Extremely long and mind-numbing, as promised.

Surfers Paradise. Beautiful, mostly-clean beaches. Gazillions of tourists. Tacky shops selling Australian souvenirs made in China. Home of 'Schoolies Week', where children celebrate leaving school with an orgy of drugs, booze, and sex with strangers. Yes, it is indeed a pervert's heaven. Home of backpackers galore, who walk into bottle shops with a shopping trolley and leave with it full to the brim with booze.

Home to people who can't hold their alcohol. Eighteen-year old punks who yell loudly because they've had two schooners of Tooheys and proceed to dance around with their pants down. John and I walked around on Friday night and picked out the people we'd most like to marry.

John: It's not fair. There's way more potential husbands for you than there are wives for me.
Me: Yes. Spoilt by choice. I'll narrow down my selection criteria. My new husband needs to be: drunk, loud, obnoxious, arrogant...
John: You're not narrowing it down very much.
Me: ...they've got to have unruly facial hair, foul body odour, they must be incoherent, illiterate, and homeless.
John: I think we better head back to Brisbane.

Some 'highlights':

My INSANE Comedy Skills:

John and I were going to the train station. We passed two other commuters who were speaking a different language.

John: I think those people were Russian.
Me: Yeah. Russian FOR THE TRAIN. HAHAHAHAHA.
John: ...

The Q1 Building and THE MEETING:

The tallest building in Australia, and the 20th tallest in the world, but only because they put a really huge spike on the top of it. Which is just cheating, really. I could put an incredibly enormous spike on the top of my house and then call it one of the tallest buildings in the world, too.



Yeah. It was high.



YEAH. IT WAS HIGH.

This was where we sat and chatted with John's Reader and her boyfriend, which was quite lovely. Very chatty and normal and proof that real human beings do actually partake in this internet business.

It was quite strange in parts, though, like when they went into blog mode and started saying, "I liked it when you posted that thing" "Yeah and I liked it when you did that thing" "Yeah and what's with that thing you did the other day?" And I am thinking HEY. I AM THE BLOGGER.

Also,

Her: So, are you feeling better? And, did you enjoy your birthday trip up to Mt. Tamborine? Did you manage to resolve that other thing you were having problems with? And how about that mouse, eh?
Me: Um. Yeah. And, uh, how are you?

Thanks to those guys for taking those photos, by the way. Even though they won't read this. Thanks. Thanks also for taking a million photos of the back of my head, providing me with sidebar profile pictures for years to come.

The Worst Band in the World:

One of a couple of pubs we visited on Friday night was Gilhooleys, which seemed respectable enough. Irish dancers pranced about on the floor and stamped their feet loudly and I realised that they actually do exactly the same routine in every Gilhooleys I have ever been to. It's the Gilhooleys routine. I will soon know it by heart.

The band started playing, and they were obviously quite good. The bass player was amusing because he kicked his feet randomly. The lead singer and guitarist was a talented chap. And then they played a song that I know quite well.

It was Scar by Missy Higgins. Shut up. Not a favourite song, but I do happen to know all of the words. The lead singer launched into the tune with enthusiasm.

"He left a card, a bar of soap and a ha-ir brush..."

I'm sorry now? Surely you mean a 'scrubbing brush'?

"..next to a note that said 'use these, down to your homes'..."

HOMES? Surely you mean 'bones', my son. I shot him an evil glare to see if he was aware of what he was doing.

"And before I do I have shiny skin and it felt breezy being seen like him..."

Before you KNEW, singer. BREEZY? You mean EASY. And what is this 'seen' BULLSHIT, when you obviously mean clean?

I dug my nails into the table. Gritted my teeth. My eyes bulged out of their sockets.

"Finish. Your. Drink." I said to John, and he got a very distinct Do Not Mess With Me vibe.

"I. Hate. This. Band. We. Are. Leaving." I said, unable to speak without large, dramatic pauses between words.

And so we did. Sing the wrong words, will you? PUNKS. Assume that everyone is so drunk that they won't notice? GRR.

Instances like this make me realise that I am very odd indeed.

Infinity! And Spacewalker.

Two of the tourist traps in Surfers, I was inexplicably drawn to them with their flashy lights and techno blaring over the speakers.

Infinity is basically a large maze mainly composed of mirrors, with lighting effects and strobe lights and lasers designed to cause seizures in the young and heart attacks in the old. You put glow-in-the-dark gloves and shoe-covers on and off you go. I actually quite enjoyed it, to be honest.

We bought a tandem ticket with its buddy tourist trap, Spacewalker. This one wasn't so great as the bulk of it was made up of 'informative' videos in which teenagers say things like, 'woah, that's cosmic!' and 'that's mentally indelible!' The staff keep yelling 'HELLO EARTHLINGS' at you, too, and it was getting so annoying that I was about to kick some alien arse.

But hey now, you've got to trust the reputation of a company with a guestbook like this:



Click on it so you can get the detail, and please note that the four lines with red asterisks have obviously been written by the same person.

You've got to love it when the staff fill out the guestbook.