Show Us your Craic! -'Australia'! John and Deirdra

I awoke in the single bed we’d been sharing and within seconds Deirdra had disappeared. A few minutes later she returned with a bottle of bubbly and a small dark, coconut rolled, cream filled, sponge, ‘Lamington’ cake on a plate.
For all you that don’t know, Lamingtons are such a celebrated cake in Australia that, as I was watching the breakfast TV a while back, I discovered they’ve even dedicated a day to the bloody things; National Lamington Day. –And it seems no one knows who, or where these beauties came from!

I got a couple of presents too, wrapped in the coolest wrapping paper (all old school toys on it). The first was the ‘also ran’ present, the one you get to bulk it out a bit; I’ve certainly done it, and so had Deeds. This time it was a pair of boogy-board size flippers –wicked! However –she hadn’t figured on my enormous plates of meat that would have difficulty getting into the Albert Hall, never mind a pair of kiddies flippers. –So great thought –and now Deeds has her own Flippers; ho-ray!

The second –awesome present was a cool black and white Quicksilver hoody I’d been trying on the other day, in one of the numerous surf-brand apparel shops that dot the Manly area. This wasn’t heap for the old girl and I was really surprised and happy. –She got a big kiss.
Anyway …schmaltz over.

After another mammoth drive to get my bag of tech, moving to Bondi Backpackers, and a further excursion to drop off our van to the guys at Travellers Auto Barn (a fridge that freezes beers is good to no-one,) we were set for an evening in town.
A few glasses of Champagne in Hyde Park led to a walk around and a few more beers. After German themed pubs, $3 drinks in Kings Cross, we headed for a place noted in Lonely Planet; the Douro (playing the annoyingly captivating Charlie and the Chocolate factory.) After Charlie had his ticket, and was well in there, we crossed town again and landed at a small red door with a cue outside. It was a club with the smileiest bouncer I’d seen all holiday.
“Alright? Mate!” I said.
“Yeah” says he, pointing to the group of scantily clad ladies he’d just put the club’s secret VIP mark on. “That was Miss Australia!”

Good enough for me …we climbed the stairs.

The place was called The Lounge and $17 bought us two drinks. Inside it was like an edition of Vice magazine. A fashion victim DJ was doing his best to blow the speakers and intermittently fading up and down the music as a group of skinny boys prepared their guitars for an evening of winking at models.
By the time we’d sunk our Rum and Cokes teenage girls were doing their best to lose their bras while maintaining their personal space in a civilized version of a mosh-pit/shockwaves ad.

Reminding ourselves we weren’t at home (i.e. earning money,) and the drinks were so expensive, we made for the bus and headed back to Bondi.