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Media of Truth

Welcome to needless rant corner! Your host for today; yours truly.

In one of the most irritating trends of recent years, it seems increasingly okay in games and movies to drop all admittance of serialisation and with brash and unapologetic disregard simply use the original title of the first installment; “Star Trek”, “Tomb Raider”, “Devil May Cry”, “Aliens vs Predator”, “Sim City”; as though we’d forgotten there was one already. Games are particularly guilty of this.

To a categorising brain like mine this is just… no. You are duplicating the primary key as far as I’m concerned. A film or game has a full title which should be unique, certainly within a series. I don’t care if it’s a large number of sequels, or if the original is really old (from over twenty years ago, maybe). The only thing worse than a ridiculously big suffixed number for a sequel is to simply drop a differentiator altogether and act as though it never happened. If they’re worried about a number making it sound un-original- well, there’s your clue: make something original.

What I think actually bothers me though is that it feels like an insidious attempt at replacing the past. It is eerily reminiscent of the role of protagonist Winston Smith, in the novel Nineteen Eighty Four:

“As soon as all the corrections which happened to be necessary in any particular number of The Times had been assembled and collated, that number would be reprinted, the original copy destroyed, and the corrected copy placed on the files in its stead. This process of continuous alteration was applied not only to newspapers, but to books, periodicals, pamphlets, posters, leaflets, films, sound-tracks, cartoons, photographs — to every kind of literature or documentation which might conceivably hold any political or ideological significance. Day by day and almost minute by minute the past was brought up to date.”

Nineteen Eighty Four, George Orwell

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A Malicious Waste of Time

So hopefully you haven’t been checking the site in the last couple of days as I’ve been having some problems with the Blackhole Exploit Kit, a pathetic piece of malicious javascript that does all kinds of horrible things to webservers. Hopefully it has finally been seen off and I’ve just got to work on getting the place looking right again, but who really knows for sure. I will get this place sorted soon once it is stable again.

Thanks.

Epic-logue

Our journey around Australia ended some months ago, now. I feel I should bring things up to date and finish up the last page of the story.

When we returned to Sydney we had less than a week in Australia. The time was mostly spent visiting relatives there, whose paths we had somehow barely crossed with the whole time we’d been here. I spent much of the time reflecting on the trip as a whole; it seemed crazy to think of the things we’d done and the places we’d been, even so soon after it’d happened.

A breathtaking view of Sydney, from the auditorium at Taronga Zoo

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Perth and Beyond

Our time in Australia was coming to a close. Our month and a half in Perth was far from uneventful: between Lucy’s work we saw and did plenty. We kayaked to Penguin Island (where, while snorkelling, I had a surprise random encounter); revisted Margaret River for some incredible cattle mustering on Horseback at Jester’s Flat; saw the sweet French film ‘Romantics Anonymous’ at the open-air cinema at the Somerville Auditorium at the University of West Australia. We met some of Lucy’s West-Oz relatives, caught up with Lorne on his continuing cycling adventure up past Perth and beyond.

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Return to Albany

After our South-West tour (see previous entry) we returned our hire car to Perth and wandered into the CBD looking for inspiration. We still had about 2 weeks before Lucy’s work in Perth (and thus our accomodation) was due to start, so the rough plan had been to come back to Perth and hang out or something. We set up camp at the Carillon City food court and began to scour the internet for hostels in Perth that didn’t suck. Unfortunately as we were looking for that same night, the choice was limited and patchy. Either it was full, grossly expensive or rubbish. It was a saturday, so for the most part they were simply full.

While in Albany some days before, we met Dan and Jade who mentioned they were also heading to Perth that same weekend. Theu had kindly offered us a lift if we fancied going back to Albany. It was certainly tempting, the only problem being how we might eventually get back to Perth again once the 2 weeks were through. For those unfamiliar with the area, the distance between Perth and Albany is about 420 kilometres; that’s almost the distance from London to Newcastle. So getting back here on public transport would be interesting, but whatever! We decided to jump; screw the details.

So we caught the train to Rockingham, where Dan and Jade were setting out from. Then we all bundled into the car, even managing to fit all the bags we brought, and set off on a road trip down the Albany Highway. The time actually passed surprisingly quickly and after just a stop or two at random truckstops, we found ourselves back in good ol’ 1849 Backpackers.

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A Tropic Days Xmas & A Great Barrier New Year

Xmas at Tropic Days

Tropic Days was a lovely hostel, easily one of the best we’ve been to (if not the best). It was definitely a good choice for Xmas, not least because they put on a complimentary continental breakfast with champagne. On Xmas Eve, our friend Eddie offered to cook us a Carbonara, pointing out he was both Italian and pretty good with food. We heartily agreed to the venture and even learned how to make our own Guacomole from an authentic Mexican recipe he knew of.

In the evening we gathered in the hostel for drinks. After a few, what began with a few googles on the laptop for Youtube Xmas song videos became a big sing-a-long marathon that covered just about every festive song we could think of, including the Twleve Days of Christmas. Five Gold Rings is always best when drunk.

On Xmas Day (after the fine breakfast), Lucy and I took to the beach for a barbeque; your standard Aussie cliché. But I was at the point of being bored of the Standard Xmas of the northern hemisphere so I actually found the idea of spending it in a tropical summer as refreshing. In any case, Cairns doesn’t really have a beach so this was in fact a barbeque on the Esplanade park overlooking the mudflats of the bay, but that doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.

The week between Xmas and New Year began as a busy one, but due to serious storm weather rolling in it was soon a lazy one as one thing after another got cancelled. First my flying lesson, then our kayaking… then our sailing trip for new year! It was a catastrophe. But luckily we were able to get a rebooking for New Year, on the overnight snorkel & dive experience at Reef Encounter. Continue reading

Cairns Arrival & Lizard Island

So, we reached Cairns. The terminus of our great trek up the East Coast and our locale for both Xmas and New Year, we’d done our research and booked ahead at the Trip-Advisor-adored Tropic Days, to ensure a place and to minimise Holiday Season stress. Although we had a fair wait for the courtesy bus when we arrived, any minor worries about the place were soon swept away. The lady on reception, Helen, was fantastic. The decor was from the heart; other guests friendly; and mostly everything was free*, decent and in good supply. The hostel’s only real drawback was often cited to be the 45 min or so walk to town; but with a free courtesy bus a dozen times a day, this was hardly fair criticism!

Not long after we arrived, we had the opportunity to fly up to Lizard Island for a day trip. Can I resist the chance to take a flight on a light ten-seater plane? If its destination also happens to be snorkelling off a remote island usually inhabited by no more than a few Monitors and a handfull of people paying two grand a night to stay there… well then that just seals the deal doesn’t it? And so we were off to Cairns airport, to board a plane for…

Wait wait wait. We’re going snorkelling. I need a camera. A camera that goes underwater. For tomorrow. I have a freaking brilliant idea! Continue reading

A Culture of Paranoia

The Western ‘Developed’ world likes to think its got everything right. It is, ultimately, ‘ahead’ of everyone else in the world. In some ways this assumption is understandable; although it is still arrogant. Western Europe, North America and so on have comparitively colossal amounts of wealth and resources at their disposal. They are able to offer support to even their poorest, to a luxurious standard by comparison with the most impoverished nations on Earth. Yet the titans of the financial industry, the companies on which this wealth and power is largely built on, deal in the business of offering peace of mind for these already cushioned citizens. They might call it the business of pragmatism, although you could just as easily call it the business of paranoia. What am I talking about? Insurance.

It is literally everywhere. You only have to look at the names on the skyscrapers around you to be reminded that insurance is business; BIG business. How many people know someone that works in insurance? It’s an entire wing of human endeavour with the sole aim of catering for the (individually) unfair nature of probability. At first thought this can seem a noble task, and undoubtably in some cases it is. However, this should not make it big business; not the massive, global juggernauts that we see second only to perhaps banks (with which they are sordidly interconnected). No, I think the reason they are so significant is that we have been conditioned to worry, disproportionately, about What Ifs.

What if you crashed your car? What if you lost your job? What if you ordered a pizza and it didn’t turn up? There’s being prepared, then there’s just pointless worry. It seems there’s hardly an eventuality in life you can’t get insurance for. You’ve got your building insurance, contents insurance, car insurance, pet insurance, income insurance, life insurance, investment insurance; heck, there’s usually an insurance insurance on top if you really want it (no claims protection premium, anyone?). And after you’ve paid the monthly cost of all of those, you might even have a bit left to enjoy this lifestyle you’re fighting so hard to preserve. Continue reading

Airlie Beach – YHA

We arrived at Airlie Beach in the early hours of the morning. We’d originally intended to visit Mackay for half of the time we eventually booked to Airlie, but there seemed to only be one hostel in the entire town and it didn’t allow check-ins after 10pm. As the only Greyhound with a sensible transit time arrived in the middle of the night, we decided to just go straight up to Airlie. It was not a decision we would regret.

On our first morning we look a look around the YHA to get familiar with our surroundings. The hostel was putting on pancakes this evening, at $10 a head. Sign me the heck up for that! Then we got to know the vicinity of Airlie Beach by walking in the direction of the supermarket, Coles; which ended up being an afternoon adventure across mountains, rivers and beaches (apart from there were no rivers and not really any mountains either) in the oppressive midday heat of mid-Queensland. By the time we’d picked up the shopping, the sky was threatening downpour. We had no idea when or where the rumoured bus to Coles and back could be caught from and were lumbered with heavy shopping. There was that unspoken notion again that, y’know, maybe we could walk this. I then pointed out that we should have learned our lesson by now and suggested a taxi. Lucy agreed and we took a ride from the rank outside back to the hostel. No sooner had we got in and unpacked, a heavy thunderstorm exploded above, raindrops hammering every horizontal surface. We also noted a couple of guys outside that had decided to enjoy the storm in the superconductive vat of the hostel swimming pool. They are probably mental, I thought. As it turns out, I didn’t know the half of it! Continue reading

Agnes Water – Southern Cross Backpackers

It was teeming rain when Carolyn drove us to the transit station on our last day in Noosa. Both Lucy and I were excited and slightly anxious at the change ahead. The continuation of our adventures up the coast was an intriguing unknown. And since our arrival we’d been staying in motels, friend’s houses and with relatives; the Southern Cross Backpackers in Agnes Water would be our first ‘dormitory’ accomodation. We arrived at 18:10 to a waiting minibus, that took us swiftly to the hostel. The greyhound journey had been a fairly tiring 9 hours, so we were looking forward to the usual crash-out on a comfy bed and I must admit I hadn’t really thought about the fact it would be a dorm of six. The three dutch lads that greeted us asked us where we were from, but the conversation pretty much ended at that.

The atmosphere immediately following our arrival was uncertain, though not unpleasant. We both agreed that what we needed, were some people to strike off a good conversation with. As there was a barbeque about to light up, the opportunity arose to do just that. All we needed was to buy a drink and we got a hot dog. We sat down with it and got talking to Irish couple Owen and Tia. They had been making their way down the coast from Cairns; working in many hostels although in this one they were taking a break and just paying to sit back and relax. They were also just one of many people we would meet that were headed for Sydney for New Years.

The following day we had a leisurely start, as we’d booked the Scooteroo Tour which starts in the mid afternoon and is pretty much the main reason that many backpackers make a stop of Agnes Water. At the hostel office, we had been warned the previous four or five days had been solid rain and the forecast was grim, but the new day brought with it some stunning sunshine and at 14:30 we were picked up (speaking Rural Aussie Time; at two thirty we were waiting for the bus, at two fifty-five it actually turned up). The tour basically involves riding 125cc chopper motorbikes through quiet rural roads in search of kangaroos. In addition they cheese it up with a complementary flame-decal helmet, matching leather jacket and free temporary tatoo. I passed on the tatoo, but the rest was safety equipment which meant I was supposed to wear it. So I fed it to a passing platypus then resumed looking awesome.

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