Talking to myself again/ This time I think I'm getting through.

NOTE: I'm not having a pop at Australians in this post in any way whatsoever. You're all lovely racist fag-hating rednecks and I wholly respect your insular views. hohoho.

I've been wrestling with this post for a few days now, but everything I write comes across as bitter and depressing. Nothing new there, you say. Yeah, yeah, everyone's a critic.

So, as I don't want to come across as city-bashing, let's just say I feel we're being fed lies about Australia and we're eating them up. Welcome to little America, yo.*

See, to me, this isn't European architecture at all. Yes, it may be built by Europeans, but Melbourne is built on a grid like so many of the mix and match cities in North America that I've stumbled around in a haze. Walking around Fitzroy, I was reminded of struggling up Haight-Ashbury, with it's college-fund crusties clutching their sleeping bags and checking their Amex balance on their I-phones. I got the feeling the inhabitants of Melbourne are anti-tourist, in a way- they've seen what can happen and they don't want it there. They've developed their own scenes with their own uniforms and they don't want outsiders. Like New York or LA, none of the good bars have signs. They're all in basements or 2 storeys up.Fitzroy's no.1 murder-shack, as voted by Ted Bundy

Sadly, even though I was there for 2 weeks, I had no time to be any more than a tourist. Just take a snap of the thing you've seen a thousand pictures of already and get back on the bus. I don't have the time to scour the backstreets hunting for a shit-hot jazz bar. Or the inclination, now I think about it. Ugh, jazz.

I'm in Sydney now. Far more tourism-friendly. Or tolerant, or savvy or whatever. Far more tourists anyway. I took a pleasant and occasionally exhilarating ferry-trip into town from the Olympic Park, past the operahouse and a big version of the Tyne Bridge, which I looked at every day for 5 blurry years as a full-time booze hound, part-time bar manager.

But most importantly I saw Russell Crowe's house! The Crowebar!! I was fucking buzzed. The buildings are much higher, the taxis louder, the crowds bigger and more aggressive. People actually look worried here as they're waiting to cross the street. Walking through The Rocks I got more of a sense of the 'old'- this was where all the whoring and fighting went on, the site of Sydney's (or Australia's?) oldest pub, the first fleet pub opened in 1828. None of the controlled, claustrophobic insanity of the city here. The harbours are fully fledged tourist meccas, the blueprint for my very own Quayside and countless other industrial cities who are losing one of their main sources of employment. Baltimore, I'm looking in your direction. For the 35 days I'll spend here in Australia, I reckon I've used up my 3 days off already, so I took the decision to see some indigenous animals any way I could. There's just no time for day-trips anywhere. I've had more than one soaking and seen a few thunderstorms. And I only brought my leather jacket and a trackie top. So much for summer.Don't get me wrong, I like the place. The people are really friendly and polite but not to the point of insincerity like some parts of the US. I feel I could tell someone to fuck off here and get a worse insult back, without it ending in tears or a gunfight. I reckon there is more animosity towards America here than in the UK, not because they are more different but because they're more similar. *ahem displacement of indigenous peoples cough cough*

Again, this post doesn't have a point really, so I'm going to sum up with something I didn't have in my head until 5 minutes ago. Ready?

Back in 2002 my girlfriend at the time came here for a year. She wanted me to come out but I had no desire to restart our relationship. She made her money in stripclubs and doing photoshoots for a less-classy version of Nuts. I know, I didn't think it possible either. Let's say, less polished. And with muff-shots. From what I can gather, the highlights of her trip were lacerating her friend's eye with a stiletto heel during an argument, and getting nailed by 3 guys at the same time. I believe it's called a fourgy. All Brits, I might add. Backpackers mostly stick to their own. I'm sure that story has appeared in the lads' mags over the last few years.

Anyway, what I'm getting at is that a lot of people come here looking for a dream. They come back with some photos, a swollen liver and very likely an STI.

1, check, 2, check 3, no thanks, I'll pass.

* It may be bigger. I may check. In which case, welcome to Big-Little America, yo.