Why bring flags when you can just sell drugs - Big Day Out 07 Part 1

It’s at least one and a half hours after the fact now. There is a serious premise to this story, namely that of one man’s Big Day Out. There were about 60,000 other people who will have their own completely unique stories. Some stories will be similar, many will not. Some will share parts of the story that is my story and some played a unique role in ensuring this story.

Right now, I’m completely overwhelmed with the task at hand – documenting the 12 hour mayhem that is the carnage of the BDO. I have to admit, I’m feeling extremely negative about this project and part of that has to do with the quality of my note-taking during the day.

My pages of notes range from meaningless to indecipherable. Quality of handwriting, detail and general note-taking is completely dependent on a number of factors, including

1) my general state of mind at the time,
2) my environment, which was often squashed mosh-pits, and
3) general surroundings, which included the people I was writing about.

Combining points 1) and 3) and giving an example from the day, let’s imagine that I wanted to document the grotesque couple standing next to me who were clearly experimenting with mind altering drugs and who were consequently doing what is known in the trade as “getting onto each other”, clearly a sickening, disgusting act. Now, bearing in mind that my brain was in a marijuana-induced paranoia frenzy and that for all intents and purposes in my head, they were reading every word that I was writing as well as the unwritten ones. You can imagine, my note-taking became slightly less accurate.

Wait a minute, note taking? How did that happen?

I’ve been meaning to document a BDO for quite some time now. The sheer volume of people of all shapes and sizes, the colour exploding in conjunction with a cacophony of noise… the parts of the day that pictures and film cannot possibly begin to capture. The dark corners of a back-street that few will ever wander down.

This story starts at the International Human Rights tent.

Well, not really. My note-taking started at the International Human Rights tent. I think it’s fair to say that a BDO is one of few occasions that I will converse with people who actively work for International Human Rights. The rest of us, myself included, are content to do our bit by generally not breaching any Human Rights. Only a few will actually go so far as to become active in such an organisation. Why is this? Are the majority deluded into thinking it’s not important? Are the minority deluded into thinking that they’re actually making a difference?

Who could say?

The point is, I needed a pen and paper if I was to go about documenting my day. Some authors would say you don’t need even that. I know of stories where a writer only had a pen and ended up scribbling his notes all over his body. Every limb was covered – arms, legs, torso, nether regions.

But I digress, yet again. I feel like this won’t be the last time I do that.

The point is, for a gold coin donation, I managed to obtain a pen from the International Human Rights tent. I further managed to avoid signing their petition. I’m happy to support International Human Rights, but apparently not so much as to put my name towards them. Who knows what dodgy schemes I’d be petitioning in favour of?

My notes were written on any piece of paper I could gather my hands on. As I sit here trying to decipher my illegible handwriting, I count no less than 7 sheets of paper – 1 concert programme, 2 notepad sheets ripped out of a notebook, 1 pink post-it note, 1 restaurant pad, 1 raffle ticket and the receipt to my BDO ticket. Not to mention the text messages I sent myself when I ran out of paper.

The worst sheet to write on was actually the largest sheet of paper, mostly because it happened to also be the copy of the programme. Not a smart idea, taking notes on a programme. Especially when people are constantly asking to borrow the programme so they can see what band’s up next. You never know where your notes will end up. All you can guarantee is that the sheet will have crease marks over words that are key to the structure and meaning of the sentences that you have jotted down, scrapping any message or story you wanted to capture and condemning them to the pits of writing hell.

Evermore – Main Stage – about 2:30pm

My first sight at the BDO could not have been more symbolic or appropriate.

A teenage girl, probably about 16, although maybe I’m being generous. Barely clad in an Australian flag bikini, with a matching temporary tattoo on her stomach. She was heavily armed, with a UDL in one hand and her mobile phone flailing about in the other as she attempted to sing the words of her current favourite song to an unfortunate friend who either didn’t have enough money or didn’t get their act together quickly enough to attend the day.

BDO is a mecca for many people, no doubt the highlight of the year. For some reason, the music festival scene has over the last few years been attracting young, generic tourists – people intent on capturing the moment on behalf of others, at the cost of what would seemingly be their own personal enjoyment. Except, enjoyment is clearly obtained by the mere presence at a festival such as BDO. Experiencing the moment is secondary, the main priority being establishing one’s presence at the enent.

I fear for concertgoers of the future. Rock and roll is dead. Not the music – that’s alive and well, but the attitude that came with rock and roll. The lifestyle. People tend to forget the reason why music takes on so much significance – that is, the relevance of various forms of music to the social surroundings of the day. Rock and roll embodied a lifestyle that began with rebellion. Modern day rock and roll encourages conformity and is continually blighted by thousands of youngsters who have lost the rebellious streak and come to a rock concert to … behave.

I feel like I’ve started to lose the plot here a bit. I had several points I wanted to make in that last paragraph and they’ve all jumbled together. I’ve also just noticed that the “last paragraph” I’m referring to was actually 3 paragraphs ago. I’m rambling.

OK, I’ll start with my first point. The overwhelming presence of Australian flags.

I really have to congratulate Ken West on this one. Paris Hilton wearing an Aussie flag would not have created the fuss that the BDO organisers managed to, ensuring that the number one worn item of the day was some form of Australian flag.

I could never have written this story without at least paying mention to the controversy that unrolled over this BDO. It’s funny to think how the fashion statement of the day stemmed from a race-oriented brawl at a beach in Cronulla in December 2005.

It’s true, at last year’s BDO, there were racial tensions between Aussies (white people) and Men of Middle Eastern Appearance (MOMEAs). For this reason, the organisers decided that they didn’t want people appearing with Australian flags, because they were said to incite racial violence. The theory being – ban the flag, prevent the incitement.

Incitement, which was small in comparison to the nationalistic fervour incited when news of the ban arose.

The stupidity was mind numbing. Surely, the organisers weren’t attempting to control the behaviours of an alternative, rock and roll audience, which, although it has lost its rebellious streak, is still cheeky enough to treat any orders with the disrespect they deserve.

I wonder if the organisers of the BDO bought shares in a flag production company before kicking off the controversy. Australian flags dominated the day, appearing in every form imaginable. T-shirts, tattoos, headbands, bikinis, ‘We’re number 1’ giant inflatable hands, there must have been more flags than people at the BDO.

Before yesterday, the Australian flag at the BDO was a fledgling tradition. Now, it’s an institution. It’s gone mainstream.

Flags aren’t the only thing to have gone mainstream. The mandatory tennis team has arrived in uniform and I’m sure they won’t be alone today. Forget attempting to stand out as an individual – this festival is full of freaks. The only way to truly stand out is to make it a team effort and the tennis team has not disappointed. White headbands, white polo shirts, each one 1 size too small, which shorts matching in both size and colour, calf length white socks and white tennis sneakers. Are they enjoying the music? I can’t tell for sure, but I can guarantee that they’re enjoying their experience.

Let’s get back to the music. Evermore are belting out a cover of “Stand By Me”, a brave move for any band looking to establish itself as one of credibility. They seem to be doing OK, with their unique brand of slightly whiney Urban pop-rock. It makes for easy listening and at worst is inoffensive. At best, they have the potential to grab an audience and hold on to them for dear life.

Scribe – Main Stage –2:45pm

TRANSITION!

A massive human wave brushes past me. Exodus, as far as the eye can see. The design of the main stage is key to this flow of bodies, mostly because the main stage is not one stage, but two. Bands alternate from stage to stage and the resulting changes throughout the day create a ripple effect that seems more like the largest tennis match in history, with the mass of thousands of people playing the role of the ball flying back and forth.

Hip-hop largely originated from the poorer suburbs of New York, where poverty and an oppressed lifestyle, coupled with the relative affordability (when compared to musical instruments and amplifiers) of turntables (formerly known as record players) and records, bred and nurtured a generation of inspired people who improvised over pre-existing songs with spoken word.

Scribe has launched into his set of New Zealand brand hip-hop. White Australian kids throb from side to side, making gangsta symbols with their hands.

Truly, this crowd is the globalised generation.

Wishing to explore further, I undergo the difficult process of untangling myself from the web of people and extracting myself from the stadium that encompasses the main stage arena.

JESUS!! A giant monsterous contraption appears out of nowhere, spurting forth indecipherable phrases. Why is this thing here? Is its sole purpose to freak out the stoners? Did someone plan in advance to have obstacles dotted throughout the event grounds to slow the stoners down? Or is this just more paranoid thought?

Move, move, gotta keep moving. There are people everywhere, massive queues of people lining up. To my right, I see a massive queue lined up next to the dance arena, or the Boiler Room as it is so appropriately named. What are all of these tortured souls lining up for? Access to music? Hopefully not. At a music festival, the one thing that should be accessible at all times to all folks is music. Queuing up for music at a music festival must be a sign of the end of our society as we know it.

I walk past the queue in despair, knowing that when I get to the front, an abrupt U-turn will shortly follow. As I get to the front, I quickly realise that the queue was for absolutely nothing. Incredible! An exercise in conformity, an imaginary bucket of gold at the end of a fool’s rainbow.
Wait a minute! Where are my friends?

This is probably a good point to introduce Boogie and Diana. My partners in crime for the morning and early part of the day, Boogie and Diana are built for this festival. Boogie is full of insight as we walk through this thronging mass and his efforts from the morning are largely responsible for my current state of mind. Diana, meanwhile, is highly personable and excitable at all times. Her most striking features are surely her big brown eyes, which constantly take in the world around her in awe. Certainly, I have been blessed for the day with this choice of accomplices.

Crowds are captivating, that much is certain. Cafes in Europe place all of their seats facing the street, with none facing towards the restaurant. This makes absolute sense – the highlight of going our in Europe is seeing what everyone else is up to. People are beautiful and dress sense is eccentric.

Even an amateur people-watcher such as myself, or perhaps due to my amateurish people-watching skills, I’m constantly distracted as I walk through the mob. Chaos rules supreme, with people of every flavour moving in every possible direction. Focus is an expensive commodity and mine trails at the best of times.

Where was I going with this? Oh yeah, I lost Boogie and Diana at this point. I thought for a minute that they were standing next to me. Then I realised that I’d actually lost them. Then I thought I saw someone who looked like Diana, so I started chasing after her on what turned out to be a wild goose chase. I looked left, no sign of her signature green t-shirt, or Boogie’s black and white stripes for that matter. Nor behind me. And I was sure that they hadn’t gotten that far ahead of me. At least, I thought I was sure.

A thought which was soon proven correct, as I noticed the pair of them standing just to my right, scouring the crowd for me. The throng of the Big Day Out human traffic cannot be described in a word other than carnage.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Customer Service - I salute you.

ShtineTime officially has a nemesis. Nemeses, actually. Three of them. All good things happen in threes. Three blind mice, Three wise men, Three-some … to quote De La Soul, 3 is a magic number.

Do you know what nemesis means?

Nemesis – “A righteous infliction of retribution manifested by an appropriate agent. Personified in this case by an 'orrible c*nt... me.”

The beauty of a nemesis is its ability to extract the most rampant uncontrollable of human emotions – revenge.

In this instance though, my nemeses are companies. Companies with what amounts to, essentially, monopolies. Due to the nature of the industries within which they operate, these are companies that, through no choice of my own, I will be forced to do business with for the conceivable future. So, not only am I pissed off, but I can’t exact revenge through conventional means of not using their services in the future.

No, revenge will need to come in another form… poetry. And in honour of St Patrick’s Day coming up … limerick.

Virgin Blue (by Shtine Time)

An airline called Virgin Blue
Messed up my flight, it’s true
When I caused a spill
They offered goodwill
And to them, I say “F*CK YOU”

It must be bad karma to bag an airline whilst on one of their flights, but ShtineTime is now officially mobile.

Let me explain. On Sunday morning, I flew from Melbourne to Sydney. I had a return flight booked back to Melbourne on Monday morning, at 6am, but on account of the public holiday in Melbourne, I decided to spend Monday in Sydney, then return to Melbourne on Monday night.

It was 7am at Melbourne airport and I was being served by the lovely Vanessa. Virgin Blue have an unofficial policy of only hiring hot people – this would actually be an official policy, except they would no doubt get in too much trouble if they wrote it down anywhere. Instead, Virgin are happy to implement the policy for our aesthetic benefit and let’s face it, who am I to complain? Certainly, Vanessa was no exception to the policy.

One thing apparently missing in the policy is an assumption of competence.

Vanessa changed my flight to Monday evening and I was good to go.

Or so I thought.
See, it turns out that something went wrong. Somewhere between Vanessa telling me she’d changed my flight in the system and my next communication with Virgin on the phone at 4pm the next day, the change hadn’t gone through. I was classified as a “no-show” and had lost my flight.

I demanded to speak with someone who could deal with this and was presented with a very gay-sounding American. (Can you even say that these days? Mental note: write a blog discussing if one can use the expression “very gay-sounding American”) This guy was flaming.

So, the conversation goes as follows:

ST (Shtine Time) – “What are you going to do about this?”

(annoying American voice inflections are in bold)

VGSAPL (Very Gay Sounding American Phone Lackey) – “Well, I’m thorry, thir, but there’th not much we can do becauthe you’ve mithed your flight. The betht thing I can do ith to forward you to our ethca-lation department, where you can leave a methage. Al-ter-na-tive-ly, I can book you on another flight right now. What would you like to do?”

ST – (voice dripping with sarcasm) “Well, what I’d really like to do right now is leave a message on an answering machine. I mean, obviously, right now, I can think of no better way to resolve this than by talking to a machine. Can you?”
* Sound of brain breaking *

VGSAPL – “Tho, does that mean you want me to tranthfer you to our eth-ca-lation department?”

ST – “Can I ask you a question? Do you call yourselves Virgin because when you fuck your customers, it hurts like it hurt the first time?”

* Silence *

VGSAPL - “OK, I’ll forward you thir. Thankth for your call, have a good day.”

What’s more annoying? That the poor bastard on the other end of the line has done absolutely nothing to help me or that the band of misfits that he works for doesn’t give him the ability to?

As far as I could tell, this guy’s job is to be the person who the phone call is escalated to when pricks like me ring to complain. He doesn’t have the power to actually do anything – all his job description entails is receiving abuse, then forwarding people to an answering machine.

In the times of the Roman empire, his job would have been Christian.

“What do you do with yourself?”

“Oh, I’m a Christian. I spend most of my time getting thrown to the lions. It’s got some great perks – I get to spend my time outdoors, meet all sorts of interesting people…”

Anyways, I leave my message on the answering machine. First thing the next morning, I get a call back from a girl, voice sugar coated and dripping with honey, who explained to me that the situation was clearly my fault, because the PROCESS dictates that I should have received a confirmation.

The penny dropped. OF COURSE!! It was my fault because I didn’t understand Virgin Blue’s internal flight changing process. It’s not enough these days to merely tell a company what you want from them – these days, you need to understand their internal PROCESS.

To Virgin Blue’s credit, they did credit me with the cost of the flight, minus $15 for every subsequent flight that I would book with the credit. This, the girl explained to me, was not because Virgin thought they had done anything wrong, but as a gesture of goodwill.

Silver Service Taxis (by Shtine Time)

For a taxi, I was in need
To get to the airport with speed
Silver Service was looking
But they stuffed up my booking
Because f*ck ups are part of their creed

So, finally, I manage to book a new flight with Virgin leaving at 10:15 the next (Tuesday) morning. No dramas there, I thought, I’ll book a taxi to pick me up at 8:45. That should give me plenty of time to get to the airport.

Apparently not.

The taxi industry in Sydney is predicated on an inability to actually catch a taxi at a time when you’re likely to need to catch a taxi. These times include, but are not limited to:

- Getting to work
- Getting from work
- Trying to get home on a Friday or Saturday night
- New Years Eve
- When you need to catch a flight

or any other time when you could conceivably need a taxi.

As a general rule, taxis will always be available in a window between 5:16am and some other ungodly hour when you will never need a taxi. The system has never failed me at this time.

So, when I call back at 9:07am to check on where the taxi is, I’m not surprised to be told “5 more minutes”

And when I call back at 9:20 am to check on where the taxi is, I’m told “it’s on its way and should be there shortly”

Finally, I call back at 9:35. “Oh, I can see you’re waiting for a taxi. Can I please put you on hold?”
At this point, the receiver is inundated with porn music.

Chicka bow chicka wow wow.

“Your call is important to us and you have advanced in the queue. Please hold”

Wakka wakka wakka. Boom chicka bow … wakka wakka

Finally, a new, dopey voice comes on the line

DV (Dopey voice) - “Good morning, Silver Service, how may I help you?”

ST - “Um… I’m still waiting on a check for my taxi”

DV - “OK… oh, you’re still waiting for that taxi to the airport? OK… there should be one there in 5 minutes.”
ST - “Don’t bother … I’ve missed my flight.”

DV – “Oh. So, do you still want the booking, or should I cancel it?”

I felt like saying “What do you think?” but the very question is redundant. That’s the point. She’s not paid to think. She’s the paid representative voice of an organisation that couldn’t care less.

How do I know this?

This is a company so resigned to its own ineptitude that it’s willing to settle for “Silver” Service. Why be number 1 when you can settle for number 2? Gold Service? Gold is for losers who try too hard. Let’s be mediocre… and while we’re at it, let’s corner the incompetent market and start a spin off brand called “Bronze Plated Service”

Ticketek (by Shtine Time)

There once was a bloke named Fred
Who took a bad hit to his head
Once good with tools
Now he sits and he drools
And works in a Ticketek outlet

So, I give up on any ambitions of arriving in Melbourne before evening and head into the Sydney office. It’s hard to get too angry with the mouthpieces I’ve interacted with over the previous 24 hours – after all, they’re just doing their job. It’s far from their fault that the companies they work for choose to not empower their employees to use their brains.

These organisations are merely a symptom of the unfortunate, yet endemic consequences of a world that values process more than it values people. After all, Virgin Blue phone staff don’t make the ticketing rules and aren’t allowed to make the changes. Silver Service phone staff aren’t responsible for the appalling state of the taxi service in Sydney. They are merely actors in a far greater saga of clumsiness.

Where my patience begins to wear thin is when someone actually has a choice, between making my life easier or making it more difficult, and chooses the latter option for no other reason other than that they are clearly miserable about the fact that the highlight of their day is that they are given this choice in the first place.

Allow me to explain. A few months ago, I purchased tickets for a band called the Mars Volta (highly recommended if you’re into something a bit different). Late last year, the show was postponed and I receive an email saying:

"Existing tickets remain valid for the new concerts and do not need to be
exchanged. Simply rock up on the night and present your original ticket to
gain admittance.

Fans unable to attend the new concert dates in Sydney, Melbourne and Perth
can secure a refund from their original point of purchase."

With the concert being on Thursday night, I went into the Ticketek office to get my refund.

Old miserable lady (OML) – “This was announced late last year. You were meant to either take the new tickets or get a refund”

ST – “Yeah, I know. I’m here for the refund.”

OML – “Well, why has it taken you so long to come for the refund?”

ST – “Is that relevant? I can’t get to the new date and I want a refund”

OML - "Where did you get the tickets?"

ST - "Online or Elizabeth St, can't remember"

OML - "Well, you need to go back to the original point of purchase"

ST – “Are you really going to make me walk all the way across town just so I can get a refund?”
OML - "Let me check with my manager"

Here we go again. Another manager called because another foot solder didn’t have or wasn’t allowed to have the mental capacity for independent though. Now, her manager, who is sitting next to her, is also an old miserable lady, but, to paraphrase Hunter S. Thompson, she looks a lot more like what a ticketing lady would look like if the Nazis won the war.

At this point, the little Nazi commences her cross-examination of the witness.

OMNL (Old Miserable Nazi Lady) – “So, you can’t attend the show on Thursday night?”

ST – “No”
OMNL – “Do you mind if I ask you why not?”

ST – “(thinking yes, I do mind) I’m going to be in Melbourne”

OMNL – “Did you know that the show was cancelled?”
ST – “What, when it was postponed in November? Yes.”

OMNL – “When did you find out that you couldn’t attend? How come you’ve waited so long to cancel? You know, you’ve known about this for a very long time.”

ST – “You know what, you’re right. What I should do now is apologise for my terrible behaviour – after all, it’s me who’s inconvenienced you here. I didn’t mean to disturb you from sitting behind your booth all day – I’ll tell you what. As a gesture of my goodwill, I’ll let your company keep the money. That way, they’ll think you’re a model employee.”

Ok, we all know I didn’t say that. But, what possible answer could she have been expecting from me? What difference did any of this questioning make? Surely, it wasn’t written into Ticketek’s refund policy that in order to obtain a refund, the customer must be subjected to dumb and pointless questioning from a Nazi she-male in the hope that they get intimidated and walk away?

The point is that the Nazi chose to flex her muscles for no reason other than to try and annoy me. After all, she knew what I knew - were I not trying to get a refund, I could have cold blank refused to answer these questions. Where is the relevance? How could any answer to those questions led to me not getting the refund? Surely I could have answered "I now have plans to sit at home, turn on some dirty movies and have relations with myself on Thursday night" and they would have to give me the refund.

Finally, after waiting a few minutes, the Nazi puts on her most robotic voice and, through an anguished face and clenched teeth, spat "The money will be in your account within 48 hours." It actually physically hurt her to say it.

Salute to Customer Service, otherwise known as Dumb companies work in threes (by Shtine Time)

If you’re a dumb, bald, fat, ugly slob
And you find you’re in need of a job
Don’t feel alone
Just get on the phone
And go work for Ticketek, Silver Service or Virgin Blue. You’ll feel right at home.

Melbourne Part 1

Broadly speaking, everything you do in life can be brought back what you did, what was good about it, what was bad about it and what you would have done differently.

My work calls these ABCDs - Achievements, Benefits, Concerns, Do-Nexts. It's a joyless way of summarising your life into bullet points and categorising.

Anyways, seeing as it's my 3rd day here in Mexico (Melbourne ... south of the border, for those who've never heard Victoria referred to as Mexico) and I'm here for work, here goes for a Shtine Time corporate-style status update.

Achievements

Arrived in Melbourne office on time for a 9am start Monday morning. This meant making my 6:45 am flight. This meant a 5am wakeup. All of the above are firsts for me.

Went to my neighbour's house (aka - Crown Casino) on Monday night. It was packed full of people at 10:30 pm. Put $5 on 23 red and it came up.

Went for a 10km jog along the Yarra River. Like Bondi, except you die if you enter the water. Melbourne is a very healthy looking city - there are literally hundreds of people jogging and riding bikes home.

Have communicated with the Mumbai and Bangalore teams who I will be working with over the next 5 weeks. Communicated is possibly the wrong word. I definitely had phone connections with them. They talk faster than ... the fastest talking Indian person you've ever met.

All my mates here have kids. The one I went out with last night has a 2 year old and one a few weeks old. Both of them made stinky when I was there last night. This was more their achievement, then mine...

Benefits
Girls in Melbourne are so friendly ... Last night, one invited me home and before I knew it, she'd taken off her pants... Pics below.



Accomodation is a 4 minute walk to the Office and is cleaner and larger than my permanent residence in Bondi.

There are approximately 120 coffee shops between my Accomodation and the Office. The coffee in Melbourne is very good. My project team drinks a minimum of 2 large lattes every day. I've heard rumours that the project manager is hooked into a drip which feeds him caffeine intravenously 24 hours a day.

Client office is in Port Melbourne - the foyer looks like a car dealership and I've already been informed I'm not allowed to take photos, or for that matter, bring out my camera phone (or for that matter, even own one). We are in a room the size of my bedroom - 3 x 4. There are 6 of us in this room and I have a view of a wall painted off white. They have a cafeteria which looks like a prisoners eating area and the food tastes appropriately. (I realise this shouldn't really be in "Benefits", but my "Concerns" list was getting a little long and I don't really enjoy complaining...)

Concerns
5am wakeup? Are you kidding me? I didn't know there was a 5am in the morning... at night, sure, everyone knows there's a 5am at night, but in the morning?

Flight was pretty ordinary - Virgin was crowded and full of suits and carry on bags and tired looking people - it looked like the crowd at the end of a wedding - haggard looking, poorly tied ties hanging at awkward angles... and who designs the seats? Upright or non-upright (What is the opposite of upright? They never tell you that on the planes. They never say "Please ensure your seat is in a 'non-upright' position) - regardless, I couldn't sleep because my head kept sliding off the seat and waking me up.

There is a newspaper here called the "Herald Sun" which is published every day. This explains why everywhere I went, there was copies of the Sunday papers lying around. It took me until today (Wednesday) to figure this out because I'd never picked one up ... after all, why would I bother reading Sunday's paper? The giveaway was the contemporary headline on the front page, underneath the title - "HERALD SUN - Wednesday, March 7"

Driving in Melbourne CBD seems normal until people try to turn right. To turn right, you need to pull over to the left hand side, wait for all traffic to pass, then turn right across all the lanes. When traffic in both directions is attempting to do the same thing, there is a beautiful, synchronised effect that looks like cars going around a non-existent roundabout. At some point, I must set myself a task to camp out on the busier corners with a video camera and send film of the imminent crashes to Australia's Funniest Home Videos.

Have been in Melbourne for over 48 hours already and have not set foot into a bar or restaurant.

Do Nexts
Set foot into bars and restaurants. DG to take ownership. Estimated time until delivery: approximately 9 hours.

Organise to go to Formula 1 Grand Prix

Summary

There are subtle differences between Melbourne and Sydney. There are also massive differences between Melbourne and Sydney, but I'm only interested in the subtle ones.

At first observation, there appears to be a lot of places for gambling here - clubs and pokies open until 3 in the morning, even in the suburbs on a Tuesday night. And, there are seemingly 7-11's on every corner.

From this (and all of the above), I can deduce that the culture here is very much one of: Wake up, get coffee, get snacks, gamble, make babies, repeat.