Kallangur, Australia
When I was a younger Ape, during my gap year, I embarked on a highly unoriginal tour of New Zealand and Australia with a couple of mates.

All went relatively well around NZ, we planned from morning to night and never struggled to find a place to rest our weary heads.

Australia turned out to be different story. we had decided to follow the Lions* around the country to watch the tests. The first was in sunny brisbane.

I arrived a couple of days earlier than my mates due to poor planning meaning that there weren't enough seats on one flight. I found bed in a hostel right in the centre of town and set about getting ratted in the Down under Bar at night and snoozing in the wonderfully warm, cahv free botanical gardens during the day.

Never did I think to book ahead and by the time my frinds arrived so had half of Briton and there was not a bed to be found.

After many phonecalls accomodation was sourced in the small town of Kallangur, north of the city. Younthful exuberance, read ignorance, kept our spirits high as the battered old Holden chugged ever further Northwards and the hairsuit drivers laughed harder and harder after swigs from a mysterious bottle.

We eventually arrived at what turned out to be a static caravan park around 10pm. The "office" looked nice enough but had closed at 6 and instructions on the door said we should seek out caravan 21. Easy we thought we'll be sipping cold aussie beer and eating BBQ kangaroo in no time.

We wandered down the first "street" of caravans, 1, 2, 3, 4, 475, 296. Ah this was going to be trickier than we thought.

"I know, from watching hours of low grade australian soap operas I am fully aware of how neighbours are happy to help each other out, lets knock on a door".

Knock on door we did hoping to suckle at the milk of human kindness. After a few seconds a voice boomed out from behind us.

"What the fuck do you want?"

A man in a crocodile dundee hat was silohetted behinda screen door, no visible features expect the ends of his enormous moustche.


I boldly spoke for the group,"Oh, er, sorry, I er,was wondering if you would kindly, if it's not too much bother, perhaps let us know wher caravan 21 is, please...sir?"

"Round the corner, now get the fuck of my property!"

He wasn't like rotund but loveable buffon phil Martin we thought as we located the night office.

A kindly old lady showed us to are berth, in her nightie, and we settled in.

The next few days we mearly milled around, there was nothing to do in this town and as three faced faced 18 year olds we were scared of the pub even!

the other residences of the park were almost exclusively permanent and would stare from behind screens or disappear when we round a bend. All in all though the stay was fairly uneventful.

It wasn't until we caught the news two days after we left to see that someone in a caravan very near to ours had hacked his mother to bits with bloody great axe that we realised thatwe may have had a lucky escape! God knows what the outback must be like this was near to a major city!!!

*Lions, effectively a GB Rugby union team who tour Oz, NZ and RSA once every four years
( Naked Ape call me Caitlyn, Fri 18 Jan 2008, 16:04, Reply)