Whilst I’m sure Matt would’ve been content with pasta meals and watching Rosey and myself inventing new types of Hi-5 (New 5!), we needed to up the game and actually partake in some activities. To this end we did the following.
We watched a spot of B-Ball; the Sydney Kings versus the Singapore Slingers. A classic game. That’s it lads, shoot those hoops.
Some nice dribbling there.
Oh, and some dudes turned up to play some kind of ball game.
Took a trip to the Blue Mountains. They were disappointingly rock coloured. These are the 3 Sisters, a rock formation rather than some kind of teenage fantasy.
Buildings! We saw buildings!
I love buildings.
Climbing. We climbed a bit!
For Matt’s final evening we went to a place called Ice Bar. The temperatures kept at minus 5 with everything, the chairs, bar and even the glasses from which you sip your cocktail, carved from ice. Genius. You’re only allowed in for a half hour or else you might get tempted to lick the wall and become stuck forever and ever.
I have found a great wife. I saved up the coupons, sent off the little form and a couple of weeks later she arrived. I ticked the ‘cake’ option, which is awesome. Cake is great.
Later the same evening we hit SideBar. Standard drink photos medley.
Beer beer beer, bed bed bed!!
And so we with some reluctance we had to say bye to the big man on campus…
Despite the prospect of throwing ourselves from a moving aircraft at 14,000 ft, Matt, Rosey and myself, were not so much scared as nervously excited. We got to the skydive place at crazy o’clock in the morning ready for the hour drive out of Sydney to the jump zone.
When we arrived it felt a bit ‘realer’, but still not so much to make you think “Woah, hold on! We’re doing what today?”
It was all a bit laid back – typically Australian. We got in our jumpsuits and had our ‘training’. Thirty-five seconds of training later, we were ready to jump. The nerves were building.
Walking over to the airstrip my parachute guy points out the plane. “Nice plane”, I said. I was lying. I expect it had seen action in both world wars. But I guess the safest place to be in a bone shaker like that is with a guy with a parachute strapped to your back. Nine people squeezed into the hold, about the size of the cupboard under your stairs.
We take off and the little plane claws its way into the sky.
We climb up higher and higher. ‘Oh crud’, I think watching the clouds floating below us. Rosey is on my right with the 4ft angry version of Macho Man Randy Savage strapped to his back. Matts in front – his guy had clearly missed his vocation as a film director and was busy taking clever shots of the harness with the little video camera.
The aeroplane levels out. Shit. This is it. I don the plastic goggles. The first guy out is doing a solo dive. He knuckle touches our parachute guys, slides up the perspex door, takes a look out and jumps, instantly disappearing out of view. Gulp. Next up: Rosey. He and his little wrestler slide over to the door, pause on the edge and plummet out into the sky. Well, that’s it, if Roseys doing it, then I’ve got to do it.
Another tandem guy goes, quickly followed by Matt, leaving just me and my dude in the empty fuselage. “Right, slide over to the door and put your feet on the step.” I duly oblige. For a moment we’re sat in the doorway looking down into the sky, the next…
This abbreviated video might give an impression of the jump.
And that was that. The whole thing was utterly surreal, you’re not quite able to comprehend what was happening. You don’t immediately recall the jump but spend the next couple of days remembering bits. It was awesome. As in utterly. Matt loved it so much he got the next plane up and did it again. Mentalist.
It’s been a jam packed couple of weeks as we’ve strived to squeeze every last drop out of Australia for Matt’s Antipodean Adventure. Ok, so we’ve not hugged a koala, visited Ayres rock, thrown a boomerang or met Rolf Harris but the things we’ve done… – oh the things we’ve done.
SuperBowl Eight Hundred – Indianapolis Colts versus the Chicago Bears. We found an Indianapolis T-shirt in our room so the allegiance was set. We went to Cheers bar in town (I think every American in Australia was in there), bought a round of Buds, I got a run down on the rules (it’s not like rugby) and we watched the game. The Yanks were going crazy punctuating every sentence with a Hi-5, then punctuating that Hi-5 with another.
It was a great morning. Rosey met some American girls who, as Bears fans, ribbed him no end about his Indianapolis T-shirt.
With the game finished (someone won) we hit town for some drunk shopping. The last time this happened I awoke with a fetching pair of womens sunglasses from H&M, this time I was lucky to escape with just a stuffed koala and kangeroo.
Eager not to let alcohol levels drop to dangerously sober levels we frequented Scubar that evening. Here we – HOLD THE PHONE! Tell your Dad…!
Us and some other people.
