Copenhagen (schlagen)
My husband and I...
Am in Copenhagen.
Weather (and men) are cold. Gluwein and women are hot. Poor stunning Danish women; no wonder they have to travel to find husbands. Where are all the Danish, viking type hunks I was dreaming of…
Anyway, yesterday on foot sightseeing (tick-box tourism, little mermaid, waterfront, museums, palaces etc), was most gratifying. Lovely, compact delicious little city. Bloody expensive (more so to eat / drink than Londinium), but a very friendly people…
Yesterday’s highlight? Seeing the Queen of Denmark leave the palace in her limo. Was only an Audi. Our Queen has MUCH better…
Iain is braving the cold for another day in the hagen…
behind…
Am somewhat behind in the old bloggage. Needless to say, the weather, food, drink, company, and men have all been significantly above average…
Should have some time soon to look back on the last few days with a smile, as the aussie leg of the tour comes to an end.
Iain is not ready to go home…
Here come the guns, here come the guns (baby, baby, baby)…
Sung to the theme of Voodoo child by one of Paul Robinson’s many ex lady biatches….
So, cup day. We train home. We coffee, we eat. The evening should be drawing to a sensible, natural close. It’s approaching 11pm. But Pinky, well, he had other ideas…
A quick induction to a slice of gay Melbourne, The Exchange. Whatever you’re thinking, you’re probably right. Wasn’t so busy, so we hot footed it (via a rambling taxi drive looking for somewhere open at 1am), to the Prince of Wales, a delicious old mans pub that’s had a trendy makeover, but feels authentic.
Two bars (like the Queen Vic when they pull the curtain), one for the Lords, and one for the hetros. Very nice indeed, quality punters, hot bar staff, and a lovely Melbournian vibe.
So, home next? No, it’s time for Cushion. A rather small club, that was full with a nice mix of backpackers, cup revellers, and a few homs thrown in for good measure.
We’d moved onto doubles several rounds ago, so given the copious amounts of champers consumed during the day, we were well oiled. So when I clocked the three strapping rugby hunks, all well over six foot, all with guns to die for larking about like lads do, my tongue was literally lolling on the sticky floor.
One inparticular, Aussie with roots somewhere in the pacific islands was just gorgeous God knows how he did it, but Pinky managed to engineer me next to him at the bar. The memory recalls feeling his guns, back, abs and arse. Not quite sure how I managed (he was definetly not on my team), but it was a rather delicious Melbourne highlight none the less…
Cheesy chips followd at Cone Head (the best I’ve had out of Scotland), and we crawled home circa 4am.
Lord only knows how I escaped a serious hangover, god knows I deserved some serious punishment after putting all that away…
Still, those guns. Enough to being a tear to your eye….
Iain is off on a wander down to the beach…
The Melbourne cup
So, the Melbourne cup…
Up at ten am, the Pinkster lands with take-out flat whites shortly after (heaven).
Train to Flinders, pick up the rest of the crew, then a train to the race-course. Champers in the members bar daaahling, followed by my first ever grown up bet on a horse.
So, I ask for five dollars each way on a horse. Give him ten bucks, and I’m waiting on my change. Soooooo didn’t get the rules, but that bad boy won me sixty bucks as he romped home second!
Felt good taking the money off the bookie. Sweet as. Next race, and I pick second again, only 7.50 on that one, but I ended the day about fifty up, so rather happy.
Supped pink champagne all day, popped my betting cherry, and enjoyed the melbourne cup with the 102,000 other punters…
Iain picks on horses names. Sod form…
The calm before the national shut down…
Today wasn’t a public holiday. But a lot of businesses were shut, a lot of people were on holiday.
Why?
The day of build-up before the Melbourne cup. Sort of like Blightys’ Royal Asco; except the whole nation stops for the Melbourne
cup.Whether at home, in the pub or at the race, everything literally stops for this one race.
Bit excited about going. Never been to the races, and the fact Pinky has managed to wangle me a members pass, is just icing on a very delicious cake…
So, Monday. Not usually my favourite day of the week. But this one, well, twas a rather productive Monday.
A lie in, closely followed by a coffee+spot of brunch on Chapel street, a hair chop, the purchasing of the most delightful leather man bag, a swim, sauna, dinner (ultra healthy heart foundation approved tasty takeaway pizza), The Aussie Apprentice (fire them all, including the Aussie SurAllan / Trump wannabe), and an early night in
anticipation of a glorious (and profitable), day at the races…
Chuck in a glorious spring day, hot men on every street corner, my fantastic hosts, and you’ll understand why I’m loving my week off here in Melbourne.
And I’ve not even been anywhere near Ramsey Street yet…
Iain loves Kath+Kim land…
Cheated…
I don’t mind a hangover if I’ve paid my dues and consumed vast quantities of shandybooze. But three pints making me feel shabby this morn?
That’s just not right…
Pinky painted last nights venue as a last chance saloon in terms of somewhere open that late on a Sunday where we’d get in. But boy, was it was a great place. A true Sunday institution…
I think it was a (jesus, mary+joseph – paddy whaurs me guinness), irish bar. But as to how authentic, well, who knows. Or cares…
I’m just glad I’m carrying off that little bite on my neck without anyone noticing…
Iain is off to brunch
Cheese with your cheese sir?
Nonononono. How YOU doin....?
Land. Drop bags off. 1230am. Bed?
Nah, pub!
Not just any pub (he says in a sultry m+s chocolate pudding touching myself kind of voiceover). It says ‘Melbourne Ritz’ on the windows. But twas anything but Ritzy on the inside…
Sticky floors. Cheap beer. Hot men, easy women (and easier men come to think of it). Cheesy DJ, and I mean proper fromage. Five, Ricky Martin, Xtina, and them video killed the radio star loons.
The crowd? 18-45, all with one thing in common. Attitude free piss up and party. Jeez, it’s just my sort of cheeseboard…
Iain is rather taken with drunken Melbourne Sundays…
American Beauty. Sydney style…
Stubble? Me?!
So, I’m at the domestic terminal waiting for my flight to Melbourne. There’s obviously been a big match or convention this weekend, as there’s shedloads of skinny girls, all wearing rather revealing cheerleader costumes.
As I’m sure you can imagine, they’re attracting a fair bit of attention.
Even the slightly tubby one, with just a hint of stubble growing through his very thick (and somewhat orange), make-up. Bless.
Here’s hoping they’re NOT on my flight ce soir…
Iain is looking forward to another week with Pinky and the brain in Melbourne…
By foot, by bike, by car, by train. By jove…
That harbour bridge. The water. The sun. The Opera House. The view, even right down to the little green ferries shipping people around the various spots of beauty.
I can’t ever imagine crossing that bridge by any means of transport, and not smiling. Not a wee one, I’m talking ear to ear. Just enjoying those few seconds of lifes troubles fading away, and focusing on nothing more than enjoying the wondrous beauty all around.
A truly spectacular view. Having had this apartment for three weeks, I can honestly say it’s a time I’ll cherish.
Thanks Sydney…
Iain wishes the rest of Sydney could live up to that Harbour dream…
Here’s another little book I’ve done…
Just a little horseradish would set these off...
Such harmless words. But oh so poignant.
Before I get to that, Thursdays dinner party. Justine (a dear colleague / friend from agency days of old), invites me over to her place.
In attendance; one of her colleagues, a journo who is bessy mates with the PR-PR guru in our Sydney office, and me. She lived with her cousin (who she mentioned was a photographer), in a stunning art-deco mansion block, overlooking Rushcutters Bay.
The view was stunning. The sort of second lounge area sits in huge windows, with big comfy lemsip sofas. My Sunday if I lived there? Coffee, oj, papers, croissant in that order!
After the youtube drama (some numpty released an ad pre-airing, unhappy client), we tuck in. Lovely food, stories, company. One of my best nights in Sydney.
Some story highlights:
- Justine came to stay with her cousin for a week. Still there 4 years on
- Her cousin owns several properties in Bali, and has furnished the apartment with nicks and nacks from his travel there. Totally eclectic, random, shouldn’t work, but does!
- He took her to a glam Sydney fashion show. After supping some champers, she offended an up+coming designer, when asking, ‘Sydneu’s lovely. But don’t you just think it’s no soul?’
- She gave cooking advice to a top Sydney Chef (Neil Perry), on how he could improve his Oysters. He took it more gracefully than the fashionista…
Needless to say, she’s beautiful, with a heart of gold. I kept spotting people I couldn’t quite place (Some Jaggers, a Beatle or two), but failed to make the connection. Anyway, she shows us one of his books, Siblings. All photographed together in their birthday suits. Big hoohaa at the time, a senior Aussie politician was involved, but had to pull out due to the ‘controversy’…
Anyway, cousin arrives back, lovely bloke. He asks if I’d like to see another of his books, so of course I say yes. He pops one in my lap, which has a very post-coital, slightly mashed looking Kylie grinning ear to ear, alongside the equally happy Mr. Michael Hutchence.
I flick through, and the whole thing is a celeb-spatter fest. Grace Jones, David Bowie, Nicole (pre and post tom (very hetro) cruise), you name em, he shot em.
He must have a real talent, they all look somewhat at ease. Something to do with the setting for the bulk of the shots no doubt; for a while, he was the club-appoonted photographer at the embassy club in London. He told a touching story about Paul and Linda, which I’ll share another day. Just makes you hate the evil one legged gold digger that bit more…
Book was stunning, his style effortless, his subjects totally at ease. A very interesting character, and as one of the snappers for Vogue Australia, I can see why Justine really did get some great opportunities to offend the ‘cream of Sydney’. Just as I did last time I was here.
But that’s a different story….
Iain is enjoying the Sydney Sun…
