My First Milking and Other Stories

Despite growing up in rural areas of Devon and Somerset, I had never milked a cow before yesterday. Was I nervous? Not really, I was actually rather excited and having watched the process on Monday I was ready to get stuck in.

I doubt that any of my readers are dairy farmers (although this is the internet so who knows?), so I'll briefly explain the milking process at the farm I'm staying at. The dairy is a '22-a-side herringbone dairy'. This means that a football match worth of cows file into grain filled pens on one side of a shed, then once the milking is underway another 22 are let into the opposite side. When one side is finished, the gates are opened allowing the milked cows out and another 22 in to take their place. The milking is done electronically: the farmer attaches one suction cup to each teat and the machine withdraws milk until the udder is drained, then releases the suction causing the cups to drop off the udder. Thanks to the modern equipment, the 140 or so cows that are currently being milked can be knocked off by two quick workers in as little as 45 minutes. The cattle are milked twice a day, once at 7am and again at around 3-4pm.
It was yesterday afternoon that I made my debut. I hit the 'start' button, slowly attached one suction cup, then another, fumbled a bit with the third before guiding it on, and the fourth went on easy. And just like that my I had milked my first cow. Then I moved onto the next.

Milking cows is not complicated, but there are many variables that can make the task tricky or require special attention, therefore great concentration is required. Some of the bigger cows have giant teats which are hard to get the suction cups onto. Some cows keep their legs close together, limiting access to their udders. Some cows jerk and stomp requiring steady hands (there is no danger of being hurt by the animals as a well placed metal bar prevents them from kicking back). Some cows have low udders that hang close to the ground, bringing up the challenge of attaching one cup without letting the others touch the floor and thus pick up dirt. Some cows have muddy teats that need cleaning before you can milk them. Some cows will kick off the cups prematurely, so you have to carefully check whether each udder has been fully milked. Lastly, some cows are marked with blue, indicating that they are on antibiotics. Their milk is contaminated and must be diverted into a separate bucket, if it isn't and flows into the main drum then the entire tankful must be discarded, which is thousands of dollars worth of milk. Therefore I was more worried about making this grave error than the usual milking concern - the cow shitting or pissing all over your head. I have accepted that this will happen to me at least once (possibly twice - once solid, once fluid), so am mentally prepared and do not fear the faeces.

Today, I was milking faster and doing my best to handle the variables. The afternoon session saw my farmer host leave myself and my fellow German helper alone in the dairy. The German lad is somewhat shy and lacking in confidence, so although he has been here two weeks already I had to take the lead and try to ensure the process went smoothly. It was more than I expected on only my third day as a farmer, but I think we handled the job well and there were no disasters. I look forward to becoming increasingly proficient at milking over the next few weeks.

***

Over the past two days I have witnessed the artificial insemination of three cows. Apologies for the crude language, but there are no better ways to describe the process than the farmer ramming one arm up the cow's arse while using the other to poke around the animal's inners with a long, semen containing needle-like device. My host breeds all his cows this way due to the advantage of being able to pick and choose genetics from all over the world. If you're hoping for a blog post detailing my own hand-up-bovine-bottom experience then you'll be disappointed - this is a task I won't be asked to do.

***

Today I fell victim to a Northern Victoria farmer practical joke. My host's mates had smothered two of his gate padlocks with a copious amount of grease, which was unavoidably transferred onto my hands when I had to open the gates.

***

There are three tiny and beyond adorable six week old puppies on the farm. Fantastically, one of my jobs is to play with them whenever I have a spare five minutes, so they are used to human contact by the time they are sold. Messing around with these little fellas has replaced furniture destroying as the most awesome task I've been handed in Australia so far.

Can I keep him?

Life as an Aussie Farmer: Prologue/Chapter 1

Today I left Bendigo and it had been a great week with a wonderful family. My next destination, a dairy farm in Northern Victoria, is perhaps my most interesting yet.

I boarded a bus at Bendigo bound for Pyramid Hill (where my new host was to meet me), and what a fascinating journey it was. The city soon gave way to barren landscapes, the road a dead straight one that cut through golden yellow plains. It was flat, featureless, and infinite. Our only stop on the way was Dingee. Dingee was the only settlement for miles, but it was just a few houses, a small store, a memorial hall, and that was it. Pyramid Hill's name soon became obvious as a pyramid shaped hill rose above the endless flat ground. At Pyramid Hill, I met my host and from there we travelled a further 20 minutes, during which we didn't see a single other vehicle.

The dairy farm at which I will spend the next three weeks (at least) is home to 200 cows and plenty of other animals, including some tiny,  adorable puppies. Today was supposed to be pretty uneventful: I watched and learned the milking of cows and performed a couple of simple tasks. However, it was not eventful. We headed over to another farm owned by my host to drop off a barrel of hay to some cows, in a place that was truly the middle of nowhere. On the way back, we ran out of fuel. This would have been a complete disaster in years past, given the distance between us and the next nearest person, but a quick 'phone a friend' had someone on their way to rescue us with a spare tank.

Later on, we received a call informing us that one of my host's cows had been spotted astray on the road. This was after nine and we had to find it before dark. Find it we did, and with the stars emerging the cow was guided back to its proper location.

All this meant that it was well after ten until we had dinner. The next few weeks are going to be a brilliant experience and I can't wait to become an expert at milking cows. Stay tuned.

A view from the farm.

Return to the Australian Open: Men's Doubles Final

I didn't expect to be returning to the Australian Open again, but then I didn't expect Eric Butorac and Raven Klaasen to reach the Men's Doubles Final. The unseeded pair were having a dream tournament: in the first round they defeated Aussie legends Pat Rafter and Lleyton Hewitt in their own back yard, then they knocked out the Bryan Brothers (the top ranked team for the past ten years) in the third round, and in the semis they stunned multiple Slam winners Nestor & Zimonjic with a flawless performance. Could the American-South African duo pull off one more upset on Saturday night to win their first Grand Slam title?

At this point, you may be wondering why I care so much about a pair of obscure doubles specialists. When he's not playing tournaments, Eric Butorac coaches and hits with the Harvard tennis team, which I played on from 2008-2012. Therefore I became friends with Eric and was very lucky to receive some top notch doubles coaching from him. Circumstance had so far prevented me from watching any of his matches, but there was simply no way I was missing the final and Eric kindly invited me to sit in his player's box for tonight's showdown.

Wow, I was excited! I was feeling giddy all day and on the train ride to Melbourne I wanted to sing along to every word blasting from my iPod, although thankfully for the  other passengers I limited myself to a bit of miming. The doubles final was scheduled to follow the Women's Singles final, so once inside the grounds I sat down to watch Li Na and Cibulkova on the big screen. As this game got underway, my excitement was quickly replaced by nerves. I hadn't felt so nervous in a long time. I just wanted Eric and his partner Raven to win so badly. Eric is an inspirational guy, as despite his humble college tennis background and lack of freakish talent he has enjoyed a successful career thanks to hard work, professionalism, and intelligence on the doubles court. Furthermore, Eric is just a super nice guy and I wanted nothing more than to see him take the title. The women's final couldn't end quickly enough, but the first set painfully dragged on for a whole hour. Butterfly stomached, I found myself unable to sit there and watch anymore so I retreated indoors to read Joseph Heller's Catch-22. Thankfully, the second set was 6-0 and moments later I was nervously making my way down to the Player's Box of Rod Laver Arena!

Many members of the crowd had disappointedly opted not to stick around for the doubles, but due to the sheer size of the stadium there were still a lot of people watching. Eric and Raven understandably started shakily and fell behind an early break. Meanwhile, their opponents - the 14th seeds Robert Lindstedt and Lukasz Kubot - were firing on all cylinders. In particular, the big Pole Kubot was dominating the court, crushing returns and smothering the net. He was more animal than man out there. Our boys lost the first set 6-3.

Buoyed by some strong support from the box, Eric and Raven were finding their range and played some great stuff in the second set. Serving down 3-2, Eric pulled out some huge serves to fend off several break points, which pumped up himself, his partner, and us in the box. The belief never wavered but neither did the form of Lindstedt/Kubot and they played a blinding game to break Raven and take a 5-3 lead in the second set. From 2010-2012, Lindstedt lost three consecutive Wimbledon doubles finals, so I desperately hoped memories of those defeats would haunt him as he served for the match. Actually, it was some excellent play from Butorac/Klaasen that led to a break-back point at 30-40. Raven hit a fine return and after a quick fire exchange he had a chance to win the point with a backhand volley, but he netted and two big serves later the match was over.

I was bitterly disappointed. Gutted in fact. It was all over so quickly. Nobody deserves to win a Slam more than Eric and his chance had just vanished. I had pictured wild celebrations in Melbourne throughout the night and instead I  faced a dispirited run to Southern Cross Station to catch the last train back to Bendigo.

Come tomorrow I'll hopefully come to reflect on what a crazy experience it was and the one mile jog back home from Bendigo train station at 1.45am was pretty surreal in a 'how has my life to date culminated in this' sort of way.

Congratulations to Eric and Raven on an amazing tournament and hopefully they can build on this success and have a great season.

Bendigo

An interesting fact about Australia is that despite its immense size,  around 60% of the population live in the five biggest cities (Sydney,  Melbourne, Brisbane, Perth, Adelaide). By comparison, the figure for America, a country of similar area when Alaska is not included, is about 6%. As a result of Australia's sparse population, my current location Bendigo is inside the nation's twenty biggest urban areas, although at around 100,000 people it is smaller than Cheltenham.

Bendigo is just two hours inland from Melbourne by train, but is seldom visited by backpackers. I have found myself here through the website Helpx. Helpx is a system that pairs farms/households/businesses looking for workers with travellers who are willing to work in exchange for free accommodation and food. My hosts in Bendigo are a lovely family who just have a few simple tasks for me such as mowing the lawn and cleaning the pool. Therefore this week represents a transition in my Australian adventure, as for the first time I am not residing in hostels. And what a glorious transition it has been. Hostels can certainly be a lot of fun and are a great place to meet people, but after almost fifty consecutive days in them the change is most welcome. Hot, crowded bedrooms have been swapped for a cool, single room. Small beds with crap mattresses have been traded for a large bed with a decent mattress. Pasta, bread, and cheese have been exchanged for roast lamb, barbequed meat, and scrumptious desserts. And finally, cheap lagers and three dollar bottles of wine have been switched with craft beers and proper wines. (There are other differences too but I've ran out of synonyms for 'swapped'.)

Over the course of a drive last night and cycle today, I've found Bendigo to be an agreeable place. Bendigo is of historical significance due to the discovery of gold in the 1850s and subsequent gold rush. Today, the city is dotted with fine Victorian era architecture and the influence of the many Cornish miners who came over to the city in search of work can be found in the bakeries, where traditional pasties are still being cooked up. Meanwhile, the impact of the British is obvious across the city - quaint bowling and croquet clubs sit side by side and a central street is named Pall Mall. Furthering the historic feel of the city is an old fashioned brown tourist tram and an impressive cathedral, although my hosts informed me that this wasn't built until 1977. The center of Bendigo is compact and pleasing to walk around, a decent portion of the stores are local businesses and the lush greens of Rosalind Park are in stark contrast to the sun baked  grass that colour the city yellow. If there is one place in the town I would like to while away my time, it would be on one of the many glorious cricket pitches. In particular, the Queen Elizabeth Oval is a well kept ground with an elegant stand. It didn't take much imagination to picture a moustachioed man from a bygone era flicking a ball away to the boundary to a ripple of polite applause from the clubhouse. Overall Bendigo is very sporty and even boasts a number of grass tennis courts and a velodrome of sorts.

An unheralded attraction of Bendigo is an innocuous field to the East of the city that is popular with kangaroos. Yesterday evening, this was where I saw these wonderful animals for the first time. They were chilling close to the road, so I got a great view of a cute joey sitting snugly in its mother's pouch and the kangaroos hopped around in such a classically cartoonish manner that it was hard to believe it was real life. Will I eat one if I get the chance? Probably.

Looking out across Rosalind Park and the City of Bendigo

Album Review: The Living End - The Ending Is Just The Beginning Repeating

As explained at the start of my first album review for Air's 'Moon Safari', I'm listening to a series of 'travel albums' on my journey and reviewing these records once I get stuck into them. The next album I'm ready to review is the 2011 album 'The Ending Is Just The Beginning Repeating' by Melbourne band The Living End:

The Living End are the first band to come to my head when I think of Australian music, so I simply had to include an album of theirs on my list. I have been listening to the group for around ten years now and 'Growing Up (Falling Down)' ranks among my favourite songs.   While little known outside of Oz, The Living End are massive Down Under with a couple of their albums topping the charts. Being a huge music nerd, I enjoy listening to bands in the place they come from. Therefore I was delighted to have 'The Ending...' sounding from my earphones as I walked to the Australian Open last week, and I could hardly contain my excitement at listening to track 2 'Heatwave' during an actual Melbourne heatwave!

The Living End is a no frills band with a poppy alternative rock sound and there are no surprises on his this record. The songs are simple in structure with catchy choruses and straightforward lyrics - there are no difficult topics approached or controversial statements made here. The music is very accessible, it will rock you without inducing headbanging or moshing and it will have you singing along without prompting tears or raised fists.
Most of the songs on 'The Ending...' fit into the 'good but not great' range. 'In The Morning' is a lively opener, 'Song For The Lonely' rolls along at a cracking pace, 'For Another Day' offers a chance for lighters to be raised skywards, and there is a nice Aussie feel to 'Heatwave' and 'Ride The Wave Boy', the latter featuring an excellent guitar break.

However, there are two tracks that fall outside of the 'decent' category.  Unfortunately, 'United' falls short and has to be skipped. Its chorus of "We stand alone we're divided, we stand as one we're united" is just way too predictable and the whole song is pretty annoying. But up next is the best track on the album by a long long way. 'Universe' is the finest pop-rock song I've heard in ages and could become the essential song for my entire trip. It is a fun, fast, song that will make you feel good with positive lyrics such as "give me one reason not to try, why should I be afraid". It contains an awesome guitar part that will have you pulling out an air guitar, which you'll then swap for air drums during the rocking outro. Best of all is the big chorus, don't worry about whether the lyrics make sense or not, just sing along and let it swirl around your head for the rest of the day.

'The Ending...' does not break any new ground and it is not an album you'll be desperate to tell you're friends about. But it is a record full of fun, catchy tunes and it boasts one truly brilliant song in 'Universe'.

7/10

Australian Open Day 5 - A five set thriller

Some people might squirm at the thought of spending 3 hours 54 minutes watching one tennis match. Not me. I can't think of many better ways to spend a Friday afternoon. In this fifth and final blog post from the Australian Open I am going to hail the glories of watching a best of five set match from start to finish.

Today, the heatwave drew my Swedish friend Markus and I into the shade of Margaret Court Arena. After an entertaining doubles match, we stayed put for the third round matchup between South African Kevin Anderson and Frenchman Edouard Roger-Vasselin. Some may be surprised to learn that Anderson is currently ranked 21 in the world, but with his booming serve serve and monster groundstrokes he certainly warrants this lofty position. In the opposite corner, Roger-Vasselin's greatest strength is that he has no weaknesses. A decent serve, solid groundstrokes, competent volleys - he is a tough opponent.

The match got off to a slow start with Anderson's backhand breaking down with alarming regularity. Roger-Vasselin was not doing anything special, but soon found himself with a two sets to love lead. To be honest, we could have walked out after a set and a half. The match was desperately lacking in both quality and excitement. But over five sets anything can happen, maybe Anderson will pull off an epic comeback, so it was worth sticking around.

Over the course of a best of five set match there can be numerous shifts in momentum that are fascinating to observe. At the start of the third set, the pendulum swung towards Anderson. The 6ft8 South African sorted out his backhand and began an onslaught, raining down aces and leathering the ball from the back of the court. Roger-Vasselin couldn't cope and his two set lead was cut in half. Meanwhile, the Frenchman was suffering in the 40 degree heat and required the attention of both the trainer and doctor during the third set. 30 minutes ago it looked like a straightforward Roger-Vasselin victory, now Anderson was favourite.

By this point the crowd had began to choose sides. The Australians have an amusing habit of calling players nicknames they've probably never had, such as 'Ed' and 'Ando', and were shouting out stuff like "you're the best Rog on the tour". From time to time, a small group would stand up for a little chant, such as "Roger fans, in the stands, if you're here, clap your hands". It was all a bit daft, but it made for a fun atmosphere.

In the fourth set Ed upped his game and as a result it was possibly the highest standard set I saw all week. The players were throwing everything they had at each other and fittingly it went to a tie-break. This was what the whole match had been boiling up to. 2 hours 45 minutes was up and the key moment had arrived. If Ed wins the tie-break he is through to the second week, if Ando prevails then surely he will keep up the momentum and also claim the fifth set. It was exciting stuff and especially thrilling because we had watched the match unfold from the very start. Ed raced into a 4-0 lead and then missed a tricky but makeable volley. Would this prove costly? At 5-0 the tie-break and match is surely over, but at 4-1...Ando dug in and took the next four points, including winning the longest rally I've witnessed this week. Ando's groundstrokes were firing but his serve had deserted him for the tie-break and at 5-4 he double faulted. With the tension reaching a crescendo, Ando snuck ahead to 6-5 then won another epic rally and we were heading to a fifth set! Fists were pumped on court and in the stands. It was a memorable moment.

A five setter can be full of twists and turns and towards the start of the decider Ed broke serve. We had now been watching for over three hours but still had no idea what was coming next.

 At 4-3 up, Ed hit the shot of the tournament. Ando nudged a volley towards the sideline which appeared to be heading for a winner. Some of the crowd were already cheering as Ed scampered across the court and whipped around the side of the ball, so that it flew past the long reach of Ando and then curled back inside the line. It was a miraculous shot, especially considering how long the match had been running. Had it been struck by Federer and not the unheralded Roger-Vasselin then it would be racking up millions of YouTube hits as you read.

Two sets all. 5-4 Ed. Serving for the match. This would be the test of the  man. I am a firm believer that winning the first point of a game is of vital importance to holding serve, especially when the pressure is on. The opening point of this game should have been taken by Ed. He hit a good serve, a solid approach, and simply had to stick an easy forehand volley into the open half of the court. But he amateurishly swung at the volley and sent it long. He was broken. At 5-5 Ed saw two break points come and go and five minutes later Ando completed a remarkable comeback by breaking Ed again to triumph. It was a classic match and sitting through the entire contest had been very rewarding.

The match finished at 7:02pm and my buddy Markus headed home. However, a mouthwatering clash between Fognini and Querrey was up next and I had a great seat right behind the court. Was I going anywhere? Not a chance. Bring on another five sets.

Four hours well spent.

This is a Heatwave!

Folk at the one-wimpy-fan-is-all-there-is-to-cool-this-room hostel have of course been whinging about the heat. I think they would change their tune if they appreciated that there are people outside, in the heat of the day, with no shade or air conditioning, playing professional tennis for hours in a row. When I've sat in the sun, an unrelenting torrent of sweat has rippled over my body, prompting the clichéd (but in this case accurate) 'like a sauna' comment. That was just sitting. It truly has been an astonishing effort from the players. Although the quality of tennis has taken a hit, the standard they have produced has been mightily impressive and seldom have I seen players try to change their style to shorten the points.

A couple of players have come out with dramatic comments such as 'inhumane to make us play' and 'maybe I could have died' and the BBC have of course picked up on such comments in a flimsy attempt to create some sort of scandal. However, I haven't seen any player complain to the umpire about the heat yet, and there have been neither more retirements nor calls for the trainer than I'm used to seeing at Wimbledon. On the whole the competitors have just got on with it, accepting that it is the same for both players and doing whatever they can to avoid overheating, such as ice around the neck at the changeovers. They are conditioned to cope with this weather. This is what they train so hard for. The guys, who are somehow grinding out five-setters, are some of the toughest athletes in the world.

Today I was watching Andreas Seppi against Donald Young on a sun-baked Court 3. Two days ago Seppi overcame home favourite Lleyton Hewitt in five gruelling sets on a scorching afternoon. Today, he looked down and out when trailing by two sets to one and 3-1 in the fourth set. Displaying incredible mental strength and physical conditioning, the Italian got the break back. Serving 0-40 down at 4-4, with two hours thirty on the clock, Seppi was just five points away from a cool shower and an air conditioner room. But he kept fighting and was rewarded: Young choked, Seppi grabbed the fourth set, and then heat stopped play. There is an 'Extreme Heat Rule' at the Australian Open that suspends play when a certain heat index is reached. The index is based on humidity as well as raw temperature, so despite the heat today's stoppage from 1.45 - 4pm was the first of the week. Seppi went on to lose the fifth set 7-5, but  it was an admirable effort nonetheless.

Friday is my final day at the Australian Open and also the final day of the heatwave. Saturday will come as a relief for everyone in this city. Here is the apt 'Heatwave' from Melbourne band The Living End.

We are blue, We are white, We are Finnish dynamite!

I have now spent three entire days, from 11am until 9-10pm, marauding the outside courts at Melbourne Park watching an absurd amount of tennis. 'Does it not get boring?' I hear you ask. Quite simply, no it doesn't, each match is unique and entertaining in its own way. One variable is the crowd, with a standout aspect of the tournament being the hearty support many players receive from their countrymen.

The Israeli support was a well coordinated unit, the Japanese fans outnumbered the Australians for Kei Nishikori's clash with Marinko Matosevic, six Poles chanted at the volume of sixty after each point Jerzy Janowicz played (win or lose), and French cries of 'Allez!' helped Gilles Simon miraculously save seven match points to overcome German Daniel Brands in an epic 16-14 fifth set.

However, none of the above came close to the madness of the Bosnians. Their hero, 21 year old qualifier Damir Dzumhur, became the first Bosnian to win a Grand Slam match on Monday and today he faced Croatian Ivan Dodig in front of around thirty crazy Bosnian fans. After losing the first two sets, Dzumhur took the third and at this point Dodig took a bathroom break. The flag-traipsing Bosnians sung throughout every second of this five or so minute break, with the euphoria culminating in the entire group linking arms and jumping up and down in a circle. I had never seen anything like it at a tennis match before, it was like a football crowd. The rowdiness continued and soon after Dodig was forced to retire with leg cramps, sending Dzumhur through to the round of 32. I would be surprised if Bosnian independence was met with more jubilation than this victory.

By Wednesday afternoon I was itching for someone to lend my own support to. Given the usual dearth of Brits, I chose to get behind the Finn Jarkko Nieminen in his encounter with the flashy Italian Fabio Fognini. It wasn't as random a choice as you might think. I have a soft spot for the Scandinavian nation due to my Finnish buddy Liinus and I was with my Swedish friend Markus, who wanted to root for his neighbour. Furthermore, Nieminen is the kind of player I can get behind. The 32 year old is an unremarkable guy who has done remarkably well. He doesn't appear to be terrifically athletic and his play isn't exactly dazzling. However, Jarkko maximises his ability and has been in the Top 50 for the majority of the past 10 years.  Furthermore, I am reliably informed that Jarkko is widely regarded as the nicest guy on tour.

The Finnish support on Court 3 consisted of four sections, which were, in order of size:
- Seven or eight flag bearers sat at the opposite end to me.
- Three or four corner seated fans who were mostly quiet, but suddenly and randomly burst out with songs of "Let's go Jarkko".
- Myself and Markus, who sat in the front row behind the court and provided consistent encouragement.
- A backwards-capped old man who proudly waved his small flag and occasionally bellowed something out, such as the titular chant.

Opposing us were around five to ten typically shirtless Italians. These bros weren't the rowdiest, but did have to be restrained from shouting out 'bravo' during the point by the umpire.

The match was a strange one. For a Grand Slam second round the standard was poor and the players were more poking sticks at each other than swinging swords. Nieminen looked fatigued from his five set marathon on Monday while Fognini was awfully erratic - at times he displayed why he's climbed into the Top 20 and at other times he was hopeless. Nieminen snuck into an early 3-0 lead, but was immediately pegged back and went on to drop the set 7-5. The second set was equally frustrating - 6-4 Fognini - but in the third Jarkko upped his game and took it 6-3. At the start of the fourth set, the Italian had really lost his way, missing balls left and right, grumbling to his coaches, and picking up a warning for firing a ball into the back fence. All four sections of the Finnish support began to believe and upped their volume accordingly. But then there was another twist, Nieminen was 40-0 up on his serve and inexplicably fell apart, losing the next nine points to go 4-1 down. Fognini sniffed victory and pounced, taking the set 6-2.

Overall the Finns weren't the loudest but they were very supportive, sticking with their player every step of the way and even singing his name after the match was over. Meanwhile, the victory aroused the Italians, who broke into football style singing that persisted until they were eventually rewarded by Fognini flinging them one of his sweaty towels.

My support wasn't enough to get Jarkko Nieminen past Fabio Fognini

Australian Open vs Wimbledon

How does the Australian Open viewing experience compare to that at Wimbledon? In this post I will explore some of the differences, focusing on being a ground pass holder rather than a stadium court viewer, as that I have a ground pass here and in my opinion it is the the best way to enjoy the tennis.

- Getting tickets. Wimbledon is notoriously difficult to get tickets for. Those wanting show court seats  have to get lucky in a ballot or camp overnight, while those willing to queue for hours in the morning are rewarded with ground passes. In contrast, any Australian Open ticket can simply be purchased online or even on the day. I collected my 5 day ground pass ($125 / £69) on Monday and now I can casually stroll in each day.

- Crowd size. Wimbledon, outside courts, first four days, it is rammed. When the gates open in the morning, people run to their chosen court like they are starting a 5k, only with more picnics. Once play gets under way try making your way between Courts Four and Five - you won't be able to, it's like trying to walk to the front of the Pyramid Stage during a headline act. A grindfest between two Spanish journeymen who would rather eat grass than play tennis on it will cause spectators to clamber on pot plants to get a view over the crowds. It is a different story at Melbourne Park, where the outside courts can be as barren as some of the country's landscape. I watched the popular Grigor Dimitrov this morning and one side was almost empty. The difference can probably be attributed to two main factors. Most importantly, Wimbledon simply has a far more populous catchment area. There must be 40 million or so living within four hours of London, whereas that number for Melbourne is less than three. Secondly, the Australian heat can make sitting in the sun watching tennis a daunting prospect. On this note, I really think the Australian Open could do a lot better at providing shade for its spectators. Some simple canvasses covering at least part of the stands would make a massive difference and surely wouldn't be too costly. Tiny sections of Courts 2 and 3 are covered, but frustratingly by this blue mesh that doesn't really block the sun.



Am I in the shade or not? It was hard to tell under this blue mesh. Also note the empty seats.

- Idiots. You'll have to forgive me for being rude and snobby for a moment when I say that both Slams are plagued by fools who know nothing about tennis. On countless times at Wimbledon I've come across spectators who have no idea how tennis scoring works. To be fair, it is harsh to criticize someone for their lack of tennis knowledge - they just haven't been fortunate enough to learn and hopefully after a day watching the pros they'll go on to become a fan - but some people are just idiots. On Monday a large number of punters starting weaving through the crowd for seats at 4-4 30-15 without caring about disrupting the game.  On Court 9 a couple of ladies exclaimed "that's Del Potro! Yep, definitely him!" It was actually world number 98 Leonardo Mayer. You can be forgiven for not knowing exactly what Del Potro looks like and Mayer does resemble him in both appearance and technique, but surely you would wonder why the world number five has been stuck on a random outside court? And why there is barely anyone watching his battle with Albert Montanes? And what about looking at the scoreboard?


- Courts. The Australian Open offers more options for the ground pass holder - only two courts are reserved seat compared to three and a half at Wimbledon - but Wimbledon has more variety. There is the hollowed out circle arena of Court 3, the close-to-the-action benches of Courts 4-11, the shaded side stand of Court 12, the 'stop to watch a little as you pass' nature of Court 14, and my favourite - Court 18 - which is surrounded by spectators from all angles and heights. In contrast, here at the Aussie Open, there are simply three circle arenas and two groups of courts with stands of varying height on on the sides. There is certainly nothing with the charisma of Court 18.


- The Umpire's Chair. You may think I'm nitpicking, but the umpire's chair plays a large role in spectating tennis. On the same side as it, the chair can block a significant portion of the view, so its probably best to make it as small and transparent as possible, right? Wimbledon know the score, plumping for a traditional wooden number with a few gaps to see through. However, at the Australian Open the umpire sits atop a ridiculous structure, it is entirely opaque, about twice as wide as it needs to be, and may have once been a disused Star Wars prop.

Could that umpire's chair have been designed more thoughtfully? I'll let you be the judge.

- Atmosphere. If you're thinking that Wimbledon wins this category then you're spot on. Melbourne Park just cannot compete with the tradition, history, and magic that surrounds SW19. The grass, the green Slazenger awnings, the ivy growing up Centre Court...Melbourne Park boasts great city skyline backdrops but just doesn't have the same vibe. There is also nothing at the Australian Open to rival Henman Hill. Its best attempt is the beer garden pictured below (which also features live bands), but both the screen and atmosphere are far smaller - I was briefly there for the end of a Hewitt five setter and it was eerily quiet compared to The Hill.

The Heineken logo being bigger than the screen tells its own story.

The Verdict: I don't want to say one Slam is better than the other. For ease of watching tennis, the Australian Open comes up trumps, but for atmosphere it's Wimby all the way.

Australian Open Day 1: Fifth Set Fever

I awoke feeling full of life this morning. The sun was shining on Melbourne and after a lengthy sleep I had finally recovered from the double whammy of the final Cronulla night out followed by the through the night bus journey. But most importantly, it was the first day of the Australian Open and I was more excited than a small kid who had just discovered that a faulty vending machine was offering him favourable deals on Mars bars. Today was the first of five consecutive days I'll be spending at Melbourne Park and I plan on blogging about each of them, so if you have no interest in tennis you may want to tune back in next week.

Up first was American Steve Johnson versus left-handed Frenchman Adrian Mannarino. I picked it out for two reasons. Firstly, Johnson was the number one college player while I was at university, ending his college career with a legendary 72 match winning streak, so I wanted to check his game out. Secondly, the matchup offered an interesting clash in styles and I fancied it to go to five sets. Johnson is an attacking player who crushes serves, bludgeons forehands, and knifes slice backhands. Whereas Mannarino is one of those players who makes you want to pick up a racket and give tennis another go, as he is slender and doesn't seem to have anything special at all. However, he plays the angles brilliantly and once he got to grips with the Johnson onslaught he rarely made mistakes. It was Johnson who raced into a lead and at 11.49am Mannarino's racket became probably the first of the tournament to be smashed. But at 6-3 3-1 up the American went the way of Mannarino's racket - to pieces. He served double fault after double fault, his forehand radar went haywire, and he lost the next eleven games to trail by two sets to one. Thankfully Johnson pulled it together and managed to draw the match level after a very entertaining fourth set. The first match, a five setter! Fantastic! Unfortunately Johnson's double faults returned for an encore at 3-3, the three he threw in during that game cost him his serve and consequently the match - one break was enough for the Frenchman to take the final set 6-4.

I immediately rushed to another fifth set, being contested by Finn Jarkko Nieminen and Israeli Dudi Sela. The atmosphere on Court 7 was raucous. A squadron of Israelis chanted after every point Sela won, including the genius "backhand down the line, backhand backhand down the line" after such a winner. They were opposed by a knot of jolly Swedes, who had adopted the neighboring Nieminen during their current drought of players. Joining this support was my friend Markus, a Swedish traveler I met in Cronulla who joined me for most of the day and enjoyed Nieminen's epic win.

These first two matches provided a brilliant start to the day and the rest was great too: Fabio Fognini impressed, the unheralded world number 63 Pablo Carreno Busta fought hard but went down in another five setter to the experienced Julien Benneteau, and in the evening Alexandr 'The Dog' Dolgopolov played the best tennis I saw all day. I truly had fifth set fever by the end of the day, as I concluding it by watching my fourth deciding set - Nikolay Davydenko edging net-rushing Lukasz Kubot under the lights, much to the dismay of five rowdy Polish fans.

The major talking point of the day was the heat. Well over 30 degrees Celsius, perfectly sunny and lacking in breeze, it stifled players and spectators alike. Players maximised time between points and the matches regularly became wars of attrition lacking in quality. The most notable consequence of the scorching weather was the far greater than usual number of double faults served. Playing tennis in the heat is both a mental and physical challenge, and lapses in concentration as well as a lack of drive from the body could be held responsible for the large number of double faults thrown in. As for myself, I got through the day by drinking about six litres of water and lathering myself in SPF 50 sunscreen. Tomorrow the heatwave will really kick in - it is forecast to be over 40 degrees and if I survive I'll be back with another blog post.

Steve Johnson in first round action at the Australian Open

Moving On

After 34 days and almost as many 30 cent McDonald's ice creams, it was time to leave Cronulla.  It was a great time and I could have happily stayed longer, but I had already spent a fifth of my Australian days here, so I needed to move on to maximise the adventure factor.

On Sunday I will be arriving in Melbourne to watch The Australian Open, and as I braced myself for the 12 hour through-the-night bus journey I thought about how good Cronulla had been to me:

First and foremost, it had been fun, largely thanks to the crowd at the Cronulla Beach YHA hostel. My fellow backpackers were friendly and lively, and I will look back fondly on drinking goon with them in the kitchen. From a physical standpoint, my Cronulla days were mighty. My labour jobs more often than not doubled up as a long workout and I left stronger than I was a month ago. I had also been on several glorious seaside runs and spent a considerable amount of time unwinding with an evening (and sometimes night) stretch on the beach.  Although often exhausting, Cronulla had also been a great place to relax, with many hours whiled away perched on sea view benches with a book and some sunny tunes. As a solo traveller, I had been a little concerned about Christmas and New Year's being lonely affairs, but Cronulla had delivered with its Christmas feast and by providing a base from which to experience the Sydney fireworks. Finally, and crucially, Cronulla had been kind to me financially. I had worked bloody hard and my wages combined with disciplined spending ensured that I left around $1,300 (£700) richer than when I arrived in Australia. Not bad!

A brilliant hostel.

Coming soon on Putting the Ali in Australia:

- I will be overdosing on tennis by attending the first five days of the Australian Open.

- I will be spending a week and celebrating Australia Day with an Australian family in the town of Bendigo.

- I will be getting to grips with 200 cows during a stay at a farm in Northern Victoria.

Stay tuned!

The Ashes

There had already been a few 'can't believe I'm actually here' moments on this trip - the Sydney Opera House first coming into view, New Year's Eve fireworks - but nothing that compared to how astonishing it felt on Sunday to be at the Sydney Cricket Ground for an Ashes Test. I followed all nine 2013 Ashes Tests closely, so to watch the third (and final) day of the fifth test live was just amazing.

I bought the cheapest ticket at the reasonable price of $60 (just over £30) so I expected to be sitting up in the stratosphere with the ball a tiny pixel. But I had lucked out and found myself just twelve rows from the front, behind long-off. It was a fantastic seat. 42,000 were packed into the SCG (the majority wearing pink for Jane McGrath day) and the atmosphere was great - every wicket was greeted with uproar and the Barmy Army sung admirably considering the summer they'd had.

I was also in good spirits despite England's pathetic tour. Australia were already leading by over 300 runs going into Sunday so the result was effectively decided already. This meant I could set aside my England allegiance and just enjoy the cricket. And what entertaining cricket it was! 14 wickets, 302 runs, the end of the match, and an abundance of memorable moments: Chris Rogers' century, an acrobatic catch by George Bailey, Michael Carberry's bat snapping like a weak piece of cardboard, a trademark England batting collapse which saw four wickets fall in the first two overs after tea, and explosive going-down-swinging knocks from Stokes and Broad.

A peculiarity about watching cricket live is that the game is about tiny details - a faint knick, a hint of swing - that can't possibly be seen from outside the boundary. This was where the radio commentary came in. At $20, the portable radio device was dreadfully expensive considering how little it would cost to make, but it was certainly worth buying and greatly enhanced my enjoyment of the day, especially as I was unaccompanied. The commentary was a lot like Test Match Special, although not quite as charismatic it did feature TMS stalwart Johnathan Agnew. After spending so much time listening to cricket on the radio over the past six months, sitting just behind the ropes under the sweet Australia sun with the sound of Aggers' quintessentially cricketing voice in my left ear was just fantastic. I witnessed England get whitewashed, but it will surely rank among the best days of my adventure.

A great view at the SCG

The Craziest Boss I Will Ever Work For

A New Year and another new job for me, this time for a lawn mowing/hedge trimming business. I had met some great characters in my previous four jobs, but nothing that compared to the eccentricity of my new boss:

- He could talk the hind legs off a donkey, and then back on again. His chatter is relentless - to me, to customers, to friends, to strangers, and even, on occasion, himself.

- If he had a swear jar, it would need to be the size of the Millenium Dome. The man has an acid tongue. The F word is easily his most used word, despite the fact that he ends almost every sentence with "ya know what I mean?"

- After a few hours with him I felt like I knew his entire life story. Bought a horse at 12 without his parents knowing, left school at 14 to work at a butchers. Details were not spared either and if I were to go on Mastermind I would consider choosing his now sold butcher business as my specialist subject (locations: 3, employees: 24, best butcher in Sutherlandshire: him).

- He is strongly opinionated on everything, from IKEA (hates) to fish (loves).

- His trusty Toyota has clocked up almost 500,000 miles.

- His husky travels around with him in the van and at one point I fed it coffee.
And at first I found him insufferable. I was bombarded with more instructions than anyone could remember, all very specific.  Then when I got something wrong he was snappy and rude. This didn't make my job easy, neither did his demands to work at a very rapid pace. My first lawn was mowed shoddily and slowly and I wanted the day to end as soon as possible.

However, I soon discovered there was a reason that he was so specific with his methods: they worked. Using as much of his advice as I could recall, my second lawn was cut excellently and quickly. We soon became quite a duo - him with the whipper, me with the mower - we worked well together and flew through the jobs. I liked the work rate and my boss liked my energy, speedy learning, and attitude in general and had gone from "you ****ing idiot" to "it's been ****ing great working with you mate!". My tone had changed too. Once I got used to his ways I grew to like him. He is mad as a hatter, but provides pure entertainment in the van and is actually quite friendly and seems to be very popular around the region. On the face of it, the two of us could hardly of been more different, but we agreed on many topics such as hard work and healthy eating. I worked for him Thursday and Saturday (doing another house removal in between) and will be back for another wild ride on Monday.

There were two aspects of my labour days that had become very satisfying. Firstly, I was taking to new tasks like lawn mowing quicker and using skills learned from previous jobs in new ones. For instance, my experience of handling the two wheel trolley while moving furniture enabled me to shift crates and kegs so effectively ay the festival. Secondly, and this especially pleased me, characteristics developed from all the training I have done for tennis and later for no reason were helping me succeed and employers were now consistently asking me back to do more work. My strength, stamina, intensity, energy, and focus were being translated into hard, fast cash. Well, cash anyway.

***
Friday night I went to a show at a small venue in nearby suburb Miranda. After three decent support bands, headline act Jinja Safari took to the stage and played an incredibly fun set. I knew nothing about the band - one hour before the show a German buddy asked me if I wanted to accompany him as he had been given a couple of free tickets by a colleague, and I saw no reason not to say yes. I can't begin to describe the sound of Jinja Safari's music (according to Wikipedia a possible genre for them is 'forest rock' - what is that???), so you'll just have to listen to the song below. What I can tell you is that they were wildly creative, had everyone dancing - even on the stage during the last song - and deployed a multitude of different instruments with devastating effect, including the sitar!

Lastly, massive congratulations to my sister Charlotte and her boyfriend Ed on their engagement! The good news travelled from La Palma, Canary Islands to Cronulla, Australia and made me very happy indeed.

New Year's Eve in Sydney

New Year's Eve fireworks displays don't come any more famous than Sydney's and in the run up there was no shortage of hype. People were contemplating getting there at noon, there was a sense that there was no better place in the world to be, and phrases like "once in a lifetime" were being banded around the hostel. Thousands upon thousands of tourists and travellers were ready to be able to say "I was there for 2014" and we were stoked to be amongst them.

But would it live up to the hype? So often a big build up seems to lead to a bigger disappointment. Indeed, after I finished work the day became increasingly frustrating. The problem was that the group from the hostel was just far too large to coordinate or make any progress. Getting out the hostel was the initial challenge, as we were always waiting for one more person to be ready. A group of eight  (4 Italians, 2 French, 1 German, myself) eventually managed to escape to the train station, but half the gang were forced to alight before our destination due to bursting bladders. Therefore we had to wait at the Sydney station for the next two Cronulla trains to arrive - one containing the toilet foursome (which arrived without the German) and the next carrying the rest of the hostel group. Of course given that eight people couldn't last a direct one hour train journey without separating, a squadron of twenty had no chance of sticking together in a crowded Sydney. Yet people wanted to try and predictably it was a disaster. Meeting places were confused, different opinions on where to go were vented, some guys couldn't get into certain areas because they had alcohol, stoppages were made by individuals for McDonalds, photographs, and flashing devil ears, one faction were holed up in a bar, and with just 15 minutes to go until the 9 o'clock fireworks we were just standing around uselessly. It wasn't a good advert for the EU. Our group wanted to watch the fireworks from the best spot with alcohol and all of their friends, which simply wasn't going to happen. I decided enough was enough and disbanded with a friendly British guy to watch the early pyrotechnics in Darling Harbour.

From then on, the night was magical. The 9 o'clock 'family'  fireworks were a great support act and special in their own right, lighting up the magnificent Darling Harbour. We then made our way towards Sydney Harbour Bridge for the midnight display and although the city was teeming with people, it wasn't suffocating. Actually, it was fun to be among so many people, all eagerly anticipating the arrival of the New Year. The Circular Quay area which contains the Opera House was full, so we headed up to Observation Park where we amazingly stumbled upon a group from the hostel! Taking a seat on the hill with a great view, we were happy to be where we were and with the people we were with.

The wait for midnight passed quickly and with minutes to go we manoeuvred ourselves into a prime position with no sight of the Opera House, but uninterrupted views of the Harbour and its famous bridge. The fireworks were breathtaking. From our vantage point, we could see displays going off simultaneously from about five different locations, including from the Bridge. It was hard to know where to look. At one point, golden lights descended spectacularly from the underside of the Bridge, while colourful rockets peppered the night sky above. The whole show lasted around 15 minutes and the finale was customarily grand. It was of course the greatest fireworks display I had ever seen, but it was also surreal to actually be there and it installed a sense of optimism for the year ahead. It lived up to the hype. I was there for 2014.



Sydney Harbour Bridge fireworks