The Goon Show

Goon is good. Goon is bad.

Goon giveth and goon taketh away.

Basically, because everything is so freaking expensive in Australia, the only option for povvy backpackers is so to drink boxed wine, a snip at 10 dollars for 4 litres of pungent Fruity Lexia.

The first few sips are like evil in liquid form. But after the first pint, it slips down with ease. Maybe even a cheeky dash of lemo to take the edge off and make a fancy goon spritzer.

All going well.

Except after the fourth or fifth pint, you enter a goon black hole. You remember nothing. You are guilty of nothing. You can end up on the steps of your hostel crying your eyes out about Pat Butcher's death.

I had nights which made me piss myself laughing, playing ring of fire and inevitably falling asleep on the beach. Other nights just pissing myself. My last stand with the goon was followed by my inevitable trip to the optician to have my glasses fixed.

Goon plays with your emotions. It makes you lose expensive hoodies, the comfiest flip flops you've ever owned, and your dignity. AND it has fish and dairy derivatives. There are no words.

Goon. Think a less classy version of George Best's colostomy bag.

Australia, oh Australia.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It's been a funny old month, and I'm not entirely sure where to start.

So I guess I'll start at the beginning.

Flying in on a sleepless Qantas flight (I had to watch Glee: The Movie Live to cancel out the delirious horror of Contagion.. note to germphobic self.. do not watch movies like this on planes), I landed in Brisbane, to be met by Moira, who actually had a sign for me! I've never had a sign at an airport before, and felt totes VIP. Big thanks to the Cunninghams who looked after me for the next few days and then dropped me off at my Christmas stop-off, Byron Bay.

I'd heard great things about Byron, and don't get me wrong, it's beautiful. Lovely sandy beach, crashing waves and Australia's most easterly point marked by a Round-the-Twist style lighthouse, it's the perfect destination for your Christmas jollies.

But something wasn't right. I just wasn't feeling it. I should always regret not following the advice of my boofty Ozzie travel gurus Ben and Jamie for missing out everything from Cairns downwards, but you live and learn and if I've learnt anything on this trip it's not to have regrets. So here I was, Byron Bay, all dolled up for Christmas with nowhere to go. After the spectacular few months in Asia, I was deflated.

I pretty much hated my hostels, but met some great people who pulled me into (and subsequently out of) my vicious trap of getting plastered on goon and eating only pies. Pie for breakfast, goon for dinner. Pie for breakfast, goon for dinner. I couldn't even be bothered to go to the beach. Too many hippies playing bongos and not enough Christmas. So after my friend offered to have me choppered out of Byron and down to Melbourne for the festivities, I pulled myself together and changed my coach to leave for Sydney. For those who don't know what goon is, I'll blog separately about that little treat.

Sydney suddenly made sense. It's like London-on-Sea, and I was beginning to feel more normal. As normal as having Doritos and salsa for Christmas dinner on the beach can be, I had fun.

The fireworks at New Years were spectacular, but in all honesty, I missed the British Christmas. I knew I would, but I underestimated how much I wanted to be drinking Baileys by the fire, eating turkey and then turning into the Grinch by Boxing Day as I usually would. I was kind of glad when it was all over. Special mention to Mother Hen Whittem for looking after me in Sydney, feeding me vodka and brunches and Prisoner Cell Block H repeats when I needed it most xoxo.

So onwards and upwards, and after a week down south in Melbourne I feel invigorated. Melbs was ace, and I loved visting the galleries, coffee shops and just hanging out in the city. We took in the zoo (with the hope of seeing a koala, but they were asleep so I just saw their butts), hung out in St Kilda and I spent a day in the Old Melbourne Gaol dressing up as Ned Kelly. Big love to Jodie and the crew for making me feel so welcome. We won't mention the degrading trip to the airport, but I'm quitting the red bull and dim sims for sure.

I can't even begin to describe the Neighbours tour, suffice to say the visit to Ramsay Street was the highlight of my life. No Harold, but I regressed at least 15 years and loved every second of it.

So back to Sydney, and back to work. I'm just temping, not exactly the most taxing job ever but I got to pay the travel bills somehow. I am literally a sixth form gap year student, it's ridiculous.

Sydney is starting to feel like home and I still get a little buzz whenever I see the Opera House and Harbour Bridge. Even if that is after too many sherries at the Opera Bar.

Next stop.. SOUTH AMERICA!

Wetherspoons does Singapore Slings.

I loved Singapore. I could totally live there, and even had a brief ridiculous half hour where I googled jobs here, but I soon realised that I still had 2 more continents to go and couldn't really stay in Asia, more's the pity.

Singapore is a very clean, ordered place, and a fantastic fusion of East meets West. It felt great to be discovering an unexpected highlight (the only reason I was here was because of my flight to Oz), but I really loved it. I stayed in a cute hostel called Beary Nice, right in the middle of Chinatown and spent my days exploring the city/country/nation (I'm still not sure how to describe it).

After a great guided tour of the marina (thanks Tom and Mak!) we headed out on a Christmas mission. I needed a Santa fix. I found Christmas trees and beautiful lights, but wondered why everyone on Singapore's version of Oxford Street was gazing up into the night sky. Turns out they weren't just bedazzled by the Christmas joy, but it was a total eclipse of the moon visible from the Southern hemisphere, something I'd never witnessed before. It was pretty awesome. Got a sore neck though.

After a visit to Sentosa Island in the pouring rain and an aborted trip to Universal Studios (I was dying for a photo with Shrek but couldn't justify the $70), we headed to the famous Raffles Hotel, home of the original Singapore Sling cocktail. $36 dollars later, we sat in the Long Bar, with pigeons swooping around the ceiling and nut shells all over the floor. I did slightly feel like I was in Wetherspoons on Holloway Road but later found out this is the only place left in Singapore where you won't get fined for littering. The Singaporeans love their fines - for littering, chewing gum, jaywalking and apparently singing or dancing in public. I felt only slightly unnerved when my Mariah rendition in the middle of the street could have landed me in prison. Louise and I shared the Sling (barely tasting the alcohol) and then took ridiculous photos around the hotel. I felt like Kevin in Home Alone 2 and totally out of place in my stinky traveller clothes but it was a lot of fun.

I also took in the National Museum of Singapore, where I saw "Dreams and Reality", an exhibition where they'd borrowed a load of masterpieces from the Musee d'Orsay, one of my favourite places in the world. I was beaming.

Obviously the highlight of my stay was the afternoon I spent in Changi Airport. I'll say no more so as not to out my inner-airport-geekness, but.... I die.