DD33

Phew wot a scorcha, again

It was over 40 degrees here yesterday (104 fahrenheit), the place was muchos hot. Hottest November day since 1982 so apart from the beaches being packed, the rest of the place was pretty quiet, as it was too hot to do anything or walk about anywhere. I wandered out to the shops for a couple of bits and it was dead quiet. And very hot. The eastern suburbs don't normally get it as hot as we're near the coast and the breezes, unlike the inner west and further inland who fry and are often a good five degrees hotter. I had a cracking hangover from the night before, but I was feeling alright, I think I sweated it out and felt knackered but generally alright, in between cold showers and sitting on the couch the whole day doing nowt.

Marvin Gaye

Every now and again (and for some wildly unexplainable reason it's often on a Monday) I come in to the office, stare at my monitor for about four hours then suddenly try and suppress the massive urge to stand up and scream "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!"

Not at anything work related, because (as previously mentioned) on these days I rarely do any, but just at the kind of thoughts it normally takes you a couple of days of work to stuff back in the jar and screw the lid tight on. And by that I probably mean "get closer to next weekend and therefore mentally calm down about the futility of it all, due to being able to get pissed up, which is of course always brilliant."

This of course is perfectly normal, as is getting so bored and unmotivated you start wondering where unmotivated boredom ends and depression starts, so you look it up and indulge in a wee online survey which of course tells you you're just moaning and bored (and unmotivated) and you should probably go and do some real work to give you a sense of achievement, however small and insignificant, just so that you can at least pop into Sainsbury's on the way home and pick up something for yer tea without wigging out and smashing the gaff up or bursting into tears and looking like someone whose wife's just walked out on him and he's forgotten what to do in a shop.

Or your wandering mind could take you to the Howard School wiki page and remember the name 'big' Al Jarrett, the mighty and mythical god of early teenage years who only a few very brave or foolish boys ever had a private audience with (god rest their souls). And once you've got to that point you think, 'christ, I really am bored today, I might as well write a blog update with which to share these golden pearls of absolute shite..."

I dunno if having this 'Monday laziness' ability in my job is a good thing - in my last job it was all meetings and targets and progress from first thing Monday morning, which would have me sitting on the couch on a Sunday night shaking like a leaf, and going to bed as late as possible to try and postpone the inevitable, but at least once it began you started running, whereas here I can get in and read the Guardian website for hours and from there flow into naval-gazing and wiki trivia and fleeting fantasies of sacking it all off and going to live in Thailand, knee-deep in cheap drugs and Roger Moores until you eventually check-out aged forty-five thanks to a massive nyron-and-viagra induced heart attack. My mum might be slightly embarrassed and might have to fudge some of the details when she's talking to the relatives at the funeral, but it's surely better than having me move back in with her and living in my old bedroom until she kicks the bucket and I get hospitalised with a nervous breakdown because she's taken her beef stroganoff recipe to the grave.

I'm joking, obviously: Has anyone else got older and thought, "Fuck, my mum's cooking really ain't all that". I reckon it's one of the overlooked milestones in male development.

Fifteen large

Fruities, or 'pokies' as they're called here, are a huge earner for pubs and clubs. Rather than have one or two dotted about the pub, they have to be sectioned off in their own room or area, and there's normally as many as the place can fit in to that room, seeing as they make a lot of money for the place. When they banned smoking in pubs and clubs a few NRL clubs nearly went out of business as revenue from the pokies nosedived due to the two going hand in hand and people stopped playing if they couldn't have a snout to calm the nerves as they pissed away the week's wages. They're the big Vegas jobs and weirdly when I went to Atlantic City, all the machines that were in Caesar's Palace etc were made in Australia.

Like the yank versions, you can vary how much you stake on each spin, how many rows/combinations you play etc and they generally go from 1c a credit to $1. You can get to the point where you've covered all the bets on three credits a spin and can be playing over $20 a spin (over a tenner, and this is in a pub rather than the Belagio or summat).

Anyway..., I'm in the local the other night (The Golden Sheaf, it of the famous five quid bottle of Heineken, though I discovered the beer's cheaper at the bar in the pokie room...) and I'm having a small flutter one of the machines. I'm playing $1.50 a spin which despite being 80p a go is obviously small beer, especially when there's a lad next to me who's playing $10 a spin. Who wins $15,500. Fifteen grand. Pleased? He certainly offered to buy his mates a round. The maximum one-off prize you can win on any machine is ten grand, you know this because every machine has a sign on it saying so, along with "your chances of winning this are no greater than one in a million", and then there's usually little cards for gambler's anonymous that you can take away with you when it's all come on top.

Like the jackpot on fruities back home is thirty quid or whatever but you can often get a repeater, he won two and half grand six times (or something like that). He got a cheque for fifteen grand and five hundred in fifties. It's a massive amount to win on the fruities, but in the big world hardly life changing. It's about eight grand - I'd pay off my credit card, get the m.o.t. and insurance done on the motor, then pay for a trip back to the UK, then that would be that. Even then, the lad who won was talking to his mate and I was picking up that he's a regular big player - he was about forty and he said summat like "I've been playing since I was seventeen, I'm not even close to breaking even". Funnily enough he was saying it with a huge grin on his mooey whilst getting the drinks in, so he didn't seem too fussed about stumbling upon this insight at that particular moment.

Favourtie overseas city?

What's your favourite overseas city? Mine's New York. The Guardian and Observer 2009 travel awards have come out and Sydney's been voted the favourite overseas city.

Fair enough, it's a grand place and could conceivably knock New York into third spot (behind Cape Town in second? I've never been), but then you have a goosey at the other categories and it starts to tell a more-middle-class-than-me story: Favourite European country? Switzerland. Beats off challenges from Norway, Austria and Sweden.

Right enough eh?! I'm sure if I'd ever been I wouldn't be able get enough of those gaffs meself, but even if I ate more humous than I do now and went to the theatre a lot I'd probably still stick Spain in there somewhere ("the Adalucian mountains are simply devine in the late summer darling, which is when I have been there with my partner. I have also been to the Iberian Peninsula in the spring, but that was when I was getting fucked on a stag do in Magaluf. Marvellous.")

It's like they took the survey during a parent's evening at private school, and you had to shout out your answer in front of all the other parents. Chile as one of the favourite long-haul destinations? I've been bored with Chile for years, sold the cottage in Santiago way back in 2007. Completely overdeveloped now. If you must stay in South America, it's all about Paraguay these days.

Seriously though, what's yer favourite UK city? Mine's London, but I'm guessing that's where half the voters live so they're not considering it as a travel destination. If I still lived in London it'd probably be Brighton or Manchester, but I've never been to Newcastle which is meant to be alright, and I've only ever been to Glasgow once, when I was ten (I bought Ghosts 'n' Goblins on cassette for my Commodore 64, it was the game Todd in Neighbours was addicted to at the time). Liverpool's good too. Edinburgh is good for a mini-break, but the weather is always, always, absolute shite. Anyone been to Bristol? What about favourite European city? It's definitely Barcelona for me.

Reassuringly expensive?

With Australia faring much better than other western economies during the 'GFC' the Aussie dollar has strengthed a lot recently, which is a winner for Aussies going abroad on holiday, but crap for tourists coming the other way, as well as lots of international business looking to spend here.

When I first got here it cost 40p for a dollar, and it's now over 56p, which throws up some mental examples for someone like me who despite being here for two years still regularly converts stuff back into pounds: In my local the other night I nearly keeled over when I ordered a bottle of Heineken... for $9! That's five pounds nine pence (£5.09!) for a standard 330ml bottle of Dutch lager. It's normally a bit more expensive due to being foreign and flash, and my local is an expensive pub and you could probably get it for between six and eight in other gaffs, but still, five quid a bottle, thankfully my wages work the same way! In the work canteen we've got a vending machine that punts out coke, crisps, chocolate etc. With a normal sized Twirl being the current squeaker at $2.40 - £1.36! Even back when it was 40p the dollar that's still nearly a quid - how much is a chocolate bar in a London newsagents these days? If you go into a bit of a poncey bar how much are they gonna do you for a bottle, about four notes? The world's going mad and I'm getting old - I remember that Thomas Cook holiday advert from a few years ago (2004-ish?) that was just a picture of a pint of lager with a "£3" tag hanging from it, and the line 'time to get away' underneath it.

Warners were all set to start filming The Green Hornet here next month, as like Superman and The Matrix trilogy in the past it cost a lot less to make them here due to the exchange rate, but that's now been shelved.

The upside is that ordering stuff on UK or US Amazon (or from abroad in general) is now a shed load cheaper. It always was compared to buying stuff in the shops here (due to transport costs, crap import taxes and trying to make you 'buy Aussie' in general), but is even more so now.

Just as well none of you lot are planning a trip over here eh! (oooh! Ya mum etc...)

Over and Elt

See that's yer Gately brown bread then. Frankly I prefer 'massive nyron, ketemine and gay shennanigans binge' type deaths than the 'natural causes, could have happened to anyone' style check outs. I don't like to speak ill of the dead, but I've been wondering what folks in the media have been saying behind closed doors, as rather than the 'sweet, purest soul' stuff that folk have been punting out, he was actually known as a bit of a diva-strop-chucking Elton John junior. I wasn't surprised to hear Reg was a big mate.

I'll dust this one off to highlight my point, some of ya will know this one: When I went to interview him back in my early days (when he was launching the "I'm gonna do a Robbie" solo career) I was told to tread careful as he was well known as a bit of a diva and for giving journos short shrift. We're batting the usual shite questions and answers back and forth until halfway through the interview (at a suite in Selfridge's Hotel) the batteries in the tape recorder die. I try to laugh it off and say don't worry, I'll remember everything and write it up from memory back at the office. He looks at me like I've just shit in his bath, and I quickly grab a pen and paper from my bag and pretend I was joking. His mask slipped a bit and I certainly got the feeling that if I had taken any longer to put my brain in gear I'd have been on the receiving end of something quite flappy and wonderful.

You know when you're interviewing folk that they're giving you their best smarmy bullshit (apart from Ian Brown of course, me and him definitely connected), but they don't normally confirm it, and weirdly enough the only other time it ever happened was with Just Jack, who was another big mate of Elt, and it was in fact big Reg who got the annoying tit his record deal. Maybe he gives them a bit of media coaching whilst showing them round his bedroom...

Just seen this – you can always count on the Daily Facist when it's an iron or an immigrant can't ya? Not that it ain't a wee bit suss... but still, outragous.

Advance Australia Fair

First there was the booze restrictions at the Bathurst 1000 supercar races, then the Blackface uproar, then some of the UK's finest minds (big Charlie Tinsley included) can't recognise the PM, and now this - midget racing! It's all in the link, but basically, after a couple of weeks of absolute PR shockers for the country, the organisers of a horse race meet thought it'd be a winner to go ahead with the "Midget's Cup", where three 'people of slight stature' getting togged up in racing colours and get piggy-backs down the home straight from three lucky punters. It was in The Current, I assume as none of you read such filth you may not yet be aware of the latest winner from the Lucky Country.

What's equally funny is the backlash response you get from a sizable section of the population - it doesn't matter what it is, there'll always be folk who knee-jerk a defence - in all those cases it was against the "fun police" and PC brigade who aim to spoil the fun of those they don't agree with. They've got a point, up to a point, but blackface for christ sake?! After getting hammered from a section of the press and public (in classic American 'you ain't from round here, don't be telling us what we can and can't do' style) Connick Jnr's come out again this week and said he still believes what he did was right! It's brilliant living here sometimes, you think you know the score, then suddenly find yourself in some weird episode of In Sickness And In Health, with half the country ranting on like Alf Garnett about there being nowt wrong with what they're doing.

Not near me of course, I work at the ABC and half our staff are black alcoholic midgets.

Perma-tan

I became a permanent Australian resident last week. Got a letter through from immigration: "Thank you for choosing us, you're an asset to this country and we hope you stay forever. If there's anything we can do, give us a buzz."

Alright, not quite, but there was a bit at the end about 'congratulations and good luck with your new life in Australia', which made it sound official and a fairly big deal, even though it just came through on one sheet of paper, and the visa I've already got in my passport is all I need, so I don't need to go anywhere or get anything stamped.

I can now act up and get goonered from here and would be able to sign on, sitting on a couch in the front yard all day in a wifebeater with my gelled mullett glinting magnificently in the sun. But y'know, softly softly catchee monkey and all that, there's no rush...

The Aussie Apprentice

They're currently filming the first series of the Aussie version of The Apprentice. They've also started showing teaser clips for it, which profile the contestants, and it seems that they're going about it in completely the wrong way in a different way. All the ads have had an X-Factor "this is my big chance" feel, rather than the "I'm gonna do whatever it takes" mentalist backstabber vibe we all know and love. Sir Alan is played by Mark Bouris, some lad who made his money setting up a home loans business, and most folk have never heard of him, which is crap and takes half the 'glamour' out of the thing. Presumably there were a fair few folk who knocked them back before they offered it to him, as even I could think of half a dozen numpties who'd be better, and I'm hardly a shining example of Australian ex-pat integration. There's an industry media blogthat did a piece on it and the comments underneath are pretty interesting, seems that one of the contestants posted on there before filming began. Interestingly they say that in the auditions they were told the job would pay 100k, (which is only 50k in pounds) but then the contract says it'll pay 250k, which looks like they were trying to weed out anyone who's already earning more than that (because they're too clever?) and want the thing filled with lower-paid psychos who think their job in telesales is only the first step on their journey to world domination.

Speaking of which, BBC Knowledge here are currently showing (what I think is, but haven't checked for fear of spoilers) last year's UK Apprentice. It's got this complete tool in it called Michael who put on his application that he was a good Jewish boy, got tippled that he wasn't and got chewed out from Sir Alan for it. Though amazingly, despite being a complete fuckwit who does indeed work in telesales and is up there with some of the best Apprentice psychos ever, he's still in and in the latest episode beat Raph the sharply-dressed posho in the challenge where they had to make an advert for tissues. It's amazing and has me yelling at the telly every week. There was some wideboy a few weeks ago who got lobbed over the cowshed after mucking up the photo portrait challenge in Bluewater and it turns out he was a satellite dish fitter! I'm guessing he probably worked for the company that big Al contracts out and a spot on the show was probably offered as some prize to employee of the year, but still, it shows that it's definitely all about the contestant profiling to fit the audience, rather than anyone who might be any use. As is mentioned on the comments on that article, reality show contestants here have to tick various boxes – the middle-aged Aussie battler housewife mum, the young blonde sort, the spiky haired twat, the Chinese one (fit bird a bonus in this category), the older Alf Roberts one, the list goes on… Also, whilst it goes without saying, I'll say it anyway – don't say nowt about who won! I already know who won the latest series thanks to the front page of the Guardian's website. I reckon the (other, taller) wideboy who screams out "That's what I'm talkin' abaahht!" every episode could be in with a shout, but it'll probably be a bird. Coincidently, there was an episode of Bargain Hunt: 'Famous Finds' on recently where Badger was one of the celebrity guests. Anyway, back to work...

MD31

New gaff

We're moving house! We were keeping a casual eye out for a while as we got a bit bored of the area we were in and the house itself is nippy in winter. We found a big flat in Double Bay and went for it. It's a nice flat so there were a few people interested in it but we moved quick and got it. It's in Double Bay ("beautiful Double Bay" according to this site), which is on the harbour and a bit closer into town. It used to be a bit poncy and was nicknamed 'double pay' as it was urgent prices all round but it ain't that bad these days, bit like a quieter Upper Street or summat. Click this link here to see where it is in comparison to the old gaff, we move next week.

DB32

MasterChef

We've just had the first series of MasterChef here and it's been a ratings monster. Last night was the final and 3.7m tuned in to watch it (the population's 21m). It was the third highest viewing figures for a show since 2001, with 2004 Australian Idol Final and 2003's final of The Block doing better (they love a bit of reality over here...).

There are articles here and here focussing on the business angle of things for you media buyers and sellers, no doubt saying what you all know in that as the first series of an unknown quantity, and with spots all bought up in advance, Channel 10's big ratings wouldn't have converted into big dollars.

We get the British version of MasterChef over here on UKTV and the main difference here is that they've given it the big X Factor treatment: eleminations, emotional journeys, sad melodies playing in the background as Sam the call centre spaz drivels on about this being the greatest opportunity he's ever had in his life and that it means so much to him, he just wants to make his family proud especially after watching his mum die from terminal wig cancer and his dad running off with his boyfriend... proper TV-off-the-balcony stuff half the time. The three judges are two midget chefs and a fat British food critic based over here called Matt Preston, who's the breakout star, mainly due to being British and wearing cravats.

It was also crap because I picked the bird who won it weeks ago: the white middle-aged mum of three who lived in Woop Woop, worked in IT, had a muzzy that would put Freddie Mercury to shame and just wanted to make 'good Aussie homecooking that the whole family can enjoy'. So she trudged through making roast chicken every second round, and getting massively biased scores from the judges, especially in the final three when she had a massive breakdown and crying fit because of the pressure, failed to finish any of her three dishes and served them all up incomplete. She should have been booted off early, but as she was up against Asians, Aboriginals, young ponces, gays, and just about every other marginal group that had no chance of selling any cookbooks (one of the parts of the winner's prize) it was obvious she was getting picked to win it and make the company money. You know me, I'm not normally the cynical type, but this one was too obvious for even me to ignore.

Talking of shocking decisions, they're not happy over here after beng robbed of three wickets in the last innings, and for those of you who haven't checked out the new ABC sports site I worked on, here's a good opportunity. There's a lot of angry bluster about the spirit of the game and Struass being a cheat here today, as the comments underneath show.

Surfin' Safari

Me and my surfing mate (a lad from Leicester I used to work with at NineMSN, he married an Aussie lass and been here about six years) went up the coast last weekend for a weekend's surfing. We went to Pacific Palms, which is about an hour north of Newcastle and about three and a half from Sydney.

It's got beaches that face all directions, so as long as there's swell coming in from somewhere, you're pretty much guaranteed some waves.

We rented a house, which was cheap as it's winter, but it was still warm and sunny every day, with an easterly swell bringing good waves to one of the beaches. Three days solid surfing (or three days solid paddling about trying to surf...) fair took it out of me and then on the last day I got chucked about by a freak ten foot wave that came tearing into the bay. We were out waiting for a wave when this huge thing came rolling in. When that happens you tear out towards it trying to paddle over the top of it before it breaks, but I paddled up it's face just in time for it to break and it threw me into the air a cracker before spinning me about like a washing machine. Similar to the day of cricket we had for Dan's birthday a couple of years ago, I was shuffling about aching like old man Steptoe for days later... I took the picture above and I've put more on Facebook, including some of the Kookaburras that came and sat on the balcony looking to be fed.

I saw a preview of Bruno a couple of weeks ago, it's alright. It's the same as Borat, but not as funny. The scenes that are set ups seem more obvious than Borat. There's also a scene where he interviews Latoya Jackson and they use Mexicans as furniture to sit on and to eat sushi off, while he asks about Michael and tries to get his phone number out of her Blackberry. Funnily enough that’s been cut from the final version, and if the big close up of a swinging erection makes it in then it'll surely have to be an 18 rating…

The premiere here was funny as a fake Bruno fooled security by turning up in a pink stretch hummer and driving onto the red carpet. He got out with dancers and backing performers and using a megaphone started banging on about Peri-Peri chicken whilst the lasses in shorts danced about and covered themselves in the sauce (video link here). He got bundled away by security sharpish, but it'll be high fives and cigars all round at the Nando's ad agency. There's a quote from one of them saying he was surprised no one had done anything similar at the previous premieres.

The Big Six

There's some new accumulator from the bookies (there's only one in the country allowed to do off-track betting, the TAB) called The Big Six. Made me smile when I saw it.

The country also went lottery mad last week as one of the weekly draws rolled over a few times and the jackpot eventually ended up at $106m (£52m) by the time the draw was made last night. They reckoned 50% of the adult population had a ticket, and it was won by two people, one in Queensland and one in Victoria.

Cozy chat

As most of know, in my career of interviewing the stars I was always striving for a Parky-esque style with which to put the A-List celebrities I interviewed McFly and Girls Aloud at ease and have them open up to me (phnar).

There are currently loads of ads on TV (or 'spots' as most of you lot would call them) for "Parky - The One Man Show" featuring the man himself giving it the hard sell "join me for an evening of watching clips on a big screen and me babbling away about how great it all was, apart from Meg Ryan, obviously..." (I'm paraphrasing slightly).

He's huge here, partly due to the fact that he comes over every January for the cricket (the trooper) and drops the required platitudes in at the right times "love coming here, fabulous country, the cricket culture is second to none" etc etc

So now you can get to see the man live for the night for a mere seventy five notes! Or a nifty if you want to sit up the back ($150 & $100).

A ton-fifty a seat! Still, he's a legendary act who puts on a hell of a show, it must cost a fortune to get all those backing dancers up to speed, the pyrotechnics, that bit where he flies out over the crowd on a wire...

Brisbane again

I'm in Queensland again for work. I've been here since Monday, was supposed to be here for eight days until next Tuesday, but am now going back to Sydney on Friday. This is becuase I was coming up to show the journos the new sports site that's been built and be the liaison between up here and down there in the week before it got launched, except since I've got here the tech boys have piped up and mentioned that it ain't going to be ready on time. Which has left me looking like a bit of a spare one. The cynical Queensland mob seem generally wary of flash Harry's coming up from the big smoke showing them the latest piece of magic that will change their life, but fear not as I'll be back in a week or so when the site is ready to launch. Brilliant...

It's the second game in the best-of-three State Of Origin series tonight and as Queensland are one-nil up and love their 'footy' it's a big deal up here. Pity the match itself is in Sydney, I can see the Suncorp stadium from my hotel balcony... it's always a sell out up here though so I doubt I'd have been able to get hold of a ticket. Brisbane Roar are playing Celtic there on July the 12th, the Hoops over on a quite bizarre pre-season visit. Meanwhile Sydney FC are playing "Robbie Fowler's North Queensland Fury" (as they've now become known) in a friendly at Cronulla's rugby ground on Saturday.

In other soccer news, new A-League team Gold Coast United are said to be in talks to bring Henrik Larsson over to light up the league. They've already signed their one marquee player (Jason Culina, ker-pow...) but you can have 'guest players' sign up on short term contracts (and still earn big bucks outside of the squad salary cap, obviously...). Romario and Benito Carbone have been previous guest players, for Adelaide and Sydney respectivly. Sydney's marquee this year is John Aloisi.

Moran Away

For those of you that watched the first series of Underbelly, there's been another Moran murder, this time Desmond 'Tuppence' Moran, the uncle of Jason and Mark, brother of their dad Lewis. It was on the ninth anniversary of the murder of Mark. As well as the numerous headlines with 'Moran' in the title there's this little interview from 2007 where he talks about being the only one left. He was shot in the head 'execution style' a few times, and lay in the shop doorway for seven hours whilst forensics did their thing (slowly, it would seem). Someone had tried to top him in March but the gun jammed or summat. If that had happened to me I'd have probably kept on my toes a bit, rather than going to the same cafe every morning for coffee.

The creators of Underbelly are looking for subject matter to base the third series on, might not have to work too hard if this kicks off again...


*UPDATE: In a rather unexpected turn of events, his sister-in-law and widowed matriarch of the Moran gangster clan, Judy Moran, has been charged with his murder. She got pulled in, and whilst in nick allegedly ordered her house set on fire to destroy evidence. She's been denied bail due to being a potential flight risk. Mental.

MF32

Roasted Bun

Ya can stick yer MP expenses scandal where the sun don't shine, we've got a "national sporting hero roasts teenager" shocka!!


There's a massive scandal gripping the nation at the moment. Matthew Johns, Australian rugby league hero and brother of Andrew (who as we all remember was nicked in London's Kings Cross with pills on him after getting gattered at The Cross and later admitted to loads of nose and pills when he was playing), has been named as one of twelve players involved in roasting a 19-year-old lass back in 2002, which was the year after he spent a season playing for Wigan.

During a pre-season tour of New Zealand with the Cronulla Sharks (Cronulla being the south Sydney suburb where the racial beach riots where a few years ago), he and his room mate took this bird back to their room and started giving her a going over. Ten other team mates then piled in the room (the room was on the ground floor and some of them sneaked through the bathroom window, which hasn't really been seen as a rock-solid defence when dealing with consent issues) and she ended up having sex with six of them whilst the others watched.

It kicked off as the bird was interviewed for a documentary that aired on Monday night called 'code of silence' and straplined with "For much of the past decade rugby league in Australia has been dogged by a series of startling allegations relating to alcohol, women and sex."

...which basically went into a few incidents where players have roasted birds or highlighted a couple of cases of sexual assualt etc and how there's a big drinking culture in Aussie rugby league (hard to believe that, eh?).

There's been a few incidents reported before, the most famous one being when the Canterbury Bulldogs were accused of rape and lots of fruity details came out:

"In 2004, a 20-year-old woman claimed up to six members of Sydney's Canterbury Bulldogs team repeatedly raped her in a swimming pool at a plush hotel in Coffs Harbour. The alleged assault followed drunken celebrations in the town following a pre-season victory over the club's rivals, the Canberra Raiders. The players were never arrested due to lack of evidence, but the case exposed a shocking culture of sexual depravity in the sport. Stories of prostitutes being hired for group sex, and "bonus" points being given if women were shared between team-mates were soon making the rounds. The practice known as "roasting", a reference to meat being stuffed, is not considered uncommon with one player claiming: "Some of the boys love a 'bun'," said one. "Gang banging is nothing new for our club or the rugby league."

...a 'bun' is the Aussie term for a bird who's up for it, and I can't stop cracking up at the phrase "Some of the boys love a bun" - it's the nonchalance of it! like he's casually talking about going for a pint or summat - "some of the boys love getting naked in front of each other and sexually degrading some lassie too young and stupid to realise what she's doing", I'm surprised he didn't finish off with, "...and then we boot her out, go for a ruby murray then dance around pissed up singing Jimmy Barnes tunes whilst sticking our fingers up each others arses - ya cannae whack it!"

This one's turned into a national event because Matty Johns is now the Australian version of Gary Lineker - he presents Channel Nine's The Footy Show, does loads of commentating and reporting from games, has released comedy singles and books, and was a coach for a couple of clubs on a part time basis, and has plenty of other nice little earners such as corporate speaking and hosting etc. He earned more now than he did when he was playing. He was also (and still is) married at the time.

Earned, not earns, as it's obviously all gone Pete Tong for him since it came out.

Over the last fews days it's ebbed and flowed, with the angry mob outrage kicking off first, giving it the big one about his wholesome image and being on TV and a role model and supposed family man etc (he's got kids an'all). That led to Channel Nine and Melbourne Storm suspending him indefinitely (it's called 'standing down' over here) and everyone generally giving him a wide berth once they realised the Daily Mail mob were shouting loudest and getting everyone whipped up.

However there's been a backlash to that reaction, and there's now loads of people saying he's done nowt legally wrong, it was consensual, there was a police investigation at the time which found nothing wrong (the bird went to the police five days after and complained), and everyone's asking why she waited seven years before going public. They've also found an old workmate of hers who says she was bragging about it at the time and only changed her tune a few days later once people started treating her like a slag. It's surprising that the most vocal voices on this front have been other women, saying she knew what she was getting into, that she's crying wolf and making it harder for real victims of sexual assault to be treated fairly, how she's only in it for the money and to ruin a good man's reputation and hurt his family etc. (The bird appeared on the documentary and admitted she wanted to hurt those involved). Matty Johns has done TV interviews this week with the loyal wife sitting next to him, saying how he's sorry, he didn't do anything illegal but it's bad thing, blah blah.

Four Corners (the name of the documentary, which my lot make) is normally a serious documentary series and it's taken a bit of a kicking for 'downgrading' and going after such a tabloid story. Though there's now a side issue with plenty of folk getting whipped up about wanting to know the names of the other ten or so players involved (Matty Johns was the only one named), and debate raging between the "He did nowt but cheat on his missus, he shouldn't be publicly executed for that" camp and the "it might have been legal but it was also well moody and he paints himself as a great guy whilst getting up to some dark, deeply unethical and morally wrong sexual deviance" lot.

You won't be surprised to discover that my favourite angle is the poof side of the whole affair, which unfortunately hasn't been touched upon (oo-er) as much, but has been mentioned: there's been questions about the whole homoerotic side of things, like why they'd want to get naked in front of each other and have a tug whilst watching their team mates roast some bird, some whilst taping it on their phones.

What with "middle Australia" generally being such a liberal and forward thinking place, the social commentators who mention the obvious homosexuality in this are being shouted down quite loudly by a load of shifty looking rugby officials scared to admit that there's something very home de monde about it, and one player even admitted off the record that there are some players who can't shag a bird without having his mates there.

Brilliant!... "I ain't no fuckin' pooftah ya mongrel! I just love a few beers and a bun with me mates! What's the world comin' to when a bloke can't have a wank whilst peering between the arse cheeks of his mates to catch a glimpse of some teenage bird being pressurised into sucking their dicks!"

*Addition: The Footy Show was on again last night, and one of the presenters started crying as he talked about his mate Matty Johns and what he's been through after being tippled shitting on his wife by roasting a teenager with the rest of his team.

*Addition #2: It's all coming out now! Not happy with being cast as philandering irons, professional Aussie sportsmen are going for the nonce crown an'all. Taking the "you little beauty" thing a bit far maybe. Very handy for the other lot though, 'cause compared to this roasting some consenting, legal-aged bird looks like a night of smoove romance...

The first day of my new life

It's a very exciting day. As I sit here and loaf at work Sky+, or Foxtel IQ as it's known here, is getting installed in the house. I've absolutely no idea why we didn't get it installed a year ago, but the fact that we didn't makes today all the more exciting. Terrestrial telly here is pelt and we haven't even had a video to tape stuff, so having the ability to pause, rewind, and record stuff is going to put me over the edge for the next few weeks. This is as close to feeling like a kid on Christmas Eve as I've come for a very long time. Fox Sports shows Saturday afternoon games live and tomorrow it's West Ham v Chelsea kicking off at midnight (the time difference currently nine hours, obv...). But you can also red button the other 3pm games and watch them live an'all, so Everton v Man City might be worth a look, or Hull v Liverpool if the scousers ain't cruising it. And there's Fox Sports News, and I think ESPN show some decent live European games as well as the American stuff... yes please Jean!

You'd never willingly choose to do it, but being deprived of something so good for a stretch makes getting it back all the more exciting. We also got a perfect nick 70s leather sofa set on Ebay for an absolute steal (hundred bucks, less than fifty quid), and that got deilvered this morning, so Santa's been for both residents of Carter Street today (obviously I'm whipped and frenzied about the idiot box, the missus is chuffed about making the gaff nicer in general).

Tonight I shall be buying a six pack of strong continental on the way home and sitting in front of the box grinning like Dave when he's just remembered that someone owes him a fiver.

Gentrification

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If my eyes don't deceive me, there's fancy Ikea/Habitat style red blinds on the windows, and that dark shape on the balcony looks suspiciously like a proper barbie, as opposed to a tinfoil disposable effort propped up on a tower of used disposable efforts.

The hot water probably works an'all.

...mind you, those crappy wicker blinds are still up in my old room (with red ones behind) and Mike's window shows no sign of being tarted up, so maybe it's early days, before they settle fully in, get comfy and break out the inflatable basketball hoops and the like. There might even be - god forbid - a bird (or birds!) living in there.

The Villan of the piece

It was a pleasure and an honour to spend the evening with my old championship-winning cricket partner last Thursday night, the tanned and relaxed Mister Jim Smith happy to recall our victory at the south London Dan Brown invitational tournament of 2007. After a bit of dinner and a few beers there were only so many wonderful tales of laid back travelling life I could take, so as a former CIT champ I laid down the gauntlet to the current holder, confident that an old skool purist like myself had what it takes to overcome this new 'pub iron man' pretender.

In the back room of the Green Park Hotel I had what can only be called a very jammy run, with speculative hit-n-hopes generally finding a pocket. Apparently this was something close to the lucky streak that Jim had on that fateful night back in December, though having now seen him wield a cue I think that's more an example of his well-known modesty than anything else. Heard of the Unofficial Football World Championships? I'll say no more other than I'm happy to host recognised CIT entrants in my home town if they fancy taking me on…

Brisvegas - it's a small world

Work's sent me to Brisbane for four days as I'm helping design a new sports site and the sport editorial team are based up here. I've been sent up to talk them through the new ideas and design, take their feedback on board then tell them what we've got planned anyway...

Got here yesterday and the first lad I sit down with is a journo who's got the Villa team photo as his screensaver. We're blethering about the Premiership and Villa's shocker against Stoke. I'm about to mention that Tony Pulis learnt the craft of managing a team and achieving success despite no money in a certain corner of the garden of England (also that Big Mama "he's more a creator than a scorer" also learnt the craft down Priestfield), when the lad asks me who I follow.

Pick this out: I tell him that whilst I grew up in Edinburgh and like Hearts, I moved to Kent when I was a lad and am also a big Gills fan... and then the bloke next to him let's out a cheer and holds up his tea mug, a Gillingham FC mug with "Up The Gills" on it.

He's an Aussie but was travelling and working in the UK for a while. He got mates with a teacher from Leatherhead who grew up in Gillingham and went to the Gills so went along to Priestfield to watch a game with him. Now this is the weird thing that makes people followers for life: It was the 10th of December 2005, a home match against Port Vale and he tells me about the cracking game that the Blues won three nil, with missed penalties, sendings off and "Matty Jarvis getting a brace to seal the victory".

I'm standing their stunned, half because there's an Aussie journo in Brisbane who's been to Priestfield and I end up meeting him, and half because he had the luck (misfortune?! Haha) to go to a cracker of a game and got locked in to supporting Kent's finest.


Harj, Dan and Mick: You went to Brisbane eh? It was a while ago but if there's anywhere particulalry memorable you remember going do let us know. I'm up here on my todd with expenses to be spent.

DS32

I'm building a fireproof ark...

It's been quite mental round these parts of late - monsoon's causing record flooding in Queensland (I read somewhere that half the state was flooded, and as it's seven times bigger than the UK, that's a fairly big chunk of land), and massive bushfires killing hundreds in Victoria (some of the fires were eighty miles long, and I try to imagine putting my boot down in a car and driving for a hour to get from one end to the other).

On top of that, a lass here at work threw herself off the building this morning, and my usual entry door into the office was blocked by a blue tarpaulin with her body under it. Coppers had taped it off and told me to walk round the other side of the building and go in the other door, it was well dark. I work on the ninth floor and if you look out the window there's a open air terrace on the seventh floor that you look out over. The canteen's on the seventh and there's tables and chairs on the terrace for you to eat your lunch at etc. Apparently the lass came in early this morning, got the lift up to the seventh floor and jumped off. When I came in and looked out the window a chair she'd used to climb onto the ledge was pushed up against the wall, with her shoes next to it. Her boyfriend works down the corridor from me and her sister works here an'all. There was bizzies all over the shop, and we've now had talks from psychologists and counselors, quite a few folk on my floor knew her as she used to work in my department, though that was before I joined and I never met her myself. Pretty weird topping yourself at work, and there's been more than one terrible joke crossed my mind about the famously bad grub they dish up in the canteen...

It's been quite an odd few days... take care of yourselves out there!

HH32

We all live in... Townsville

Absolute madness.

Townsville's 800 miles north of Brisbane. There's nothing there except tropical heat and things that'll bite you to death.

An early insight into the behaviour of the gifted landlord can be seen in this press conference video when he visited the middle of nowhere Townsville last month. Fast forward to 03:15 for the good bit...

Phewwhatascorcha!

It's properly roasting here, has been for the past few weeks and it's set to continue. Melbourne and Adelaide are having it silly, as it says here in the Guardian, but it ain't shy here either, and will apparently get hotter.
Which makes talk of massive snow and 'coldest winter in 13 years' sound very weird: one in five not making it in to work, none of London's 8,000 buses on the road, even the transfer deadline being extended! The pics on Dan's facebook are mental, and the Guardian's got a big gallery that looks pretty amazing an'all - any days off work or weird things like that to remind you of being at school?
The picture is of Bondi (not my pic) and shows why I never go near the place on a hot day, there's normally about as many surfers in the water an'all so getting a wave is impossible. It's all about Maroubra, there's never half as many folk there.