Friday 16th November

G’day, ya flamin’ gallahs.

Now that I am a veteran backpacker of at least a few days, I feel fully qualified to pass my thoughts on to you about hostel life. For instance, I’ve learnt that staying in one doesn’t mean you have to scrimp on personal hygiene, although I’ve certainly met people here who use it as an excuse. A prime example being the man who took the bunk below me earlier today, more’s the pity. Washing machines, tumble driers and bathrooms are all on hand at The Friendly Backpacker, so you don’t have to transform into a bearded, grubby hobo unless you really want to. The toilets are clean, although the paper dispensers are set to provide one sheet at a time and, let’s face it, some bums need more. The showers aren’t communal, much to my relief, however the bathrooms are, and I must confess I’m still not comfortable sharing a mirror with a confused Alpha male who doesn’t speak my language. I can’t be the only man here who moisturises, surely? The look I got from one man-panzee, you’d think I’d pissed on his cornflakes. Which, I imagine, is something that could well happen in the kitchens here. With residents spread over three floors having to share a single oven and fridge, they can easily come to blows at peak times, so we tend to avoid the problem altogether and eat out. Or use one of the microwaves at a pinch. According to the last ping-dinner I had I am a family of four.

I’ve determined backpackers fall into two distinct categories: ‘Tramp’ (bearded and stinky) or ‘Champagne’ (glamorous and soap-loving). Each category then contains one of three different and distinct sub-categories, based on the individual concerned.

Brash-packers: Loud extroverts who barrage you with a host of questions before they’ve even introduced themselves. “Heytheredarlinwhatsyournameandwheredyacomefrom?” They rarely wait for an answer before moving breathlessly on to their next topic.

Blush-packers: Folks who smile timidly in a way they hope translates as, “I’m a nice person but I’m shy, so please talk to me first because I won’t start a conversation”.

Bitch-packers: Those rude bastards who ignore everyone. They can usually be found wearing headphones like their own personal ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign, with music playing just loud enough to be heard from across the room.

Due to the fact that I still bother to wash and find initiating a conversation a little tricky, I can proudly declare myself to be a Champagne Backpacker of the Blushing variety. The rosé champagne of the backpacking world, if you will. But all types, whatever their group or category, flock to the hostel’s communal area where they get to read, doze, chat, and generally exist with others around them. It seems that company is one luxury no one is prepared to give up on. Not even the bitch-packers.

I overheard one of my fellow hostel residents describe the United Kingdom as a dirty, crowded little island, which was difficult not to take it personally, and also eye-opening to learn how some countries view England specifically. Australians, however, all seem to love the UK and I’ve had a number of compliments on my accent. Obviously, I’ve now taken to speaking clearer and more eloquently than I ever did back home. It’s already earned me a complimentary pint – sorry, I mean schooner – at the Elephant & Wheelbarrow. Being a Brit is officially awesome when you’ve in Aus. Or, as I told the guy who served me at lunchtime, “Gosh, I am so very fortunate to be British. It seems to go down awfully well with you jolly nice Australian chaps.”

Love Kev xx

Individual Replies:

Dad – Just skip over any ‘references’ that makes you feel uncomfortable or delete me altogether. Your choice.

Michael – No, I haven’t needed the practise yet.

Corks Wine Bar – Aww, say hello to everyone back!

[SENT VIA THE FRIENDLY BACKPACKER PUBLIC COMPUTER]