Christmas in Melbourne. It couldn’t possibly fail. After all, it was gonna be hot, there was gonna be a BBQ and I was with my posse, my new faaaaaaamily from the hostel. Well, the main problem with Melbourne started with the weather. The rain became at 4 in the morning, managing to wake me where I made a run for my washing (a failed run, everything was naturally soaked), when Kirsty and Rhys came back we listened to literally every Christmas song known to man followed by any classic thereafter. And then we waited for the others, whilst realising we actually had nothing to eat. Christmas would be some salad and a sausage. In fact throughout this year I had failed to appreciate the significance of a bank holiday thinking to myself, it’ll be fine. Others arrived, and from there the alcohol flowed. Isn’t that the best way to avoid the fact there would be no food in our dark flat in Elwood. So we slowly attempted to get ready for the beach, where we would spend time together in our faaaamily. I agreed to meet everyone after I had gone for my solitary Christmas walk. As you can see, the rain began! And from there my Australian occasions never quite went to plan. That night we played Uno (win!) but some of our party passed out by 9.
I laugh now thinking of what a weird Christmas that was, in fact were it not for communication from home, it would have felt like a normal day. So it was time to see how New Year would pan out.
And so this New Year, with my motley crew (at least two of the below I didn’t see again after this night) we attempted to see the New Year in style, heading to the viewpoint by Elwood beach. Too much alcohol was consumed again though and the night got weird all over again. One of the crew desperately wanted drugs and to hit a club. Neither of these we managed. In fact we ended up playing guess the celebrity. Weird and slightly underwhelming as these occasions were, there was something of the not-great-but-entertaining philosophy.
So what about Australia day. Well it shouldn’t really be celebrated because it is a day celebrating the white colonists coming in and ridding the Aboriginals of land… still it was an excuse for a party, and an actual pool party at that. What could go wrong?
Well, everything once again. For a person like me, at an obviously cool, hipster party I realised that alcohol helped smooth over any moments of inadequacy. So I started off with tentative sips of wine, like a wine enthusiast would take. The conversation continued. I drank more. The party continued… and I woke up the next day vaguely remembering long conversations with someone from Ballarat about how much I wanted to go to Ballarat whilst taking pretty ginormous sips of Gin (stolen Gin I might add). I also worked out that the bitterness I was harbouring towards the hospitality industry had reached boiling point because I was informed that I was running around restaurants lifting my shirt and screaming that people should look at my damn CV. Obviously drunk and feeling that I had to big myself up, it seemed I must have believe that my chest was good enough for anyone to employ me, and that my non-existent six pack was what diners of Carlton wanted to see. Hot messes don’t come any messier.
Whilst none of these occasions were note-worthy, they were fun in retrospect. The final major one that my friend and I got involved with (before the truly awful disaster that was the Easter weekend) was the Australian Open.
Neither Kirsty and I saw any games, but looks at that photo: what a winner. And as always, we partook in some more alcohol making for an entertaining afternoon whilst taking a vast variety of images, all of which are excellent and will soon be added to the article. Now that I’ve told you about the less-than-successful events, let’s return to Ballarat, the place I was dying to see since coming to Victoria. Let us venture there next…