I KkkkkkkkkknnnnnnnnnnoooooWWWWW!

(apologise for the in joke, anyone who know either HiDive or Kiwi will only get this)

Its been a while and I feel lax, so where did the tale leave off...Hobart, yes I think it was Hobart in Tasmania. By the way for information, the reason for my longer than normal recurrance period on the blog front is due in the most part to actually doing stuff , which is positive.

I feel this may be a long one, could be wrong but we shall see, I warned you. So I made my way to Hobart by way of Bicheno. On arrival I spot a fine tavern to set up shop and wait for the arrival of my host, we met in Launceston when he was steering me clear of the dodgy guy trying to get me to buy a car for him and be a driver for a week. We arrive back at his family homestead in the middle of lower suburbia and I am instantly made to feel at home. Even the Sawn off shotgun falling into two pieces when I was shown could ruin it.

The weekend with Aaron, his uncle "juicy" Mooney was intense but completely worth it. We sat on the top of a waterfall, had a barbie in the park and I even got chased by daleks, very satisfying. When I left on Monday I was totally used to uncle Mooney randomly bursting into pitch perfect impersionations of everyone from the film 300. They are planning to visit the UK, can I sign anyone up for hosting duties? Seriously these guys have good hearts, the amazing saying of "juicy" every 4 or 5th comment and 2 really nice dogs; although they may not be coming across before you get your hopes up.

Wandering through the earliest convict prison at midnight by myself in the dark trying to get a lift I did wander on my decision to hitch to Port Arthur to check out the old buildings. That was about the most scary part of the whole evening, the ghost tour previously was more informative. Although saying that at one building where this bad ass reverend ghost stays one of 3 lantern bearers (I was the rearguard) had to o and knock on the building door. The guide then joking said as there was no answer to go in, into the room on the right. With more than a little trepidation lantern bearer one wanders into this house and starts wandering round into the areas cordoned off from visitors; completely shitting it but so full of peer pressure feels he has to.

After a very nice police officer returns me to Hobart I manage to hook up with Callum, my bartender and friend from Inverness who has moved back home to Tasmania. It was really good to see him and on his turf, we started a very long session in the glorious afternoon sun by the marina enjoying the finest potato wedges (that were sold as chips) that man has to offer. The rest is a blur, there was a pink hat, many bars, some serious ribbing of Oz blokes and more alcohol was sensible. I obviously missed my bus but Callum sorted me a lift to the airport 3 hours away with an old work colleague. My chat on the trip was suprisingly good given the stranger status and the level of my hangover.

Landing back in Melbourne and being dragged to an indie night by some Germans was the only way to defeat that hangover.Although I may have won the battle it certainly won the war. I would certainly recommend St Kilda to anyone visiting Melbourne, there is a definite Brighton vibe about the place.. What was meant to be my staging post for NZ turned into a serious of comical adventures that caught me completely unawares. Missing my flight and spending 8 hours in the airport did little to diminish my feelings towards the place.

Having a welcome party meet you at the airport at 3am does a lot for moral, Karl Poppy and Captain Anne Bonnie merrily led me to a party "near" the airport, damn right it was near I could see the lookout tower. I used the excuse of duty free to pick up some whiskey and it manage to last all the way up some extinct volcano in Auckland to watch sunrise. A very fitting start to my whole NZ experience which I always hoed would be the highlight of this trip. Finally ended up Kiwis domes (guy Chris from Burning Man I met who lives in purpose built water converted water tanks) and it was a fine welcome. Jess from Nowhere randomly found he way here an with Kiwi, HiDIve, Arno, Jess, Ingrid and Arno it was a whole flock of burners. Probably why I ended up buying an old Nissan Vanette an turning it into my first art car. The title Is the Mad Cow Death Project, which is more descriptive than anything else; what the main motivation was behind the project. Look at flickr for photos.

Tomorrow we head for Kiwiburn, project galore, friends to make and brain cells to lose. T'will be a grand adventure. Everyone is wired, everything (as far as possible) is ready and I think the idea not to fit the external cow ears prudent.

Report Ends.

Freakin Nimbin

Freedom to do what I want, be who I want to be and sleep in a bed with clean white cotton sheets and not one fuckin mosquito. It was time to move on and as my grasp of all things temporal had slipped somewhat I suddenly had only 2 days before I was meant to be in Melbourne, then Tasmania. So with my usual style I made a whirlwind exit and it was not till I was bumping my way across the landscape and finally out of Nimbin that I felt glad to be moving again but really was going to miss the rainbow retreat and all who sail in her.

Before I completely leave Nimbin behind in this blog I shall quickly relate my last day to you. Thoughts of departing for Brisbane are quashed totally when the single greatest concentration of rain falls from the sky and starts a small flashflood that starts to make its way through the chill space. Quickly stripping tops off we set about diverting the water and trying to catch the fish that are making their own bid for freedom through the new created stream that is now leading out of the pond. The storm was right above us and at one point there was a crack of lightening so intense that you could smell the electricity and it fried one of the computers. Watching storms from a distance is one thing, when you are perched on top of a hill whilst one breaks above you is another more exhilarating experience entirely.

In celebration of my departure, the whole one fish we recovered and the fact that Craig had yet to go out into town at night we toddled into Nimbin and sunk some piss on the pubs back porch. It was inevitable that the sound lounge would figure in out night and as I was eager for more juice on the latest conspiracy's we didn't stay too long in the pub. Only till closing. Little hairy guy was not on form, however we did speak to Heidi who is a member of the lost generation, believes she is growing the badness out of her in the manifestation of poor dental hygiene but its OK she will grow some more, convinced George Bush is an alien who runs all the gold mines in Australia and is currently homeless after some altercation with the local mayor. Again was not disappointed in the caliber of patrons to this Establishment.

Melbourne was a rushed affair, but I did manage to splash out a bit and with some serious Internet searching I scored a 4 star hotel for the evening before my flight to Tasmania well on the cheap. I don't think I was the sort of guest they imagined when the place was built, damp, muddy and wearing a Freakin Nimbin T-shirt. Feeling quite smug I relax in the expanse of the king size bed, flick idly through various TV channels and take shower after shower. The honeymoon period ran out when the train yard next door completely failed to stop operation and continued all night, after the lullaby of natures elements sending me to sleep every night, this disruption took the edge off what could have been a truly wondrous affair.

Flight was a piece of piss although when they said I had to get a thorough search and my bags scanned, chemically tested, etc I knew wearing the damn camokilt was not the best idea, but its just so damn comfy. People say Tasmania is slightly behind the times, bullshit I say people are just more laid back and don't believe in making things complicated. For instance, at the airport instead of unloading your luggage from the plan onto a cart then onto a conveyor, they just drive the cart right in and you help yourself. Cut out the middle man.

People are friendly, it does help if you are Scottish, glowing in the dark and slightly intoxicated. As I found out when my room mate and me hit the town, nearly blagged free entry in tot he night club after convincing the ticket girl the bouncers said I get in for free if I impressed her. A 10 second burst of the T-shirt and she was onside, but the bouncers intervened and extracted the full entrance fee from me,these were a particularly poe faced variety. What goes up, must come down and so the morning after finds me on a trampoline, in suburbia with no real sense of where I am, kids running about and temperatures way to high for a man to reasonably be expected to deal with his hangover in. The spring imprint on my head from the trampoline lasted all day. A quiet hair of the dog led to another session and me almost buying a car and driving The Hag around Tasmania for a week. Pay cash in hand, I get to see the country, etc , etc. After some more drink and a bit of a smoke the guy starts to get a bit more than flaky so this morning I returned to plan A and caught the bus; which according to The Hag, are just for tourists, he would rather steal a car than get on a bus.

On route right now to Hobart, stopped off at a little place called Bicheno where I have just spent the afternoon scouring the coast for treasure. What is it with me and Australian wildlife, always, always I see more dead animals than alive, small dead penguins dot the coast here. To counter this I'm booked on a penguin tour tonight and I pray no natural catastrophe occurs between now wiping out the colony here. Although maybe if it does happen I can make some sort of costume out of them for Kiwiburn (which is just around the corner and I am particularly excited about), not a very attractive or great smelling costume but certainly unique.

Hanging In There

That about sums up how my life is going currently, not in a bad connotation but getting by, meeting people and having fun, all under the wettest weather recorded in these parts. These parts by the way being Nimbin NSW, a hostel run by my burner friend Wildduck (Doug) called Rainbow Retreat (http://www.rainbowretreat.net/). Kind of ahead of myself though, Hope you all had a great Christmas that wasn't too fraught and a New Year that wasn't too disappointing. Missed you guys.

Christmas with Jess and her family was perfect, it was such a difference to back home which meant comparisons were at a minimum. Last night in Sydney we blagged our way into the posh bar at the top of the tower for a spectacular view that went past slowly, very slowly but felt quite elegant really. Road trip with Jess and Chris brought us to a tidy little hostel where we had a particularly fine session in a microbrewery on route, crashed the hostels staff Christmas night out. Not sure how many days consecutive drinking this is by now but the end is not nearly in site. Just the right atmosphere of family, alcohol, covert smoking and food. Chuck (Jess's Granda) roped me into a just-hit-myself-in-the-head-with-a-boomerang ruse, which I know I am never going to hear the end of but did make me feel right at home.

Hitchhiking. Interesting. It is never a good sign when your driver points out the tree, or more accurately what is left of a tree where he wrote off his last car. Door to door service though and Doug instantly welcomed me in. He has had some seriously epic events happen to him and my heart just went out to him. The setup here supports the more "alternative" traveller with the option for sleeping in a beach hut, gypsy wagon, tree house, tree hut and in my case a storage shed. People come and go, but less go really after the rain started. Like my god am I in Nam tropical rain. Which is yet to stop, roads and bridges flooding, people stranded, phone lines out. Isolated by circumstance truly.

2 Stories stand out, well 3 each is an example of how things have gone since I got here:

1) Sound Lounge- A more dodgy than not smoking cafe where we stopped into after a successful mission to the laundrette; which will culminate in me rolling on the bed in a pile of warm dry clothes. Small hairy englishman starts some chat, he helps out there so we are chatting away quite pub fashion. He starts to tell me his story how he ended up in Nimbin. Basically he was breeding some posh birds, they all got robbed and the police knew about it and covered it up. He revealed that conspiracy and then went onto expose more cover ups higher in the police the hierarchy, which ended in them trying to kill him. However because he was taught by some aborignal people he was able to kill the guy with a boomerang, true story. So he is in hiding in Nimbin but he thinks he has been spotted so he is hiding out in the Sound Lounge. He has more to tell, I'm gonna crack his story out of him on my next visit.

2) Hogmanay - New Years Eve was more wet and cold than any I have ever experienced in Scotland. Night started in the chill space with a fire, watching Eddie your average crooked sort of a fella do more buckets than a whole underage party. Hooked up with some burners who got me to the pub in town, was just starting coming on wasted and there is this little Kiwi dude asking a whole barrage of questions. Distracted him with my el-wire glowing mushroom/ skull T-shirt, not the only time it saved me that night. Pub shuts at 11pm and we hear there is a band at the YHA Hostel, so obviously we are keen, having not spent the last 3 hours outside. Very wet, very dark. Through the trippy light of my flashing T-shirt we walk onwards, ever onwards through the heaviest rain I have experienced, laughing at 3 burners on a standard random burning experience but just so god damn wet.

Through the haze I remember the path being like a river, telling a hairy irishman with a beard in bra and pants that he was lovely on the inside and walking through more wet, not being able to go back only way is to survive by walking onwards. Surfaced into the firelight of the chill space these radiant pillars of damp and cold, everyone was smashed though so we slipped right in. Be-decked in smoking jacket and flip flops we discuss the events of last night and all I keep get is "Hanging In There" my apparent catch phrase of the evening.

3) Doug was just coming back across the bridge in his 4x4 before everything was cut off again Yesterday and he found some lads about to jump into the torrent that once was creek and try and bodyboard it. UPSTREAM OF THE BRIDHE. He tries to talk them out of it but the are so full of weed/ male pride that they jump in and instantly regret it. Screaming one of the guys makes it into a tree his board catching in the eddies of the bridge as the water is sucked under it. Other fella was not so lucky and got sucked under the bridge and disappeared. The guys mate is screaming and there is just no sign of him. There is a shout from downstream and the boy appears scratched and not nearly so certain of himself, his bluff hollow and fragile. Doug ends this story about how he wishes he had his camera to catch it, and a lesson could be learned.

Nimbin feels so very much like certain elements of the festival scene that I love, people gather round out of the rain and stories start. I might start a few but mostly in the good name of group dynamics, and partially small part of centre of attention syndrome as well. It is time to get out, Tasmania is calling and I am really done with the rain. Got a dutch travellling companion now called Caspar who I am training up in the way of the Zombie Apocalypse, coming along nicely. We just have to prise him out of Nimbin, there is Nimbin time here which runs even slower than playa time.

Dougal