever so sorry about it all, and gave us an upgrade as recompense. The new room was perfect, much bigger, on the other side of the hotel from the main road, and with better facilities. I hit the bar, they only had crap fizzy beer, so I was most disappointed. Here I was back in Blighty for the first time in two years, and I couldn’t even get a decent pint of real ale, how sad is that?

I gave up after one, and went back to our room, where I had a glass of Highland Park and watched T2 with the girls.

Monday 22 nd June.

The hotel has an offer on, buy two adult breakfasts for £7.50 and kids eat free. Ok, we can make a profit on this. Bethy was very displeased to be asked if she was under 16.  I ate everything in sight; vege sausages, toast, hash browns, mushrooms, eggs, cereal, toast, tea by the gallon, croissants, toast, fruit, yogurt, toast, and more toast. Not all on the same plate obviously. The other two also enjoyed hitting the hotels profits hard.

We drove into Oxford, seven quid to park for the day? We changed a big wedge of $Au into quids, the exchange rate was still giving us a massive advantage, we would need it with the parking costs.

Rather than just fanny about in Oxford, not knowing where we were or what we were seeing, we decided to book into a walking tour. This proved to be a really smart move.

A French woman who had lived in the city for forty years, but still had a strong French accent, took us around and blew our bloody minds with her knowledge of the history of the place. The first thing she showed us was an area of exposed bricks in the main road, we’d walked over them earlier; “It was at this very point that Archbishop Cranmer was burned at the stake.” Blimey! And it just continued along this vein, with her pointing out things that you wouldn’t give a second glance to, then telling us their massive historical significance and the like. We also toured inside some of the colleges, and learned of their history, and why the students have to wear fancy dress, and the significance of the flowers they wear, and why some we saw were covered in crap. Bethy decided she wants to go to Oxford, probably Magdalen college, when she’s old enough.

Following this we went to the lovely covered market for a snack, though following my efforts at breakfast time,I decided I just wanted a cuppa.

Seeing as we had enjoyed the first tour so much, we decided to do another. This one wasn’t so great, as the guide, an ex-Oxford student, didn’t have the enthusiasm, nor the expertise, of the French lady, (or if he did he kept it to himself.) However, he did take us into more of the colleges, and showed us the cloisters and the great hall which had been used in the Harry Potter movies, and the place where Inspector Morse “died”, so still a thrill then.

We bought a GPS in Oxford, since we started planning the trip it had been something Lee-Anne had been insisting we bought when we were in the UK, I don’t know why?  Neat little devices, ours became known as Sean, after the Irish male voice we found we preferred. We found the car, and decided to go back to the hotel, then we got lost in Oxford’s rush hour, and found ourselves orbiting the ring road looking for anywhere we recognised.

“Hang about, we’ve got a GPS here!”

Once back at the hotel, I walked over the road and picked up some papers, NME, The Times, The Sun, at a local supermarket, good pub/bar room  reading. I also took the opportunity to ring my mother, who spent an age telling me the family news. I eventually got a word in edgeways, and started telling her about or trip from Aus, and the fun and games in Hong Kong, “Ooh, I can imagine,” she said. Which, considering her travel experience, (i.e. none,) shows a pretty good imagination.

Back at the hotel, a quiet night, and couple of pints were in order.  I then made a poor decision, not exactly a radical departure for me. As they had no real ale, and I couldn’t stomach the idea of another pint Tetley’s or Caffrey’s, I decided to go on the Bow. To compound matters, I was still feeling to full to eat after breakfast, so I didn’t. However Lee-Anne had fish and chips, and Bethy had a steak, and I had another pint of Bow.  “What’s that you’re drinking?” said Lee-Anne offering to get a round in. “Mad apple” I replied, she went up to the bar, but soon returned, “they don’t have any.” Oops! I clarified the colloquialism for her, and to be fair she didn’t hit me.

I saw a pub quiz machine, and dropped a quid in it. I won three back by answering pop questions. Neat! This could pay for the night’s beer. So I then spent half an hour, assisted by Bethy and Lee-Anne, feeding money into the bastard thing for no return.

I got back to the room, feeling slightly muzzy, but content. Then I noticed something in the bathroom which sent me off into another of my rants. The hot water taps in the shower, bath, and sink had little yellow warning labels on them; “CAUTION, HOT WATER!” Oh yes, and do people expect comes out of hot water taps? Beer? KY jelly? Magic pixie dust? I mean, for Christs sake, are they so afraid that people will scald themselves and sue for damages as; “I didn’t expect the water coming out of a hot water tap to be hot.” Are we that much of a nanny state these days? For gods sake, please shoot all H&S people now, but carefully…