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Finally I've escaped Sydney, even though the city tried desperately to:
get me so drunk the previous night that i woke up late and packing took an exorbitant amount of time and hangover energy
delay me by supplying a twice-delayed Sunday train service
drive me mad when I found out that Central Station was closed with replacement bus services in operation!

Escape from Sydney

Ricklivesey
2006-08-31 12:39:08

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Finally I've escaped Sydney, even though the city tried desperately to:
get me so drunk the previous night that i woke up late and packing took an exorbitant amount of time and hangover energy
delay me by supplying a twice-delayed Sunday train service
drive me mad when I found out that Central Station was closed with replacement bus services in operation!

As I sat, dripping with sweat, anxious, shattered and shaking with the DTs on the rail-replacement bus idling outside Central Station waiting to start my 20 min journey to the airport in order to catch flight DJ862 that departed in 30mins, it dawned on me that all hope was lost; I wasn't going to make it.

Bugger

My mood was sinking fast, not least because the weight of my 28kg front and back packs made it a tad difficult to run across the miles of airport terminal. I finally reached check-in, amazingly with 10 mins to go but the smiley plastic woman with hideously long nails informed me that the gate was closed and I'd have to get on the next flight in half an hour at an extra cost of $50. Even my best puppy dog eyes didn't work on the shiney souless one, but it wasn't the end of the world, although not a good start. I rearranged pickup with Miranda, (my Melbourne contact and old London friend) and boarded the plane. My nervous system was in tatters, I didn't know whether to cry, scream or faint, but I'm no novice in these times, I know only too well when things go wrong, the only answer is to get drunk (*). I ordered a beer, G&T, Pringles and sat back; bar a hi-jacking or bad weather I would eventually arrive in Melbourne - hallelooya!

Within hours of landing and being picked up, I'd dumped my bags, showered, changed and was happily sat in 'Great Briton' (the pub), with a Schooner, or 'Pot' as they call them down here. Socialising after such a heavy night was always going to be a bit tricky, but I soldiered on through, chatting to Randy's Aussie mates, shaking my bootie at the infamous Espy in St Kilda before finally settling down on the sofa bed for the night with Sasha (the kat).

Mission Complete.

* (how to worry your parents so long as you can avoid eye contact with the ultra-tanned naked Germansin one easy sentence)