Chicken does a bear bar…

26/08/11

We were from snoo to go including packing in one hour today. Now this is pretty good going as James and I have managed to acquire some 4 bags. We started with two and now have a tent, sleeping bags and a whole work ware wardrobe. Quite how I am going to get this on a plane remains a mystery to me but hopefully my winning smile or a large wad of cash…

Anyway we jumped in the car and headed back to Sydney. On the way we called in at a race track. The racing was fun and very competitive and I even managed not to push James of the track… more due to the fact that he moved out of the way. We also learned that we may be getting a bit past all out racing as James cut his back, I bruised my bum and chicken hurt his write.

After a stunning drive back in glorious sunshine we arrived at Bondi beach. Well you can’t come to Sydney and not go there. AAs time was pressing due to the car needing to be retuned and us not knowing where the hostel was we were limited to a quick photo and an ogal of the hotties (both male and female) who frequented this rather fabulous beech.

Next up was the challenge of getting to the hostel. James did a gallant job directing me using a map that did not show road names. After an hour tour of the CBD of Sydney gearing for the safety of the car due to the incredibly small lanes we arrived at the hostel. Screeching to a stop outside the hostel I chuck James and Chicken out of the car and headed back to drop the car off. Now the plan had been to find a petrol station along the way but there were none. So upon arrival at the car hire place with 20miniutes to spare I was dispatched to the petrol station which was “just under the bridge.” Predictably the traffic was horrific but with some good old Manchester diving I was back in time to drop the car off.

Being our last night in Oz we headed out for a night out. We opted for kings cross as it was supposed to be filled with an international crowd and be cheap. Cheap it was and the beer dinner and the rugby on the TV was cracking. Post this however cheap could be better interpreted as titty bars and pubs with rope lines and an aversion to trainers. After a quick drink we decided to head on back to good old Oxford road or Gay Street.

Our first bar looked busy but only upon entering did we realise it was a bear bar. Now for the uninitiated this means big hairy gay men (bears) hairy skinnier men (Cubs) and admirers of the above (seals). It was packed and everyone hairy and we had to squeeze past this delectable crowd (some of whom where hot by the way) and get to the bar. Feeling mean I pinched chickens bum and he looked round trying to find the source of the attention with a look of abject fear on his face. Poor chicken.

Next up was Britney night at the local club. Drinks flowed and soon it was time for chicken to mount the podium and dance, do pull ups… Woof woof. Somehow we managed to drag ourselves out by 12.30, got the last train home and had a good night’s sleep before our onward journeys. Well I supposed statistically speaking our sensibleness should shine though occasionally!