A gay day in Sydney
Day off in Sydney. Juice bars everywhere. They juice everything. And there are NO fat people. I get involved- apple, spinach, celery, spirulina and carrot. Yeah, pretty much like it sounds. And I hit the gym. Just me and a whole lot of bigger, fitter, balder gay men. I need to spend a lot more time pressing bench to fit in here. I look a lot better in Vauxhall.

It’s the evening again. Haven’t seen much daylight since the UK. Jetlag has turned us into vampiren. Works with the UK studio-tan nicely. Strong look. What is it with coloured shots here? Everyone keeps making us drink pink “wet pussies” and this horrible green Agua stuff. They all taste like sweet poison. I’m refusing any drinks that aren’t clear liquid till we get home.

Sydney set @Oxford Art Factory… DJ on after us was so wasted at one point he came on DURING our set and started looping the tune we were playing. Then he stopped it and put his cd in the deck! Sauce and I stood there, incredulous…looking at each other, mouths hanging open. We had to walk him off. 5 mins later he was back- said.. I really like this track- I said “thanks”. “Shall I put mine on?” he said, eyes rolling-round in his head. Er… no. Go away, please. Then as we come round the decks for the last tune, dj-spaceman manages to think we’ve left and stops the track dead- leaving us hanging out the front. Genius. Then he couldn’t get the other deck to work, because he “couldn’t see it”. I thought we got messy behind the decks. Humbling. Bumbling. Mumbling.

Plane to Perth
In-flight trailer for the musical “Wicked”. Such an inexcusable pile of turgid nonsense, I have not seen in a while. There are few things that make me more despairing of human-kind than the knowledge that enough people actually enjoy such rubbish enough for the whole genre to have not gone the way of cock-fighting. Banning is too weak a message to send to musicals. They need to be driven underground. “My character has such an interesting story, such depth and so many great songs to boot” said the wicked witch of the wherever. Oh please shoot me. And the in-flight feature film on the one big 80s-style screen at the front of the cabin is… Angels and Demons..
Christ.

Cairns
Fashion TV are looking for Australia’s next top model, or something, in the club we’re playing in. Six contenders left to go national. I was planning some R&R in hotel after the flight, but duty calls. Self-appointed guest judges… Sauce and I sit next to the actual judges and no-one really knows if we’re supposed to be there or not, so we get to look like we are. Which is pretty much how we run our whole lives.

The birds are really loud in Cairns. REALLY loud. Like being in the Hitchcock film. Quite unnerving as you walk near a tree that’s branches are screaming at you. That and rowdy Clapham-ites who’ve made it home insisting on high-fiving you in the street. Gotta be both hands apparently. I need more sleep for this.

Two double beds in each of our hotel rooms. So decadent when you’re not sharing with anyone else. Which bed do you go for? Only one night… bit of both? Seems such a waste to only sleep in one. Like the complimentary shower-cap. Has anyone actually used one of them in a shower, ever? I used to collect them. Just in case they came in handy. After 5years of touring and a lot of time to think, I concluded there really is no other use for shower-caps. And the sewing kit?? Darning on the spare bed. We’ve all dreamt of that. And the phone by the bed that has a high-low switch but no bloody off so they can always ring u in the morning stupor and “check” what time you are checking-out. I checked-in 9 hours ago. You really need my room before 12 o’clock so you can check I didn’t sleep in both beds? And breakfast. What is the point of breakfast that exists only in that worm-hole of time between 7am and 10am when no self-respecting hotel guest is of this planet?

Perth on a bank-holiday really is closed
And the Seasons hotel sub 56k dial-up internet has slowed my life down to GMT. I need the 7hrs ahead to get anything to happen before London goes to bed. Rubbish. To think this is how the internet used to be. My brain can’t go slowly enough to do all the things I need to do online at the pace they’re actually occurring.