Muchus Terrifyingus!

I was just reading the Guardian (as part of my fun morning routine at work) and discovered this as I was guzzling my morning caffeine dose. Alarming - yes. I only hope that Aoife and Mike have discovered their inner ninja and can slay any offenders that come near.

Cara and I went camping again this weekend to Byron Bay with two of my crazy co-workers, Guy and Mark. It was a surreal weekend, which started in a bar with a boat right in the middle of it (if said boat had actually been afloat, it probably would have sank from the weight of all the alcohol it contained) and ended in a road trip on the way home which involved one of my co-workers nearly getting swept out to sea in an unexpected tidal surge, a visit to Nimbin, drug capital of Australia, hippy Nirvana and the proud birthplace of Mardi Grass - a festival celebrating all things trippy and rollable - "Ever since the '73 Aquarius Festival, Nimbin has had a strong tradition of civil disobedience of the drug laws." It was hilarious - even the dogs wandering the streets looked a little dazed.

Saturday night was spent partying in a giant shed with surf people and Cara and I camped out in the World's Worst Tent, which had no zipper to close the front of it and actually collapsed on us in the middle of the night. Then the following morning we all took a refreshing dip in the ocean as the ultimate hangover cure. A thoroughly random way to spend my last weekend in Oz.

I don't know if this has received any coverage at all in Ireland, but this year's Australian Idol had an Irish entrant - Damien Leith from Co. Kildare and consarn it all, he actually went on and won the whole thing! The most cringe worthy part, however, was all the footage of his home town which showed lots of be-capped old men with awful teeth and half empty pints of Guinness sitting in the pub congratulate him in language which would be incomprehensible to all but the initiated (i.e Irish people). Cara and I were so embarrassed that we actually hid behind our hands. No wonder people think that Ireland is all phone-boxes in the middle of empty fields with 17 sheep to every farmer and a dearth of dentists.

Is It Because I Is Kazakhstani?

In a supreme moment of insanity, I just caught myself laughing out loud for no reason - and I know precisely what - or who - to blame for this. Sasha Baron Cohen, stand on up! The man is clearly a comic genius of epic proportions who is able to fully immerse himself in character. It must actually be quite difficult to have a comedic response ready for each new and more horrific homophobic, or unknowingly racist statement made by seemingly 'normal', wholesome looking American citizens, but in Borat, he always has one right there, ready for the picking.

Ah Borat. Cara and I queued along with a man who had the most ridiculously coiffed hair and tightest t-shirt I have ever seen and who had the nerve to actually push in front on me (and nearly make me lose my grip on my Maltesers). I shook my fist at him and glowered for a good ten minutes. The queuing was worth it, though - for every moment of pure, unadulterated cringing I did, I also laughed my guts out, particularly at 'The Running Of The Jew' - "She's laid an egg! Quick, kick it, don't let it hatch!"

Camping calls this weekend and I want you all to have sympathy for Munro - apparently, in my sleep, I am prone to kicking her or rolling over and attempting to lie on top of her (in my sleep, you terrible people!). We have been sharing a bed now for over a month and it would probably be immeasurably more awful in the confines of some weather-proof canvas and zippers.

The Best View Is Always From The Toilet

Hello all!

I am back reluctantly in Brisbane after an fantastic weekend's camping at Lamington National Park and Springbrook National Park (approximately on the border of Queensland and New South Wales) with the Munro Monster, four Swiss-ettes and two Americans. It was an amazing trip. I went on a flying fox, which basically means that you get strapped into a harness and go flying down a hill through the rainforest on a wire suspended about 10 metres into the air. Fantastic fun apart from the rope burn. We camped under the stars and watched bats fly erratically overhead. We swam in baltic-temperatured water holes. We saw the artistic efforts of a bower bird and heard the terrifying squawk of a cat bird. We also saw copious amounts of pademelons (miniature rainforest kangaroos that are stupendously cute).

Best of all was our campsite. It's difficult to beat marshmallow toasting over a campfire. The view from our three sided, spider infested toilet was simply incredible - you could look out over Lamington National Park and try not to think about what could be considering biting you on the butt (hint - it would probably be poisonous). Fortunately, on our tour, three people were trainee doctors although two of them were petrified of spiders.

It was the perfect way to spend my final weekend in Queensland. I now work pretty much until I fly to Sydney on the 28th November then onto Christchurch on the 1st December. Needless to say, getting everything ready has been nothing short of nightmarish, particularly considering that I am also scrambling to apply for university next year. I have narrowed the list of countries that I want to study in down to four - now all I have to do is narrow down the courses which is considerably more difficult. Maybe I should return to my original calling as a mushroom picker.

Hilarious Mike update - we were walking down the main shopping street of Brisbane when he said excitedly 'There's a reindeer walking up the street!'

I said, puzzled, 'There's just a random reindeer, walking up the street?'

'Yes!'

Of course, he failed to mention that said reindeer was attached to a sleigh which had Santa Claus in it and a pair of identical twin children, not to mention Mrs Claus walking stoically beside him.

Thunderstorm....

Hello! I just witnessed an awesome thunderstorm (there's something fascinating about seeing something so crazy and primitive in a city setting) which lit up the skies with lightning, pelted cars with hailstones and made lots of women's floaty summer blouses completely see through.

I have handed in my notice and am ready to fly to Sy-der-ney on November 28th then on to Christchurch December 1st. As sad as it shall be to leave Brisbane, I am more than ready to adventure onwards and see the land of sheep. Apparently, there are even more sheep in New Zealand than there are in Wales, or even in County Kerry. I look forward to endless baa-ing and flocking.

Munro and I visited a war museum at our local (active) army barracks at the weekend for Remembrance Sunday. We had to sign into the base and wear V for Visitor! badges clipped precariously onto our flimsy summer shirts (no rain that day!). A friendly little Scotsman, who mistakenly assumed that I could read Japanese script, showed us lots of guns and telegrams and uniforms.

Who knew that the highest possible snooker break was 155? Pah!

And double pah - I got bitten on the lip - the lip! - by a mosquito last night. It brought a whole new meaning to beestung lips, only mine was horrendously wonky and it looked like I was trying to smile with a pebble trapped between my gums.

I have a freakishly long list of things to do before I leave Bris-vegas, and it continually grows longer. I will probably arrive in New Zealand in piecemeal.

Kevin Federline - Single!

I admit to loving my dodgy celebrity gossip so I had a good chuckle when I heard that Britney Spears had decided to ditch her corn-rowed 'rapper' husband, Kevin Federline. More importantly, though, it means that he's single - girls, restrain yourselves!

Incidentally, his rapping is possibly one of the funniest things I have ever heard. And you have to respect a guy who called his song Popozao. The man is clearly an urecognised, unheralded genius. I bow to his canny, almost Joyce-esque wordplay.

[random streaming, laughing and grunting]
[Bridge:]
Toy all your thing on me, baby.
Toy all your thing on me.
Toy all your thing on me, baby.
Toy all your thing on me.

Gatinha sai do chão, vai descendo o popozão,
Gatinha sai do chão, vai descendo o popozão.

In Portugese it means “bring your ass”,
On the floor, and move it real fast.
I want to see your kitty and a little bit of titty–
Want to know where I go when I’m your city?

Girl, don’t you worry about all the dough,
Because a cat is coming straight out of the "NO",
Ready to rock those shows all the way to Rio.
Bring that Brazil booty on the floor.

Up, down, all around:
Work that shit to the funky sound.
Going to see where I’m going, oh?

Po, Po, Po, Po, Popozão, Popozão
Po, Po, Po, Po, Popozão, Popozão
Po, Po, Po, Po, Popozão, Popozão

Gatinha sai do chão, vai descendo o popozão,
Gatinha sai do chão, vai descendo o popozão.

Po, Po, Po, Po, Popozão, Popozão
Po, Po, Po, Po, Popozão, Popozão
Po, Po, Po, Po, Popozão, Popozão

[Bridge]
Toy all your thing on me, baby.
Toy all your thing on me.
Toy all your thing on me, baby.
Toy all your thing on me.

[Chorus:]
Po, Po, Po, Po, Popozão, Popozão
Po, Po, Po, Po, Popozão, Popozão
Po, Po, Po, Po, Popozão, Popozão
Po, Po, Po, Po, Popozão, Popozão

And so on....

Dear Australia...

Dear Australia,

This is your friend and once/still citizen of you, Korrena. Certain events recently have driven me to this point of writing a friendly letter of advice so that you, Australia, can reflect on all that you have done and act accordingly.

Firstly, I don't know if you have noticed, but your country people like to shorten words to the point of ridiculousness. Words such as 'arvo' in place of the perfectly good 'afternoon', 'rego' as opposed to that nigh-on-impossible word 'registration'. But I just wanted to let you know that you went too far when a woman, speaking of her relief at the speedy response of the emergency services, declared that her rescuers arrived in an 'ambo'. An ambo! Surely, these people who dedicate themselves to a life of prank calls and people declaring emergencies when they've eaten too many pie-o's should be allowed an extra syllable.

Please explain the prevalence of the mullet. Mullet count for today (and it's only just midday) - 3.

I also hold you personally responsible for the young lady who obviously cut out 'pay-for-one-driving-lesson-and-get-your-licence!' coupons in order to pass her driving test. She attempted to roll on through a red light as Munro and I were crossing the road and when we looked at each other in bewilderment whilst trying to protect our suddenly vulnerable legs, she bellowed "(incomprehensible mumbling something something something) TRAFFIC WARDENS!". Clearly, it was a smart ass comment but it got lost in the tangle of missing IQ.

Ah, Australia. There is so much to love about you, from your perfect, squeaky sanded beaches to your sixteen kebab shops per square kilometre and most of all, your wild and varied wildlife (I adore the bats that swoop threateningly overhead, particularly as they are carriers of a virus closely related to Ebola).

I have now adopted Jake The Peg as my own personal anthem.

Love Korrena xxx