A Bogan Ready To Blow

Aloha from the Big Island!

For those playing at home, in the last episode, this bogan had managed (just) to drag her sorry self from the shores of beautiful Oahu to the volcanic plains of the Big Island, Hawaii. Let’s just pick right where we left off, shall we?

After renting a car in Kona, we made our way over to Hilo to an apartment on someone’s property that I had booked via a website that lets people rent out their homes. To be honest, I was a little scared about what would await us. I will freely admit to reading a few too many stories by the world’s trashiest ‘news’ site, Daily Mail online. Really fun ones involving people responding to Craigslist ads and ending up hacked into little pieces in garbage bags. I could already picture the headlines......

My fears were not abated when our host’s directions led us deeper and deeper into the rainforest. Signs flashed past us loudly declaring ominous warnings such as ‘BEWARE OF DOG’ and ‘NO TRESPASSING.’ I might have even spied one that said ‘GTFO NOW MEL, YOU HAVE SO MUCH LIFE AHEAD OF YOU AT 27.YOU HAVEN’T WON AN OSCAR YET.’ 

My heart started pounding when we pulled into the actual driveway. Ever seen a little Australian horror flick, Wolf Creek? There’s a scene in which three travellers have been picked up by a seeming harmless old man after their car breaks down in the Outback. He brings them to his place to stay for the night, which basically looks like an elephant graveyard for abandoned cars. We later find out that these cars belong to other unlucky travellers. I don’t want to ruin the ending but people die, man. In this Hawaiian backyard, I could count around 6 unlicensed, abandoned cars. Gulp.

We were met by a tenant of the host, who also stayed in a separate apartment on the property. Using all of the skills I ever accumulated from watching too many Law and Order: SVU episodes, I scanned him for any potential killer signs. After he started talking about his garden, I decided he was ok. People who are into horticulture don’t typically have murderous streaks.

Knowing that I would live to see another day, I could get down to focusing on what I had come to the Big Island for- volcanoes.

The only knowledge I have of volcanoes is what I learned from the failed 1997 summer blockbuster, Dante’s Peak, starring Pierce Brosnan, Linda Hamilton and Linda Hamilton’s post Terminator arms. The premise of said movie is that a brooding vulcanologist Piercey Brosnan arrives at a town called Dante’s Peak, which lies on a supposedly long dormant volcano and discovers that this harmless volcano may soon wake up. Dun dun dun. The movie contains a whole bunch of ridic scenes like people boiling alive in hot springs and Piercey and Linda managing to outrun lava flows. A little factually inaccurate but the movie scored 27% on Rotten Tomatoes, so what do you expect?

Photo courtesy of theactionelite.com

Now, that day Dave and I were due to visit Hawaii Volcanoes National Park. This park circles two ACTIVE volcanoes. The first one, Kilauea, is notorious as being one of the world’s most active volcanoes, having last blown her top in 1983. The second, Mauna Loa, is billed as the world’s most massive volcano, covering almost 75,000 cubic kilometres. Now hold up here for a second folks. Bloody Linda and Pierce almost got burnt to a crisp hanging around a dormant volcano, so what bloody chance did I have running around active ones? I could already imagine our story playing out on the screens of the Lifetime Movie channel : Mave's Peak.  Kiefer Sutherland playing the role of Dave and, turning in a stunning gender-bending performance, Kenny G as Mel. 

Although death by natural disaster would make gripping daytime television viewing, I decided to stay on the safe side and pack a Mave’s Peak Survival Kit.

It contained the following items:

Oatmeal cookies- If I’m going to outrun burning lava, I’m going to need sustenance, energy. Probably a good set of running shoes too, so I ditched the thongs for the day.

Strong Hold Mousse- Look, all that steam from the craters and burning lava and what not is really going to play havoc with my naturally curly/frizzy hair and I want to stay looking my best, even during a natural disaster.

A whistle- So, if I learned one thing from Titanic, it’s that a whistle can save your life. Remember Katie Winslet at the end, stuck on that doorframe, with a long dead-as-a-doorknob Leo, whistling for the lifeboat to pick her up? If I’m stuck on a bit of rock, floating around in a sea of fiery lava, I’m obvs gonna need whistle to alert the emergency services to my pickle of a situation.

So, ready for any high action, slow motion running, we entered the park. Pele, the Hawaiian goddess of fire, lightning, rain and volcanoes, whose is said to dwell in the crater of Kilauea, must have cut me a little break that day. As we hiked inside a giant crater and watched from a distance the steam and gas being emitted from Halemaumau crater, I encountered no dangers other than mild sunburn and gas smells which were rather offensive to the nose, although on several occasions, I’m pretty sure it was just Dave. Don’t get me wrong, being inside a giant crater and seeing hardened lava is very cool but I couldn’t help but wish for a little Dante action. A chance to use my whistle. Instead, I had to settle for posing with bits of rock and spending an overly long amount of time making a sappy sign out of volcanic rock. 

So unfortunately, Mave's Peak will not be going straight to DVD at a store near you, so the photo montage below will have to suffice. But we do love a good photo montage.

Just looking like a coupla action stars

Could Linda's arms do this?

WHERE IS THE LAVA?!

There's a word for this and it rhymes with shame.

It may not have Pierce's good looks but it's still quite an eyeful.

Blue/Bogan Crush

Aloha wahines and ranes!

As you can see, I've already gone totally cultural in Hawaii and learnt the language in a hot second. 

I tell you what, I have been on bloody Struggle St trying churn a blog out. I'm sorry but I'm v.v busy stuffing my face with Mac and Cheese and Rice Krispies. Exaggeration 5000? There is literally a bowl of Mac and Cheese sitting next to me as I type. HELLO USA AND THE LAND OF PLENTY! And believe me, my belly is getting plentiful.

So here I finally am, in the land of sunshine, pineapples and beaches a.k.a Hawaii. The road to get here was not so easy and breezy. After several months of miserable cold weather and legs that had long been neglected by a razor, Dave and I rocked up to the airport in Korea eager to get a little sun on our pale bodies. China Eastern Airlines had other ideas. Our flight to Shanghai was delayed, meaning we would miss our connecting flight to Honolulu. After several false starts, we were directed to a desk manned by smiling lady who meekly, yet firmly told us that we could either get our money refunded or catch a flight in three days time.

Look, there's really no nice way to put this. Collectively, Dave and I threw a TOTAL BITCH FIT. A tanty. A Britney Spears-style, shaved head, umbrella-wielding meltdown. There were FLIGHTS BOOKED! SMELLY, BED BUG RIDDEN HOSTELS PRE PAID FOR! Now look, I don't usually condone shouting at terrified Asian ladies but there were un drunk Mai Tai's at stake. Our joint hissy fit paid off and we were eventually transferred to a flight operated by Korean Air. As luck would have it, this was a direct flight and it would actually arrive an hour earlier than our original flight, giving us more time to go burn some delicate Irish skin on the beach. 

Palm trees at the airport? If this ain't paradise, I don't know what is..

Several in-flight movies later, we found ourselves on the bustling streets of Waikiki. Within hours, we had sorted ourselves a Hawaiian luau for the next day and found the cheapest cocktails and chili Waikiki had to offer. 

Waikiki Beach. You're so jealous you could spew, right?

The next day was a combination of exploring the beach and playing the 'Buy Mel Everything' Game. A ukulele, a bobble head hula dancer doll, a surf board- I bloody wanted it and as a result, Dave spent much of the day with a whining, petulant child in tow. In the late afternoon, we made a mad dash back to the hostel with 10 minutes to make ourselves look respectable for the luau. Not an easy task because as Dave so lovingly puts it, 'Gosh darl, you wouldn't even get an inch of your face done in that time.' True love right there. 

Within minutes of boarding the bus bound for Germaine's Luau, our friendly Hawaiian guide Mat was on the mic, cracking the jokes in an attempt to get the party started. And that's when it started: the dreaded ICE-BREAKING GAMES. There's no other way to put this: I hate that shit. 
I bloody paid $70 for this and the least you can do is let me sit in stony silence next my boyfriend, with nothing to say to him because we've spent every waking moment with each other since the start of this trip. I don't want to be made to uncomfortably hold the hand of the person in the aisle next to me. Jeez, there's some friends who I've known for years that I STILL won't hug when we say goodbye simply because I don't think we're there yet. 

Little do I know, that in 2 minutes, I'll be forced to massage someone's back

But Mat was relentless. We were going to bloody BOND, like it or not. Reluctantly, under the watchful eye of Mat, Dave and I lent stiffly over to the lady across with us and asked her a few starter questions. 

She blanked us. 

I mean, you'd get more conversation out of Charlie Chaplin. Look, I don't like it either lady, but I've got a large Hawaiian guy breathing down my neck, so throw me a frickin' bone here, ok. Several awkward silences later, Dave and I gave each other a look that said , 'Ah yes, trust us to be seated next to the bus Debbie Downer.' When we finally reached the luau, I instructed Dave to make a run for it off the bus so that we wouldn't end up sitting next to Debs for the rest of the night.

Feeling like a coupla Nigel-No-Friends, Dave and I surveyed the luau seating situation. We scanned the seats, trying to weed out any potential Debbies with our eyes. Eventually, moving not unlike how one would imagine you would approach a minefield, we settled upon a picnic table containing a gentleman who introduced himself as Kevin from Maryland. He was later joined by his doctor girlfriend, Anna. Now look, Mat might recommend hand holding as a team building tool but I've got an even better one...Alcohol. A few Mai Tai's later and we were all practically besties. Kevin and Dave made themselves known to the bartender with a few slipped bills and soon we were all enjoying extra-large and extra-strength cocktails. Dave and I,  not being the most forthcoming couple usually, found ourselves sharing another private moment in which we excitedly exclaimed, 'I think we've made friends! FRIENDS! REAL FRIENDS'

Buoyed by our budding friendship, we settled in for a night of Hawaiian entertainment. We watched as our meal for the night, a rather delicious smelling piggie friend, was pulled from the underground cooking pit, known as an imu. While stuffing our faces with the likes of pork, beef, fish, macaroni salad and poi (polynesian food made of taro plant), we were treated to girls doing some serious Hawaiian booty shaking that made Beyonce look like a beginner. We were wowed by hunky Hawaiian men twirling and  breathing fire. We were made misty-eyed by sorrowful Hawaiian ballads. There was even a moment, under the influence of a few cocktails, where we all found ourselves on stage, trying to imitate the hula shown to us by our beautiful Hawaiian counterparts. Dave's usual signature dance move is what I have termed the 'chicken wings' but he really brought it when required to shake his rump. That's him in the checked green shirt below.

Dinner Candy

The night was coming to a close and Kevin and Anna, who had not been subjected to the bus of 'fun' (I use that word in the loosest term possible), offered to drive us back to Waikiki as they were staying in the same area. Not eager to see what Mat had in store for the journey back, I jumped on that offer like white on rice. We all decided to continue the party at an Irish bar and soon, shots of tequila were a-flowing.

Sippin' on some lemonade

I've neglected to mention a tiny detail here. What's that, a 7am flight to the Big Island in the morning? Pish posh, such things do not matter in late hours of the night. But boy, do they matter in the early hours of the morn. The alarm went off at 5.30am and I slumped on Dave like a broken rag doll all the way to the airport. 

Death on a stick

But you know what guys, it was all worth it. You know why? FRIENDS! We made FRIENDS! Anna and Kevin, if you ever read this, we promise we're not creepy stalkers who are trying to Single White Female you. Overzealous eagerness aside, we've been known to be around people before, in various social situations, I swear. I've just realised of have no actual photos of them. But they're real, guys. They're really real.

Tune in next time, where I might actually write a blog that includes, ya know, something a bit cultural, like volcanoes and stuff. 

ALOHA!

It's Bogan, bitch.

Happy New Year BoaB-er’s! That’s my new name for all my Bogan on a Bus fans, i.e. just the two of you.

Now I’m sure that at some point after the two of you had settled in nicely to 2013, you spared a moment to ponder where on earth that bogan girl with an odd fixation on toilets who was constantly shoving her travels in your face had disappeared to? Had someone in the Russian mafia done you all a favour and gotten rid of her in Siberia for once and all, ridding the world of her amateurish ramblings?

Well I’m sorry to burst your bubble but I am alive and well in Ireland, although I do spend most days in bed in a comatose-like state, stuffing my face and watching shows about rich Persians in LA. My Mave on the Move adventure in 2012 saw me hit 16 countries in nine months and I’m just positively EXHAUSTED with all that lovely travelling. It’s a hard life but someone’s gotta do it. Towards the end of the year, I started moving very quickly through the aforementioned countries in a bid to get to Iceland by early December to see two of the most beautiful men on the planet exchange vows on a black beach. At this point in time, I was faaaaaaaaaar too busy YouTubing wedding hairstyles to bang out any blogs and this page began to become as forgotten about as Lindsay Lohan’s early career (she was bloody great in Herbie and I won’t hear otherwise).

Never a bride, always a bridesmaid....
Nic and Rich's Icelandic nuptials

But just like Britney, this bogan is back, bitch. So I’d thought I’d fill you all in on my plans because I know you’re all chomping at the bits to know what area of the world I will be complaining about toilets in. But before I begin, I’d like to comment briefly on my bogan relationship status. I am a bogan to be betrothed. Seemingly, after seeing my pale face clutching at a vomit bag on a train in Sri Lanka and listening to my angry rant about witnessing a man fishing for pocket trout on an Indian train, Dave thought, ‘Gosh, I’d marry that.’ I’ve now had to abandon all plans to learn the choreography to Beyoncé’s Single Ladies dance, which is probably for the best because I don’t look good in a black leotard. 

The period after an engagement should always be a happy time but for me, it’s been a chance to witness just how much potential I have to be a really scary, J-Lo-esque bridezilla. It’s almost shocking just how much enjoyment I am getting from pinning wedding type things on Pinterest. Who IS this person? The other day, I contemplated for at least 15 minutes starting a wedding blog entitled ‘Bogan in a Barn,’ chronicling my journey to try and have a barn wedding in horrible Irish weather. A wedding blog people! That ring must have some deep, terrifying powers. The last time I saw a ring do something so powerful to a person was in The Lord of The Rings and they turned into bloody Gollum. So what I’m saying is that I’m basically Gollum, just not as emaciated and way more into weddings. Dave’s initial happy smiles have been replaced with a slight look of panic and I have been soothing his shaken nerves by shouting, ‘The ring is on my bloody finger now! The only way you’re getting it off is if you cut it from my cold, dead body!

'Don't be fooled by the rocks that I got, I'm still, I'm still the bogan from the block...'

Sorry Dave, there's no getting out of it now, I have WITNESSES!

But this year, the great travelling extravaganza will continue for myself and my fiancé (Oh gosh, I’m VERY grown up.) To start, we will be returning to what should now be considered our second home, South Korea, so I can help orientate a bunch of university students teaching in Korea for the first time. Naturally, this is a perfect position for me because I am veeeeery worldly now and as equally responsible, so I will in no way showing them where all the best bars in Seoul are or teaching them any Korean drinking games. From the sub zero temperatures of Korea, we will head to sunny Hawaii and I’ve already started my starvation diet in order to be beach bikini ready. Basically, I was faced with the choice of having to wear a muumuu on the beach or attempting to undergo Beyoncé’s super cray-cray cayenne pepper lemon drink diet. For the moment, being a Dreamgirl has won out or at least for the five days that my willpower will last.  

From Hawaii, we will attempt a voyage into Alaska and I forewarn you, there will be A LOT of Into The Wild references, much in the same way I flogged the absolute crap out of Eat, Pray, Love last year. Yes, sometimes as a break between all the Real Housewives marathons, I do manage to actually read a book and Into The Wild is one of the most interesting stories I’ve read and has always made me want to go to Alaska. With our wilderness quota filled, we will head to Seattle and work our way down the coast, stopping in San Francisco and LA, where it is my goal to see at least 5 famous people. D-List celebs are perfectly acceptable.

After I see Honey Boo-Boo, we will continue onwards through Central America, at stops which are yet to be determined. The end of this leg of the trip will be a visit to New York and after we sufficiently take a bite out of the Big Apple, we’ll head north to visit our Canadian friends and eat a lot of maple syrup and bacon. Europe will call us back in July for more weddings and then your guess is as good as mine. At some point, we’ll need to face the big questions like ‘WHAT IN THE NAME OF OPRAH ARE WE DOING WITH OUR LIVES?’ but for now, our sights are set on the simple pleasures such as that pineapple cocktail waiting for us in Hawaii.

But, as always, wherever this bogan goes, there’s sure to be a catastrophe or two and I look forward to again sharing my transatlantic calamities with you in 2013 and getting regular emails from my parents asking me to stop blaspheming on the internet.

Now, it’s often hard for this cold heart to express emotion but I hope that whatever this year holds for you BoaB-ers, that it be highly magical and amazing. Now let the bog-tastic adventures begin!

Ready and raring to get back on the road

All Aboard The Trans-Mave-berian!

In university, I had a really prestigious job working as a shop girl in an ice-creamery on Queen Street mall in Brisbane. When I wasn’t busy stuffing my face with ice-cream, I’d head to the food court to stuff my face with the half price lunchtime leftover containers of Mongolian lamb. Hey, it was uni- money was tight and my waistline vast. My point is, this delicious, greasy concoction of ‘lamb’ (I have my doubts) was about as close as I was gonna get to Mongolia any time soon. However, all that changed about a week ago.

Dave and I are currently undertaking the great adventure that is the Trans-Siberian. Yep, that’s right, the world’s longest railway journey, which allows gung-ho travellers such as ourselves the opportunity to cross the huge expanse that is Russia. We had decided to do a variation of this route, starting the Trans-Mave-berian (yep, that happened) in Beijing and hopping off in Mongolia before heading into Russia.  

All aboard the Tranny train!

After an uneventful train ride from Beijing to Hohhot, we were ready to board our first official Tranny train which would see us cross from China into Mongolia. Tranny is the new, super original word that I’ve coined for any train that uses the Trans-Siberian tracks. Believe me, it’ll help keep confusion to a minimum-there are many different trains and routes. We had made the decision to flash a little cash and ride this leg of the journey kupe, which basically meant we had a four berth cabin with a door that shut to keep out the plebs. As we’re super sociable people, we spent the10 minutes after boarding crossing our fingers in the hopes of getting no roommates. Our prayers were answered and our cabin remained friendless. With all that privacy, there was only one thing for a coupla young, fertile people to do………....cram our faces with all the food we had brought with us. You’d have thought that we were preparing for the end of the world with the amount of snacks we had packed into our grocery basket earlier that day. I’m starting to hope that I kept my fat pants from uni.  

I wrote down every item on this table but it is literally too long to list. 

Clearly, we have our beverage priorities in order

 Our bellies full, we snuggled into our blankets and woke up the next morning in a very large shed. Obviously, my first thought was, this is a Taken-type situation, the train has been derailed and I’m about to be Taken hostage and sold into Russian sex slavery. Quickly, I searched for a weapon but my grasping hands only came up with empty crisp packets. Luckily, Dave was there to calmly explain to me that we were in fact in the process of getting the train wheels changed. Sadly, China and Mongolia do not have the same size train tracks and the wheels – or bogies - would need to be changed before we could cross the border. What was even sadder was that there was no need for that sexy Liam Neeson to make an appearance.

Watching the change was wheel-y exciting. BOOM.

A few hours later, we rolled into Erlian, the last Chinese town before we crossed the border. I practically flung my passport at the carriage attendant when she requested it, eager to make my Mongolian entrance. A quick stamp and in we would go and I could begin my search for a new yak friend. No such luck. We sat at the station for hours and hours and hours and…HOURS. At this stage, boredom was not the only thing settling in. I had drunk enough tea for England that morning and was in desperate need for a bathroom break. Like Indian trains, the Tranny trains also have a system were by ya business ends up all over the tracks. However, unlike the Indians, the Chinese are savvy enough to lock the bathrooms at stations so that those on the platform don’t have to witness that unpleasantness. In fact, the loos were locked 15 minutes before the arrival and exit of any station and the carriage attendant, all crazy-eyed and power mad with her big steel toilet key, was not budging. The station was not an option as I was not allowed to exit the train without a passport. Let me repeat- HOURS.

I'm smiling on the outside but inside...

.......me and my bladder are not happy.

This torture continued even as we crossed into the border into Mongolia. The same thing happened- passports were taken and we were forced to wait for what seemed like an eternity, with the bathroom shut up tighter than Sing Sing. I was supposed to be excited about entering the birthplace of my dirty uni takeaways but all I could do was ponder on just how bad it would be if I had to make use of one of the empty water bottles we had. 

Mongolia. But where are all the lambs?

Eventually, we made it to our final stop in Mongolia and I’m happy to report that when those glorious toilet doors swung open like the pearly gates of Heaven, I still had my dignity intact. Later, I decided to relay this traumatic episode to my friend Nic via Skype. After a few minutes of listening to me warble on about locked loos this & loo that, he interrupted me and exclaimed, ‘Bloody hell Melanie! You’re on the bloody Trans-Siberian! You’re going to bloody Russia! Only you could turn this into a toilet story!’

So I'm thinking, perhaps I should change my blog name. Without any further ado, I present to you…….

Bogan in a Bathroom: Reporting to YOU on restrooms across the realm!

It’s sure to raise readership, right?

P.S Alright, enough is enough. Two toilet stories in row. The next entry won't even mention the word. Scout's honour.

Wee made it!

High Noon In Hong Kong

This is a bogan behind on her blog.

As I write, I’m sitting on a train, hurtling through Western Siberia, with the outside world all painted white with snow. I’m tempted to regale you all with tales of the last 24 hours, surrounded by Russian men and the smell of B.O and cigarette smoke but I would be missing a huge chunk of this trip. So back to Hong Kong we go.

Hong Kong, for anyone who hasn’t been, is bloody paradise. This statement may or may not be influenced by the fact that I landed there after 5 weeks in India. Nevertheless, when we got there, I was almost tempted to kiss the beautiful, gleaming, flushing toilets in the airport. You ever see those tacky tourist shirts saying ‘I heart HK’? Look, I was tempted to buy a shirt, a hat, a badge, a pair of velour track pants if need be.

Dave’s primary reason for us to go to Hong Kong was to obtain our Chinese visas.  Well, bugger the visas, I was there for Disneyland. I had heard all kinds of negativity about Hong Kong Disneyland- to sum up, everyone’s opinion was that it was a little bit shit. Lies, I tell you, absolute lies. We were there for over 8 hours and I still didn’t have enough time to go to Tarzan’s tree house. Look, lining up for 30 minutes to sit in an auto-piloted toy car to pull at a steering wheel pretending like you’re driving might not be everyone’s cup of tea but I bloody loved it. My only criticism was that a few more Mickey’s wouldn’t go astray. Every time we tried to go get a photo with our lovable mouse friend, sure enough, he’d run off for a smoke or a pee or whatever tawdry things Mickey does when the mask comes off. Toy Story Land is absolutely amaze-balls. I mean, who wouldn’t love a place where the toilet sign is spelt out in Scrabble letters? Only a person with a heart of stone (Dave).

Excited about a potential vomit-inducing ride on the teacups

If you don't like Toy Story Land, you probs don't have a soul

Toy Story Toilets

Totally satisfied by my day of Disney dreams

Our day of Disney fun over, we decided to try out a bit of Hong Kong night life. The previous night, we’d kept it classy by going to the highest bar in the world, Ozone, and ordering a drink for approximately one million dollars.  With enough sophistication under our belts, we decided to get back to what we do best- street drinking. We hit the streets of Lan Kwai Fong and rather than join the hip and  beautiful in the clubs, we purchased ourselves some beers off a very angry street stall lady and settled on a stoop to watch her have an argument with her downtrodden husband.  Music was pouring out of the bars and soon, with help of a few more beers, we were having ourselves a grand ‘ol time.

Gosh, just being really classy and refined.....

....wait, nope, it's bogan business as usual.

Keeping it casual on the streets of Lang Kwai Fong

The ultimate problem with street drinking is what does one do when their poor bladder has had all the liquid it can take? I mean, this isn’t bloody India, you can’t just pop a squat in an alley. This is Hong Kong, people. Dave and I had taken up residence outside a happening bar and kept sneaking in there to use the facilities. On about my third trip in there, that’s when THE INCIDENT occurred. Call it my first brush with Russia, if you will. After the incident took place, I actually made a video detailing what had taken place but let’s just say, I may not have had the clearest of heads during the taping. It’s my blog and whilst I don’t believe in censoring myself, I have a mother too and she’s a saint so I’ll spare her the sight of a blathering, belligerent child. 

Written word, however, is another story. Below, transcribed word for word is what I like to call

THE LAN KWAI FONG LAVATORY STAND-OFF

(A toilet terror incident through the eyes of an overly excitable ex-drama student)

Setting.

The streets of Hong Kong. Lionel Ritchie plays in the background. The camera pans from a close up of some empty bottles to a bogan looking girl in a flowery blouse and jeggings. Yes, that’s right, I said jeggings. They’re basically Spanx that you’re allowed to wear outside. Don’t judge.

BOGAN LOOKING GIRL: I am VERY angry and I want to everyone why right now.

Some (insert word that rhymes with mut) I’m sorry Mum, that’s a rude word, some (oh dear, there’s that word again) just ruined my night, alright.

I was waiting very patiently for the toilet, alright, and some Russian chick was in front and she decided she wanted to have a DANCE!

Alright, go have a dance- you CAN’T get back in the toilet queue.

And then she tried to get back in the toilet queue and me and this lovely English lady let her back in and then she wants to get her three friends for behind in and we said no and do you know what she did?

DRAMATIC PAUSE

SHE.HIT.ME.

She str-uuck me. With her hands, there was a mark, on my arm. And then, she said to me, DON’T TOUCH ME. I was like, you just frickin’ hit me.

No, but do you know what, she got into the toilet and she was taking a very long time and there was actually a moment where halfway through her time, she opened up the door and was like WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH to me and the English chick and we were like, oh that’s a bit strange.

Do you know what this (insert word that might rhyme with witch) did?

While we were waiting, she got the bin beside the toilet and emptied the WHOLE thing into the toilet to block it. So me and the lovely English lady could not pee. WHO DOES THAT!

I’m very angry and I’m looking for this chick cos

I.

Will.

Fight.

Her.

I’ll fight her.

I will fight her.

End the camera Dave, I will fight her.

Fighting.

END SCENE

Obviously, any person reading would think, ‘Wow, what an insightful and thoughtful response to that situation.’ Let’s be honest, combined with the fact that Dave and I were drinking on the street to start with and that there rant-well, it’s about as bogan as you can get.

I don’t want you to get the wrong impression here. I don’t normally go round trying to pick fights with our former Soviet friends or anyone in general. Let’s just say, I may have had the help of a few bottles of Dutch courage. Furthermore, that wasn’t the only video shot that night. There’s also a video of Dave and myself doing a horrible rendition of Lionel Ritchie’s All Night Long, which is being censored for different reasons-vanity.

So, lessons learned in Hong Kong?

DO visit Disneyland. I guarantee that even childless, you’re bound to have a day of good, clean fun.

DON’T pick fights with Russian ladies unless you want your toilet privileges revoked or the possible loss of your front teeth. I’m pretty sure that the mark on my arm was just a starting point.

P.S Something good came out of this night of ridiculousness. I came up with my potential album cover should I ever feel the need to release a cover album of the hits of Britney Spears (yes, that would be my artist of choice.) Potential title? 

 Mel B: You want a piece of me?