Mum, excuse my French in this blog, but I’m not best pleased. I got f*cking sparked last night. I saw it coming from the moment I set foot in this shit hole. I’ve been living in a city for 3 months and felt no threat walking the streets at 2am. Here it’s different. I knew something was going to kick off here and I was going to be at the centre of it. I get a Wickerman feeling about this place. The locals can smell my unincestual blood, they know I’m not from round here. The girls love it, the guys feel threatened by it. Even when I’m just standing at the traffic lights, everyone in the cars driving by stare at me like I’ve got four arms and a penis for a head. I’m in f*cking hill billy land.
I haven’t been in a fight for 4 years. I’d much rather spend my night drinking, laughing and trying to score with the opposite sex than get in a ruck. Some people don’t feel this way. Let me go back to the beginning…
After spending all Saturday daytime standing in a field pulling vines off a wire, I feel that I deserve a beer or ten. This is the general feeling in camp, so everyone stocks up on booze and gets ready for the night. Standard. So once you’ve bought the drinks, the next step from there is to drink them. I drink, he drinks, she drinks, we all drink. Everyone is happy, we have downing competitions and rip each other for our different accents. I’ll later find out that my accent is no laughing matter according to some redneck, incest f*cks.
Mildura has a population of 30,000 and is located in the arsehole of nowhere. The closest city is a 6 hour drive away, it’s a long, long way from civilisation. The people here like to fornicate with their siblings and start fights with people born with ten toes. As you can imagine, the nightlife here is not exactly summertime Ibiza. But after sinking many beers, it seems the best thing to do is go to town and flirt with the local wildlife. To be fair, the pub wasn’t too bad. It had a good selection of alcohol and there was a bit of totty on the dance floor. Sorted. I sink a few more pints, have a boogy on the dance floor, charm the local slags with good looks and wit and crack a few jokes with my mates. I recall one not-so-good -looking bird saying to me “You’re not from round here are you?”. But the way she said it, was weird, it was like the way that us civilised folk joke about hill billys saying this. Even in Cornwall I never got this shit.
Anywho, the night goes from good to weird when I go to the toilet. There’s a load of lads in there who also like to point out the fact I’m “not from round here”. Then three girls walk into the men’s toilet and all walk into a cubicle together, I jokingly say:
“What’s that all about?!”
Then hilly billy number one says:
HB1: “You’re in f*cking Austraya now mate. This is how we do things here, if you don’t like it then you can f*ck off”
Me: “Alright mate chill out, I don’t give a f*cking shit. I’m literally just having a piss, no need to be a weirdo about it.”
Then your token ‘Aussie with an English mother” steps in and chills everything out because he has a soft spot for English people. So I leave the bog and go back to drinking. Let me tell you what I know about some Aussies, they’re insecure f*ckers. They’re so ‘proud’ of their country, but they want you, as a foreigner, to tell them how great it is. Like your girlfriend wants you to compliment her on how beautiful she looks today. They need you to tell them how great their country is. I almost feel cornered into bigging Australia up more than I actually like it; just in case they go mental and put a glass in my face. If you know how great your country is, then you don’t need to do a song and dance about it. Because it’s just common knowledge to you, like the sun sets and rises everyday, your country is great. But these redneck f*ckers are like “Aw yeah, it’s the best country in the f*cking world.”. Considering they have probably never been 10 minutes away from their town, I find it hard for them to make this statement. But I’m a foreigner in their territory, so I keep schtum.
It’s about 1am and I’m pretty smashed by now. So smashed I throw up in the toilet. No drama, that just means more room for more alcohol. I go back the bar and resume normal business. I buy a pint, turn around and my mate Andy is there, we crack a few jokes, comment on how weird the locals are etc. Then out of the blue two c*nts start shoving us, I don’t even know what the geezer pushing me is saying, I’m pretty f*cking hammered and have just yacked my guts up. Andy reckons he was saying something about his girlfriend. I had spoken to a few birds that night, obviously word had spread amongst the inbred, mongrel grape vine that some pommy bastard was trying to steal their girls. The shoving turns into a scuffle; I miss my footing and fall on the floor, I get kicked out and feel like a dickhead for falling over.
I go round the corner of the pub and say to the bouncer “Get that fucking prick out here now so I can smash the cunt up!”. One of the lads comes out and starts babbling some bollocks, I don’t even know what he’s saying. I already know what’s going to happen. I introduce his nose to my forehead and it bursts open like a water balloon and he hit’s the deck. Boom. I’ve won, I’m the f*cking man. The bouncers say I seriously need to go, so I start to make my way home with a victorious spring in my step. Then I hear this running noise behind me, I turn around, BANG! The cunt catches me right in the left eye with a running punch and I go down like a sack of shit, then two lads proceed to boot me in the ribs. Luckily the bouncers get them off me, otherwise it could of got REALLY fucked up. It’s kicking people on the floor that get you manslaughter charges.
I went from hero to a nobhead on the floor with a swollen eye in a matter of seconds. Fair play to the old boy for the punch, it was a f*cking beaut. I’ve got a right shiner today and my ribs hurt when I laugh. After it was over, the bouncer warns us that the police are on their way. Mildura police aren’t exactly the straightest of coppers. They’re on mafia pay roll (so I’ve heard) and I can’t imagine they look at foreigners scrapping with locals favourably. Bouncer asks if we want to press charges, both of us agree we don’t want that. Then the rozzers turn up and the bouncer explains that we’ve been scrapping but neither want to press charges. The copper says “Well this is a waste of time ain’t it”. And drives off. For once I’m happy a copper wasn’t doing his job properly, I really couldn’t be arsed with spending the night in a cell. The bouncer warned me that I need to go home and watch out because the man is probably calling his mates to get me now. I can barely see out my left eye, I didn’t fancy losing the right one too. My phone was dead so I couldn’t ring anyone and I didn’t want to stick around in case the coward brings 20 of his mates to shoe me in. The walk home was a paranoid one.
I wondered why I was alone and none of my mates came out to help. I later learnt that whilst I had this mini-drama outside, there was a massive rumble erupting inside. We will never know why this fight started. I’m pretty sure it’s down to isolated, inbred retards being threatened by funny and extremely good-looking Englishmen flirting with their women. I’m going to address the hypocrisy of Aussie racism in my next blog. The last thing I want in Australia is to fight, because it’s shit like this that can get me deported. I’m not letting this taint my view of Australia or the good people of Australia, we get muppets like this in England too. Just a couple of inbred rotten apples. I’m hungover, aching all over, my head is f*cking killing me from where it hit the concrete. I don’t know if I can work tomorrow because my ribs are f*cked, pulling vines is the last thing they need. All I need is a proper Full English Breakfast and a massive wank. But to do either of those is too painful for me now. Fuck Mildura.
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