ROB'S BLOG
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Here it is kids: my first video blog entry!

I know, the excitement is almost too much to bear. If you're experiencing a tightness across the chest at the moment, it's because the excitement actually is too much to bear and you're having a heart attack. I suggest calling 999 at your earliest convenience.

Obviously, it's generally impossible to isolate paradigms as they develop, but I think we can safely say that this is the turning point of the interweb and life as we know it. In viewing this, I'm sure you will feel like Robert Oppenheimer as he saw the Manhattan Project come to fruition in a giant mushroom cloud, but better because this is clearly more interesting.

And it doesn't end there: I might even shave for the next one.

Look at that! Forget about the 21st Century, we've jumped straight into the 22nd. I do believe this site is now the most technologically advanced on the entire whirlynet. Nobody has video. Nobody. Except for youtube. And all forms of porn.

And isn't that just a staggeringly exciting feature to open with, eh? Those are called black and white stripey fish and there are at least ten of them in Melbourne. If your browser doesn't display the video properly, you'd probably best just do yourself in.

Doubtless, there'll be thousands of video blogs pouring in from me now. I can tell you about things like how I bought some weights this weekend:

I bought some weights this weekend. Now, when I go diving, I can just use my own weights and not hire any. Because I bought my own, you see.

Awesome.

Yesterday, Marina's hospital gave her a multiple choice medical exam to take home and complete which has almost exactly the same format as the PADI exams.

Typical questions are:

#7. One of your patients is diabetic and was due an insulin dose half an hour before your shift started. Unfortunately there is nothing in their notes to indicate that they have received it. Do you:

a) Assume they have had the dose and move on to the next patient.

b) Assume they haven't had the dose and administer it.

c) Ask someone who knows whether they've had the dose or not, and act accordingly.

d) Attack them with a shovel.

#13. A patient goes into cardiac arrest and the ward doctor instructs you to begin CPR. Do you:

a) Immediately commence Cardio-Pulmonary Resuscitation.

b) Immediately commence Recycling the patient's Crisp Packets.

c) Immediately commence a shovel attack.

d) Spread your arms out like wings and immediately commence running around the ward whilst making the appropriate aeroplane noises.

I got that one wrong.

We've been looking after a friend's cat for the past few days. For a while I assumed that, as with any cat, her hobbies mostly included just scratching the new couch and depositing fur on every object in the flat. How naive I was.

Having seen the picture on the left, the danger will be immediately apparent to anyone with a passing knowledge of feline fascism.

Her name is Clarabel. "As if that would fool anyone!" I hear you cry. Sadly, I was fooled until it was almost too late.

My suspicions were first aroused when I realised that it's almost impossible to open a cupboard here at the moment without "Clarabel" leaping inside. When she's not in cupboards, she's under things: couches, tables, shelves. "There goes a kitten that loves overhead environments" I exclaimed, simply, foolishly, naively, "She'd make a great wreck diver!" (This isn't true, incidentally: she wouldn't make a good diver at all, because she's a cat, so she'd drown and die).

And then for the past two nights, Marina has been on night duty at the hospital, and so, selflessly and heroically, have I.

Not at the hospital, obviously, but at home, on the laptop.

Anyway, I used to think that at night, cats slept or ate cat food or played with cat toys or had cat sex with other cats or something. But this one spends half of the night with a fat, puffed-up neck and big black eyes, subjecting ornaments and bits of furniture to merciless, unprovoked attacks.

The other half she spends bullying my psyche with her relentless, fascist propaganda: demanding food and water for the master race (cats) and subjecting me to terrible slavery (mostly involving making a fuss of her: if I don't, she miaows relentlessly).

That and the fact she kept planning reichs.

I told Marina about all this when she returned home this morning but, selfishly, she seemed more interested in banging on about boring work stories involving people coming in with horrific injuries and dying and stuff. I was forced to interrupt: "All the signs are there", I said, "This is what happened in 1938 with Czechoslovakia". I eyed Clarabel suspiciously. Marina tickled her on the chin. Then she told me to shut up and went to bed.

It's Poland I feel sorry for.

Marina bought a BCD and semi-dry wetsuit last weekend, which leaves me on the horns of a shocking dilemma. You can look at the pretty picture of the seahorse whilst you think about it.

The BCD is awesome, but so is mine, so I can handle that. Unfortunately, the semi-dry is also awesome and it was underneath Rye Pier last Sunday that my drysuit was clearly inspired to fulfil its own ambitions and became a semi-dry itself. It's been threatening to ever since I hauled it, battered and crushed from the shipping crate. The problem is it's the zip that's gone, so I'm looking at a AU$500 repair bill.

A fantastic semi-dry along the lines of Marina's will set me back AU$850 and will sneak me back into the lead in the battle of "who has the best gear" because my regs are superior, and will remain that way for at least another two months until they break as well.

What do I do? I'm not a tight person, except when it comes to spending money, so any advice would be appreciated. So that you have all the information required to make an informed decision on my behalf, I can tell you that the drysuit is a membrane design and now goes under the name "the thing with the bastard zip". The water temperature is f***ing cold, or 12 to 13°C. And the seahorse is yellow.

OK, so further to the last blog, it appears there is no such thing as an underwater giraffe. Marina pointed this out to me in words of mostly one syllable and four letters, after our second dive of last weekend.

Or, at least, I think that's what she was trying to say. She was once again wearing what might have doubled as a flimsy cocktail dress for exposure protection and her teeth were chattering too much for anything really intelligible to be heard. Tiring of this, I was forced to interrupt her in order to complain about the serious issue I was having with a leaky drysuit which had rendered my right arm slightly damp. A brief silence of one or two days ensued.

The saddest news item this week revolves around the subject of addiction, I'm afraid to say. It's something that ruins the lives of the addicted and those around them, and whilst it probably shouldn't play a part in what ought to be a light-hearted blog, I can't help but mention the events here that have touched, and threaten to destroy, my own life.

Oh, before you ask: there was no option to take the Mighty Wednesday on to mightier things. This is probably because a) everyone would do it and so many of the game's hidden features would therefore remain hidden; or b) it's not possible and trying to do so could create universe-ending paradoxes in the fabric of space-time, or at the very least be unrealistic. Anyway, apart from that obvious point, the only change I would request from the makers for the next version would be the inclusion of the following commentary line when you play M** U****d: "Cristiano Ronaldo has the ball... He's been fouled by Rob! Cristiano Ronaldo has actually snapped in half and Rob is urinating on him as he bleeds to death on the pitch. And the fans are laughing! Everyone is laughing! Even Ronaldo's own family and everyone that has ever known him are laughing as he slowly dies. And his hair looks crap too."

I look forward to hearing from Jonathan on this issue. I bet he still spends his weekends playing football manager as well.

There is good news though: koalas have been taken off the CITES "never-existed-and-anyone-that-claims-to-have-seen-one-is-making-it-up" list and put onto the "actual-real-animals-list" because I saw one this weekend. Sadly, the former list is still large and contains, amongst other things, such wonderful yet sadly mythical creatures as the whale shark, the killer whale (in fact anything with the word "whale" in its name), and the badger. But koalas are sure to be as pleased as bullsharks were a few weeks ago.

I would have posted a picture, but having gone through them, it would expose my photography skills for the shallow sham that they are. Instead, you have a wonderful view of the underside of Mornington pier: in my opinion, one of Melbourne's best dives. In Marina's opinion also, since the other dive we tried was very much like the Wraysbury-esque one of the previous weekend but with worse visibility.

I can't say I really noticed though, to be honest. I was too involved in weighing up the merits of an attacking 3-5-2 formation against a nice solid 4-4-2. Time wasted, as it turns out, because M** U****d beat you 4-0 either way.

I haven't written anything in this blog for ages. Is it because:

a) I was abducted by incredibly hot lesbians who sexually molested me for three weeks, forcing me to perform unspeakable acts now available on DVD from all good Soho stores?

or

b) I forgot?

Answers on a postcard please. The DVD is very reasonably priced.

So, last week I went to watch the sinking of the ex-HMAS Canberra down by the sea (the sea is traditionally believed by many to be an excellent place for wreck-sinking). It was delayed for quite a while which meant lots of sitting around watching news crews helicopter about. Fortunately, they left after a while, at which point the actual sinking happened. Unfortunately, this meant our planned shore dive was delayed.

I say unfortunately because, this being Marina's first dive in cold water, I had rather "bigged it up"*. It has been suggested by some sources (one in particular) that during this particular spree of "bigging", I claimed that the diving in Melbourne was "nothing short of spectacular", that it was "far, far superior" to the "overhyped twaddle" offered by the Great Barrier Reef and that "I actually feel sorry" for anyone who doesn't get to dive here at some point because "when they die their entire life will have been pointless". I won't make that mistake again.

Those with a bent towards the science of psychology might fear at this point that I may have raised Marina's expectations a little too high and, as we entered the water at exactly the wrong time of day for the tide, I began to picture myself imminently concurring with this point of view.

Luckily, I was wrong: the dive was awesome.

OK, in order to illustrate the magnitude of lie contained within that last sentence, the picture at the top of this post is an accurate representation of the visibility we encountered during those 25 long minutes. I have no way to illustrate the cold, but I don't need to because I was nice and snug in my drysuit. One can only imagine how chilly Marina was in an ill-fitting wetsuit and invisible hood in 13 degree water, but to give you a clue she described it as "the coldest I have ever been in my entire life and that includes when I went to Finland for Christmas and got locked out of the lodge for an hour in a blizzard without a coat".

I recorded a maximum depth of 4.6 metres. I believe this was when the surge threw me into some rocks and my computer-wearing wrist was thrust into the peculiarly abrasive sand. All in all, it was worse than Wraysbury. To be honest, I'd prefer to dive on the Great Barrier Reef.

But luckily for you chaps, we're giving it another go on Saturday. This time it's a tried and trusted site, that I personally know to be so good it has even made blind people weep and features, amongst other life, underwater giraffes and a wizard who makes any wish come true if you let him use your torch for five minutes.

I'll let you know how it goes.

*For those who aren't hip enough to know, "bigged up" is a word the cool kids are using these days and roughly translates as "hyped". In this case it means "hyped out of all proportion" and required lengthy apologies for the following four days.

The entire nation will doubtless be relieved to learn that my drysuit has finally arrived, so who knows, maybe I’ll actually do some diving. Stranger things have happened. (That’s a joke, of course: they haven’t.)

Perhaps even more edifying for me was the arrival of my puffer jacket. I’ve been coatless until now as I threw away my other jacket in Madrid this summer because it was very hot at that particular moment and therefore I didn’t need it. Looking back, I’m reminded of the best wetsuit I ever owned, which still resides at the top of a mountain in Nicaragua where I dumped it because there wasn’t any water around. Incredibly, it seems it would’ve come in useful a while later when I did some warm water diving again in t’Egypt, but I didn’t have it so I had to buy a new one.

In any case, I believe it was at the exact moment that I donned said puffer jacket that warms winds started to blow in from the north and the temperature changed instantly from 8˚C to to a sweltering 25˚C+. Luckily, I still have some t-shirts that Marina didn’t let me throw away because it was too cold to wear them. And we have a fridge to keep food cold in, which amazingly has come in handy. I had argued vehemently against buying one because I wasn’t hungry, but for some reason changed my mind when Marina asked me again a few hours later.

I attended an Australian Rules Footballing game at the MCG on Saturday. This was a very different experience to the type of football I'm used to, not so much for the entertaining mayhem on the pitch but more due to the disappointing cultural differences. Specifically the lack of culture that the antipods are generally accused of.

This became immediately apparent on the short train journey to the ground. All the carriages were packed with "footy" fans. Normally one would expect said fans to be bellowing something along the lines of "Come on in and drink with us, We'll drink you to a frenzy, We all come come from Sheffield, And we are Sheffield Wednesday, Na na nana na na na etc." to the tune of Yankee Doodle Dandy, but these Aussie types showed a marked lack of refinement by simply talking quietly amongst themselves instead.

Secondly, and even more worryingly, there were fans of both teams on the same train and yet there were none of the incitements to violence that the cultured man would expect.

Thirdly, and most troubling of all, they were all sober. I can honestly say I didn't see a single man, woman or child urinate into a beer bottle.

Heathens.

Anyway, the game was good and both Giant Bearded Scotsman (GBS) and I did our very best to make up for the generally disappointing levels of alcohol consumption that were to be seen throughout. And then luckily, at the end, we were made to feel properly at home as a young fan of the losing team (our team also) saw fit to apply a judicious Glasgow kiss to the nasal region of one of the security guards. This caused quite some consternation amongst the other spectators who, incredibly, aren't used to seeing this type of thing at sporting events. Best of all, after this quick scuffle which GBS and I, to be honest, barely noticed even though it was actually occurring at our feet, the securitons broke out the pepper spray. I've never seen it employed before but judging by the reaction of the man who received a face-full, I'd say it might sting a tad. Fortunately, the Brits were there to keep a level head and GBS continued to keep the offending young man (by now pinned to the floor in a painful-looking half-nelson) updated by cheerfully informing him at 30 second intervals that his team were still losing.

In other news, Marina and I have our own lodgings. I imagine this will be particularly useful next time I get incredibly drunk during and after an Aussie Rules game and fall asleep on the train home, winding up somewhere unpronounceable in the state of Victoria. Not that the flat will be useful per se, just that when I finally do get home, I won't have to worry about waking any military parents as I stagger around an incredibly expensively furnished home in the darkness, whilst struggling to keep bodily fluids properly internalised and trying to remember not to sing.

Instead, I can stagger through the front door, slam into some electrical appliance (which Marina persuaded me to spend a fortune on), trip straight over the IKEA couch (which Marina persuaded me to spend a fortune on), stand on the Wireless Router (which I persuaded Marina to spend a fortune on and which doesn't work, which is why I'm writing this in the public library) on the way to the 2nd floor balcony where I can shout lurid greetings to the possums that congregate around the trees outside.

Get in!

Ha! Look at that, eh? Look! Just there on the left. That's right: pictures. 20th Century here we come. Have a flick back through some of your favourite posts; the ones that brought tears to your eyes and bile to your mouth, and you're sure to see that the blog is now infested with pictures with exciting alt-text captions for those who care to scroll over them. You can also add your own photos to your comments. No, really, you can.

I'm in Melbourne now. I left Fat Dan to the lesbians of Tioman, and bought an AirAsia ticket to Oz. AirAsia is the EasyJet of, er, Asia: bizarrely cheap, nauseatingly cheerful and most importantly, not Q*ntas (wankers). Get your tickets now (you can buy a big baggage allowance).

We almost have somewhere to live, despite the fact that Marina seems to have wasted all her time nursing people to health in a hospital and haggling with estate agents whilst I worked my knuckles to the bone in various Asian drinking establishments [insert ladyboy joke here].

Until then though, we're staying with her parents, which means I'm spending all my time trying not to swear, drink until 3am, make careless comments regarding sex with their daughter, or make smells. They've been phenomenally nice actually, which makes me nervous. Her dad's a military man so I expect the pleasantries are just a prelude to him wandering in one afternoon and shooting me in the face. That's what I'd do if my daughter was associated with the likes of me.

For those who've never been; this is what Melbourne is like: exactly the same as Neighbours but colder and wetter. I put this to Marina and she said: "No, it's not, it's... actually, yeah, you're right", and then added in a warning tone: "It's not like Home and Away though". I hadn't suggested it was but agreed with her in a way that made it sound like I had and that I was wrong to have done, since it's never wise to be correct around an Australian. Especially Australian girls. And especially Australian girls with fathers that are trained to kill.