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.