No Night Sweats N o  N i g h t  S w e a t s No Night Sweats
Sydney's Post-Punk Bands
I Like Music
Slapp Happy are Terrific
A List of CDs
Text is What I Write
Crime Fiction is Silly
[ Down't Mine ]
In my last years of primary school I hooked up with a quite diminuative, asthmatic guy who played winger in our "Red Ants" rugby team. He always got pummelled when he got the ball but he always got up and did it again. I eventually asked him what he did with his spare time on Sundays and he said "Oh, I go caving and stuff". This really impressed me - it seemed so exotic and exciting and, basically, everything that my life wasn't. In fact, he'd been doing it since he was about 7 because his father was a rabid spellunkeller (I think that's how you spell it) and wanted to get his only son involved early. We lost touch a few years later but I'm sure he's still down some dank hole in the ground somewhere. Since that time I've been inside a couple of caves but purely of the touristic variety - short walks along well beaten tracks to spot lit bits of dripping thingys and back again. Although the "Black Water Rafting" (the 'rafts' were only large inner tubes!!) on the NZ trip was still a bit touristic, it was most probably as close as I've ever gotten to my long lost friend's experiences : small holes or apertures, limestone hanging everywhere, cold, cold water rushing past your feet in torrents and a miasma of glow worms above and beyond - all 60 metres below ground. It really was a great experience and, heavens to betsy, one that I may do again sometime!! The whole trip was a bit like that, really - just wait till ya see the pics of me on a quad bike transported to 4 stroke heaven.
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