The things I do...

I love the ocean, particularly when I am not in it. I don't mind being near it, and in fact one day I'd love to live somewhere that has a view of it, but I've come to the realisation that I actually don't like being in it. And more than not liking being in the ocean, I'm really not a huge fan of being on the beach. Take today for example.

I really wanted to prove a point to people, what that point was I actually don't know. But as someone who resembles a British backpacker, with my pasty white flesh and insipid looking complexion, I felt the need to at least once this holiday feel sand between my toes. Which would've been lovely if it wasn't like sticking my feet into an oven that's been on 180 degrees for 4 hours. The dry skin problem on my feet is now no longer an issue, as most of the skin has pretty much been burnt off. Perfect. Who knew that sand could get so hot by 10am in the morning?

I must admit, I nearly didn't go through with it. There is an iron man event happening over this coming weekend that was being set up when I was down there. There's nothing intimidating at all about seeing fit, tanned and toned guys and girls in their Uncle Tobys' outfits doing promotional activities just a few metres from you on the beach when you currently resemble a beached whale. Hey, the way I figure it, society needs balance - not everyone should look like a golden adonis, and dammit I'm happy to do my bit to keep that balance... clearly.

Here's to all the vampires on the Gold Coast, may you shy away from the sun with pride. Enjoy.

I try not to let things piss me off, I really do. But sometimes my hand is forced, and I have no other choice but to get shirty. There really are some annoying people in the world, and seemingly, most of them live on the Gold Coast.

Taxi Drivers
Ok, first thing's first. For Christ's sake, do us all a favour and shower AT LEAST once a day. You may not find your aroma repulsive, but the rest of us do. Your cab is not an ashtray, so stop smoking in it and let us at least enjoy a cab trip where we don't get out smelling like a Winny Blue. And remember, we aren't all stupid tourists from the Emerald City. Some of us do actually know our way around, so f*ck the scenic route, get onto the goddamn highway and get my arse over to Marina Mirage toot-sweet. I don't need to spend $35 on a $20 fare just so that I can see the beach flying past at 30km/h.

Shop Assistants
When I'm purchasing something in your store, I expect your full attention. I know you think your riveting conversation with your colleague is as entertaining for me as it is for you, but news flash, it really isn't. Quite frankly, I couldn't give a rats arse about the fact that you are trying to convince your work friend who is standing 5 feet from you to move in with you so that you can watch whole TV series' on DVD all day every day. Surely such important things as that can wait, oh, the 2 minutes it takes to ring up my purchase and send me on my way. And don't keep apologising to me for not giving me your full attention, and then proceed to keep talking and ignoring me. I will get pissed off, and I will let you know that. Which brings me to my next point - don't get shirty at me 'cos I'm shirty at you for talking all the way through the transaction. There's a very good reason why you are on the other side of the counter, biatch.

Bingo at the surf club
Bingo, bingo, bingo. The combined age of everyone in the room would've been 15,872 years. That's a whole lot of annoyance right there. It was like the set of Cocoon. From the old fart sitting near me who felt the need to answer every number that was called out with a yes, no or hmmm, to the pains in my arse sitting behind who weren't even playing, and did not shut the f*ck up the whole time. Bingo is an interesting game. I've never seen people get so excited about winning $2.50. Although I must admit I carry on like I've won Powerball every time I find a dollar coin in an old handbag. I kept a calm veneer as I received my prize of a $15 breakfast voucher, but on the inside I was partying like it was 1999.

Next stop - the beach. Yee haw.

I'm Virgin on an episode of air rage

If hell were airborne, it would be Virgin flight DJ515 from Sydney to the Gold Coast.

After arriving at the airport on time*, for a change, I was advised that takeoff will be delayed by 10 minutes. No probs. I can deal with that, I'm officially on holidays. After passing through the security check unscathed (which I can't say the same for the poor handicapped, invalid old fart in a wheelchair who had been pulled out for a pat down - WTF?), and enjoying some quality Subway and light reading (NW of course) I made my way to Gate 40, or as I like to now call it, Gate Step this way for a couple of hours of sheer pain in your arse.

Once I managed to deal with the imbeciles that couldn't follow the simple boarding instruction of Rows 1-13 board from the front, the rest of you board from the back, I found my seat and strapped myself in. Let the games begin. I think the one family took up maybe 2/3 of the flight, and until that jet's tyres lifted off the tarmac, they were going to make sure they visited every last one of their family members dotted throughout the plane for some last minute conversation. Which I wouldn't have minded, if they weren't screaming at the top of their lungs. Freaking wogs.

Then there was the family across the aisle with the toddler that was absolutely not going to sit in his own seat and put his seatbelt on. Bless, his parents thought they could negotiate with him. Um, people, you negotiate with captors in a hostage situation, not with a toddler. After about 10 readings of Spot Cocks His Leg and Pisses On A Man Waiting at the Traffic Lights, the little dude's arse finally made contact with seat. Needless to say he was unimpressed. And by that point so was I.

I don't know about y'all, but my idea of fun is not sitting on a crowded plane for 25 minutes on the tarmac at Sydney Airport. Ok, so there was a technical problem with the plane that required maintenance. But, really, just fly the fukn thing to Coolangatta and let those guys deal with it, I have a holiday to get to. So finally hell on the tarmac became hell in the air. If I had a dollar for every screaming child on that flight, I'd have enough money to hire a car and drive back to Sydney. I was sitting next to a lovely guy, who was... rotund, to put it nicely, and who also didn't believe in the use of deodorant, and his daughter who had to touch, poke, prod and question every single thing around, above, below and to the side of her.

Thank God the pilot decided that he needed to flog that plane like no-ones business, because we seemed to get there not much later than what we should've done if it had of TAKEN OFF WHEN IT WAS MEANT TO DAMMIT. Although I must say, he needs to rethink his landing technique. Throwing that thing down at full speed cannot be good for the shocks, 'cos it certainly wasn't good for my internal organs. Of course, the co-pilot came over the PA to advise that we had landed at Coolangatta (no shit Sherlock) and to remain seated with our seatbelt securely fastened until the plane had come to a complete stop, which most mother f**kers on the flight then proceeded to totally disregard. Finally, holidays were in sight.

After disembarking, which really is a formal way of saying pushing and shoving everyone in your path to get out, I made it down the stairs and onto the tarmac. Free at last. Free at last. Thank God Almighty, we're free at last. I strode into that massive shed posing as a terminal, retrieved my bag from the carousel, and, finally, started my holiday.

It now begs the question - how the hell am I going to cope with 24 hours of that shit when I fly to London? God help me.

*this was by sheer miracle, as I was still packing at 11:15 (my flight was due to leave at 1:10pm and I live about 45km from the airport, you do the math). Plus, I realised as we pulled out of the driveway that I had forgotten to pack a very important component of anyone's trip - underwear, so had to go back in and grab every pair that I could find... that were clean.