Or Melbourne to be more precise. Here I am enjoying a well deserved cold one on Fed Square, watching the Aussies getting their arses whooped on the big screen by the Pakistanis in the second test.
Melbourne looks a bit like Croydon on steroids, but most of the tour I've been stuck in hot, sweaty bush razzing up the cobbers with my old schtick. Bev, my agent, got her wires crossed and it turned out I wasn't standing in for Jimmy Cricket after all, but an Aussie comedian called Jimmy Wicket who specialises in a rather more crude version of Rolf Harris's Jake the Peg act. Still, I've only been pelted with prawns once.
The weather's been very variable. 40 degree heat with flies chasing the tucker down your throat, followed by torrential thunder storms, floods and English temperatures. Whilst perusing the shops on Brunswick Street earlier, I bumped into my old mucker Mr Ceaucescu (no relation), who's wangled a visa to relocate his film/plumbing/card cloning outfit to Melbourne. He's recently been given a grant from the Australian Film Commission to make a short about an aboriginal musician who takes his native instrument into a repair shop and gets more than he bargained for. He's calling it Dodgy Didgy Gang Bang and asked if I'd be prepared to contribute a small part. Needless to say I declined.
Brunswick Street is apparently one of the trendiest parts of Melbourne, despite looking slightly shabbier than Cliftonville. It's amazing the difference a few good coffee shops, some cool clobber boutiques, the odd vegetarian restaurant, a smattering of jewellery studios, trams and a shedload of white dudes with dreadlocks on skateboards can make. Maybe there's a lesson there for the Ile de Thanet!