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14/5/05

Tamara and Beth had to leave the house for work at 7am. It was the first time I've heard an alarm clock in a while. I went back to the pub and crashed out in the spare bunk room upstairs for a few hours. The room where I originally meant to be sleeping in. I then decided to go down to the famous Hay street, aka the Kalgoorlie brothel strip.

Prostitution is illegal in W.A, but the government turns a blind eye on these ones in Kalgoorlie. There's only three left now. A couple of them recently got turned into backpackers. Langtrees brothel does a daily tour of their establishment during the day. I decided to check it out.

They say it's best to shop for food on a full stomach not an empty one. Having just had a root with a stranger 12 hours ago, I figured my timing for a 'Brothel tour' today was perfect. I figured there'd be little urge to go for the $120 impulse purchase just as I was leaving. And that's just for starters! The most expensive thing on the menu was $500. This was the fee for bringing in a mate and rooting the same chick. Anyway I digress. The Langtree's Brothel tour was $35. It went for over an hour and was a cultural experience, I fully recommend.

Langtree was named after Lilly Langtree, a famous high society actress in England during the 1800's. She was also King Edward's mistress at one time. The tour was taken by a young man who was going out with one of the brothel's cleaners. He was the consumate professional and put us all at ease from the first minute we entered the foyer. Langtrees is at the upmarket end of the brothel market. And what a huge market it is. I think most people take for granted that in their working life, they also get free access to perve and interact with any number of people from the opposite sex. Office flirting, affairs, Christmas parties... Well from what I hear, there's not much female company down the bottom of a mine shaft. The jackhammer can get pretty lonely down there.

Anyway, on the tour with me were two middle aged couples from Perth. I've never been in a brothel before. Don't know why. To me it's a bit like going fishing with your mates and then going, 'fuck it, let's buy some fish from the shop instead'. Who knows what I would have done last night though if I hadn't met Tamara? It'd been a while. Anyway this brothel is steeped in history and cultural significance. It's been open for over 90 years and was knocked down and rebuilt in 2001 at a cost of $3 million dollars. Which I reckon represents one dollar for every sperm in the last load blown here - sometime this morning.

The themed rooms are specially and tastefully decked out. A lot of time, thought and planning has obviously gone into this place. The rooms include: the Madams room with the revolving bed, the Eishen room (Japanese for eternal fantasy), the Holden on room where you get to root in an EK Holden decked out with a mattress, the Roman orgy room which has two beds in case you bring a mate in and want to swap girls half way through, the Great Boulder shaft room which is decorated like you're at the bottom of a mine shaft (it's a miner's thing), the Afghan boudoir specially designed for humping and the Sports locker room. The Sports locker room has a bed in a boxing ring with a basketball hoop above it - so you can be tied up. It's the room for the kinky shit.

My favourite rooms were the toilets in the foyer. They were called the 'Cock pit' and the 'Box office'. The whole place was immaculately clean and up to the highest standards as far as prostitution and five star accomodation go. Each room, (including the sheets and bed and showers) are continually cleaned and disinfected in between tricks. All the girls are constantly tested and looked after by a nurse, who comes in weekly for checkups. The girls are also well trained at examining cocks and knocking back players who haven't been protecting their teammate.

If any of the blokes are too pissed, they're put on the revolving bed to make them go to sleep. Which makes the job all the more easier for the girls. All rooms have an emergency switch which goes through to reception, which can be then be relayed to the police should any of the girls get into trouble. It seems that all the clients who come here are generally grateful for the service provided though. Since the revamp, the emergency switch has only been used once and that was when the cleaner accidently knocked it at reception. Apparently the cops hung around that night, 'just in case it happened again'.

Many characters have come in and out of the Langtree establishment over the years. None more so than Leigh who was born as 'Harry' in Kalgoorlie, fifty odd years ago. At school he was continually bullied for being feminine. At twenty he ran away with the 'Les Girls', travelling show and had a sex change before returning to Kalgoorlie as 'Leigh' and becoming a working girl at Langtrees.

Apparently Leigh ended up having sex with most of the boys who bullied him when he was at school 'for acting like a poofter'. He/she found it pretty disconcerting at first when these same boys continually picked her out of the line, not knowing who she was. She never let on though and they never found out that it was actually Harry that they were rooting! What a great payback line it would have been to use during sex though! 'Hey mate, do you know who you're rooting. It's me Harry, that guy whom you used to pick on at school!'. Leigh's now happily married and a popular Kalgoorlie counciller.

Another room is the Coolgardie tent room. It's a replica of one of the 70 brothel tents that covered the Coolgardie landscape during Australia's major gold rush in the 1880's. The tents housed up to 150 working girls from a variety of countries and walks of life. These girls valiantly catered for over 30,000 miners who often travelled 100's of miles to visit them. On the wall of Coolgardie tent room is a mural of Hay street back in it's heyday when it had 12 brothels. After the brothels were established they found out that it was illegal to have a court house and a brothel on the same street. The courthouse was on Hay St. So what they did is change the name of the street halfway down to Brookman St. Problem solved with good old Aussie ingenuity! Sure saved moving the courthouse or brothels.

Anyway back to the mural in the Coolgardie Tent room. After the pubs shut at 6pm, the miner's came down to Hay St . It was the only other entertainment on offer in town and very popular. The mural shows long lines outside a row of doors from the brothels, leading on to the street. Some lines were shorter than others. Apparently, there was a reason. One legendary character was 'Old Sam'. He used to line up at the popular girl's queue and then sell his spot when he got to the front. He never went in. He just liked to have a beer and a yarn with his mates down there each night while earning a bit on the side.

Out the back of the brothel is an amazingly decorated courtyard. Included is a 'Wank tank', the brain child of Kevin Bloody Wilson, the Kalgoorlie born and bred comedian.

He apparently suggested on one of his visits that there should be some place to go and have a flog - for the miners who couldn't afford a girl. It's now tastefully renamed the 'Thank tank' and inside is a dunny which accepts coin donations which Langtrees passes on to hospital charities. So far they're RAISED over $22000. Cameras weren't allowed in the brothel but if you want to see what I'm talking about check out langtrees.com for a virtual tour.

After my brothel experience I decided to push on. I had to get to the town of Beverley which was about a 500kms drive away, by tomorrow night. On the way, I dropped into the bar at Coolgardie to give my German friends my DVD's. A bit of Aussie culture to bring back to Germany! At the bar, as usual, was Paul. He introduced me to his mate Lenny. An old bugger with about three teeth and a grin to match. He told me the joke about this guy who went to the doctor. The doctor said, 'you look pretty crook, how much do you drink - five drinks a day?' 'No' said the guy, 'much more'. 'Twelve' inquired the doctor. 'Twelve' said the patient incredulous. 'I spill more than that!'. Paul then told me one. 'What's the lightest thing on a human body? 'What? I asked. 'The penis - because even the imagination is able to lift it'.

Len and Paul then introduced me to an Aboriginie guy next to them. He was a cheeky funky looking bloke and having a punt on the dogs. His name was Sambo. I shook hands with him. Aboriginies have a very soft handshake and I responded accordingly. Unlike white fellas. From a young age we're taught that a handshake is a competition to break each others bones! Participating in this sport proves what a solid character you are! Afterwards, Sambo nodded affectionately towards Old Len. 'Old Len used to work with my Grandfather', he said. 'When our folk weren't allowed inside town, Len came out and saved my Dad who was dying. Bought him the medicine he needed. He's a good bloke Len'.

It seems Australia has a large amount of black and white history now that is also positively intertwined. I've just finished reading 'Journey to the stone country' by Alex Miller, which illustrates this beautifully. There are so many great stories out there. I only heard a snippet of this one but was glad. Coolgardie rocked. For a town bordering on a ghost town, I could hardly keep up with it. Just dropping in for one beer at the bar, was again an intense experience.

I said goodbye and kicked on. Paul came out to the car with me, 'Now keep in contact. Once a month minimum' he insisted. The sunset this afternoon again put on a show. The blood red gum trees and were red earth going off. Again I could hardly keep my eyes on the road while trying to soak it all up. Don't see this shit in the city much. I got into Southern Cross at 6pm and went for a walk. I love going for a walk in different towns. Everything's new around you. The eyes are always looking around (especially for Alsations!). And it sure beats staring at a tv on a treadmill, at the gym.

I cruised past a pub that I hadn't noticed from my last stopover in town. It was a quiet pub, tucked away and called The Railway Hotel. $22 a room. Couldn't resist. Erin an American girl worked behind the bar. Gilbert, 'the tall blackfella' as he described himself was on the other side of the bar and told me about his Shire job over a beer. There were a few miners sprinkled about, still in their safety vests. Erin introduced me to Bonnie. She was buying a six pack. 'Whenever someone new comes into town, we all love it because there's someone new to talk to', she said. 'Other than that, not much to do around here other than work and drink. I hate the city though. Can't stand Perth. Too busy'. She then grabbed her beers and went back home.

Dot ran the bar. She'd been here 13 years and had seen many ups and downs. The fortune of the town and shops here, depended almost entirely on whether the mines were open or not. The mine owners at the moment had currently gone into recievership. 'No worries, there will be new owners soon', she said, unperterbed. Anyway again, I was in a small country pub which was so friendly. No swinging doors, music stopping and everyone drawing guns when I entered - like I'd been told in the movies. I had a beer then went upstairs to chill out. I had five gigs in row ahead of me and felt I needed to rest and catch up on my notes. I was having too many conversations that I wanted to record and I was having trouble remembering them! And people wonder whether it's lonely travelling by yourself. It's not lonely, it's full on!

15/3/05

The Ides of March. I motored out of Southern Cross to Beverley, five hours away. Highlight of the drive, was hearing one of my first 'favourite' songs as a teenager, on the radio. It's called 'Lawyers in Love' by Jackson Browne. It peaked in the charts at about no. 36 way back in 1984. I couldn't believe I was now hearing it crackling out on an AM station while I was driving thru the backblocks of the Western Australian wheat belt in 2005. I hadn't heard the song in at least ten years! I wound down the window and rocked out while belting out every word to the sheep grazing around me. None of the sheep seemed to share my enthusiasm. Which was fair enough because that song was played especially for me! At least that's what it felt like.

Beverley is a small town. There's not even a bakery. The gig was put on because there were a whole lot of lawn bowlers who'd booked out the pub that night for a competition. Which was good for me cause it's hard to get a gig on a Tuesday. Few of the bowlers ended up turning up though. It was mainly locals in the crowd, which is better for my show, anyway. I get far more cheek back. I, as usual, went out hard to try and set the tone of the evening. Weed out the people who aren't comfortable laughing and having a good time and all of that.

One guy called Fred at the bar told me five minutes into the gig. 'Careful mate, you've just come in here for a night. I've been here sixty years'. He then yelled out to his son, 'Hey Ringo, can you go and bash this guy'. I kept at him. People like Fred in the crowd are sparkplugs for a good gig. Fred responded and as usual with people who give me a bit of lip at the start of the show, he ended up jamming all night with me, like we were a comedy duo act. One guy even yelled out halfway, 'how much are you paying Fred for the show?' At the end of the show Fred came up to me and gave me a big bear hug and told me what a top night he'd had.

Another great bloke in the crowd was 'Snags'. The knockabout pub yardie who had his seat with his name on it, two seats from the end of the bar. When I'd arrived that afternoon, I found out that the pub had been booked out for beds. Snags, immediately took me upstairs and showed me a couch I could crash out in the lounge room. Perfect. He also later on got right into the show. Here's a photo of Fred and Snags after the gig.

After the show I also had a yarn and a beer with Justin who was a bowler up from Perth and as it turns out a big comedy follower. He bought my DVD's and told me how he was a state rep in W.A for lawn bowls at 19. I asked him what the average age of a bowler was. He replied, 'stone age' The show started at 7pm and ended at 9:30pm. I ended up at the bar and plugging the odd drink, until after midnight before finally crashing out upstairs.

I've always been a great sleeper, which is good for what I do. A couch is not a hassle to sleep on in my game. It's a bonus. Especially if it's near a power point to recharge my phone battery. Not that there was much use for my phone out in the W.A wheatbelt. Vodafone coverage ain't for farmers. The bowlers ended up leaving at 6am. I heard them, got up and walked around looking for a free-homeless-man-frequent-pub-stayer-upgrade. I eventually found a room with an unused bed in it and then plugged another four hours. Ahhh...

16/3/05

Before I drove out of Beverley, I checked out their aviation museum. Apparantly some farmer in the area had built a plane from scratch in the early 1900's. The museum, which is about the size of a house and next to the pub displays the plane inside, with some infomation on the walls about early flying. A lady volunteer sat at the desk, collecting the $2 entry fee. She said about three people come in a day.

People often say to me, how brave it is to do stand-up comedy. It's all relative. I think flying a plane is brave. There's no way in the world I'd even want to do something like that. I'm way to absent minded for one. I'd fuck up for sure. I read with interest about the early pioneers of flight. I mean, how much balls did those guys have!? Flying untested machines into the air. Fuck me dead.

I remember being up in the Kimberley a few years ago, on a dingy out on Lake Argyle after a gig. I was with Glenny from the Toe-Sucking Cowgirls and their bass player Sam. After the gig, two of the local croc hunters said they'd show us something. They then took us out on the lake to show us how to pull baby freshwater crocs out of the water. Normally we wouldn't do something that silly, but we'd all had a few drinks and so thought, 'why not?'. When in Rome do what the Romans do, when in Lake Argyle go hunting crocs when you're pissed.

On the way out, one of the croc hunters confided in me how there's no way he'd ever do stand-up comedy because 'you're out there in front of humans - they're the most dangerous animal on earth' he informed me, 'so unpredictable'. He then pulled a croc out of the water which he'd spotted with his torch. Their eyes light up when you shine the torch across the water. The driver then coasts in while the other guy leans over the front and grabs them. Anyway, he then asked me to have a go. 'Come on, they're only freshies'. I said, 'mate I'll do stand-up comedy, but there's no way I'm going to pull a croc out of the water with my bare hands'. Glenny and Sam did though. In fact Sam fell overboard while grabbing it. I've still got the footage of him standing in chest high water holding this croc up in the air like it was a gold medal. One man's poison is another man's idea of a shitload of fun.

Driving out of Beverley I saw a small wooden sign which said 'Lonely grave'. I wasn't in a rush, so stopped to have a look. It was a grave beside the road of a three month old kid that had died in 1882. Not a big tourist puller, and also something which is very hard to make a joke out of. Then I thought, maybe the kid's Dad used it for bait while croc hunting up in the Kimberley, pissed on his honeymoon. Like I said, pretty hard to make a joke out of.

We all die. It freaks us out doesn't it!? Death. It's a hard subject for humans talk about. And even harder to get a laugh out of. Which is pretty strange really because we all eventually do death. In fact, we're designed to die as much as we are to live. Planned obselence. I wonder if when you die,you immediately think, 'Is that all, it was?' I wonder if you just sit back and watch and laugh at all the humans who are still so scared of it, like a marathon runner who goes back and cheers on all the people who haven't finished yet. 'Relax, another gig's just around the corner. Keep on truckin'. Without death though, I think life would certainly lose it's mystery.

I've died heaps on stage. Within every act there's at least some section or joke which dies. In fact, the best gigs are often the gigs where the crowd knows you are dying. Get them back though, and the crowd goes off. The Universal Phoenix. The eternal archetype. Life beyond Death. Call it heaven. Call it a Kalgoorlie brothel after not having a root in a year. Apparently Christopher Reeve's favourite quote was from a comedian who said in his biography that 'Death is easy, comedy is hard'. Reeve said it helped inspire him to keep living after his accident.

Tonight's gig was aptly named The Rocke Inn. It was opposite a big rock outside Armadale. It was out in the sticks a bit and didn't have accomodation. I was immediately greeted by Fletch the bar manager. Fletch was skinny guy who moved his head gingerly around whenever he turned. At first I thought he was just coming off a massive hangover. He later told me he used to be in the army until he had a parachuting accident where five of his vertabrae were compressed into three.

I had a beer with a guy called Ray at the bar. He told me about the time he was in a Kalgoorlie brothel. He said while he was doing the girl doggie style, he felt a licking of his arse behind him. He turned around and saw a poodle and freaked out. He then picked the dog up and slammed it against the wall. The girl started freaking out, and then a huge Kiwi bouncer came in and told him that his 'time was up'. 'Hadn't even done me load' he said, 'plus a dog licked me'. I said, 'don't worry mate, some people pay extra for that'.

The gig and the crowd were loose tonight. A real relaxed environment with plenty of cheek coming back at me, which is what I love. Here's a picture of Roger. He got his balls out for the crowd.

There were three young Japanese fruit pickers in the front row. The reason Roger got his balls out was to tell everyone how his Grandfather had gone and fought off the Japs during the second world war, and how him and his Grandfather had bigger balls than anyone, especially when it came to fighting Japs. I kept waiting for the punchline. There was none. I wasn't sure what to do. I thought his comments were a little out of context considering the Japanese boys, whom he was undoubtedly talking to, were 20 years old and enjoying a beer at a comedy show in 2005. If something's not funny, fair enough, but at least TRY and make it funny! He was doing so well earlier in the night too when he came up and coached his son in the skulling comp. He gave some very funny critiques: 'Undo your jeans top button, son'. He was so keen for his son to win.

Anyway, I responded to the Japanese boys, who were sitting up the front and getting a little uncomfortable, in my best broken Japanese. 'Watashi no Nihongin tomadachi, segoy siemasen deshta. Kale wa chotto baka desu'. I then had a beer with them during my break. Drew was an Aussie guy who worked with them. He told me one of the boys, called Tsubi, was very impressed at the Skimpy girl that night. He said it was the first time he'd ever seen a girl's breasts live. That was it for me! After the break, I pulled him up on stage, told the story to the crowd and said I'm not continuing the show until a chick comes up and lets Tsubi feel her tits. And fuck, didn't I milk this segment. I went on an on, begging every chick in the room. Eventually Susie behind the bar couldn't stand it any longer and came up and shoved her amply sized tits in his face. The crowd went off, Tsubi got up with a big smile on his face, and I felt like I'd done my bit for international relations.

After the show, I wasn't too sure where I was going to stay, so I went to where a lot of people go to find answers in life: the bar. I had a yarn with Brian, the publican. He told me it was a bit of a bikie pub. He told me the last time the bikies were here they set up a concert stage outside as part of a night out on their 'joker bike run'. He said they partied hard without any incident and then came back early in the morning and cleaned everything up. 'I couldn't even find a ring top in the grass. He went on to say, 'I'd much rather 250 bikies in my pub than 15 teenagers. They're a lot less trouble'.

I spoke to Gillo. He'd been a great heckler in the crowd. He was the local Tow truck driver. He told me how he thought Aboriginies were a sick race. Gillo was a solid guy, with a solid character. I asked him why. He then went onto say how Aboriginies had robbed and bashed his grandparents at their home. 'They purposely pick out the old and the frail. It's happened so many time around here'. It'd obviously upset him a lot. He said he grew up down the road.

A few of the crew at the bar said I could come back to their place for a party and 'a few cones' and to crash out on their couch if I needed it. I eventually took up Fletch's offer. He knew I was desperate to do some washing and offered me his washing machine. 'I've travelled around Australia mate, I know what it's like', he said. Plus I'd probably get a bit more sleep there, I thought, as he wasn't having a party. I was wrong though because we ended up talking for four hours. Fletch was a pretty amazing character. Back at his home, 5kms down the road, he introduced me to his cat and his 'Budgie on steroids', which was a Lorikeet called Arnie.

Fletch was 40. He said his girlfriend had left him 18 months ago. She was extremely religious, and they'd had a fight over whether God really existed straight after his Mum died. She left him the next day. He said it was the first argument they'd ever had. He said he met her after an armed robber came into the bottle shop where he was working. He said he laughed in the guy's face before he fled. She was working next door and wondered how he could react that way. They then went out on a date. Fletch then told me how he'd worked in the army's counter insurgent commando unit, where he'd seen heaps of guns in his face, which is why he was used to it. He said it was the unit under the SAS. He said he wasn't able to get into the SAS because he'd failed one of the tests. Apparently they found out he was claustraphobic while tied up underwater.

He said he'd worked on a secret mission up in New Guinea,at one time. It was an Army blacklist job. Officially we were in QLD 'on a training exercise' he said. 'Unofficially we were in Papua New Guinea training with live ammo, against live targets'. 'We ended up killing 460 'rebel's who were trying to spoil the mine owned by a big Australian mining company up there'. Fletch said the mine hired the Australian army to go up and sort them out. Fletch told me how he'd killed 12 of them. 'Slit their throats' he said, matter of factly. He then demonstrated on his own head by pulling it back. He said you stick the knife in the side and rip forward. He then took a fold out dagger attached to his belt. He says he carrys it all the time. Old habits die hard.

He said after his Army experiences, nothing scares him much. He said the only time he was a bit worried was when a junkie came into his shop demanding $200 for his next hit. He was holding a syringe. Fletch said he opened the till and told him to go for it. He said the junkie went into the till, picked out all the money, counted $200 and then put the rest in the till. The junkie then went to leave before turning around and asking for 40 cents more so he could call his dealer. Apparently, the Junkie was found a week later, hanging from a tree. Fletch said his wife then came in a week later with her two kids to apologise for what her late husband had done.

Anyway we were talking about all sorts of things. I mentioned Iraq. I've got an Iraqi mate who wants me to go over there, to check it out. His family got kicked out of Basra ten years ago by Saddam's henchmen. He's just returned and e-mailed me the other day, saying everything over there is looking positive, since 'that fuckwit Saddam has gone'. Fletch then asked me if I'd watched Fahrenheit 9/11. I said I hadn't but wanted too. He then went to his DVD collection and put it on for me. What a movie.

At one point George Bush is seen talking at a prominent business men's dinner. Bush opened up his keynote speech by saying, 'Tonight I welcome all the haves.... and the have-mores'. There was a big laugh from the audience. 'Some people call you the elite.... I just call you my base'. Again, there was a big laugh. I started pissing myself too, and then realised Bush wasn't joking. I use the same technique getting a laugh about sex though. Just say what the crowd is thinking but isn't allowed to admit. Be brazen. Bush was pretty confident at doing this. It frightened me how he can get away with it, like I imagine my act frightens some people in the same way.

During the movie, there was some pretty harrowing footage of an Iraqi lady who was saying she hopes God strikes Americans down. Her house, family and village had just been ripped apart by an American smart bomb. There was footage of Iraqi civilians, burnt, maimed, disfigured and dis-limbed. She wailed, 'there's no militia here, just civilians'.

In one night, I'd learnt from three different people how the Japanese, Aborigines and Americans were a wicked race who demonstrated inhumane violence towards innocent humans. We're all the same species. Maybe we're all fucked. Maybe that's ultimately what we've all got in common.

Fletch and I then talked about how armies are just really trained bouncers for business. Jobs for the poor, protecting the rich. Mercenaries who are paid to kill so that resources can be secured. It's pretty sad if you think about it. I suppose that's why we try not to. The wealth from these resources secured can be then paid to build bigger and better weapons to protect the tax payers who pay for them, plus to pay for the wages for the armies who man them. Chickens have a pecking order. We humans know where we stand too in the scheme of things. And that's how civilisations grow. Yesterday it was pouring burning oil off the ramparts. Today it's ballot box bullying.

I told Fletch my 'Freedom is just another word for Weapon of mass distraction' idea. Fletch, the trained killer who was now gently patting his cat and best friend called, 'Puddy cat' nodded. 'It's true', he lamented. I still can't see the shirt becoming standard issue for the army though, so I think I'll hold off on the print run for now.

I remember when I was in East Timor entertaining the troops and speaking to the head army guy there, as I was leaving from Dilli Airport. We were talking about the controversial oil field split up in the Timor sea. He said, East Timor got 90% of the area and Australia 10%. And that's what the papers were also saying. i.e backing up the talk of this 'generous offer by Australia'. He then continued, 'the thing is though, 90% of the oil in our 10%'. Mercenaries fighting for freedom in order to secure resources.

I was taken for a flight in a Black Hawk helicopter over there. The driver said that it uses up $16000 in fuel every hour. I tried to get him to give me the $16000 instead of the ride. It blew me away how much money goes into armies though. I now know why. More money comes out of warfare for those economies that can afford it, than what they put into it. Otherwise, they wouldn't go there. It a sad fact of history and also why an enemy always has to be invented.

I talked to a lot of the army boys over in East Timor and the Solomon Islands while doing gigs. They joked about how they all work for 'M&M's'. That is, 'Money and medals'. Most said they were keen to go to Iraq. They used an interesting analogy. They said not going to war was a bit like training to be a football player but never getting a game, being a musician and never doing a concert or in my case, thinking up gags but never getting a go on stage. No wonder the army did so many private jobs on the side. It was also good practice.

I liked how Fletch looked at war both from an insider who'd been trained to kill and as an outsider who could see the bigger picture, as an older and wiser man. He said when you're in the army, you're not really thinking about what your fighting for. 'At the end of the day, It's a job', he said. And in the heat of the battle when your lives are at risk, your number one concern is, 'don't let your mates down'. i.e you do what you're told and trained to do, without thinking too much about why'.

In a way it's just like going to work and paying taxes from a job that you're no longer interested in. You're not really thinking too much about causes or how this job contributes to the overall picture of the geo-political-economic-environment. You're main motiviation is to not let your family down by not paying the bills. i.e you do the job. It's a means to being a provider.

I love hearing reality. To me, reality is so much more cruder than any comedy I could come up with. It always amazes me when people get upset with what I say in pubs and go to such lengths to get me banned. Surely there's more important issues and wrongs in the world to put your energies into being upset about than a comedian swearing and talking about sex in a pub! Sex and politics. We all like to ignore the truth. Oil. Crude oil. Crude Jimbo. Whatever. We're animals who like to fuck, and who work in hierarchial social groups. Social order has little to do with morals. As Michael Moore quoted George Orwell at the end of his movie. 'Power and social hierarchies are maintained through poverty and ignorance'.

We're all complicit though. It's not just our leaders. Dubious leverage is used at all levels in society, right down to the boss who will make you do unpaid overtime because he knows you depend on his wage, to the worker who steals and slackens off when the boss isn't looking, to the guy who will pick a fight with the weakest guy in the pub, to the guy who walks up to a bikie who is just relaxing having a beer and picks a fight with him, just so he can prove how tough he is. Dubious leverage goes both ways. There's just as much reverse snobbery as there is snobbery in this world. One man's freedom fighter is another man's terrorist. One girl's idea of gang rape is another girl's idea of a sexual fantasy. We all like to identify with one group and bag anything that's different.

We're tribal. It can also be fun though. And to other's it's not. Every town I go to has a rival town which is an easy laugh for a comedian to tap into. Every football team has got another team they hate. One of the best quotes I've ever heard was off a bloke called Mal. I met him over a beer in a Broome niteclub. He told me this quote over the thumping noise of a band, which was belting out five metres away. He said the quote was from one of the first Governers of NZ. It was about the Maoris. Apparently this is what he said, 'These people value their worth by what they can give, not by what they have. In order to conquer them, we're going to have to teach them greed'. It hit me like a brick. It was so right on, yet so wrong. We are a conquered world though in many ways.

I find doing political humour, especially in pubs pretty useless though these days. That is, to make fun and point out the inequalities and subtle ironies in this world though humour, in the hope of changing things. The world has gone so far into absurdity and most people understand this. Most people are aware of how unjust and fucked up people and it's social systems are. They always have been. It's just the way we humans are. The last thing people want is reminding of this fact. We're programmed to just have an effect on our own little sphere in the hierarchy. Anything more is for idle minds or too hard. Everytime I start doing political humour, especially in pubs, I always get the impression that people are basically saying back to me through their blank stares, 'Yeah mate, we know the world is fucked, we know the world is a joke, that's why we're drinking, now can you get back to the goat fucking gags, cause I want to have a laugh'. This ain't a problem though, because I've got a shitload of goat fucking gags! It's my specialty....

It was nearly 5am when I got to sleep. I could have yarned to Fletch for ages. I had a 500km drive tomorrow though. He told me one last story before crashing out. He said he was in Melbourne and saw this old grey bearded guy at the traffic lights on a huge motorcycle. Anyway, all of a sudden he toppled over sideways, with the bike pinning him on the road. Fletch and his mate then ran out to help him. 'Thanks'. said the old guy, 'I've had a side-car for thirty years, I only took it off a month ago and keep forgetting to put my feet down.' I plugged five hours sleep on Fletch's couch before slipping out in the morning with a bag full of clean clothes, and a notepad full of contradictory and uncensored ramblings for my internet blog. aka The quasi soul mate and pseudo travelling partner for the modern day lone adventurer.

17/3/05

I finally arrived in Southern Cross. This time it was to do a gig. Southern Cross by the way was named after the constellation that guided the early explorers/prospectors out to the town. Most of the streets and parks in town are named after well known constellations and stars. Pretty cute.

I'm not a 'name' comedian. I haven't got a media profile. I've got a lot of experience though, which means I can hold a crowd that's presented to me but I can't pull a crowd into a pub. Therefore, most pubs put me on a Friday or Saturday night when they've already got a crowd there. That's when it's most viable to risk giving me a couple of hundred bucks. I just run off the back of the existing crowd trying to keep them laughing and drinking a little bit longer than normal so as to cover my fee at the till. It's the financial reality of my job. I'm usually put on by the publican as a treat for their patrons, rather than a drawcard.

When someone sees a Jimbo poster, they don't go, 'wow, he's funny' they generally go, 'who the fuck is this prick, haven't heard of him before, I betcha he's shit!' Therefore any mid week gigs, that I get are pretty rare, unless I'm riding off the back of a skimpy night, bowls night or in tonight's case, 'St Patrick's Day.

This week was a good week for me, gig wise and cash wise. I could tell because I was back on top, buying the odd counter meals instead of supermarket shopping. Anyway, after arriving, I set my gear up, snuck another hour's sleep in to refresh myself and started my set at The Club Hotel, Southern Cross. It was a bit of different crowd tonight. People were dressed a bit better and there were more girls and couples in the crowd. They got my humour straight away though, and I had a good night. I love it when a crowd appreciates wrongness and encourages me to go further.

A crowd that knows what an art comedy is rather than what an atrocity it is. It's the comedians job to cop criticism though. We're a release valve for taboo topics. Just because we say something, doesn't mean we mean it. It's the same with everyone. Who means everything they say? Who doesn't bullshit every day to their partner, boss, customers about something, no matter how inconsequential? Have nice day! As if we give a shit. We all play along. Why should comedians be treated any different! Don't take everything we say as serious. We're comedians. It always amazes me the amount of people who don't understand this. They're usually the ones who walk out of my show as soon as I open my mouth!

Anyway I hit a high note tonight, after pulling one girl out of the crowd. I asked her when was the last time she had a root. She said she couldn't answer that cause her parents were in the crowd. I then asked her Dad, 'At what age did you realise you're daughter was rooting? The crowd lost it. I then tagged it with 'Apart from when her Uncle stayed over'. Boom. I'd nailed it.

The crowd then gave out one of those laughs I love. Just the whole room bending over laughing and looking around in amazement at everyone else laughing at something which is so inappropriate. This only makes them laugh more. Waves of it, followed by a round of applause, acknowledging the feat, the timing - the joke. It doesn't happen often but when it does, I'm happy. And so is the person who booked me. After the show her Dad came up to me. I took a photo of his teeth. An orthodonist's wet dream. Fucked if he was going to see one though.

After the pub had shut, I got to see a few burnouts on the street. Rubber on the tarmac. It's Australian for modern art. I then got invited to a party. At the party Phebe painted my toe-nails pink and showed me her toy which blows bubbles out it's arse. I then met her teddy bears and got a photo with them. It was good to relax and chill out with some friendly company. Unwind.

We all talked about stuff. Corby Schappelle came up in conversation, the girl who's up on drug charges in Thailand. It's pretty obvious that it was baggage handlers who had left the dope in her bag. You'd at least dry the dope out and compress it if you were going to smuggle it into a country that had the death sentence, and not leave it in a huge see through bag on top of your luggage. Marijuana. It's strange really. More people smoke it in Australia than drink red wine. It's just accepted that if you do it, you do it discreetly. Again, accepted duplicity.

How can we be so righteous about anything really? It's not the way things work. The more you think about things and try and decide what is right, the more it slips through your fingers. It's like trying to grab water. Life. I prefer to just swim in it. Sometimes you're in the town sewer, sometimes you're in a hot spring. The idea is to keep paddling. Points of view are just a point of view. Just because other people think the same as you doesn't necessarily justify it any more than another point of view. It's all relative. We all know it. Why do we all have to pretend so much? Maybe conflict is humans way of allieving boredom. Just like kids fighting in the back of a car on a long drive. Apparently the Irish have got a saying which says that wars start when the people are bored. I believe it.

The flipside of this though, for a comedian, is that all these ironies etc create a social landscape so rich for humour. Nuggets everywhere. I've just got to keep fossicking. That's my job. Anyway the party was kicking on, and I was happy to just sit back on the couch and relax. Someone gave me a bourbon. Before I knew it, it was 3am though and I had another long drive tomorrow, so I reluctantly decided to go back to the pub and rack up some sleep instead.

They asked me to stay. I think sometimes people expect me to be this hard living mongrel off stage. The reality is I'm a pretty clean living, quiet guy though. I have to be. It's the only way I can see myself having the energy to keep up with my schedule. No tour manager for me. It ain't in my budget. I can't really afford down time, especially when I've got a run of gigs. Make hay while the sun shines. There's no tour bus for me to crash out in tomorrow which will drive itself. Therefore, after a gig, the main two things I'm up for are a good conversation and/or a bit of company while I do my load. i.e a bit of skin on skin and a tit to suck. I'd got some good conversation tonight so I was happy.

As usual though, I went to bed, the way I normally do. That is, after a wank, physically and mentally tired and ready to sleep. Which ain't bad really. I mean lets face it, unless you want to create a baby, a partner during sex is really a bonus as opposed to a necessity. And, to get sex, there's so much bullshit you have to go through sometimes hey! I haven't got that much time in my schedule! No wonder prostitution is the oldest profession. At it's core is so much honesty.

As one guy said in Beverley, 'to get a girl into bed in this country, you have to pretend that you're someone that you're not and also pretend that you're not after sex. The girls are doing the same thing too. And then when there is cock in the vagina at the end of the night, you both have to act like it was an accident and have a moment where you go to each other 'how did this happen?!', before getting on with it. And by the time this has finally happened you've usually spent a huge amount of time and money on alcohol and drugs just to getting there, thus wiping out the next day. Wanking, like prostitution has it's place in this world. It allows us to put our energies into other things! How's that for a long winded justification for having a wank! Points of view. All you need is a spin doctor.

18/3/05.

I then woke up eight hours later, the way I love. Fresh. Before leaving I had a chat to Cheyn at the bar. She was a Queensland girl and had come over to W.A to escape a pokie machine addiction. She said she hated Perth cause, she just didn't meet anyone there, so she applied for a job out here in the country. She said, within the first week, she'd spoken to just about everyone in town. She said, 'it is a bit quiet though - different from the city, plus everyone knows your business. I got on the piss the other night and strangers are coming up to me the next day before even I'd sobered up and telling me that they'd heard I was drunk!'

I had a lot of fiddly stuff piling up today, as well as another five hour drive. By fiddly stuff, I mean admin stuff like, returning business phone calls, mailing stuff out, doing my MYOB, organising posters, ringing GIO to ask them why I have to pay $1000 in worker's comp fees when my projected income this year is zero, stuff like that. Anyway I got a bit done on the way before rocking into York.

York is a town you'd associate with the words, 'Quaint, nestled and lovely'. It's a heritage town and has got a touristy feel. Talking to the locals though, they said the town is dying. Investors have come in, the house prices have soared along with rent. Few of the investors live here though and a lot of the locals are finding it hard to keep going. The town is booming on the books but the original inhabitants are doing it tough. Then again, I suppose that's Australia for you. Anyway the show was an unexpected one tonight.

It was my fourth gig in a row which usually frazzles me a bit. I love my job but walking into a pub and entertaining people you've never met before for a few hours requires a certain amount of intensity which can drain me a bit. I was already starting to look forward to Sunday when I could just relax for a few days. No gigs, no after parties, no long drives. Refresh myself. Anyway I started off tonight's gig a bit slow. People were sitting up the back and a bit intimidated I think, wondering, 'who the fuck is this guy?!' Everyone was looking at me a bit wary. I'm pretty full on when this happens. There's no point toning things down in this situation. Power on. I know that all I'm doing is talking the same as most people do with a good friend. i.e frankly. I'm just doing it publicly. If I don't hold back, crowds eventually get it and come round.

Things kicked up a gear when Squizzy came up. This is a photo of him trying to chew my ear off after the gig.

He was the local drunk bar fly who just cracked the crowd up every time he spoke. I asked him whether he was married. He replied by saying, 'what type of an idiot, would marry me?' Everyone lost it. He then followed up by yelling, 'And I've got a small dick!'. He then came up, took his top off and told everyone about all the venerial diseases he'd caught when he was in the Navy. The crowd loved him. He said when he told his brothers that he had crabs, they had pinned him down and sprayed Mortein on his cock. Nothing I can say can top this for piss funny and spontenaity. Again, I just tried to encourage him, keep the roll going. He was brilliant. I appreciated his work. It's an art being such a well honed idiot and I'm constantly looking out for them at the bar. They're gold. There's always someone in the crowd who pops up as your anchor man, especially in a pub setting. Tonight Squizzy was mine. If I don't find them, it's usually cause I'm not looking hard enough.

Anyway after the break, when everyone was loose, broken in, lubed up, a bit more pissed, something extraordinary happened. I've seen a lot doing this job: people lighting their pubes on fire, blowjobs on stage while the guy is singing a song, a guy putting a cigarette out on his cock, tits being sucked. In fact I was beginning to think I'd seen it all. An indication of this was that I hadn't needed to use my video in a show for a while. I keep it on hold just in case something weird happens. Something for my next DVD. In fact, I was beginning to think that the only thing I hadn't seen on stage was a guy fucking a goat. When I say, 'on stage' by the way, I mean in the corner of the bar in between the juke box, the dunnies and my speakers.

Anyway the winner of tonight's talent quest was a guy who drunk his mates urine. Don't worry, I got the whole thing on tape! The filling of the glass, the drinking of it and the looks on the crowd's faces afterwards. It may not be for everyone, but everyone in the room was certainly watching. And in the entertainment game, that's the Taj Mahal. A beheading in the room wouldn't have got this much attention. After all, not everyone's in to violence. Despite people who try and put it into the same basket of depravity, even violence doesn't rate on the attention scale like a crackerjack party trick. It's a totally different entity. Fun, not violence however is what humans are designed to enjoy more than anything else.

This one had it all. The guy enjoyed drinking his mates urine and the crowd enjoyed watching it despite the many cries of 'yuck' coming from the girls who had their eyes glued to the action between their outstretched fingers. Afterwards, a guy came up to me and told me a funny story. He said the guy who drunk the piss was apparently concerned about the tape. Not about the footage, but rather how his hair looked! He was the local stud. The girl behind the bar was apparently shagging him. Don't know how much more kissing he'll get off her though. Anyway, tonight was Aussie culture at it's best and it made me proud. Maybe Mark Latham should have done a bit more of this in the last election campaign. Drunk Beazely's piss in a press conference. Anyway, Thanks York, you'll definitely be on my next DVD.

Afterwards a whole lot of people came up and thanked me for a top night. They said, they were all sceptical at how a comedian would go in their pub. They said I started off slow 'but fuck you won us over'. As George Bush would say, 'sometimes you have to cluster bomb people into submission'. Comedians indeed use a lot of the same terminology as soldiers. If we have a good gig, we say we 'killed' and if we have a bad gig we say we 'died'. I remember talking about this with troops in East Timor at a gig. I then said, 'the only difference is that with you guys.. it really does happen'.

In the heat of the battle, I never know what's going to come out of my mouth nor what the crowd will do. That's what continually blows me away about doing this job. Just when you think you've seen or heard it all... a guy gets up on stage and skulls his mates urine in order to win an 'I fucked a goat' t-shirt. Afterwards, I spoke to a nurse in the crowd too. She told me that despite how disgusting it looks, fresh urine is actually a perfectly benign and sterile liquid. The irony being that drinking alcohol is worse for you. We both agreed though that we still wouldn't do it. It sure brings new meaning to the phrase, 'getting on the piss with your mates' though. The crew at the end of the night, wanted me to go to a party afterwards. I went upstairs and wrote down my notes instead. I'd had my fun for the night. I had one gig to go in this run and wanted it to be a good one too. I needed to be fresh. Word of mouth is vital in this game, especially in the country. One bad gig when I'm not on, tired or hungover, isn't a fun experience for me either. This is my job and like every good worker plying his trade, I was proud of my work and want to do my best at every gig. Fuck knows what I'm going to do when I see the ultimate joke in the world though. i.e a guy fucking a goat and winning my t-shirt. I reckon if this ever does happen, I'll have to retire. Not that I reckon the police would give me much choice in the matter...

19/3/05

Today was an easy couple of hours drive to Merriden. The gig was an okay one. The Quairading B&S was on down the road so the pub was a bit quieter than normal apparently. Highlight was a guy called Ronnie who came up and told the crowd. 'What goes black, pink, black, pink, black, pink? He then said, 'My cock'. I said to him, I'm going to use that joke. He said, 'you can't, you're the wrong colour'. The crowd loved it. It was a small quiet crowd until the local softball team came in from the dinner they were having across the road celebrating their premiership. They were all pissed and full of energy. They were even heckling each other. 'Pick on her' one yelled out. 'She's got huge flaps'.

After the show I went up to the bar and sat down for a drink. I'd finished my eighth gig in ten nights. I felt I deserved a few. By this time the juke box was on and everyone was running around having a great time. Have you ever looked at a playground in a school at lunch time? Kids running around everywhere. The closest adults get to this, is in a pub around 10pm on Friday or Saturday night. It's the same thing. Adults running around everywhere, mixing like hydrogen atoms bouncing around in a glass. Only difference is that adults need alcohol to do it. I sat back and soaked it all in, feeling the effects of a couple of bundy's coarse through my veins.

I got chatting to one young girl. She told me how her ex had cheated on her. She's got a new man now. I asked her what happened. She said, 'he kissed another girl'. She then told me how she reckons this was worse than if he'd fucked her cause at least that'd mean he was just horny. I said, 'So you're telling me, if he bent her over and did a load up her, you'd be less upset than if he just kissed her'. She said, 'Yes, kissing is more personal'. I said to her, 'Look the only reason he kissed her was so he could root her'. She disagreed. No wonder us guys find it hard to understand women! I spoke to another girl. I asked her what she thought of my show. She said, 'I thought it was crass, sick and dumb'. 'At least someone was listening', I thought.

Eventually closing time came and I found myself a the bar having a yarn with Graham who co-owned the pub. They'd had the pub for under a year and said it was slowly building up. 'People don't like too much change here though. We put a coffee machine in the front room a while back which scared people off a bit for a while'. We got talking about relationships. He said how he'd put a couple of spunky young guys behind the bar to get the chicks into the bar, which would then obviously attract the guys as well. i.e bigger bar tabs He said it worked right up until the guy started fucking one of the local girls. Then all the other girls didn't want to come anymore because he was taken.

We also talked about the high amount of male suicide in the bush. It seems that guys, particularly in the bush, often take breakups pretty hard. There's a number of factors, it seems. One, there isn't as many girls in the bush, so as a guy, it's a bit harder statistically to get a partner. Two, it's more acceptable for girl's to talk about their feelings and vent when they're upset, than it is for guys, and three, guys emotions and value on love is often a lot deeper than commonly accepted. Guys often fall harder for some reason when things go wrong (which may have something to do with point two!) and four, in the country if you break up with someone, they are still very much in your face, often drinking when you go out in the same bar with their new partner who is usually someone you know.

In a big city if you break up with someone, you often don't run into them ever again. You're paths just don't cross anymore. Anyway the suicides in small country towns, like everywhere, take a big toll on the community. The families, the girlfriend, the mates. The guys are often pretty young when they do it too. If only they just stuck it out until they got their next root. Six months later and they wouldn't give a shit. Life goes on. It's hard to see that though, especially when you're young. We're all going to die - we may as well stick around as long as we can, I reckon. After all, you might miss out on what's around the corner....

20/3/05

I had a yarn in the morning to Dave the other co-owner of the pub. I asked him if there are any ghosts in the pub. He said he's had some pretty weird experiences with lights going on and off, despite them being broken. I've never seen a ghost. I know too many people who have though to disbelieve in them. I think some people just pick them up better than others. On the contribution page of this website is an 'orb' which was picked in a photo in one of my show's at Alice Springs last year. Check it out. Anyway, I'm quite comfortable staying in old pubs now. Much more comfortable than when I first started staying in them. I love their simplicity no matter how basic or empty they are. A bed, a shower, a toilet, a roof. Perfect.

I drove out of Merriden today thankful that I had a day off. I wasn't too sure where to go, so started driving towards Williams where my gig is on Wednesday. I got to Corrigin and then answered a phone message. Dave from Merriden said I'd left a speaker there. I turned around. No big deal. I had tunes. Coming back, I noticed a whole lot more things than on the first drive. In Bruce Rock, I saw a great house with a great name above it's porch. 'DUNROAMIN'

After Bruce Rock, I stopped off at a tiny town called Ardath. It had a huge pub and about two houses around it. Apparently it used to be a big town but most of the buildings have been knocked down now. It's just a few houses surrounded by homesteads in the area. There is a golf course though. I checked it out. All the sand greens had just been oiled and the course was closed. I then dropped into the pub.

The owner told me that the locals were playing tennis down the road. I drove around to see if I could join them. I had a tennis racquet in my car and thought it'd be good to have a hit for a bit of fun. I rocked up to find about eight people sitting round having beers. They welcomed me for a game. Like I said, you never know what's around the corner. Here, I was having game of tennis on a Sunday arvo in Ardath, out in the middle of nowhere. I played doubles and we won 6-4. I then had a beer with them before kicking off into the fading light of the arvo.

The next town I stopped in was Corrigin. The sunset on the way, again was amazing. I've never seen sunsets like it anywhere in the country. This part of W.A certainly was pretty.

Anyway, In Corrigin, I had to say G'day to Woody. I rocked into the bar. He asked me where I was going. I said I wasn't sure. He then told me I was welcome to stay upstairs for as long as I want and asked me to join in a BBQ he was having that arvo in the beer garden. Anyway they fed me up with steak, crayfish and red wine until 3am. Fuck they could drink too. Woody, Jodie, Wombat and a couple of others.

I found out how Wombat had run out of petrol on his way back from Kellerberrin the other night. He told me with a big grin, how he'd slept in a barn that morning, until he found the farmer who sold him a gerry can full of unleaded. Anyway, it was good to relax and have a bit of a blow out with friends.

Highlight of the night was eating Woody's red chilli's which he was proudly growing. I managed to get one down but forgot to wash my hands before I did a piss. Big mistake. They had warned me earlier in the night too. I sat there sweating for a good two hours while enjoying the conversation, too embarrassed to tell anyone, that my cock was getting the most action it'd had in a long while. The tide eventually turned though. I survived.

Conversation highlight was the big debate on whether it's better to be a 'helmut' or a 'hose'. I think I'll bring it up in my act next. Some loose honest talk around a table, over a few drinks. It can be a great source of material and also a great place to test material. Plus a great attention diverter for a burning cock.

21/3/05

I woke up about midday. I wasn't that bad, but I know why I don't drink. You don't exactly wake up with a 'seize the day' attitude. I wanted to do stuff today though, so I eventually got up. I had no driving to do for the first day in a while, so I was happy. I went to the telecentre to do some internet, the post office, returned a few calls, cleaned my car/house out and then went for a swim.

By the time I'd done this, it was 6pm and Woody again put on a bbq and asked me to be his drinking partner. I drink but I'm not a drinker. I don't even pretend to be otherwise any more. I was literally having about one to his four.

Woody is 29 and has had the pub with Jodie for three years. He told me how in that time he's put on 30kgs. He said he has about twenty drinks a day. He is very social and had increased turnover by a big amount since taking over the pub. He said his secret was buying guys a free drink just before they were about to leave. If he timed it right, they would then relax into the night and before they knew it, it'd be closing time three hours later.

Jodie mainly worked behind the bar. Woody worked in front of the bar, out there with the punters, mingling, drinking, having a good time. He said it also meant that he'd be drinking heaps too, with pretty well everyone in the pub each night. He said when he sold the pub next year he was going on a health kick. Woody always has a smile on his face and a gag. He is like a kid in a candy store or should I say like an adult who ran his own pub.

Jodie asked me whether I wanted to come back and spend easter with them. They were feeding me, putting me up, giving me alcohol and friendship. All for free. I suppose in a way, just sitting around talking shit is my currency. On stage and off. 'Careful', I said 'You mightn't be able to get rid of me'. 'Only problem', Woody said, 'when you do go, you'll be an alcoholic'. He was determined to teach me how to drink. I smiled, while taking my sip of beer.

I felt the road really was my home now. I'd be on it for nearly a year now and felt more comfortable then ever on it. There was no destination, just a journey. Food, accomodation, friendship. I was getting more and more trust in the idea that the road would provide it for me, just when I needed them. Money wasn't all that necessary.

In fact the more I had, the less people interaction I had. I think that's how money works in a way. You pay to live in a hotel or a house, or eat in a quiet table in a good restaurant. The extra money shoos people away whom you think you don't want to mix with. i.e the interersting people. The people's whose life story is one long hilarious fuck up. I was rich anyway, I thought. I had a few lobsters in my wallet. Which was more than enough to get to the next town.

Here I was with Woody and Jodie at The Corrigin Hotel, WA, where they were treating me like their adopted kid. They knew I was flying by the seat of my pants and were happy helping me out. I'm going to do a few free shows for them in return over the next few months. Hopefully another good crowd will turn up and drink heaps. I'll talk to them about dates when I get my new posters done. Hopefully, I'll get off my arse and get them done soon soon cause I can't jag anymore gigs without them.

Anyway, say hi to Woody and Jodie for me if you ever drop in to Corrigin, in the heart of the West Australian Wheat belt. I'm sure if you hang around and have a yarn with Woody, he'll buy you a few beers too.

22/3/05

I again woke up at about midday after clocking in late. I again snuck out to get into the day, doing my stuff. I got back about 6pm after a swim and jog round the golf course, plus my usual chores. It was good to be able to walk around a town and say hi to all the people I've met.

Larry, at the Super Value supermarket and a whole lot of other people whom I'd met at the pub. By day, they were all busily doing their town jobs as the local butcher, newsagent etc. Straight after I got back to the pub, Woody knocked on my door. 'Get downstairs', he said. 'We're having a drink'. We started off on Midstrength.

Scotty was at the bar. He asked me next door to have a smoke with him. I'd heard about Scotty's gear. It was rumoured to be lethal. One cone and you were out. He kept on begging me, while people at the bar kept on discreetly shaking their head at me. 'Don't do it' they said. I think they'd seen too many people come out of his house comotosed. Scotty looked like he needed the company though.

I went next door with him and watched him pack a cone. I knew he'd have a story. Scotty then told me how he had bowel cancer. He smoked his stuff all day to relieve the pain. He even had a doctor's certificate allowing him to smoke it which is apparently common for cancer patients It was the only drug he wanted to take for it.

He said when the doctor told him a couple of years ago he had cancer he'd said, 'No way, Man, I'm 47 and am going to live till 80... and piss a lot of people off on the way!'. He then let out a wide grin. I now know why he grinned a lot. He was constantly ripped. I was proud of him though. He was in the ring swinging, determined to stay alive.

He said he'd allowed the doctors to go in and cut out some of the cancer but refused to have chemo. After he'd found out he he had cancer, he had the operation and then travelled around Australia. He said, he'd come back to Corrigin to die, in effect. He seemed like he still had a lot of life left in him though. He said he loved working cause it kept him going. He'd been out today in 39 degree heat painting on a roof. His weatherbeaten face under his bushy moustache showed me he wasn't lying either. This guy obviously went hard in everything he did.

Woody then yelled out for me to come back because my meal was ready. From there I got into a few yarns with some local bore drillers. Their job was to bore down and find water. It was a pretty bad drought on at the moment and they said a lot of farmers were ringing them up as a last resort.

They said they made a lot of farmers happy when they struck water. It often saved their farm. They said they also find a lot of old bones when drilling but they didn't tell anyone cause no farmer wanted their property to turn into an archelogical find. There was no money in it. I wondered how many bore drillers had stumbled onto the missing link in human evolution only to put it into their dumpster. Anyway, they bought me beers. Again I got hassled for drinking slow.

Woody then asked me to put on the tv and show my new footage. I stood on a stool and showed the crowd my last few 'finds'. Namely the video footage of the guy skulling his mates urine in York, and the guy who set his pubes on fire. The crowd seemed to like it and then started asking me questions on what I did. Next minute I'd sold three DVD's and an 'I fucked a goat' t-shirt. Here I was getting fed, put up and free alcohol for three days plus I now had $80 more from a few sales in my back pocket.

Woody kept on pouring me more. I've got nothing against drinking. I just don't like drinking heaps. Performing comedy in pubs has taught me that there is nothing more that can possibly come out of my mouth or make me act more loose or frank than when I'm sober, so there's no much use in drinking, for me. From experience, drinking heaps just generally makes me fall asleep and wake up with a hangover. Then again, saying I drink but am not a drinker is a bit like Woody when he says to me, 'Mate, I'm not an alcoholic, I'm a drunk. There's a big difference. Alcoholics go to meetings!'

Anyway, I was there tonight with Woody mainly to work the bar and make sure everyone had a good time. Plus have a good time ourselves of course. We ended up at the pool table at closing having a few before kicking in. It's been a good night. A different rhythm to my normal night in a bar where I have to get psyched for a gig and then come down. Tonight I was just relaxing, re-tuning into what people whom I talk to each night in my act, talk about together when in a bar.

Bars definitely serve an important function in society. Where else can you just go up to someone and have a yarn, exchange ideas with someone, and do this all night with any amount of strangers? That's why I love them despite not being a drinker. You certainly can't do this in the supermarket.

Woody was the king of mingling. I liked his style. It was honest. He never let the conversation get serious unless there was a punchline and constantly interjected into people's conversation with a crack or a free beer which enabled people to join in a conversation or get out of one. Every party needs people like this. They distribute energy.

I couldn't help thinking though as I went to bed, how much time can evaporate while you're drinking. Eight hours. In that time, I could go for a swim, have a jog, a stretch, read a book, do some writing, ring some friends and have a wank and a snooze, plus wake up refreshed and pumped for a new day. Somehow I don't think I'll get addicted to drinking.

I wonder if down the track when I undoubtedly run into Woody down the road in a few years, we find that our lives have both changed. I'll be the alcho at the bar and Woody will be the casual drinker who has just dropped in for one drink after his jog. I love how life mutates and constantly changes just when you think it no longer does. The next corner... is always coming at you. I wonder what's around it....

23/5/05

I drove onto Williams, again after plugging my chores. There were some things I had to get on top of next week. Namely, ordering some more posters, ordering some more t-shirts and thinking about my next DVD. I had some pretty mad footage which I wanted to put together into something like an 'Australia's funniest down at the pub home video' DVD.

A DVD of all the maddest winners from my talent quests from around the country. I already had footage of a mining safety officer lighting his hair on fire, someone lighting their pubes of fire, a girl getting both her tits sucked by different guys at the same time, a guy stuffing twenty 20cent coins up the foreskin of his cock and spitting them out like a poker machine, a guy pouring beer down his mates arse crack and skulling the residue from a middie placed between his legs, a guy skulling his mates urine, home made bombs being detonated outside a gig I did in a NSW opal field... Shit like that. Cultural events happening all round this country.

Anyway, it's not a video that everyone would be into but there'd be heap of people who would appreciate it though, I'm sure. And even if there's not, at least I've got something to look at in the nursing home. 'So what did you do with you're life?', I can imagine the guy next to me in a wheelchair asking. 'Check this out!' I'd then say and put my DVD on. All I need is an editor over here on the west coast who can help me out. I'm sure one will pop up. My mates Jason Dare and Mel certainly did when I needed one edited last year. Thanks Guys! I sell them on my merch page if you're interested!

Anyway, I rocked into Williams and set up. Williams is a small town outside Narrogin with one pub and one club. There was no-one in the room when I started. Within ten minutes though, about fifty people poured in from the front bar and it was on. Tonight's crowd was fantastic. Heaps of gems were unearthed.

Namely Leslie the Leso aka the happlily married General store manager. She played along with me all night. There was also a guy who said his favourite position was the 'Dingo'. I asked what the Dingo was. He said, 'it's where you get down near the hole and howl'. I love it when the crowd cracks me up.

There was also a guy called Dot who was named that way cause his Dad was nicknamed Spot. It reminded me of a father/son combo I met in White Cliffs. The Dad was called Spoons. His son was thus nicknamed 'Tea spoon'. I said to the kid, 'if you have a son mate, he's going to be called 'Plastic spoon'. The talent quest was won by Sean who came up and stripped down to nothing much to the appreciation of the chicks in the crowd.

After the gig I had the usual amount of people begging me for free DVD's and t-shirts but also a few genuine ones. Namely a guy called Trent who bought both my DVD's, a t-shirt and cap and got me to sign all of them. I've nearly been around Australia and I've never had anyone buy all my merch in one hit. Plus he bought me a bourbon and thanked me for giving him a top night. Thanks Trent. My pleasure.

I was pretty happy with this show. It went for 2 and a half hours with a twenty minute break and was real tight with heaps of people there. I went to the bar afterwards to give them my $200 invoice. I was pretty shocked when the daughter of the publican payed me and suggested I take $50 out because they were providing me with accomodation. This is after I'd already given her $30 to pay for a meal and a couple of beers before the show.

Her husband then came up to me and asked me to give him some free shirts and DVD's. I couldn't believe it and said 'no' to both their requests. After making everyone in the room laugh for two hours, it was a bit of a downer. Lucky I don't drink much otherwise I reckon I would have got really drunk and done something stupid, like drive my car through their bottle shop.

Instead I took up an invitation to go to a local party at Hannah and Mel's place. About 15 of us rocked back where we all had a really chilled time, sitting round and yarning. It was just what I was needed and I was blown away by how clean cut and together everyone seemed. It seemed like a nice town. Funniest story of the night was about the new bar girl. She was a Canadian backpacker.

Apparently there's a book running in town to see who will be the first to shag the new bar girl each time they get a new backpacker. She'd apparently found out and gone real quiet. Hannah told us how, the secret then for the girl is to find a guy who is genuine. I asked her what she meant by 'genuine'. She said, 'find someone to fuck who won't then go and tell the whole town and collect his money. For example, a guy who has got a girlfriend who is out of town!'

Anyway if there are any girls out there who find it hard to meet a guy, go to a small country town. There's so many guys looking for a girl. The demand far outstrips the supply. And who knows you might be able to place a few bets on the side and make some good money too. I eventually crashed out in the girl's spare room, amazed at the hospitality that was again being shown to me. The last person went to bed at 6pm. Hannah in the morning, said there's a party at their place every Wednesday night. Mel then added, 'and thursday and friday and saturday'.

24/3/05

I went back to the pub and dropped off my key. I was still a bit unsettled about what the pub had tried on me. I didn't really need the money that bad but just wanted to explain what it's like from a travelling performer's point of view when living out of your car. If you book one of them to entertain people. i.e get people into your pub and drink, don't forget to look after them with a bit of hospitality and not rip them off, in return. That way they'll come back too.

I don't think they meant to rip me off, I just think some people are so used to haggling that they forget that not everyone selling them stuff is doing it for a big profit, if one at all. They're usually good at doing their own numbers but not the people's numbers they're dealing with. i.e If you're going to haggle someone, at least put some thought into picking your target! Fair enough if you're buying fifty kegs of beer off a brewery...

The manager's Dad and publican defended his daughter through a thick Scottish accent. 'You didn't stipulate that you wanted accomodation when you said your price'. He then added, 'otherwise we would have given you a room for free'. Anyway we all cleared the air, spoke our mind and I think we all got away without anyone losing too much face. I couldn't really complain too hard though. So many people were constantly looking after me. Swings and roundabouts.

I kicked onto Perth. On the way, I stopped into Armadale for a sandwich. I was bailed up by a guy on the street wanting donations for Mission Australia. He said it would go towards programs for youth suicide. I explained to him that I did shows for charities for free throughout the year when needed but wasn't in the position to give money. We had a good talk about youth suicide though.

He said, Albany and Esperance were the suicide capitals of Australia. Something I bet they don't advertise on the outskirts of town though. It's pretty sad how rife it is in this great country though. My opinion is, it's from a lack of stimulus, too many rules in society on how to behave appropriately these days, giving people little room for creative and personal expression. The place where the real joys in life come from.

People thus feel trapped into only behaving and thinking in a certain way, otherwise they'll then 'get into trouble' or be ostracised. Ruts then develop through boredom which is then only relieved by drugs/sugar/overeating or workaholism or shopping, which in turn only creates it's own problems such health fuck ups, disconnection from those around you and debt. The spiral then continues until you're eventually down a pretty dark mental alley without the energy or inclination to get out. Death not life then becomes your better friend. Bang.

I find it so strange that we all leave school after being expected to learn so much each year and then suddenly you're encouraged to be robots in a repetitive boring job, in order to earn money. The type of job where you spend more time at work pretending that you're working than you do actually working. These jobs are everywhere. 'Work' in 2005 is generally such an overrated experience.

I don't know how to solve the problem. It's such a fluke that we're born and sad that it's not always enjoyed. I'm lucky that I don't really get that depressed. Things piss me off, but it usually happens more when I haven't had enough sleep, water, vegies and exercise. Which is fairly easily corrected. Plus I'm lucky/stupid enough to have created a job that I enjoy and challenges me enough, I suppose. It's the trade off for sleeping in my car every now and then, that I'm more than prepared to take.

I think the main thing is to just 'keep truckin', no matter what you do, and if you don't like the direction you're going in life, try another road. Believe me, there's a lot roads out there. Far more than we think and far more than we'll ever be able to go down in one life time. I remember I used to do a joke. It was in a series of jokes I did on tv ads. I suggested there should be one for suicide awareness week which went, 'Stop procratinating, do it now'. I kinda stopped it though cause it didn't get big laughs.

Which reminds me of a great story I heard when I was in Grawin, an opal mining town in NSW. Apparently there was a couple there who were having a fight one night. In the heat of the fight, the guy pulled his gun out and put it into his mouth threatening to kill himself. He then pulled the trigger, blowing half his face off. He was still alive though and taken to hospital where they grafted the left cheek of his arse onto the right hand side of his face.

Anyway my mate who I stayed with in Grawin said he was over at their place last year when they were having another fight over something. The guy with the arse on his face, was telling his wife something about how she didn't do something right. She apparently turned around and said, 'what would you know, you don't even know how to blow your fuckin' head off properly!'. Now that's a comeback!! An absolute scorcher! There's no reply you can give to that one!

Anyway I said to the guy I was talking to on the street, that I'd put www.missionaustralia.com.au on my website link page and thanked him for the chat, despite not donating. What a tyrekicker he must have thought I was. Fuck and I think that people who come up and hassle me for free stuff are dickheads!

I cruised into the big city of Perth again, straight up to The Hyde Park Hotel. I went for a walk and picked up some interesting graffiti on the footpath. Anonymous billboards from the psyche of the unsponsored mind. I love 'em.

Tonight's gig was at a proper comedy room. That is, a room where people pay money to go out and specifically hear comedy as opposed to my usual shows where people rocked up to the pub to drink and there just happened to me in the corner of the room trying to get their attention. Tonight was the usual set up for a comedy room, that is, an MC, a few open micers who get up to do five minutes, a support act who does about 20 minutes. I was to then come on and do the headline act for 40 minutes.

I sat back and watched the night unfold. It was great to hear a whole lot of comedians and material I hadn't heard before. I was a bit nervous about tonight. By nervous, I was concerned whether I was going to do the right material. Back in Sydney, I've been banned from so many comedy rooms for being out of control on stage. I'm so used to playing rough, loose rooms, that when I come on in front of a focussed audience, I'm apparently a little too full on. When I am allowed to play comedy rooms back in the east, I'm usually given a pretty strong lecture by the venue owner or comedian who booked me to remember to 'tone it down'.

I always find this a bit hard though. When I'm on stage, I don't know what is going to come out of mouth. Which is half the fun for me as well. It's like I suddenly get Turret's syndrome up there. Anyway, I was a bit nervous. I love the nerves before a gig though. It's like everything else that's on your mind instantly get's erased. All there is, is total focus on working out what angle you're going to hit the crowd at. Nothing else wipes my mind clear like a gig. I love it. I suppose it's my drug of choice in a way.

Anyway the gig went well. I, of course went pretty dirty and even got some people up to play my, 'perfect snatch' game. It was good to give some of my cleaner material an airing at the beginning of my set though. All the observational stuff I used to do at the beginning of my stand-up comedy days. The type of material that if I did in my normal pub gigs, people would either tune out on and start talking to their mate or yell out 'get off' half way through the set up.

I still love the rough rooms to perform in though, the rooms where you've got to go so hard just to get on top of the crowd. I love their energy and unpredictability. That's kind of what I hope to eventually to do to normal stand up rooms if I ever get a bit more credibility and permission to play in them more. That is, I want to turn a straight, well behaved bunch of people in a theatre setting into an out of control orgy! Shock them with taboo subjects and demonstrations and then as Stewart Lee says in his book, 'Perfect fool', do the clowns job of "give them an experience, that will break down the ordinary round of everyday existence, shock people out of their petty daily concerns, opening the mind to greater considerations beyond humour.." I'm still learning.

Anyway, I appreciated John McCallister who ran the Comedy Lounge in Perth for giving me a go and for the $120 fee. Afterwards he said, 'it was a little bluer than we'd normally go for but you got the laughs and that's the main thing'. I wish all venue owners thought like that. That's what it's all about in the end for a comedian,surely!? Laughs? Who cares how you got them.

I remember being told years ago by a manager at the Sydney Comedy Store, 'Jimbo, I'm going to have to suspend you from playing here'. I asked 'why?' She then told me how I was too blue. She then said, 'what's happening is that you're getting big laughs, but the people laughing at your jokes are drowning out the silence of all the other people who aren't laughing at all'. How's that for comedy!

My attitude to those people is 'fuck 'em'. If you don't want to have a laugh at a live comedy night, then fuck off home, turn on the tv and watch something more within your comfort zone. i.e Rove or the six o'clock news. Stories of people killing each other and shit like that. All I'm doing is talking frankly about sex for fuck's sake! Anyway...Sorry, I'll calm down!

Afterwards I had a drink with a couple of nurses who were at my show. Here's a photo of them.

We were drinking in the room next door which was reported to be the 'grab a granny night'. While I went and grabbed a beer, a couple of sixty year old guys came up to them and asked them to come back to their place for some cocaine and ectasy. I spoke to another old guy at the bar. He says he picks up a different chick here each week.

People think when you get older you change. Not everyone. As they say, the more things change, the more they stay the same. I remember hearing one old guy say to me once. 'Mate, when you get to my age, the market really opens up - divorces, a lot of the husbands are dead. Heaps of women looking for a little affection'. Anyway I went back to my nursing friends. At midnight it was Good Friday and everything was shut. I, as usual hadn't made any plans on where I was going to sleep. I presumed it was going to be in my car.

Outside in the car park, the girls were a little concerned for me. Sarah then offered for me to go back to her place. She said she had a spare couch. 'But I have to leave for work at 6am, so you'll have to leave then'. I said no worries and followed her home which ended up being in Freemantle. We had a quick yarn on the balcony before crashing out. Again I was being looked after by a complete stranger. In the morning her two flatmates came out and found me on the fold out bed. That is a strange, half naked man with his toe nails painted pink alseep in their house. Hopefully I didn't put them off breakfast. They did do a U-turn went back to their room.

25/3/05

At 6:30am, I was back in my car after thanking Sarah. I was pretty thankful. I would have survived, no worries in my car but four hours sleep in a bed is much better. In fact the good thing about sleeping in your car every now and then is how much it does make you appreciate a bed. She said to call anytime I'm in Freemantle. I'm getting such a kalaiedescope of snapshots of people's lives doing this life. Some are just all too brief. I still appreciate them though and hope the people who I stay with realise that, cause I do. It totally cuts my costs down and enables me to keep going.

Pretty blonde, Sarah, said she wanted to travel but was afraid she was going to miss her family whom she was really close too, when she does. She said she was sometimes envious of people who weren't close to their family because, 'they didn't go through the process of missing people when they leave'. Every ying has it's yang. She said she was looking forward to having Easter with her family this weekend. Sarah also said that Freemantle was having a busking festival this weekend and I should check it out. I wasn't keen though. I've done so many gigs, in the past, walking around at festivals, juggling and shit, that it no longer holds much interest to me to do it, let alone watch it. Clown burnout!

I just wanted to get out of the city again. Find a place to relax. Corrigin was calling me. Woody and Jodie said that I was welcome to have a room there, and spend Easter with them. In three hours time, I was there. The pub was shut being Good Friday but the back door to the accomodation upstairs was open. I snuck in and found all the room keys, where people were staying, on a table next to their names in the foyer. I assumed Woody and Jodie would be having a good sleep in and grabbed a spare key with no-one booked into it, and went and caught up on some sleep myself. Four hours of it.

I woke up re-aligned. I spend so much time with different people that I really love, in fact sometimes crave, time to just hang out by myself. The pub was so quiet this arvo so, I did just that. Went for a walk, caught up on my notes, read some of my new Bill Bryson book, made some noodles, did some stretches. I was loving it. At about 8pm, I went out and sat on the back fire escape stairs to munch on an apple. A gentle cool breeze was blowing in my face after a sweltering day, an orange full moon was on the horizon and the calmness of a quiet, safe, sleepy country town surrounding me. I was breathing it all in.

I then turned around. There was Woody standing behind me. 'I've been looking for you. Come down, we're having a drink'. I went downstairs to find Woody and his mate 'Mongrel' surrounded by empty stubbies. I said to him, 'I thought you'd be off the piss today, enjoying no customers in your pub'. Woody said, 'Yeah, I was off the piss...until Midday. Jodie then suggested we have some wine, then Mongrel turned up and here we are', he let out, with a big smile.

'We just watched both your DVD's mate, and fuckin loved them'. I was relieved. I get such little feedback on my DVD's. I'm never in a town long enough to hear if the people I've sold them too enjoyed them and most people I send a DVD to don't really say much, if anything at all. Perhaps there's a reason! Woody said he particularly liked the second one which is my rough doco on some of the characters I met on the road last year. I'm a bit embarrassed about selling this one sometimes because I know it's not for everyone. Woody and Mongrel loved it though.

There are so many characters around Australia in every town but I never see these people on tv. My aim on this video was to document a few of them. Their thoughts, their stories. A favourite one Woody liked was about my mate Fred who sat outside the pub in White Cliffs, NSW. He was about 60 and told me about the AA meetings he used to go to. 'We used to rock up with a dozen beers... He didn't mind you having a drink there though because that's how he got people in.... You see the more people he got in there, the better off it was for him too'. I then said to him, 'Well I suppose alcohol is one way of getting people in there'. 'This is true', Fred replied while taking a deep drag of his rolly while looking out into the dust. Anyway, it's all on tape. Truth is far stranger than fiction, I reckon.

Anyway five hours later and five drinks later for me and fifteen drinks later for Woody, we were up in the tv room after having watched, 'Suddenly thirty'. Woody was just kicking in. It was 1am. I again told him that I couldn't keep up with him and needed to get some sleep. 'Come on' said Woody, 'I'll put The Little Mermaid on, it's a top movie... isn't it Jodie! Have another drink, Jimbo'. He slid another Canadian Club my way. The last I heard from Woody while I giggled my way down the corridor, shaking my head at their stamina was, 'Okay, that's fine, you go to sleep, Vagina boy, we'll just keep drinking here by ourselves!'

26/3/05

There was a local tennis tournament happening in Corrigin this weekend. Nothing professional, just a casual regional get together. I would have loved a game but entered too late. I tried to get in yesterday and again this morning. I said to them 'I heard, someone pulled out, can I take their place?' 'Sorry mate, too late', they informed me. Maybe it was a bit more professional than they said, I thought. Instead I went for a swim and a jog around the golf course at dusk after doing my usual typing and internet.

I keep going on about the sunsets here. I don't know if they're amazing or just different. I suspect both. I think the reason is that having grown up in Sydney, I'm not used to seeing a sun which is setting over an ocean. Even though I'm a few hours inland, the effect over here is totally different. Maybe it's just the clouds are different, anyway they're pretty good. I think they look better too because I'm often looking at them with nothing else in particular on my mind, especially when I'm walking or in my car. No gig tonight, most of my chores done, just relaxing. Everything looks bright.

I was settling down to a bit of reading in my room at 8pm when I got a knock at the door from Woody. 'Come on down, we're drinking'. I went down for one and then snuck back up again. Ten minutes later I got another knock at my door. 'Come on down, we're drinking'. Looks like I didn't have much of a choice! When in Rome do what the Romans do, so I started having a punt like everyone else on whatever race was next. It's such a huge pastime in this country: punting and drinking. I had a good yarn with a guy called Browneye. He wasn't drinking alcohol but was having a great time yarning away with everyone who came his way. I did my usual slow sip. Tonight I was on Strongbow. Woody told me, 'what are you drinking that shit for, it's a sheila's drink'. I won my first two races on the punt backing the favourites. I was $14 up and confident. Each race gave me a bit of a rush, gave me something to focus on. Jodie shook her head as she took my TAB tickets. 'They've got you drinking and now they've got you punting'.

In between races I listened to a few of the conversations around me. When they weren't cracking jokes, most of the conversations were about local gossip or shit that they were going through and needed to talk about. I had no gossip. The only shit that was going through my head was whether I was being a freeloader for staying in the pub for free, and was it worth it, considering the amount of time, money and effort I was putting into the bar each night! It was a minor dilemna, I'd have to work out myself though. Complaining to someone about it would only make me look like an ungrateful prick! I had to be careful though. I was there to listen to other people's problems and make jokes to cheer them up just when they got too serious. And not spend too much money in the process. Good material for my job also comes from listening too. On stage I'm a talker. Off stage, I'm a listener. They go hand in hand. In fact, being a listener was my currency with most people who were kind enough to put me up. Woody's job was the same really with his customers. That is to listen and chip in with jokes, while encouraging them to drink. He just did longer sets. I plugged on and in the end came out $6 down on the punt. I looked around at all the good people I was surrounded by. Dilemna solved. I was a rich in other ways.

I ended up signing off again walking down the corridor at 1pm to my room with Woody yelling out, 'Come on, have one more drink'. I don't think it'll become a habit this, but I've been saying that for the last three days! Anyway I think the reason people drink and punt and smoke cones is mainly as an escape. An escape from routine: the same partner, the same job, the same friends. For most of the day you have to do your job and be serious. When you're on the punt, beers and cones you don't have to be... I don't know. I'm no expert. I hope my comedy routine is an escape for people too. It is for me.

Upstairs in the loungeroom with Woody and Jodie, I was asked by Jodie. 'Why weren't you up at the Tennis club trying to pull a root tonight?' It was a good question. I answered honestly. 'I couldn't be fucked'. I don't know what I look for in a girl now. A fuck, a conversation, friendship. It seems the thing I look for now most is a free bed! Something which the pub was providing me. I think the thing I look for most on the road is just a situation that blows me away. A new idea, a new experience. Something as Henry Rollins would says, 'isolates me from my own bullshit'. Henry Rollins, the American spoken word poet, says he loves the feeling of being on the road, and of not really missing anyone or having anyone miss him. I kind of relate. Some may call it sad. I just call it freedom.

Anyway I haven't had much rooting story action for those that are that way inclined or expect something like that in a travelling comedian internet blog so I thought I'd end today's diary entry with my favourite 'rooting story' from last year. This one had it all. It's a true story. I hope you enjoy it.

Stranger danger

As a small time, travelling comedian, living on the road, hunting gigs, I get to go to a lot of weird towns. With that comes the odd opportunity for casual sex. I remember one occasion. in particular in a place in North Queensland. I wasn't doing a gig in this town. Just spending a day there, on my way through. I had time to kill so went to the local pub for lunch. Coming out of the pub, I met a girl while walking on the street. We were heading in the same direction and started talking. She had a ghekko on her shoulder which she'd just found. She said she was taking it to the pet store. She asked me to join her. I had nothing else on that day, she was cute and I felt a vibe, so went with the flow. She told me straight up, she was a witch. 'Cool', I thought. After the pet store she suggested going to the pub for a beer. Her name was Debra. She was 24 years old.

She asked me where I was staying. I told her, 'I didn't know. I usually just sleep in the back of my car to save money'. She said I could stay in her room and that she lived with a couple, but the bloke who owned it was a bit weird and paranoid. He smoked heaps of dope and had a crop in one bedroom which was now nearly starting to 'head' so she had to ask permission from him first. She said he was nervous with strangers. She then rang him and asked him down to the pub with his girlfriend to meet me. Mal was his name, he had apparently being going to a brothel once a week for the last few years until he met his 19yr old girlfriend. He was 25. They were engaged within three weeks. Debra said he now no longer needed to go to the brothel. He didn't talk much.

Debra made out that we were old friends, to gain his confidence with me staying. I went along with the story as best as I could, 'yeah we went to school together in NSW', I said half confidently, trying to stay on the thread Debra was spinning. He took her outside and said to her that I could stay for the night for $20. I'd passed the audition. He then went back home with his girlfriend. I had a weird vibe, by this time so I wasn't real keen to stay but I liked being with Debra though and was getting pretty horny.

Debra then suggested we go to the beach at the local harbour. Once there she stripped down to her underwear and begged me to go in with her. I was happy just to watch. We walked back to the car holding hands. She said she wanted to go back to her place to clean up her room. We got back there. In the loungeroom was a huge sword hanging on the wall. Something Conan the Barbarian would use. She said it was Mal, her dope smoking flatmate's sword.

We went into her room. She said she'd only been with six guys but loved giving head. She then pulled out some love beads out of her pussy, saying she'd been wearing them all day. She said that she'd bought them this morning. She also said she'd sniffed some morphine this morning and apologised if she was acting weird. I told her, I hadn't noticed. Before long she was sucking my cock and asking me to sit up so I could watch. I then started jerking her off. She said she was on the pill and didn't like condoms and asked me to fuck her. I explained to her it was house policy of mine to wear them. No negotiating. She let me read her diary. Her last boyfriend five months ago was still stalking her. She'd also had a few shoplifting run ins which she wrote about.

We then went out to grab some food. She had to pick up some pot. It seemed like a pretty dodgy area. I suggested I wait in the car while she went in. She said that this would be a good idea as this guy's dad was the Mr Big of the area. We got back. I met up with Mal who was cooking. I payed him the $20 and did my best to bond and let him know I was cool.

Debra and I then went into her room, where she put on some videos. We were too busy having sex though. She was such a pleaser. Massaging me, sucking my toes, sucking me off. I repeated that I didn't want to have sex without a condom. She wanted to though and was getting more and more wound up until she finally went in next door to grab a condom from somewhere. She loved being on top and kept on going on about how I was the best fuck she'd ever had. She was going a bit overboard I thought on the compliments, and I took it all with a shovel full of salt. She kept on saying to me, 'you really like me, don't you'.

In retrospect I think she just liked the idea that I was relatively relaxed and probably not a stalker. After our root, her ex rang on the mobile to say that he still loved her. She said afterwards that he'd threatened to kill himself and everyone Debra loved when she broke up with him, a few months back. She said, she was pretty sure he'd already killed some people before. She said he didn't know where she lived though, but thought she'd better tell her flatmates about the phone call, in the next bedroom, just in case. I was a little freaked out.

Mal's girlfriend Sarah had given up dope but relapsed. She was on anti-depressants but had given them up for dope instead now. She didn't work and ate badly and came into Debra's room to smoke, so Mal wouldn't know plus to have someone else give her attention. Sarah sat at the end of the bed while blowing smoke out the window from her bong. She said she was still in love with her ex and needed to see him. Debra said later that during sex, she could hear Sarah fake it everytime Mal came. She said it was all a bit sad. Debra said Sarah just wanted to have a baby, but shouldn't because she 'didn't even know how to look after the dog'. Mal was getting later and later on the mortgage payments too, especially with her not working. When he Mal came home from work and didn't give Sarah enough attention, she went nuts, said Debra. I heard the full run down before getting horny again.

Anyway Debra and I rooted on the floor this time, just so we wouldn't make much noise. Afterall we were just meant to be old 'friends'. Anyway, there's nothing like rooting a stranger, a few hours after you've met. It was horny, instinctive and socially naughty. It was what we both needed.

It was now about Midnight. I heard some commotion in the hallway. I opened the bedroom door. There was Mal holding the barbarian sword while in nothing else but his boxer shorts. He told us to get into his bedroom. I asked him why, thinking the worse, 'I've been lured into some Gimp's den by the slut flatmate, trawling on the street. I'm fucked'. He said there was someone outside our window. 'Probably Debra's ex'. My brain then went, 'this is even worse'. Debra then grabbed a witches dagger from her drawer and went outside with Mal looking for him to kill. Mal told me to stay inside, while he 'sorted it out'. He then did some practice air swings with his sword in the hallway.

Sarah was wimpering beside her bed, scared that she was about to be murdered. She said she'd heard a rustling noise of someone coming over the fence. My heart was pounding at the situation I'd found myself in. Was it her ex outside ready to kill everyone inside - especially me? I stood at the back door with my keys in my hand, ready to to do the bolt. I stayed. For some reason it felt it was a sinking ship that I needed to be on. Back up could be needed. I couldn't just leave them. After five minutes they came around to the side of the house where they'd left. It didn't look like there was anyone there, they said. I wanted to go. Debra begged me to stay and pulled me in. We stood outside Debra and Mal's bedroom in the hallway debating the point.

By this time, Mal was lying down in his bed, with the door open. He had a sullen, serious look on his face, holding the sword out in front of him while facing the roof like a warrior who was about to go to war. Sarah was still wimpering. Debra said the whole noise outside was just stoned paranoia on their part. 'Probably a cat'. She urged me to relax. I then sat on the end of Debra's bed. She said I looked a bit shaken and asked me why. I didn't know what to say, so I said, 'I don't know'. She then offered me some pills.

I said 'no', all the time trying to work out the current risk assessment in my head. She was being stalked by a psycho ex, junkie (I now found out) who was also a hitman and there were noises outside her bedroom. Plus there was a sworld weilding, paranoid, dope freak in the next bedroom with his attention seeking self medicating girlfriend crying next to him - and here I was next to this this angel nympho who had been extracting semen out of me all day, begging for me to remain with her for the rest of the night. I stayed. We went to sleep. At about 5am she woke me up to ride me again.

In the morning she said she wanted to hit the road and run away with me. I pointed out to her that my car was full. We swapped details and I left. I called her a few weeks later from a different state, wondering how she was. The message said the number was no longer in use.

27/3/05

I got a knock at my door at 11am. It was Woody. He was holding his leg up gingerly. 'My fuckin' gout's come back again' he said. 'Anyway, I'm just about to order a pizza from the roadhouse. Can you pick it up for me?' 'Hang on a minute' I said, 'you've got gout!? Isn't that an old man's disease from drinking too much piss?' 'Yeah' he said. 'But I think in my case it's more an hereditery thing!', he said, smiling back. I picked up the pizza and came back into watch a bit of the footy with him. The West Coast Eagles were playing. Jodie had banned him for drinking. 'I keep telling her, if I'm not down there drinking the stuff, people will think there's something wrong with it' he said. Alcohol, footy and punting. Woody was about the most Aussie bloke, I've ever met... and I've met a few. He used to work for The Shire and now runs his own pub and has got gout at 29. I spoke to a guy downtown about Woody's gout. He said, 'Yeah pretty impressive stuff really, blokes only dream of getting it that early... he's done well'.

I went for a swim. Outside the local pool an 12 year old boy walked past with a skateboard. 'So are you local?' he asked. I told him how I was staying down at the pub. 'Oh yeah, our family stayed down there, we're now in the caravan park. Really good town Corrigin', he replied back. He then told me how he rides his motorbike and sometimes goes out bush with a mate or his Dad for a week camping. 'Heaps to do around here', he beamed. It reminded me of when I was that age. Play time, all day long. Innocent fun. Sport, skateboarding, riding, running around, playing with your mates. All for free. I watched him skate away wondering how long it'd be before he was on the bongs and piss and spending every waking minute working out how he could get laid. Puberty. The brick wall that you ride your skateboard and push bike right into.

That afternoon a new barmaid arrived. Her name was Erica. She was an English backpacker, but as I found out later hated the term backpacker. Woody was still reluctantly on the waters at 6pm. He told me that if he wasn't drinking, I'd have to have twice as much. Erica and I then went down to the tennis club to check out the party that was happening there. We sat there drinking for four hours. Punting and football wasn't mentioned once.

She was 23 and had just finished an anthropology degree. At the party, we got talking to one guy. I asked him his name. He extended his hand and said, 'Crazy'. I believed him. We got back to the pub at about midnight. There was a thunderstorm happening outside and a local dog had come into the pub all scared. Erica and I were having a couple of drinks in my room and before we knew it, the dog had drunk both of our Frangelico drinks, out of both mugs. He was out cold under the bed and then started to snore before we eventually woke him. A pissed dog in my room. I told Erica to leave because I wanted to take advantage of the dog. Before we both called it a night, I carried the dog out into the living room. Jodie was up and saw me carrying the dog who was out cold. 'Honestly Jodie', I reassured her. 'I didn't fuck him'. 'Yeah sure' said Jodie.

During the day today, I had a couple of amazing e-mails. The first was from my mate Aiad who has just returned to his homeland of Iraq after his family had been exiled for ten years. This is what he said:

Hi mate how are going.Ausi Ausi Ausi.huhuhuhu.What alse is happening in ur life wish u are ok. Iraqi people are really not upset with USA and they like USA and thank them for the change they made to the better. I really feel that Iraq is so much better than before when I used to live here and Iraqi people are able to chose their goverment they way they like. I wish to see soon and hope u have a good time in western Australia. please keep in touch and let me know how u are.

I've never been for the Invasion in Iraq. I love hearing stuff that blows my ideas or conceptions of things out of the water though. Different points of view from informed sources. There's so many of them. How can you stick to one idea and be passionate about it, especially when you're talking for other people. Surely it's impossible and at best stubborn and narrow-minded. It reminds me of a saying that says the oak is strong but the first to fall in a storm wheras the wispy willow gets thrown around in all directions but is able to weather storms so much better because it's flexible. I think it's the same with thinking. Swing with the breeze. Anything else leads to ulcers.

I also got another e-mail from a friend who went to school with me about twenty years ago. He was an American guy who was at my school for about a year and then left in year nine. He had such a profound effect on me and so many people at the school for the year he was there. Smart, funny, low key, honest, inquisitive, laid-back and loved his smoko. He was always top of the class too. When he left, no-one heard anything more of him. Over the years, when I catch up with old school mates, we've always wondered 'what happened to Bob.?' Anyway, 19 years later out of the blue, I get an e-mail from him. It arrived today:

James,

Although, just moments ago, I was completely convinced that I was indeed reading the website of someone that I knew at school; I'm suddenly not so sure.

But, working from a generally positive vibe coupled with a couple-of-beer sense of "who gives a fuck?", I'll take a chance that you are who I'm thinking you are and that you might you care to hear from me/still remember me.

My name is Rob Lindquist -- thinking back, I guess you would have known me as Bob -- which I haven't been called since I left Australia in 1986.

Anyway, after going to boarding school in England, I went to University in the US and haven't kept in touch with anyone in Australia since before leaving England. The years have flown by ... to the extent which I quit my job in the rat race several months ago, totally burned out and have some great time off to visit friends/travel/read/etc.

In recent months, vague memories (in my case saying memories are vague is pretty redundant, actually) have started to coalesce, catalyzed partially by a recent trip to Asia. And so, when flooded earlier this evening by some of these memories while sitting in front a computer, I "googled" a few names of childhood/schoolage friends that popped into my head.

I was happy to find the Jimbo website and have spent the last hour reading through it. The 'James' that I remember used to talk about travelling around Australia and just getting by (maybe on a motorcyle -- maybe influenced by "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance") -- and also balance chairs on his chin. I also remember spending quite a bit of geography lessons leaning back in our chairs and getting "pscychologically stoned" - the high resulting from a contemplation of the depth/infinite nature/profundity of the universe; and other things like the relation of general relativity to trampolining.

Wow, I hate cheap lighters, I just had a cigarette, and the lighter in my pocket sucks, the little wheel thing disengaded from its housing in some irreparable way (it wasn't a Bic). Well, I could probably blather on for quite a while, but I feel a bit like I'm talking to a ghost and ...

So, if you are the James Dezarnaulds that I think I'm emailing, give me a reply and let me know how you're doing if you're so inclined; if not, my apologies and best of luck to you.

Rob Lindquist

I replied hoping he'd give me his number so we could have a yarn again. Hopefully it won't be another ninteeen years before he contacts again!

Anyway, it was another amazing day for me, where I felt glad to be alive and on the road. It spins me out that I was talking about doing this when I was back at school cause I can't remember saying it. Zen and the art of Motorcylce maintenance is still one of my favourite books though. I read it again, late last year while travelling through Queensland. I've got no desire to get a motorcylce though. Bit hard to carry my speakers around on. Anyway, I can't wait to ring a few school mates and let the know that Bob has been located!

28/3/05

The Corrigin Hotel is the most chilled out pub, I've ever been too, thanks to Woody and the ever patient Jodie. It's just so laid back and I can't believe that they let me stay here and wander around and do whatever I want, like I'm their house cat. In the morning, Woody jokingly berated me for 'chopping up the new bargirl'. I assured him the dog and I had more action. He didn't listen though. He said, 'Look mate, the locals get the first go. That's the rules'.

I then tried to change the topic of conversation by asking him about his gout. 'Are you still on the waters today?' 'No mate', he said, 'frog's fuck in water'. The gout had apparently come good but Jodie was still enforcing the no alcohol rule. Woody then suggested I go out and film a local freak on the edge of town. His name was Sid and apparently lived on a property which looked like a rubbish tip. He lived on rabbits and cockatoos that he shot. We drove out, hoping to get some good footage. The gate was shut. Woody said, that it wasn't a good sign.

From in amongst the rubble we could see a guy climb to the top of his water tower with a gun. 'Better not go in today', said Woody. 'He's a bit of a paranoid old bastard and will probably shoot us'. He didn't reply from us yelling from the gate. Woody yelled out, 'Sid, it's Woody here, how you going?'. The only thing we heard back was 'fuck off'. I got some video footage from the gate though and we drove back home. Woody suggested we come back another day. Woody then cooked up some Maram which are apparently fresh water crayfish. Some of his mates caught them in a local dam with his nets. They in turn slung him about twenty of them from their catch. Anyway it was a good feed.

Afterwards, Woody sat down to watch the Collingwood match on tv. I then decided to go and check out Wave Rock at Hyden. Erica came with me. It was about an hour and a half drive. We listened to my best of 80's CD's the whole way, singing out the tunes we knew. On the way out there I took a photo of another small, peculiar, town claiming it's claim to fame. 'Karlgarin: Small and proud!' I also saw a petrol station with the Old Golden Fleece sign which I haven't seen for a while.

Wave rock was pretty good. It's a bit like the stoner's tsunami. Check out the photos if you don't believe me.

On the way back, I got pulled over by a cop for doing 121km/h in a 110km/h zone, which I was a bit concerned about especially considering I'd forgotton to take my wallet and licencse with me, not to mention the fact that I had only 1 point left. The cop was a big guy who talked really slow and reminded me of Gomer Pile on dope. I couldn't believe it when he let me off with a caution. I didn't think cops gave away cautions. It was a weird experience. My lucky day, I suppose. Anyway, I got back in the car pretty happy.

Back at the pub that night, Woody greeted us outside. He said he was sweating all dayfrom not having alcohol, and was saying how boring it was not having a drink. Jodie came out and he again begged her again to let him have a drink. He then explained how she'd asked him that day to drop off some stuff to his mate's place. He'd refused, saying, 'Jodie, as if I'm not going to go to my mate's place and not have a couple'. That night around the tv, Jodie relented and let him open a bottle of wine. He undid the cork and then chucked it in the bin, 'We won't be needing that' he explained with a big grin.

Woody has so many health problems from his drinking, but he is the happiest guy I'd met in a long while. Life was one big laugh for him, he didn't give a fuck about anything trivial (like his health!), he is friendly, funny and generous. I had a drink with him. How could I not? We all sat around the tv taking the piss out of anything serious that was said by the actors from various shows, particularly anything romantic. We were carrying on like Beavis and Butthead. At one stage Jodie said, 'How about you just run off with Jimbo in a bus around Australia'. I said to Jodie, 'We'll tow a mini behind, where you can stay'. 'No way' she said. 'Just take him', she joked back.

Woody then started holding his leg saying it was starting to hurt again. He said that apparently spicy food, seafood and red wine was the worse thing for gout. He said today he'd had a whole lot of Maram, a tomato sandwich and red wine. 'Guess I'm not as tough as I thought', he said while still holding his leg before pointing out a 'great set of tits' on the screen. He then went onto say how 'Las Vegas' was he best show on tv. I took it as a sign that he was back to his old self. Anyway it was another top day and I went to bed feeling like a willow tree. i.e I was getting more and more used to alcohol and the joys of sitting around and just talking shit with a mate.

29/3/05

As usual I got up late. If there's one thing I love, it's sleeping in. Getting out of bed because you're bored, not because you have too. I then started on some chores which needed to be addressed. I ordered some new 'I fucked a goat' t-shirts. I then went up and visited Browneye who I found out was quite an artist.

Browneye designed me a new goat logo which I'm going to put on some beer coolers and see if they sell after the gig. I particularly liked the hairy arse and motion he gave to it. Nice touch. This is the design below.

Browneye is also doing my new posters. They're a copy of some posters done by the owners of the Werribee Hotel in Victoria. They made it and designed the copy of it after seeing my video. I like them because they're a bit more rough (like my show).

Anyway, it felt like a productive day. Tonight was another one in the pub. Rumours have been flying around the pub lately about me and the new girl Erica which is good because it's deflecting attention from me and Dot. Dot is 69 (ironically) and works in the kitchen. She's a real tough nut who doesn't take shit but underneath she has got a pretty wicked sense of humour. I knew this from the moment I first started flirting with her in my show at the pub a few weeks ago.

That night she was sitting up the front in a sexy blue and white kitchen apron. From there things developed. She refused to have a photo taken with me though. This one is the best I could get.

Anyway, when Dot snuck up to my room tonight, I told her to put on an English accent everytime someone passed our room, so that her honour would be protected. I don't normally mind writing about intimate sex scenes but what Dot and I had going was sexy, tender and special. Words can not fully do it justice. What I will say though, is what Dot lacked in teeth, she made up for in experience and gums...

30/3/05

I went down to the bar at about Midday to find Wombat and Jack the undertaker having a beer together. They had driven out this morning looking for Mallee roots on the side of the road and had just got back with a trailer full. They sell it as firewood. The were planning to have the arvo off, getting on it. 'You watch' mumbled Jack. 'Someone will go and die today and totally fuck my arvo up'. Jack also said that deaths in town always seemed to happen in three's. When one person died two always followed close behind.

Outside the pub I saw a poster for a burnout competition at 'Smithy's place'. I'm pretty good at stalling. Burnouts aren't my specialty yet though. Anyway, again I ran around today doing some stuff like internet and checking up on the poster designs etc before settling into a night down in the bar with Woody.

He'd had yesterday off the piss thanks to a ban from Jodie. Tonight he was allowed two beers. Pretty soon though, he was up to fourteen. He kept on saying to me, 'Jimbo, I'm only having one drink........... after another'. I got to four glasses of wine and realised I'd hit my limit. I then sat on my next one for two hours until Woody finally poured it over my head for being, 'a soft cock'. I was grateful. My hair needed the rinse.

During the night a kangaroo came into the dining room and Buck missed out on the Joker draw. Woody and I ended up at the end of the night having held the pool table for three straight hours undefeated, thanks to some pretty amazing cushion work form Woody. I said to him afterwards, 'you played so well, anyone'd think you work in a pub everynight'. The pool rules in W.A are different, like in every state in Australia.

I reckon Kim Beazely should put down as one of his policies next election, 'a uniforming of all the pool rules across Australia'. I reckon there'd be a lot of people who'd go, 'Yep, that makes sense, I'm voting for the guy'. The rules at Corrigin were two shots for a foul and the black ball had to be sunk in one of the middle pockets. It certainly made things different having come from N.S.W.

I also had a yarn tonight with the local Corrigin copper. He said I was pretty lucky to be cautioned for my speeding on Monday as it was also a double demerit day, being Easter. He then told me how when you lose points in Australia, it doesn't accumulate across states, which means you can lose 11 points in every state and territory and not lose your licence. Which is pretty cool for me. I generally don't speed as a rule but when you're doing over 70000kms a year, a certain amount of 'travel creep' does occur from time to time with the speedo.

With Woody back on the piss, Woody, Jodie, Erica and I ended up in the tv room again. Erica, kicked in early leaving me with some quality time with Woody and Jodie. I'd had such a good week with them, hanging out and relaxing. It was just what I needed after nearly three months of some pretty hard travelling.

Woody told me the secret of drinking was to just go through the pain barrier, 'just keep going', he said. It made me think that the drinking culture is so like the fitness culture amongst athletes. It was something you strove to push yourself at, every day, with the occasional rest day. Woody said his record was 60 stubbies in one night. He said he got this before he was a publican a few years ago and when he was 30kgs lighter. He reckoned he'd be up soon for having a go at 'three blocks' which is 90 beers. He said the only guy in town who he reckoned could match him was Steve.

Steve was playing pool with us tonight and looked like he had another 40kgs on Woody. Woody then told me how his brother had been in England for the last two years and was coming back soon. He'd apparently told Woody how he was going to kick his arse in drinking because he'd been training over there on pints. It seems so much of Australian culture is based around getting blind with a good friend. It's how you catch up, really. Woody again hassled me for not drinking, 'you're a good bloke but it's a bit embarrassing drinking with you, you're piss weak'. I laughed.

I think the only time I really drank much was when I was 18 and at first year uni. I went through about six months of heavy drinking, spewing a few times a week until I ended up in hospital with glandular fever, throat infections, totally run down and on a drip. Since then I haven't really done it. I find after four or five drinks, diminishing rates of return set in for me i.e I'm useless at conversation, I go to sleep and wake up shit - so I don't do it anymore. Then again maybe I'm just a Soft Cock!

31/3/05

I had a gig towards Perth at Gosnell's today. It was time to get back to work. I said goodbye and thanked Woody and Jodie. They knew I'd be back though. I spoke to Wombat. His parting words were, 'Remember, if you're going to drink drive, drink stubbies because you can see out the bottom of them, unlike cans'.

I spoke to Erica. She said she was having trouble understanding the accent of customers at the bar. She said, she could tell they'd just made a joke with their laughs but could only just stand there with a smile not knowing what they said. She said, she hoped they didn't take her silence for being snobbish. I told her, 'just drop the word 'cunt' into the conversations every now and then and they'll think you're a top chick'. Anyway, I drove away happy.

Sometimes being by yourself, your mind can get a bit serious about stuff. I'd had such good company in Corrigin, both male and female, old and young, drunk and sober, and I drove out from totally relaxed about everything. I'm so going to live in one of these towns one day, I reckon. People are so relaxed. They don't even worry about their liver. As one shirt said, 'The liver is evil and must be punished!' The only thing people seem to worry about was whether their horse came in or not. And even then there's not much of a drama cause there's always another race on the screen a few mintues later to make up for it.

I drove down the highway wondering what the next vortex my car would drop me into. On the way, I dropped into The Rocke Inn where there was my mate Fletch leaning against the bar having a drink with his only customer. I had a middie with him and pushed on. I can see now why entertainers like Slim Dusty just kept on going around the country year after year. They weren't touring, they were just catching up with mates each lap.

That arvo I dropped my car in for a service I'd pre-booked. I know where most of my money goes. 75000 odd km's for the year I've done in my car. That's a lot of tyres, a lot of petrol, a lot of servicing, not to mention 12 monthly payments to the finance company.

I got to Gosnell's. The South of WA had been experiencing some pretty heavy rain over the last day, much to the joy of the farmers in the wheatbelt. Gosnell's was more in the city though, outside Perth. Thus to them it was more of just a shitty night to go out, not a reason to celebrate. I've been told a lot about Gosnells. People had said 'be careful', it's a pretty tough pub, you'll probably get punched if you say the wrong thing.

Saying the wrong thing is an artform I've dedicated my life to. It always amazes me before a gig when someone asks me, if I'm nervous, especially in a rough pub. Then when I hit the microphone, I look out at the crowd and realise that everyone in the crowd is nervous - of me. 'I hope he doesn't pick on me', 'Oh my God, who is this guy, you can't say that'. Tonight was a classic case of this.

I set up at one end of the bar. Most of the people were about twenty metres away from me around the pool table. There's only one way to get attention in these situations, I went hard. I reckon there were about 30 people in the room when I started. Within twenty minutes, half had left. Apparently, 'I was a little full on'.

All these guys with their heads down staring at the ground started leaving. I find this so funny, that people in a rough, bikies pub can think I'm full on. I've never hit someone in my life. In fact I wouldn't know how to throw a punch. I'm a piss weak drinker who eats fruit most of the day and to top it off I drive a Mazda which has got Missy Higgins in the CD player! Technically that makes me a poofter!

Anyway, as usual when I flush a room out, the ones that remain are always good value. That is the ones that aren't afraid to give a bit of lip back and get into the vibe. Stars were the sisters Barbara and Anne. I wonder if their parents liked the Beach Boys? Afterwards, Barbara asked me why I was picking on her so much. I said, I always pick on the people who can handle it. Otherwise, it's no fun.

A shit show for me is when no-one in the crowd can handle it. Fuck, some shows I do, the crowd is so dead and scared I wish someone would come up and punch me - at least that way people would start to pay attention. Stars of the show, for me were the staff, who got right into it. They even asked me back, despite having a shit bar tab for the night which would have harldy covered my $200 fee. They said they want me back on a Friday night when they said there'd be more people to play with.

The Gosnell's pub didn't have acccomodation. I started the show at 7pm and was all packed up by 9:30pm. It was dark and drizzling outside. I didn't feel like sleeping in my car, so decided to go back home. i.e two hours back to Corrigin. There was hardly any cars on the road and a heap of tree branches strewn everywhere on the way back. I kept on thinking about the wheat farmers rejoicing and the water boring business' that wouldn't be getting much phone calls this week.

I got into Corrigin at 12:30am. The pub was shut up and dark so I went up the back stairs where I knew the door would be open, planning to crash out on the loungeroom couch. I walked in and and was greeted by Mum and Dad, aka Jodie and Woody. They were both in their dressing gowns and laughing. 'Couldn't handle the big wide world out there?' I told them how, 'it was too cruel and I just wanted to come back'.

I stirred them back. 'What's with you too, going to bed hey? What? So you only turn that big drinking act on when the entertainers are here and then after they've gone you go back to sipping tea and early nights?' Woody then said to me he'll come out to my show tomorrow at Kondinin. He then put his head down looking at Jodie, 'Oh that's right, I can't, I 'm still grounded'. Jodie then told me that 'your room' is still open.

I jumped into bed and put two of the spare blankets over me, again amazed at how generous and warm strangers can be. Then again, Jodie and Woody weren't strangers anymore. Just like a whole lot of other strangers I'd met on the road over the last year, they were my friends and I was having a sleep over.

[Click here to read more of Jimbo's Diary!]

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