Sven's life in Oz

On the whole, since moving to Australia, I’ve found it fairly easy to adapt to my new life. It’s really not that different to the northern hemisphere, except the water goes down the drain the wrong way and the closest pole is the South. But one thing I have found a real challenge is the upside-down seasonal backwardness that comes with living here. At present we are enduring a particularly biting Australian winter, with frost on the ground and a wind that makes even my European bones shiver. Despite all that, I am still the envy of my peers thanks to a fabulous tan, gained after ten days in the summery sunshine of the New York.

I’ve been to New York before and this time, since I was visiting a friend, it was nice not to have to rush around and do the touristy things again. Nick’s family live a little out of Manhattan in a beautiful country town where we could sit on the dock of the lake at night, drink wine, get bitten by mosquitoes and try to attract the resident bear with imitation mating calls. When we weren’t pestering the local wildlife, we got some target practice with the family guns, of which there were more than enough to fuck you up should you come looking for trouble. Turns out I’m a natural with a firearm; I’m considering jacking in the writing lark and becoming a marksman. I’m sure I could make a mint in downtown Sydney with my wicked skills.

Of course, I didn’t go all that way just to sit out in the countryside getting a tan and beating people at Scrabble and Rummikub; those were just additional benefits. I went to the Met to see a couple of exhibits (including one on Aboriginal art – how’s that for poetic?), caught a Broadway show (Phantom of the Opera – excellent), and spent a day at Six Flags. I also shopped my ass off. I left Australia with one suitcase and came back with two. That’s some serious retail. The total inventory looks something like this:

• 2 x sunglasses
• 2 x jumpers
• 6 x polo shirts
• 2 x formal shirts
• 3 x jeans
• 3 x shoes/trainers
• 2 x bedsheet sets
• 1 x writing set
• assorted gifts/cards etc

Considering I have done virtually no shopping in the past six months, I think I was actually very reserved. I didn’t spend all my holiday cash on clothes, however: I also ate like a king and drank like a fish. You haven’t lived till you’re drunk on champagne in Central Park at 4pm on a Saturday afternoon, thinking that margaritas and mexican food is a good idea. (It isn’t, as your colon will remind you the following morning.) So, while I didn’t see the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building this time, I did see the inside of Vlada and Therapy, which was probably more fun. After all, when was the last time you got home-distilled vodka on the Staten Island ferry?

Photos of my trip (including me looking fierce with firearms) are in the usual place.

I was sitting at home in my pyjamas the other night, minding my own business and planning an early night with a couple of episodes of Glee, when I got an international SOS from Clancy. A friend of his was in town and alone in a bar by the Opera House. Well, being the amiable, friendly chap that I jumped into action to assist. I changed out of my pyjamas as fast as I could manage and ran out to help her. Never miss an opportunity for schoolnight drinking Never leave a friend in need in a foreign city.

I have met Pond before, though on both occasions we were thoroughly drunk. What a delight to discover that we both got on like a house on fire sober! She told me all about her travels and how, since she had been in Sydney she hadn’t really seen much of the nightlife. I was horrified, not least because she was leaving in two days and I only had one night to correct the error.

“I’m not really sure what I can do, Pond. Tuesday nights are pretty quiet…”. She understood; it wasn’t the best timing. “Although, there is this drag queen competition tomorrow. It’s the final. My friend’s in it. I wasn’t going to go but it might be fun?”

She almost exploded. Turns out she’d never seen a drag show before, so that chance to see six of them duke it out for the title of ‘So You Think You Can Drag Champion 2010‘ was too good to be true. I wasn’t expecting the quality to be too high – it was an amateur competition, after all – but there was no managing her expectations. Turns out I needn’t have worried: it was totally amazing. I was blown away. Pond was transfixed.

The show opened with the mandatory group number, after which the queens performed their own skits, assisted by as many dancers as they could muster. They made their own costumes and those of their dancers; they chose their own music and mixed themselves; they created their own routines and they wrote their own gags. In short, if they couldn’t make it or find someone who could, they couldn’t have it. And yet the quality was astounding. Pond and I decided we are going to make our own costumes in future, even if the only place we wear them is the supermarket. If you see a couple strolling down the aisle in a giant pink shoulder-ruff and high-waisted sailor pants, say hello. We’re awfully nice.

The shows ran on and we judged them amongst ourselves after each performance. We’re harsh markers, but fair, and the judges seemed to agree with us. Naturally, the one we had come to see was up last, and it was plain to see why. Knowing Koko D’Vyne as plain old Ralph, I was more than a little intrigued to see what he would come up with. That said, he is a born showman. He and his six (SIX!) backing dancers – recruited largely from the rugby team – treated us to some Samoan tribal dancing, a comedy warning about the perils of living in Australia, a live performance of “Young Hearts Run Free” (no lip-syncing from my girl!) and more costume changes than you could shake a stick at. I kid you not, it brought the house down. The place erupted. Pond and I were speechless. It was IMMENSE. Naturally, any doubt about the winner was blown away and although they gave the paid gig to Conchita Grande (a fabulous performer and easily the most professional), Koko romped home with the title and $5,500-worth of prizes. And then she did her number again and we all went wild.

In the post-show euphoria, Pond and I raced around trying to get as many photos as we could for her to take home. This might be the only drag competition she ever attends – it was too good an opportunity to miss. As we rolled out of the bar at 1:30am, trading jokes with Tora Hymen, Pond vowed to return to Australia to live. Then she poured herself into a cab and raced back to the hostel to pack and head out for her 6am flight to Dubai. She didn’t even go to sleep.

Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is a good night out.

When I first came back to the UK I was remarkably blasé about living abroad.  It’s not that far away, it will be nice to see my friends, and I’ll be going back in a few weeks.  Now, with only a couple of days before I leave I’m finding it harder to go back than it was to quit the country in the first place.  The past ten days have been so full of laughter and love that I actually found myself crying on the train the other day when I thought about leaving it all behind again.  (In my defence, I was exhausted.  Normally I only cry when I’m so tired I can barely function; this was certainly one of those times.)

In just over a week I squeezed in more fun with friends than I thought possible: trips to Southampton and London, a night at the theatre that turned into a night at the bar, a dinner party, a wedding, two raucous nights out and an afternoon entertaining a two-year old and lounging about on the sofa.  I will go home with a mountain of photos from this period, and every second was a sheer delight, but the absolute highlight must of course be the wedding.  There’s something about a wedding that fills the heart with such glee that you could almost touch it.  They are magical, and this one was the perfect example.

I have known Mike for nearly 15 years.  He and Kerry are quite clearly made for each other and seeing them get married was an utter joy.  I was privileged to be a part of it and give the reading.  (I was doing fine till I looked at them both; as soon as I saw their faces my hands started shaking so hard I could barely read the poem.)  Watching them take their vows was humbling.  I’ve thought a lot about how I could describe what I saw.  All I can say is that I would not have been surprised to see their love literally balloon up like a beach ball and get thrown around the room.  They had such fun that it was practically tangible.  Theirs is a conspiracy against the world full of laughter – Maria, sitting next to me, was crying within seconds and I was not far behind.

After the ceremony we all had a chance to walk around and see the animals (their venue was Bristol Zoo), and catch up with friends I haven’t seen in almost a year.  It was as though I had never left.  We laughed so hard our sides hurt, took stupid photos and told each other our stories.  The wedding breakfast, the dancing, the drunken walk into town and the after-party party at a crazy club in Clifton; each was perfect and more than once I wondered how I could ever have left these people to live in Australia.

Of course, a wedding is not real life: if every day were like this it would become unbearable very quickly.  But a wedding does highlight the best parts of family and friendships.  For me, it was the perfect seal on a week of renewing those friendships and it made me remember how lucky I am to know these people, to listen in and share their lives, and go away knowing that next time I see them there will be new stories to tell and new experiences to share, but that nothing will have changed; it will all be as though we had never been apart.  These are my friends, and I am in love with them all.

The times, they are a-changing.  With twelve days left of my twenties I should be thinking about how it feels to be starting a new era, all the profound lessons I have learned over the past three decades and what I think the next ten years have in store.  All that’s far too serious though, so let’s have a party retrospective instead, shall we?  Grab a margarita and enjoy the highlight of everyone’s social calendar for the past ten years by proxy, as I run through a brief history of the birthday parties of my twenties.

My birthday party, for better or worse, has been an institution.  Back at the turn of the century I hadn’t quite worked out the format that would make it an annual extravaganza, but I did have the essential ingredients: a boat load of good friends who love to drink.  I spent my 21st in excellent company in some of the more questionable bars in Bath before heading to the worst club the city has to offer.  You know you’ve got good friends with you when they don’t object to a venue where your feet stick to the carpet and the DJ credits every tune he plays.  Oh, those were good times, but it wasn’t until 2002 that the now infamous fancy dress was introduced, and since then I have never looked back.

The format is simple: everyone gets dressed up according to my whimsical notion of a theme and comes over to my home for drinks and mutual costume appreciation.  After several drinks there is usually some dancing in the lounge room.  A critical point is reached when I announce “Let’s make cocktails!”, where ‘cocktails’ is an optimistic euphemism for whatever comes to hand being thrown into a jug and forced onto the guests; or, as Simon calls it, “slop”.  At this point, it’s time to go out.  Usually this means 25 well-oiled people in outrageous costumes hitting the gayest disco in town like rabid loons.  Obviously we take over the dance floor and after 15 glasses of miscellaneous booze, wild horses couldn’t keep me off the stripper pole.   This continues until the wee hours when we head home, I fall asleep and, in recent years, James entertains the hardened drinkers with sing-along Barbra Streisand classics and whatever is left of the liquor.

Sadly all good things must come to an end, and let’s be honest, you probably all deserve a break.  How much more can I ask of you when year on year you continue to amaze me, no matter what the theme.  Movie Killers (highlights were Poison Ivy, Bonnie & Clyde and Elle Driver), Mexicans (the planned bbq was rained off and we spent all day indoors bumping into one another’s sombreros) and Camptastic wonders (the boys all sucked it up and minced it out just for me), every year has been a delight and I have loved every minute.  That said, one night stands out above all the others.  One night where the costumes were mindblowing, where every guest was beside themselves with anticipation for the next arrival.  I speak, of course, of the fantastic ‘Create Your Own Superhero‘ night.  Not only did every single guest amaze with their costume, backstory, powers and nemesis (The Purple Pimp! The Gang Bang Squad! Party Man, Grammar Girl and The Amazingly Evil Dr Hypno!) but the ensuing party, drinking, dance floor takeover and disco throwdown made the whole night the best I have ever held.

This year I have a smaller circle of friends with whom to celebrate and though I’m sure I could rustle up a theme and an outfit, it wouldn’t be the same.  Hold your tears though, friends.  If there’s anything I love as much as a fancy dress party it’s a good pub quiz; this year I will be joining old friends and new at the Sydney Convicts Annual Quiz Night fundraiser.  Expect me to be smashed by Round 3, when I shall reach the peak of my persuasive powers about knowing the answer, though my capacity for rational thought will hardly be equal to the task.  I’m sure it will be an amazing night, and if the parties in my thirties are even half as good as the parties in my twenties were, I’m in for a good decade.  I hope you can all make it with me.

PS: I’m back in Britain at the end of August for three weeks till the middle of September.  You know there will be some belated brithday action going down.  You only turn 30 once, after all.

So there I was working like a trojan in the office pootling around on facebook with no plans but an evening working my way through the second season of ST:DS9, when my friend Matt rang me out of the blue and invited me to join him at the Sydney Entertainment Centre, where he had tickets for the Pink concert.  I was SO there.  Here’s the story of my night at the AWESOME show:

PS: I took my camera but naturally the battery died as soon as I got there. Fortunately, Matt sent me his photos, or I’d be screwed for this post.