Brekkie on the Bridge

Before BOTB, I saw one cloud in the otherwise clear blue sky moving west. When I got to the bridge, said cloud was directly above us. Maybe it decided the truffle butter on our bread smelt too much like old socks and needed to be diluted, because it absolutely poured. We were given these plastic ponchos which could fit 3 people inside and you would still have room to dance. We were laughing so hard we didn't realise we had put our heads through the arm holes.

Poncho time!

Afterwards, I crawled back to Kirribilli markets where I bought a ukulele off Michelle Leslie. Yes, the Leslie convicted of possessing a few Es in Bali, 2005. The one sporting full Muslim dress crying on camera. Conversion to Islam my arse. She was no longer wearing a hijab, but a tight fitting tank and skinny jeans. Fair enough, I know I'd convert to anything to get out of jail.

He's humping the fountain!

This got me thinking, what would you do to get out of stuff, or to get something? Fake you lost your voice before delivering a speech? Pretend you're a vegetarian to score with  the hippie chick? 

Anyway, happy Halloween everyone! I went as a Liberal campaigner who had been run over by a car. What did you do?

Adventures Overseas. Warning: not for the faint hearted

When we're on holiday or in a foreign country, we are suddenly at liberty to do what we normally don't. It is ok for me to spend ridiculous amounts of money on crappy souvenirs, visit lame tourist attractions and wear hideous shirts that I wouldn't let Tony Abbot wipe his arse with (hello Hawaiian shirt, I'm talking to you). All this seems pretty harmless, except to my bank account. However, holidaying has turned into the biggest excuse for me and many others to do idiotic things, be daredevils or immerse ourselves in a perpetual alcoholic haze. Due to this...

Before

Morning After

 things like this happen…                                                            And this...

And this...









Or this...

One way or another, we always end up in hospital or a cell. In poorer countries, this means confinement in an unsanitary concrete floor with you desperately protecting all orifices whilst being yelled at in a foreign tongue.

My advice, do not play hero, do not play dares and definitely do not pass out in a gutter unless you want to wake up in a tub of ice with sutures on your back, where your kidneys should be.