My seat on the train is booked
My
seat on the train is booked
I arrived at Canberra train station ready for my train
back to Sydney. I checked my suitcase in, the guard congratulating me on having
the case exactly on the 20kg weight allowance. This was more by luck than
planning but it gave me a good guide as to how heavy the case was ahead of my
upcoming flights to Hong Kong and then back home to London. There wouldn’t be
that much room for presents unless I ditched some of my clothes. Having not
done any clothes shopping since Portland about four months previous I was
getting to the point of feeling like I needed another wardrobe change. I
decided Hong Kong might be the place for shopping. I made my way on to the train
and found my seat, ready to sit back and watch people get confused by the basic
seat numbering system. I had a bet (with myself) that at least two people in
the carriage would be in the wrong seats. They didn’t disappoint. One couple,
after a lengthy discussion with another couple claiming ownership of the seats they
were sat in, turned out to be in completely the wrong carriage. Another woman
who had made herself comfortable in the window seat in the row in front of me
seemed most perturbed when someone else turned up and pointed out that was his
seat. She was supposed to be on the aisle. He didn’t look the sort to give up
his window seat and he duly stood waiting for her to move.
Soon enough everyone seemed to be in the right seats,
or at least in the wrong seats but not disturbing anyone else and we set off
towards Sydney. Not long into the journey an announcement was made that the
buffet car was open. The girl in the seat next to me jumped up and headed off
in that direction. The speed she left her seat I figured she must have been
hungry. She returned minutes later with two lagers. Ok so she was thirsty. Very
thirsty it turned out as she got through them in a little over half an hour. It
was barely lunchtime. A few minutes after finishing her second lager she was up
again and headed back towards the buffet car. There was another announcement
over the train’s PA system reminding passengers that there was “a strict two
alcoholic drinks per passenger per hour policy on-board”. The girl next to me
returned to her seat empty-handed, swearing under her breath. This didn’t bode
well for a quiet journey back to Sydney. I put my earphones in and pretended to
be asleep before she asked me to go to the bar for her. I think I had met my
first proper bogan. I feigned sleep all the way to Sydney.
My last host in Australia was a guy called Matt who I
had been in contact with for a couple of months. He had interviewed me for an
article on SameSame after my friend Other Dale in Melbourne had emailed one of
his friends who worked there and told them about my travels. The initial email
from Matt had started “Dear Dean…” which had made me chuckle. Having pointed
out that Dean was a 2-inch tall plastic toy policeman I explained that it would
be me answering the questions for the article. Afterwards we had stayed in
touch and Matt had offered me a place to stay for my final pass through Sydney,
an offer I had accepted.
I made my way to his place and rang the doorbell. No
answer. I tried again, still no answer. I dug out the message he had sent to
double check I was in the right place. I had the right street and the right
house number but my third ring on the doorbell went unanswered. Just as I was
wondering what to do, a mild panic setting in, I got a message from Matt saying
he was delayed but on his way home. I stood outside his place, half perched on
my suitcase, trying not to look like a hooker or a homeless person. While I was
waiting Dave, one half of Brian and Dave my first Sydney hosts at Christmas,
walked by. It was great that even on the other side of the world from home in a
city where I knew only a handful of people I could manage to bump into someone
I knew. Dave’s opening line was “What are you doing loitering on the streets
like a cheap hooker?”
Dave and I chatted for a while, he left and then Matt
arrived home. He apologised profusely for being late. I told him that it was
fine and not to worry. He explained that he had meant to be home much earlier but
someone had driven into the side of his car on his way home. Matt was fine, his
car a little less so. It made my journey to Sydney sat next to the bogan seem much
less traumatic. We both agreed that we were in need of a drink so after
sticking my suitcase out of the way, having a quick shower and change we headed
out. There was a little party being thrown in my honour. It was being hosted by
another guy called Matt, the editor of SameSame, up on the roof terrace of his
building. An invitation had gone out a few weeks before on Facebook and I had
felt compelled to issue a clarification. The invitation had me down as “the
British guy doing 80 gays around the world in a year”. I pointed out that
“doing” actually meant “staying with”. There was a bit of banter from some of
the guys so I knew I was in for an entertaining evening. As we headed off I
told Matt I would need to stop at a bottle-o to pick up some tinnies on the way
over. He didn’t seem impressed that I was trying to speak the local language.
We arrived at Matt’s and made our way up to the roof
terrace. Within the space of a minute I had been introduced to about a dozen
people and had a large glass of wine in my hand. I apologised in advance for
forgetting names, as I knew I would never be able to remember them all. There
were the inevitable questions that I could now answer in my sleep – Where have
you been on your trip so far? What was your favourite place? Have you slept
with all of the people you have stayed with? How did you come up with the idea?
Once I had answered all the questions directed at me the conversation moved on
and I was able to ask a few questions of my own. It was nice to find out what
people did for a living, where they had come from and where they had travelled
recently. The Australians seemed impressed that I had made it to so much of
their country.
A few more glasses of wine later and I felt like a
part of the group rather than an outsider. The music was pumping and something
by Madonna came up on the playlist. There was much talk that Madge had just
announced that she would be coming to Australia in early 2013 at the end of her
latest world tour, her first visit in 20 years. The assembled Australians all
seemed very excited. Now, whilst I think she is an amazingly talented woman I was
struggling to get so excited about the prospect of seeing her live. In one of
those awkward moments where you say something quite loud just as it goes quiet
I announced “I don't understand the obsession with Madonna. If I wanted to see
a pensioner jumping around slightly out of time to the music and trying to
dance I would go home & watch Mother playing on the Wii”. From the looks I
got I was lucky not to have been thrown from the roof terrace for heresy. I
managed to get through the rest of the night without saying anything else to
upset my new friends, thanked them all for a fun night and headed back to Matt’s
via a great Thai place for take-out food.
“My seat on the train is booked”
Lyrics from Back to Limmeridge from the musical The Woman in White
