Whingeing poms

There’s not a lot that I can think of right now that beats the feeling of waking up on the coast of Antigua, hearing the gentle lapping of waves about 15m from your door and knowing that not only am I unemployed, but I also have the long-anticipated clash between Australia and locals, West Indies to attend today. Sweet.

We’re staying in a villa/resort in Marina Bay on the north west coast of the island. It’s about 10 minutes from St Johns, the capital. One essential fact about Antigua: basically it’s about the size of two Sydneys put together and has 365 beaches. Yep, that’s a beach for each day of the year. For those on the dole, that’s a new challenge right there.



Most resorts on the island have their own private beach. Along our stretch of beach, there are around 7 other resorts, each with a bar right on the shore. The first thing I saw this morning when I looked out the window was a long-haired brunette girl riding a white horse along the sand towards the end of the beach and up onto the grassy headland. It was the most ridiculous sight; I had to smash myself over the head with a vase to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Well, after I smashed myself with the vase, I was left unconscious and consequently sent into a dream state, which was quite ironic considering the original purpose of smashing myself over the head with the vase. But nevertheless, I eventually established that the girl on the horse was real. I had a quiet chuckle to myself over the incident, then made myself a peanut butter milkshake.

Today it became quite apparent that the Caribbean hadn’t hosted too many international sporting events in its time. A brand new stadium, Sir Vivian Richards Stadium, had been built about 20 minutes from St Johns. It’s probably equivalent to Homebush in Sydney – formerly marshland and not much else in the area. Anyway, they had absolutely no idea what they were doing in relation to transporting people to and from the venue. It was an absolute mess. However, being in the Caribbean somehow makes you not give a shit whatsoever. There were thousands of people just wondering around the stadium completely aimlessly after the game not knowing how the hell they’re getting out of there. There were countless shuttle buses around but none of them seemed to be going where anyone needed to go. If this were Sydney, I’m sure a race riot would have broken out. In fact, the only people with anything negative to say were the poms. Fucking whingeing poms. I overhead this one guy abusing a poor security lady who was trying to usher people away from the players’ area, serving her a tirade of invectives for the lack of organisation across the tournament. What the fuck is she going to do about it? She’s just some lady doing her job and trying to earn a buck. A message to poms who come to the Caribbean: These are tiny islands with virtually insignificant economies. If you want a regimented event with your little queen’s head on the back of tickets, fuck off back to your own cold and miserable island in western Europe. You’re in the West Indies for Christ’s sake. Smile every now and then. Oh and for the record, if you have an issue with the organisation of the World Cup, speak to the English Cricket Board and the ICC, ‘cause guess what…they were the key players in helping put it together. So don’t….

Anyway, so as I was saying, despite the general lack of organisation, mainly through lack of experience in running an event of this magnitude, the laidback nature of the Caribbean islands meant that most people were in great spirits – possibly due to rum consumption for the previous 8 hours.

As you probably know, we defeated the Windies quite easily, in a match split over two days due to a rain delay. I might also add that the general organisation of the transport situation was 400% better the second day, so big-ups!

Now, does anyone share my confusion with the selection of Shane Watson? He’s useless. I don’t understand the selectors’ love affair with him. Perhaps they’re trying to keep a smile on Lee Furlong’s face. But really, what has he done on tour so far? He’s a mediocre opening batsmen, a useless no.7, and his bowling is more expensive than a St Ives bagel shop. Brad Hodge must be the unluckiest batsman in the world right now. 2 90s and a 100 recently, and still doesn’t make the cut. I also think they’ve rushed Roy back into the side. But if they insist on having Roy in there, get rid of Watto and replace him with Hodge. And Tait…that’s for another day.

The atmosphere at the cricket is certainly unique. I don’t recall the last time I attended a cricket ground that had an in-ground pool, spa and fountain built into the stands. Typically, they were filled with boozed-up Aussies, bringing shame to our nation. Despite the heat, I would probably be avoiding the pool after those imps had been drinking for around 3 hours. Either that or bring in the industrial strength chlorine.

On the topic of Aussies, we’re certainly outnumbering most other nations, in terms of supporters. However, as with most things, it’s quality, not quantity. I don’t know where in Australia some of these people come from, but if I saw them at home, I’d be busting that vase out quicker than Peter Debnam with his budgie smugglers. I did however bump into former CSU legends Dan Reid and Grant di Machi. They were sitting right next to us in fact.

That is all for now. I will report again in a coupla days. Be good.

F*ckin yanks.

This post was from the other day. I think due to the server overload of people trying to access my blog, it wasn't posted. I'm now in Antigua and will update you with more antics shortly. I'll also get some pics up here as soon as I find a half-reliable internet source.
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I’m only one flight into this adventure and already I’ve had more problems than Channel Nine’s programming department in 2006. Still the one though. My flight from Sydney departed an hour late due to some moron attempting to board with an invalid passport. That wasn’t the ideal start. However to make matters a little more interesting, we shared the plane with around 100 US cops who were returning from the World Police Games in Adelaide (who says Adelaide doesn’t get the prestigious events?!). True to the Hollywood stereotype, 95% of them were massive and black. So naturally, I fit right in. The main issue here was that every one of them thought they were either Chris Rock or Beyonce. And that’s just the males! (insert canned laughter) While it was mildly entertaining for around the first five hours, the remaining eight weren’t so pleasant.

As a result of the aforementioned passport moron, we arrived in LA an hour late, meaning it would be a tight stretch to make my connecting flight to Miami. Can I just add here that if anyone can explain the American arrogance that always seems to accompany them when things aren’t going to plan, please reply to this post. Some poor flight attendant copped a barrage of abuse from half a dozen white mid-western yanks for the delay in disembarking the plane. They were silenced once she informed them it was due to the American Airlines’ control tower’s general incompetence.

I also found myself in a bit of a tight spot with two of these white, mid-western yanks, one of which had a moustache, at the start of the flight. I was seated in the second last row and I didn’t have an overhead compartment, so I had to use whatever I could find. I opened one across the aisle, which ‘belonged’ to these two yanks, to which they responded, “that’s ours”. I kindly replied, “I don’t have an overhead compartment, so I was told to use any other one”. Their volume raised a notch in their brutally annoying American twang, “We have breakable stuff in there. You can’t use our compartment”. So, whatever. For the time being, and while I allowed my anger to subdue, I just slid my backpack under my seat and tried to think of witty comebacks that I should have used. Anyway, about 4 hours into the flight, I noticed the two yanks were asleep. Sweet, now is my time to pounce. So, I quickly grabbed my backpack, and as quietly and as slowly as I possibly could, pulled the overhead compartment door down. Just as I lifted my bag up, almost victoriously, one of the dangling straps flicked the moustached yank in the forehead, bringing him to consciousness and exposing me. “Hey! Waddya doing?!”. I had nothing other than “Oh just… the flight attendant… I thought…”. It was rather Ricky Gervais-esque. Nevertheless, I put my bag in there. His moustache twitched three times. I hear if a moustache twitches five times, Armageddon is upon us.

Ok, so that was rather longwinded. Sorry. But returning to LA where our flight was late, there was a delay in getting off the plane, and as a result it would be a stretch to make my connecting flight to Miami. I was halfway through the customs line when I realised I’d left my passport on the plane. Well, I was hoping it was on the plane anyway. Fuck. After 20 minutes of running and sweating profusely, it was eventually located. However, I was now definitely going to miss my flight to Miami. Consequently I was put on a flight to Puerto Rico, instead, at 11.55pm that night. It was currently 9am. LA airport isn’t the most interesting of airports. Not even a couch to sit on. Anywhere. I don’t understand this. Why wouldn’t they have even a handful of couches? Are they afraid terrorists might get too comfortable while waiting to plummet to their own deaths?


While waiting around I bumped into former school mate/band mate Liam Holmes and the ever trusty Adrian from Stagedoor, on their way back to Sydney from the SXSW Conference in Texas. Very random, but good to have people to share my bitter disdain for the place I was stuck in. Once this pair had left, and after a couple more hours of observation, I made an official statement in my head that a lot of yanks have moustaches. I had also concluded that the presence of a moustache represents the presence of arrogance. However, I needed to substantiate my claims. So firstly, I counted the first 100 males (who appeared to be over 40 years old) to walk past and kept a tally of those with and without moustaches. Of the 100, 41 of them had moustaches. A 2-5 ratio. In this day and age, this is exceptionally high, and simply won’t be tolerated. I was planning on testing the arrogance theory, but I was too tired and sick to bother. So, keep posted to this blog, for I while endeavour to prove the arrogance-moustache-yank theory when I return to the states in early May.

After a couple more flights and eventually meeting up with fellow tour party members Dunny and Andy, we finally arrived at our first destination – Antigua, West Indies. Walking aross the tarmac to the terminal, we were immediately greeted by the sweet sound of steel drums and even sweeter tasting fruit platters that were on offer. We hadn’t even gone through customs yet. It’s so obvious that cricket is everything here. It literally is religion for some. Even the lady at customs, in thick West Indian accent, said to me, “You come to get some licks boy?!” (translation: you’ve come to get hammered aye?), in reference to the following day’s clash between Australia and hosts, West Indies. Given I’m as black as the night itself, I have no idea how she picked me for an Aussie, but nevertheless, we had been warned.

And the quest begins

Yes, in just shy of 72 hours, I will be horizontally positioned on a sandy stretch of Antiguan coastline with pina colada in hand, black female slave fanning me and some local slipping his hand into my shoe to retrieve the contents of my wallet.

Now, given the first leg of my trip is the Caribbean, for the Cricket World Cup, there will undoubtedly be countless rank, moontanned English backpackers present. I have made it my quest to find the worst set of teeth on an English tourist. I will post my findings here. I haven't devised a plan for how I propose to actually capture these close-up photos of decrepit, English chompers, so I welcome any sleuth suggestions.

So far, the route I have planned is: Syd-LA-Miami-Caribbean (visiting around 7 islands)-New York-London-various European destinations-Thailand (or Japan)-home. Essentially, until my $$$ evaporates.

More to come...