Section 6: My Sweet Dog

The old saying goes that dog's are a man's best friend. After a few weeks of being on my own, nearly 4000 kms away from my family and friends, with little to no furniture, I was definitely in need of a friend. So to say that I was excited that Mikey, our big playful golden Labrador was on his way up, was a massive understatement. Mikey had a fairly gruelling flight up from Melbourne airport, instead of the usual 4 hour flight Mikey had an 8 hour trip with a stop over in Alice Springs. Already our almost one and a half year old lab had more done more travelling than some of my human friends.
Poor Mikey had had some difficulties with his first travelling experience, heading down to Melbourne he was blissfully unaware of what was ahead of him, all he cared about was that he was going for a big drive in the car. For a puppy born in the wheat belt area of Longrenong and raised in Ararat, Melbourne airport must have been something else. A veritable sensory overload, so many new people to meet and smell! For a social creature like Mikey that would have been nirvana. Unfortunately for Mikey, the person working for Australian Express that day wasn't in such a sociable mood.
As anyone who owns/has owned a Labrador knows, they are a breed of dog that despite being full grown display their puppish behaviours for the first few years of their lives, Mikey was (and still is) no different, his friendliness sometimes spilling over into unbridled puppy excitement. The Australian Express employee was either having a bad day/not a dog person/a complete douche (I personally think it was the last one) and didn't appear to appreciate Mikey's friendliness and unwillingness to get cramped into a travelling cage that was too small for him. Captain Australian Express decided that the best way to get Mikey into the travelling box was to yell at not just our poor confused dog, but also at Bec and her friend Alyce, who had gone for some moral support. Thankfully a more level headed person from a pet minding service was there to help. It was an emotional day for Bec as she watched Mikey board the plane, looking at her with the 'why are you doing this to me?' expression on his face normally reserved for when we go inside after playing tug of war with him, and tears were shed. Bec would not be that emotional again until a few weeks later when Mikey skyped her.
Up in the top end, my emotions were the opposite of Bec's. I was at the airport 45 minutes early, I was so excited to see my mate and take him for a stroll along the foreshore. When he got off the plane into Darwin, he seemed both relieved and a bit overwhelmed by the combination of the flight and the heat. But he had a wading pool of water, some new toys and a bed waiting for him at the crap shack. Hell, at that stage he had more possessions in Darwin than I did!
Darwin is, despite the mammalian unfriendly climate, very much a dog friendly place. It seems everyone has a dog, the most common being what we came to call simply 'Darwin Dogs' usually staffy crossed with god knows how many other breeds, usually behind 6-8 foot high fences that would come tearing down towards the footpath with a look of malice and intent in their eyes if you dared walk past with your dog. The beaches around Darwin are also leash free beaches, which we thought was a wonderful thing until we learned that the reason for leashes being optional is that if there happens to be a saltwater crocodile lurking in the water (and yes, there are crocodiles in the coastal waters of Darwin, last year over 300 were pulled out of Darwin harbour and a 2.5 metre croc had also been spotted lurking near the popular tourist spot Mindil Beach mere metres from a swimmer) then the crocs would be more likely to attack the dogs first, given the humans time to beat a hasty retreat. Suffice to say, we kept Mikey on a VERY close lead while down at the beach.
Crocodile worries aside, the beach was one of Mikey's favorite places. he had never been in the ocean before, so when the first small waves lapped at his legs he didn't know what was happening, there certainly weren't any waves in the dams he had been swimming in out on the farm, but he soon got used to that. he loved splashing in the shallows, misjudging the depth of rock pools and falling head first into them and chasing birds up the beach. He also loved the mangrove mud from the beaches near Cullen Bay and came back half golden, half dirty black mud colour. Fair to say that as much as he loved the mud, it did little to improve his personal odour. Mikey also loved going to the Jingli water Gardens and splashing around in the fountains there with the other dogs.
As was the case with Bec and I, the climate gave Mikey some issues. In his second week in the NT he was off to the vet after I had noticed blood behind his big floppy ears. the humidity had made the skin around his ears so soft that when he scratched his ears it broke the skin. And then there were the scourge of canines in the top end, the ticks. One of the worst things we had to do was pull ticks off Mikey, literally dozens at a time. This also meant monthly trips to the vet for tick prevention injections.
Mikey was an occasional visitor to my work place, where the household residents seemed to get a kick out of him being there, however that was infrequent due to a staff members phobia of dogs. Mikey also gave obedience training a second crack, a little more successfully than his previous attempt when he was a drop out. And if it wasn't for Mikey, i would have spent Christmas Day and New Years Eve alone. I appreciated having my big pup there with me on those days especially.
So many of our experiences involved Mikey, whether it was cleaning up after him after he had left a 'present' on his Auntie Madie's bed while she was out, watching movies in the air conditioning with Mikey asleep at our feet or Mikey freaking out the staff in the McDonald's drive through by sticking his big gold head out the window as soon as he saw his beloved soft serve ice cream being handed to us (he LOVES McDonald's soft serves and still gets excited when he goes anywhere near a McDonald's). Having Mikey with us made the whole Darwin experience that bit more tolerable and I sometimes wonder if he misses the place at all. Except for the ticks of course.



TITLE SONG: My Sweet Dog by Hi-Standard, from the album Angry Fist.

Section 5: The Artist In The Ambulance

I met a number of different people from different backgrounds during the year that I spent in the Northern Territory, some good, some not so good. Some immanently forgettable but some that I shall remember for the rest of my life. The person I am going to write about here is one of those people who I shall never forget. He gave me a different perspective on life and opened my eyes to a number of things I would never have seen. For confidentiality reasons, I won't be using this mans real name or even his skin name* I shall refer to this person as 'The Artist'.
I first came upon some of the artists legacy quite unknowingly. I was sitting in the foyer area of the Somerville Community Services administration building when I spotted a painting by an Aboriginal artist on the wall. This didn't surprise me much, after all, the NT is well known for the Indigenous art that is produced there, so I didn't pay it much heed at the time. That would change over the next twelve months.
It was on my tour of the facilities that I would be working in that I first met The Artist. Of course at the time I didn't know that the skinny man with the grey hair sitting in his wheelchair watching TV was an artist. At that stage he was one of the new residents of the house I would have to get to know, just like the other five people living there at the time. It wasn't until my third day on the job that I found out who he was prior to coming to Somerville.
It was the official opening day of the sparkling new facilities that the Somerville admin staff were enjoying and I was told that The Artist was to attend. I was happy with this, after all we were a disability service, why shouldn't he attend? It was on the way there that I was told the reason he was to go. The painting I had been admiring was actually one of his paintings. Someone from Somerville had found it in one of the local indigenous art galleries and decided to buy it upon hearing who the artist was. The painting would have been a metre high, on bark, and depicted Ngalyod the rainbow serpent and some Mimi Spirits, which are mentioned often in the Dreamtime stories of Arnhem Land. The detail was painstakingly intricate, done in the traditional line style of Western Arnhem Land that must have taken months to produce. Each individual line seemed to tell it's own story, about the subject, about the artist, about his and his people's history and culture. After the formalities (including a meet and greet and photo with NT chief minister Paul Henderson) were done, I decided that I had to learn more about this man, his art and his culture.
The Artist, unlike the majority of residents in Somerville's houses, wasn't born with a disability. Once upon a time he had been a respected member of the community of Oenpelli (also known as Gunbalanya). Oenpelli is a permit only  community, about 300 kms east of Darwin in Western Arnhem Land. Oenpelli is known for it's spectacular scenery (being just outside Kakadu National Park) and it's artwork and artists. It holds the largest single collection of rock art in the world in the region surrounding it. It is also home to the Injalak art's centre. The main population of Oenpelli are the Kunwinjku people (pronounced Gun-win-gu for more). Kunwinjku is also the main language spoken in this area (click here for more info). The artist was prominent in his community, learning his trade at the feet of his uncle, also a renown artist. In addition to his art, The Artist was apparently a pretty good footballer back in his day and also used to coach the local kids in the finer points of Australian Football. Due to his people's custom, he never married as he had never been promised a wife and as such had no children. All this got me to thinking about how such a talented, respected, intelligent man end up here and not touring galleries in Europe with his work?
After such a long time in the disability field, not much shocks or saddens me. I have learned not to feel sad or sorry for disabled people. They are not objects of pity, they're human beings who when given the right opportunities have as much chance of making a success of themselves as anyone. But I couldn't help but feel somewhat sad for The Artist, even though I know he wouldn't want my pity. Here was a man with a wonderful gift that had been struck down by a plague on society but a particular curse on Aboriginal society, alcohol. The Artist had had an alcohol induced stroke so severe it left him permanently brain damaged and wheelchair bound. Gone were the fine motor skills that allowed him to produce such beautiful pieces of art such as the one displayed in the Somerville foyer, gone also was the capacity to verbally communicate his thoughts, hopes, desires and dreams to people. But probably worst of all for this proud Kunwinjku man, gone was his independence. He was now totally reliant on others to do the things in life most of us take for granted such as feeding himself, washing himself, dressing himself. Gone was the option to go wherever he liked whenever he liked, replaced by a reliance on others to take him places that they thought he might like to go. Also gone was his attachment to his community, no longer living at Oenpelli with his people and his traditional culture and ways of living, but into the stagnant world of twenty four hour group home care. An intensely private man now not just living with strangers, but having strangers have to complete the most basic of tasks for him.
It took a little while for me to get to know The Artist. He was a naturally wary and reserved person around strangers especially balanda (whitefellas) from down south. We shared a common interest however, football, and at first that was our major discussion point. The Artist was still able to indicate yes or no by nodding or shaking his head, had a very expressive face and a wicked sense of humor. So at first we talked footy, I found out he was an Essendon supporter (but I didn't hold that against him!) and we spoke about the Bombers, my team the Swans and about some of the past and present champions of the AFL, in particular Aboriginal players such as Michael Long and Adam Goodes. The Artist also loved to read books, especially ones that were on familiar topics such as Aboriginal art and the top end, his beloved Oenpelli and bush tucker (we would sometimes compare notes on the different bush tucker we had eaten). He also loved the Footrot Flats comics, just like I did when I used to read them on my auntie and uncles farm growing up. Plus we were both country people (albeit, Ararat and Oenpelli are VASTLY different!) so we could talk about the bush, about goanna's chasing us around camping sites and going swimming in dams and waterholes (no chance of kinga (crocodiles) eating me in Victoria though!
The Artist loved nothing more than getting out and about, seeing people he knew from the past and observing those he didn't know. He enjoyed going to the footy, seeing the NT Thunder and the AFL games, going to the pub for a quiet beer and going to cafes for a delicious mango smoothie. The more I was around him, the more I came to appreciate this man and what he could and did teach me. The Artist also found my attempts to speak Kunwinjku somewhat amusing, but nodded knowingly when i finally managed to get the words correct. He had to deal with disappointments during my time there, such as seeing his trips back to Oenpelli cancelled for varying reasons out of everyones control, but he took it in his stride. After a while, I saw The Artist less as a tragic figure and more as an individual who could teach me so much about his culture and life.
By the end of my time in Darwin, I was proud to call the Artist my mate. Even he said I wasn't too bad for a balanda. When the time came for me to resign, he was the first person I told. He seemed sad that I was going, but he understood. Just as he liked to be with his mob at his home, so did I. Saying bobo (see you again) to The Artist was the hardest of all, but he gave me a smile and a nod as if to say thanks. He's a person who shows all to clearly the dangers of excess alcohol consumption, yet despite everything else remains a rightly proud and dignified person. The Artist is one person I'll never forget and I look forward to seeing him again someday and saying kamak (hello) to him one more time.


*For an explination of skin names in Western Arnhem culture


Title Song:  The Artist In The Ambulance by Thrice, from the album The Artist In The Ambulance.

Section 4: I Never Told You What I Do For A Living.

I had been in Darwin for just over a week when two major events happened, I finally got to see where I was going to be working while I was in the NT and I experienced my first monsoonal storm. The fact that these events were both on the same day gave me pause to reflect on just how much different my life would be.
I had arranged with one of the managers to have a tor of the facility that I would be working in. My official job title would be 'Disability Services Coordinator' which I believed would have me coordinating a section of a day program/work program similar to what is in place in Victoria, especially when I had been asked what programs I had run in my previous experience during my interview. I had worked in day programs before and quite enjoyed it, so I was looking forward to starting up and trying to think of ideas for new programs that could be implemented. After a short stop at Casuarina Square I headed down to Wagaman to the Somerville administration offices. My appointment time was at 2.30, but I wanted to be early to A. make a good impression and B. try and cool down a little out of the stifling heat. The administration offices were impressive, extremely new with a modern sophisticated look. They even had a brand new swimming pool for the staff to use and a huge fleet of vehicles marked with the 'Somerville, the courage to be' logo down the side. After coming from working in a school of portable classrooms, this place looked luxurious.
So I mustered up my confidence and walked to the front counter. 'Hi, my name is Gareth Olver and I'm here to see the Disability Services manager please.' 'What? Who did you say you were?' OK, I thought as I looked back somewhat stunned at the sharpness of the response I got to my greeting, 'My name is Gareth Olver, I have a scheduled meeting at 2.30 with one of the Disability Service managers' 'Oh right, well I'll see if they're in...yes got a Gary Oliver here' 'No, it's Gareth Olver, O-L-V-E-R, no I' (Over the years I have become somewhat accustomed to having to repeat and spell out my name for people) 'Ok, well there's a Gareth Olver here. Just sit down they'll be here soon.' another abrupt response, my first impression of the facilities had been shattered by the rudeness of the person o the front desk.
I was met by the same New Zealander manager who interviewed me about 5 minutes later. After the obligatory introduction and comments regarding my tattoos we set off to tour the Somerville Disability Service facilities. First stop was what we call in Victoria a CRU or Community Residential Unit (for those unfamiliar with such jargon, it's one of the houses that people with a disability live in). Interesting, I thought to myself, they must do in home care as well as day programs. Next stop, another CRU. OK, I thought, something is up here, surely they'd only show me one CRU and then get straight into the programs centre. On the way to the third stop, I decided to ask if they ran day programs at all. I wasn't enthused by the response, a politicians pause followed by an answer so vague that there could have been multiple ways to take, 'Ahh...yes we do something like that yes.' (the correct answer would have been 'no, we do nothing at all like that'. I was disappointed to say the least. I had never had the slightest bit of interest in working in a CRU and it certainly wasn't what I thought I'd signed up for.
As we pulled into the driveway, I wondered what the staff and residents would be like. The house itself was a five bedroom house on a massive corner block with an outdoors spa. There were six people living there at the time, one of whom was a resident of another house that was undergoing renovations. Four of the five permanent residents were wheelchair bound and three of the five were indigenous. All five permanent residents were men. One of the best parts of my time in Darwin was getting to know these guys and seeing each of their individual personalities shine through. I also met some of the people who would become 'my' staff and some of my best friends during my time in Darwin. Somerville had a very multicultural staff and during my time there I worked with people from Fiji, Nepal, New Zealand, Sri Lanka, Indonesia, Zimbabwe, the Philippines, Germany, China, India, East Timor and England, some were Buddhists, some Muslim, some Hindu, some Mormons. It was an eye opener for me, being from Ararat, a small town in Western Victoria to learn about these people, there cultures and beliefs and of course eat the delicious food they would cook up.
The staff were all very friendly and welcoming and for the most part around the same age as me. The staff working that day, Lisa, a very friendly, good natured and bubbly person who was the only other Australian born person working there and Rosy, a stunning Fijian with a heart of gold, were both enthusiastic to have a chat ad give me the general rundown of the place. I left feeling somewhat better about what lay ahead. It appeared that I had been blessed with a good staff and a great group of household residents. What the hell, I thought, I'll give this a go and see what happens.
I had not long stepped through the front door of the crap shack when thunder that had been rumbling in the distance seemed to roll straight over the top of the house, bringing with it my first experience of monsoonal rain. I had seen heavy rain before sure, but nothing like this. It looked like a months worth of rain back home coming down withing the space of half an hour. I stepped outside into it, after the stifling humidity the rain was like manna from heaven. It was cooling without being cold and so refreshing. The best part was that for a blissful fifteen minutes or so following the rains, everything cooled down and provided an oh so brief  but welcome respite from the constant humidity. One thing was for certain, this whole time in the Territory would be something completely different from my life thus far.

TITLE SONG: I Never Told You What I Do For A Living by My Chemical Romance. From the album 'Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge'.

Section 3: Kick, Push

Going somewhere new and different is always a bit daunting, especially if it just happens to be nearly 4,000 km's away at the other end of the continent, so it was with a little trepidation that I alighted the taxi in the Darwin suburb of Rapid Creek which I would live in for the next twelve months or so. I knew nothing of Darwin's suburbs despite having been there on holidays in 2008. I knew Cullen Bay, Parap thanks to having a friend living there at the time and whatever suburb Casuarina Square shopping centre was in but that was it. I have to admit that I found the Rapid Creek/Nightcliff (we were right on the border of the two suburbs) area where we lived to be a pretty nice spot. We lived in a quiet little Cull-De-Sac that was less than two minutes walk to the Casuarina beach, Nightcliff foreshore and the Rapid Creek river mouth that had a very nice walking/cycling path that snaked it's way through parkland containing various BBQ areas, rotundas, playgrounds and gym equipment. Also along this route was the Nightcliff swimming pool, a veritable oasis for us in the early days that was seemingly underutilised by the locals (understandable though as everyone has a swimming pool up there, so why bother to pay for a swim at a public pool). Nightcliff pool was perched on a piece of land that looked out across the ocean and was the sort of place where you could just while away the day staring out to sea without much hassle or with a minimum of squealing kids. Further along was the Nightcliff jetty, which is a very popular spot to watch the sunset year round. Sometimes there might be a coffee cart or kebab stand there to try and tempt people into enjoying some sustenance while they watch the sun go down and I'll admit it, the kebab stand did get me a few times. If you were really lucky you may spot a dolphin or dugong while sitting down there watching the world go by (my total: 1 dolphin, 0 dugongs, heaps of fish). It was a nice little spot most of the time.
My exploration of the foreshore happened within my first few days in Darwin. I had been preliminarily getting my bearings in the area via Google Maps and discovered that there was a fish and chip shop in the area. Fantastic, I thought, a fish and chip shop down at the jetty! What a perfect spot! In the first few weeks in Darwin, I had no car (or for that matter, no furniture. For two weeks I made do with an inflatable mattress, a camping chair and bar fridge I brought when I got there and a netbook computer and modem. Also, no curtains in the unit that would become known as the 'crap shack' so my towels became curtains and bed sheets.) But I did have my skateboard. What better on a nice sunny NT afternoon than a skate around the foreshore to the quaint fish and chip shop on the jetty?
So off I set around the foreshore in search of said fish and chip shop. Having reached Nightcliff pool I was a little surprised that there was no shops or commercial establishments at all except for the Beachfront Hotel (more on that place another time) and the adjoining Chinese restaurant. Undeterred I pushed on, sweat dripping from my brow. Actually the sweat was dripping from everywhere and by the time I reached the jetty I was more than ready for a piece of fish and some chips washed down with a refreshing beverage or two. I pulled up at the jetty and scanned my surroundings. Nothing. Strange, I thought, as I consulted trusty old Google maps on my phone. There was supposed to be a place called Aralia street nearby, where the holy grail fish and chip shop was, but i couldn't see it, so once again I set off around the track.
It was probably and hour of fruitless searching before I gave up and decided to head back to the Crap Shack. By this stage I was drenched in sweat and cursing myself for not grabbing a bottle of water from the Beachfront Hotel as I was beyond thirsty from being out in the afternoon sun (despite the ample shade). It was probably another 45 minutes before I reached the Beachfront and was able to purchase a bottle of water. Down it went, all 2 litres, in one hit. Even someone with no medical knowledge like myself knows that's not good and by the time I was back to the Crap Shack I had the headache to end all headaches and was vomiting back up anything I may have eaten in the past week. This went for 2 days and I later found out that I had the classic symptoms of dehydration. Less than a week in Darwin and it had been so far so bad.

SIDE NOTE: Bec and I ended up finding the mythical fish & chip shop one day while driving around the area. Suffice to say, I was disappointed.

TITLE SONG: KICK, PUSH by LUPE FIASCO, from the album FOOD & LIQUOR.

Section 2: Leaving On A Jet Plane.

Melbourne Airport is a bustling hive of activity. People and planes coming and going at all hours of the day and night, numerous shops and eateries and 56 gates from which to arrive or depart. So you can imagine how different it was landing in Darwin International airport which has 5 a few people, a shop and two eateries from which the travellers can chose from before departing from one of the 5 gates. Darwin airport sits on the RAAF Base and as such can only be used for commercial flights at certain times. Luckily for me, I managed to get a flight that landed at a reasonable time, unluckily for me my plane was 30-45 minutes late landing causing me to miss meeting the real estate agent and not getting the keys to our new place.
Walking through the terminal you are greeted by a big sign that says 'Welcome to Larrakia Country'. The Larrakia (Saltwater) people were the indigenous people who lived in the area that would become Darwin. Estimates say Aboriginal people had been in the top end for over 40,000 years, which probably explains how on my first few days I saw some of the local aboriginal people wearing jumpers jeans and beanies on 35 degree days where the humidity was hovering around the 100% mark. I of course am not from a Larrakia background and walking out of the air-conditioned comfort was like walking into a wall of heat. Once the automatic doors opened and I stepped outside, the sweat started and didn't stop for almost the entire time I was there.
So I had arrived in Darwin. The only question was, where was I going to stay? I had missed the Real Estate agents thanks to Jetstars delayed flight, so going into our rental property was out of the question. Only one way to solve the problem. Call Bec and see what hotel rooms were available in the city that night. One search of wotif.com and a a small dent in the credit card later, Bec informed me that she had booked me a room at a place called the 'Asti' for the evening. The Asti sounded to me like one of those old style hotels from the 1920's that you see on movies set in that period.. Boy was I wrong.
Instead of a classic style 1920's hotel, I was confronted by an aqua monstrosity that was set very close (diagonally across from actually) to the park that the Brenden Abbott aka the Postcard Bandit was captured (If you haven't heard of him, this should tell you more). One of the later functions of the Asti was to function as accommodation for illegal immigrants and asylum seekers. But all I wanted was air-conditioning and even that wasn't working properly.
To put it bluntly, my first few hours in Darwin had been miserable. I had our modem and my little netbook computer with me and went straight to the airline websites. I was getting out of this place come hell or high water (both of which it would seem I would experience within the next 12 months), hang the cost! I was racked with regret and self doubt, why, I asked myself repeatedly, had I chosen to do this? I was going to ring Somerville the next day from Victoria and tell them sorry, I couldn't do it. I was 4,000 kms from home and I just wanted to leave.
I rang Bec and told her that I was coming home as soon as possible, that it was stupid to come here, that I must have been out of my mind when I applied for this job. Bec showed a much cooler head than I and managed to calm me down enough that I agreed to give it a month. Also, thank god for facebook chat and thanks to those people who I was chatting to that night, who listened to my emotional rants and helped me feel a little better. I finally drifted off to sleep around 11, exhausted, emotional and unsure about what I was going to do next.



Title Song- Leaving On A Jet Plane by Me First & The Gimme Gimmes, from the album  Have A Ball! (Plus Bowling Tips From The Gutter Punks)

Section 1: The Northern.

November 11th 2009, 9 pm Central Australian Time. I'm sitting on a bed in the alleged air conditioned comfort of the Asti Hotel in Darwin. Yep my first night in Darwin was spent in a cheap motel, checking for flights straight back home while Bec is on the phone with me trying to calm me down. Great start to my NT adventures. Actually, that wasn't necessarily the start...

It was the September school holidays, I was kicking around our house in Ararat randomly looking things up on the Internet when I decided to enter 'disability jobs Darwin' into a search engine. Bec and I had been to Darwin the previous year on holidays and enjoyed our time there, however i had seen or heard nothing about the Disability Service system in the top end. Darwin is a mid sized city by Australian standards, 120,000 people in Darwin and 30,000 people in nearby satellite city of Palmerston making the Darwin/Palmerston region slightly smaller than Geelong. They had to have disability services there right? 

My Googling ended up bringing up a website for a company called Somerville Community Services, a disability support service and family service organisation. The website looked very professional and lo and behold, they had an opening in their disability services section, a coordinators position. Just what I wanted to do! I'd worked for the past seven or so years at Skene Street School in Stawell which is a school for children with multiple disabilities. I'd had an interesting period of time working there, some really good times, some not so great but over the past 6-12 months i had been growing a bit stale. I needed a change of scenery and a new challenge. What better than to go to the other end of the continent and work with adults again?

So, I applied. my application must have been OK because a few days after my application I was offered an interview. Cool, I thought, a trip to Darwin for a couple of days for an interview! Not quite... I was interviewed at my kitchen table in Ararat via the magic of Skype. It was an interesting experience to say the least, me sitting in front of the heater with the blinds drawn to stop Mikey from sticking his big golden head against the window, while my interviewers were looking hot and a little flustered in their office in Darwin. To be perfectly honest, I thought that my interview went terribly. I stammered and stumbled on my words, I had to be led to answers, plus the Skypeing made it difficult for us to hear each other. I told Bec afterwards how much I sucked in the interview and thought nothing more of it. A week and a half or so later, I told my friend Tom that I mustn't have gotten the job. I hadn't heard anything so I figured they'd found someone else to fill the position. Two days later, my phone rang. I got the job and Bec, Mikey and my world was about to be turned upside down. It's amazing just how much your life can be changed by boredom and Google.

TITLE SONG: THE NORTHERN by ALEXISONFIRE. From the album OLD CROWS/YOUNG CARDINALS. 

Coming soon to a screen near you...

Hi guys, long time no post. As some people may know, I've spent the past 12 months living and working in the Northern Territory, or to be more precise, Darwin. Hopefully starting some time this weekend or next week I'm going to start writing on here about my time in the top end, some of the people, places and sights that I've encountered. Hopefully it'll be a reasonable read and you get some semblance of enjoyment from it. So keep an eye on here and hopefully I'll have some writings up soon.


Gareth.