Crikey! Another day in paradise dawns on the great Australian adventure. This time I’m off to Queensland, the former hunting ground of Aussie legend Steve Irwin. First stop Brisbane, or Brisvegas as it’s affectionately known. With over 2 million people, Brissy is the biggest city in Queensland and the third biggest in Australia. Initial impressions aren’t great and that’s probably because some plonker decided to whack all the hostels on the outskirts. Points of interest here include a pub and a Coles supermarket. Afraid to venture out,I spend much of my time inside basking in the air-con. Brisbane is so humid that you can basically chew the air. Any strenuous activity is out of the question. Even turning the page on your book will form a droplet of sweat.
A boring couple of days are put to an end by the arrival of Cockney Chris and his missus Ivy (League). Excellent, another chance to third wheel a couple. I think Chris welcomes it since he drives a Reliant Robin back in the UK. They’re both up for a spot of cricket and we head off to The Gabba to take in a Big Bash League game. This is Twenty20 format cricket, fast paced and no one cares enough about the result to hinder pint consumption.
We’re cheering on Brisbane Heat who are pretty much bottom of the league. After a few overs the game is, well pretty much over. It’s an interesting experience if not a tad Americanised and the half time show provides most of the entertainment. There’s the usual kiss cam which gives me, Chris and Ivy the chance for a bit of a neck on. Some couples are too eager and the commentator sneaks in quips such as “Careful mate she’s not a meat pie”, classic. Speaking of scran, the stadium catering leaves a lot to be desired with menu options including the Chiko Roll. Despite the name suggesting otherwise, this contains no chicken at all. It is actually a concoction of Beef, Cabbage and Rice in a deep fried doughy spring roll. Chris only eats half which says a lot as he eats chimney pigeons back in London.
Clutching our chests we return to the seats, only to find it’s raining the chicken that the Chiko roll was sorely lacking. Cheerleaders appear to be shooting KFC wraps out of some kind of chicken cannon. We’re desperate for one but appear to be out of range. It’s a pity as our NBA star Dirk NoChristzki could have used his long limbs to outleap the crowd, or at least to steal food from small children. If they’d been shooting KFC into the crowd in the Simpsons episode; the one where Maude Flanders suffered death by t-shirt cannon, Homer would have intercepted, and she’d still be with us.
Midway through the second half the crowd are put out of their misery courtesy of a suburb-wide power cut. We hang around for about half an hour to see if play resumes but eventually concede defeat to get a KFC. Now that’s effective sponsorship. The streets are chaos as we head towards the Colonels den. No traffic lights are working and law and order has ceased to exist. After navigating the perilous streets and dodging the looters, we reach the promised land which still has power. Result. As we tuck in we learn that Brisbane Heat managed to salvage a draw. I did wonder why that caretaker was sawing through those cables when I went for a piss.
After that power cut we could use a good Sparky and one arrives in the form of Marc “Sparky” Kneeshaw. I first became aware of his existence around the year 2005, as a naive youth attempting to make my way on the mean playgrounds of Farringdon. Marc showed me the way and I embarked on the path to becoming an indie kid, boat shoes were swapped for plimsolls and Linkin Park were replaced by Tokyo Police Club. It’s weird calling him Marc instead of Sparky. In Trainspotting when Sickboy calls Renton, “Mark”, it never sounds right. Sparky never ripped off his mates Renton style before emigrating, but he did once underpay me by 5 pounds for an Arctic Monkeys ticket. So for the purpose of this blog and all future entries, he will assume the moniker of Sparky.
Sparky whisks me away from the hostel and I feel like a Disney Princess. You will go to the ball Cinderella. He shows me his plush Southbank apartment and I meet his missus Gabby, a rural Aussie Chicka who’s loving big city life. We adjourn to his rooftop to take in the views and reflect on how our life choices have led to this beautiful moment. With this rooftop view, Sparky is surely Farringdon Community Sports College’s most successful pupil after Liverpool Captain Jordan Henderson.
Over the years I assumed that Sparky was probably dead so it’s good to see him doing well. Many people likely assumed the same fate for Phil Collins, so imagine everyone’s surprise when he turned up in Brisbane very much alive. Well he did have to thaw out in the Brisbane heat after being cryogenically frozen for a while but the point remains. Phil is a big deal here in Aus, an inspiration to people from all walks of life. I speak to a young farmer called Angus who tells me that one day he was out milking the cows when it came to him. He would start a tribute act under the alias of Phil Cowlins. I didn’t believe it but he’s since released his debut album, “an Udder Day in Paradise”.
It’s the night of the gig and there’s definitely something in the air. Oh wait, that’s just the 80% humidity. As I face down another night of crippling hostel loneliness I get the call from Sparky. Gabby’s got the golden tickets! For the bargain price of 80 dollars we’re off to see Philly Wonka. After multiple Bintangs at Sparky’s the 3 of us are bang up for it and we’re off to the Suncorp Stadium. The gig’s a good chance to bond with Gabby, Sparky doesn’t get jealous though, he’s an easy lover. After much anticipation (including 5 bar runs and 10 piss breaks), the great man takes the stage. Against all the odds and with the help of a walking stick, Phil takes to his throne. We avoid the Philler tracks but he’s still got it for the hits, and on his aptly named “Not Dead Yet” tour, Phil well and truly proves it.
The post-gig streets are lively and Sparky is being his typically mischievous self. Somehow he acquires a security badge and swiftly takes to spot checking the revellers. A few even fall for it which is obviously down to his tight shirt and bouncer-esque torso. He even catches me out with a quick frisk. I remain unconvinced the cavity search was necessary but who am I to deny such an authority figure. We meet up with Gabby’s mam Jenny and her crazy mate Julieanne, before checking out a Saloon-style Cowboy bar. Jenny is a total babe and it’s clear to see where Gabby gets her looks and charm from! I sent my Dad a picture of me and the gals sporting our Phil merch but I guess he was disappointed, replying with “you’re no son of mine”.
On the way out of Brisbane there’s time for a quick detour to the Australia Zoo, the park that’s inhabited by a smorgasbord of wildlife, and of course Steve Irwin himself. Unfortunately Steve is no longer with us but most people can agree that he was a bonafide legend. Unbelievably it’s been 14 years since his death while diving at the Great Barrier reef but his legacy lives on. Both his wife and children are still heavily involved with the Zoo and even put on shows for the vast visiting crowds. They’re exactly as you’d expect and it’s quite amusing watching people jump over Crocs while “Highway to the danger zone” plays in the background. In the almighty words of Phil Collins, you’ll be in my heart Steve. And so will you Sparky, hopefully we’ll be together again, for one more night.
