Oz Experience

So it was after quite a long day that we found ourselves at a hostel in Cape Otway. Rosco had described it as "basic" and he wasn't lying. Caro shot out of the bus to snaffle a double room for us, and what we actually got was a caravan with a corragated-iron shed attached to it. Jenna referred to it as "the love-shack". Caro took out her little maglite to examine the hut but I gently pointed out to her that she probably didn't want to see what was living in there. The inside of the caravan wasn't much better. I mean, I'm no snob and a caravan can be pretty luxurious, but this one was dusty and COVERED IN COBWEBS. And we all know what makes cobwebs don't we? We hadn't, so far, seen any Huge Fucking Spiders, but both of us knew it was simply a matter of time. I felt this could well be the night. So I made sure to take deep cleansing breaths and kept a spider-squisher handy whenever I moved about.

Rosco was once again making dinner. This time it was pasta, ham and sauce, along with garlic bread and once again it was DELICIOUS. After the meal, the English girls and the young guys drifted off while Ann and Kim attempted to teach the Germans the intricacies of a card game called "Asshole". Caro snuck off for her usual post-dinner ciggy in the "common room" which was set aside for socialising (and by "common room" I actually mean "shed with old split couches and chairs in it and things running along the floor".) Rosco decided to come along too. 

I'm so glad he did. We had a great chat about the usual subjects; poo, weewee and vomit.  It was great!  Rosco told me his favourite poo story and I told him the story of Uncle Ralph.

ROSCO'S FAVOURITE POO STORY
This concerns a poo he had done on a boat. The constant motion had stifled his, er - motions as it were. Anyway after four days, he finally HAD to excuse himself during dinner and did the biggest crap of his life. It was so big he had to stand up to finish it, and when it was done it was, "peering over the top of the bowl at me like a python." 

Anyway, the damn thing wouldn't flush as you would expect, so Rosco did what anyone would have done in the situation; ran away hoping that someone else would get the blame. However, just as he was finishing his dinner, his mates came in and told him, "never to do anything like that again." They further informed him that they had had to pay a cabin boy $20 to "break it up and flush it."


THE UNCLE RALPH STORY
This concerns my Uncle Ralph who was a bit of a joker and who decided that it would be A GREAT JAPE to climb up the drainpipe and to surprise my grandad while on the toilet. What he didn't expect was that my grandad was actually having a poo. As he hung there off the window frame saying, "Ha-ha! I can SEEEEE you!!" my grandad (who was completely unfazed by this attention) simply finished wiping his arse and stuck the used paper to Ralph's forehead, who responded by screaming and falling off the drainpipe.

So it was a pretty highbrown level of conversation then.  Rosco also told us the story of the night he got a bit drunk and spent the evening having naughty fun with a lady.  Having had his fun and bade her farewell, he wobbled home but stopped off at a corner to have a pee.  However, he was extremely unnerved when, having loosened his bladder, NOTHING HAPPENED.  It was just when he was starting to think that maybe he had some serious urinal problem that he remembered; the condom was still on.  Classy. 

But the evening had worn on by this point, so Rosco excused himself to go to bed (but only after I had managed to get a picture of him and Caro together; I have to add that Rosco was massaging his own nipple in this picture.)  We went back to catch up with Kirsten and Thomas and Kim who were still in the dining room, but had given up on the cards.  Instead, Kim had turned the Germans to the Dark Side and the three of them were quite happily bitching about Anthony and Klaus ("He obviously avoided national service," said Thomas).  

We were all too eager to join in and spent a very pleasant hour before it was time for all of us to turn in, and time for Caro and Me to return to The Caravan of Scary Things With Too Many Legs.

Actually, I slept fine.  I remember I was having a great filthy dream about Barbara Windsor (1970’s Barbara, not EastEnders Barbara because that would just be sick) when when Caro grabbed me  whispering, "Symon, Symon, what’s that????"

Fortunately, I am always prepared for such an eventuality.  My ready response to this is, "Nothing, go back to sleep."  However, as I uttered these reassuring words I HEARD THE CARAVAN DOOR SWING OPEN. And not just a normal swing either.  It was one of those Unholy Dead pushing the door to their tomb open CCCCCRRRRRRRREEEEAAAKS.
Well, that woke me up.

Never fear, readers - I had a backup plan.  I call it the Auntie Eileen Plan.  My Auntie Eileen is a large and scary woman.  So large and scary that she once found two burglers stealing her telly and immediately marched up to the first one and started strangling him. The second one was so scared he jumped out of the window forgetting he was 3 floors up and broke both his legs.  

The point is this; whenever I want to scare intruders I emulate my Auntie Eileen, rolling up my sleeves and bellowing, "WHAT THE BLUDDY ‘ELL IS GOIN’ ON ‘ERE THEN???!!!" as she would do.  Also, I was carrying my maglite like a bludgeon, although sadly it was only a mini-maglite so to be honest I think the worst it would have done to a psycho in a hockey mask is dazzle them if I put it on “pencil-beam”.

So there I was, Eileening through the caravan and there it was – NOTHING.  To this day I have no idea what opened the caravan door.  Maybe it was one of Australia’s smaller spiders letting itself back in.

I made my way back to bed and lay there, my body tensed next to Caro when we suddenly heard an even worse noise.  It was the slow laboured breathing followed by a long protracted moan.  Maybe it was some sort of wild beast. Maybe it was the death-rattle of an unfortunate backpacker.  Maybe it was THE VERY BREATH OF THE FLESH-EATING UNDEAD.  Or possibly it was some pervert having a wank.

"Oh, it’s a koala!" said Caro.

Of COURSE it was.  The little buggers are up and about that time of night.  I had nearly coughed in me rompers over some cute cuddly little bugger getting it on with his missis. 

Anyway, so after all that I stayed awake for the rest of the night while Caro turned over and went back to sleep.  I trust you too, have a good night’s sleep while you leave me lying here in Cape Otway, praying for the sun to come up.  Bastards.