The Archive

The revolution will not be televised

Friday 20th January
Today we decided to go to the fish market in Sydney, so we went to the station in order to get a train to the harbour.

When it pulled in to the station, I was pleased to see it was a double decker trains! I’m a big fan of double decking (as anyone who has seen my plans for a the double decker sofa could tell you) so needless to say, I was impressed.

The train took us to central Sydney, where we experienced a short diversion through the market (Sera is, after all, a girl and there were handbags on display on one of the outer stands).

The market was, I have to say, basically the same as all markets the world over. That is to say there were five basic types of stall (leather goods, ‘fashion’ (stretching the term to its limits), souvenirs and novelties, tools and household items and ‘what the hell is this shit and how can they possibly sell enough of it to survive’).

These five stalls were basically repeated, with minor variations, across the hundred or so stands that make up the market.

It’s as if someone started designing a big market, then got bored and finished the job using copy and paste. Then stuck a burger van in at the end.

Needless to say, we didn’t buy anything and not just because I coulndn’t fit so much as an extra sheet of paper in my near-to-bursting luggage.

So, on to the fish market, which we could easily locate by simply following the overwhelming aroma of fish.

And when we got there, what did we find? Of course, a fish equivalent of the above – the same five stalls (maybe even fewer, after all, how many variations of fish on ice can there be) repeated.

Fortunately, being a fish market, there were plenty of fresh fish lunch options, so we grabbed a platter of fishes and octopoids and headed to the outside eating area.

Or should I call it the seagull gathering area. It was like a cross between The Birds and the seagull bits of Finding Nemo. They were everywhere, standing around alone and in groups, all of them staring at our seafood platter with their scary, beady little eyes.

Plus there was even a pelican in attendance. And you know what? He did kind of look like Geoffrey Rush.

But they didn’t get so much as a tentacle. Ha!

After lunch, we headed to the Sydney Tower, where we were promised not just the highest building in the city, but also a (drumroll) revolving restaurant.

Hurrah!

Then, when we got there, we were told we couldn’t go in to the restaurant without having a full meal. Being already full of fish, that wasn’t an option.

Boo!

But then they said we could get a ticket for the observation deck then walk down the stairs to the café and have a coffee and an ice cream.


Hurrah!

But when we got up there, it transpired that though there was indeed altitude and coffee, the café was a totally different thing to the restaurant and consequently did not rotate so much as a degree. Lying bastards.

And it didn’t have any ice cream.

It was, in this and a number of other ways (high speed lifts? I don’t think so.) The Tower of Lies.

Still, the view was quite nice and the ticket also entitled us to enjoy OzTrek, a tour of Australia through the medium of bizarre little model landscapes (in a cinema which did actually revolve, but it was pretty poor compensation I must tell you) with a free cinematic tour of the nation thrown in.

Actually, it wasn’t just a cinema tour. It had those seats which are attached to hydraulic lift things, so that as the movie did a swooping dive, your seat tilted so it felt like you were actually moving.

It was a work of genius, combining the slightly woozy, disorienting effects of movement of the big screen with the pukey, wobbly feeling of a roller coaster, giving you two types of nausea for the price of one.

Truly, we travelled around this great nation until we were just about to be sick. Then, mercifully, it stopped. But I swear it was a few hours before I felt normal again.

Next stop, Manly beach. Firstly, this was a good thing as it required a ferry ride, so you got a great view of Sydney as it disappeared behind you.

Secondly, this was a good thing because the name gives me loads of opportunities for cheap gags.

When I first saw it, I assumed Manly was named after a dude. You know the kind of thing…

This beach was named by Sir Prendegast Accrington-Manly, primarily famous for the invention of the first mass-production aboriginal exterminating machine who came upon the beach on one of his hunting expeditions.

But no. It turns out the area was named by Arthur Phillip, the first governor of the colony. He named it after the manly physique of the aborignals he saw there.

Bloody hell. That’s a bit gay isn’t it? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I didn’t think it was considered so back then.

Phillip: “Ah, what a fine area. And what handsome natives. I shall call this beach Manly, after the hard, muscular bodies of those beautiful young men.
Johnson: “Um. Ok I’ll note that down. But you’re sure that’s not a bit, you know, gay?”
Phillip: “Of course not. What could be more masculine than a bunch of chaps frolicking in the surf together? Manly it is.”
Johnson: “Right. Yes. Now what about this next beach sir?”
Phillip: “Hmm. This one, I shall call Bondage.”
Johnson: “What?!”
Phillip: “Bondi. I said Bondi. Where are you going Johnson? Come back.”

The beach was lovely and, in common with all Aussie beaches I’ve seen so far, not crowded at all. So we had a quick swim and a beer.

After this it was back to Sydney for dinner on George street in the area known as The Rocks (sounds nice eh?). Apparently this is Sydney’s oldest street but, to be honest, it didn’t look much older than George Street in Croydon to me.

So after dinner, it was home to bed. I know, Friday night and I’m having an early night. Well, I was tired. We’ll see if we can’t find a club or something for tonight then eh? After all, it’s my last night in Sydney.

posted by Peter The Great @ 8:54 PM