An Interlude

You're an odd bunch, you strange few who read this blog. Often I get complaints and suggestions on how to spice up my stories and make them more appealing to the masses. Sometimes I suspect people see my blog as some kind of reality TV series, where characters are positioned for the most entertaining plot. Perhaps one day I'll be voted off my own blog, the monotone voice of Big Brother coming in over my car radio, evicting me onto the nearest sidewalk.

Complaints vary greatly. Some feel my posts are too long, others think there should be more of them. Most people want more slapstick, especially if it involves me hurting myself or embarrassing myself in public. Often I'm ordered to cut out the boring details about religious sites, cultural landmarks and natural reserves while others want those inappropriate stories about Dutch lesbians censored, and less of those dysentery stories too.

There is one complaint I get quite frequently however. The guys who read my blog always want to know how much 'action' I'm getting; the girls want more 'romance' in my stories. In the telling of my travelling tales, I do sometimes find myself venturing into areas that would usually be described as somewhat personal (those familiar with my Tibetan toilet incidents may feel I went a little too far at times). When it comes to those more intimate occasions with the opposite sex however, these precious few stories are mine alone.

As such, I would ordinarily not mention what happened at Magnetic Island. However, since the close quarters of backpacker accommodation allows for few secrets and since Rob was travelling with me at the time, I have little choice. I won't go into details (though I've no doubt Rob will) but suffice to say a rather attractive and extremely aggressive Irish girl locked me in her sights and brought me down.

If the truth be told this doesn't happen as often as most suspect. As disappointing as I'm sure this information is for you all, I'm unexcitingly old-school when it comes to relationships. I generally don't sign up for the typical short-term, travelling romance so popular among the backpacking crowd.

Maybe it was the backpacker mode I was in, maybe it was something to do with Magnetic Island (so named because Cook's compass went weird when he sailed passed) or maybe it even had something to do with the news that my last, serious girlfriend just got engaged. Whatever the reason I was more open to the prospect of a travelling 'romance' (i.e. a bit of 'action', for you guys) than I usually would be.

There's little more to tell than that (or little more that I'm willing to tell anyway). As with all holiday flings it ended with transport to different destinations. We said our goodbyes and went our separate ways in that amicable way that backpackers do. She flew off to Alice Springs, Rob and I drove on to Cairns.