Sunshine

Still feeling a bit under the weather, so spent the day in the flat. It was a sunny day, but we look out onto a courtyard - as do the seven floors above us - which means the sun never makes it down this far. So I decided to walk a couple of blocks down to the river and feel a bit of winter sun on my face. Eureka Tower was positively glinting in the sunshine. This almost completed skyscraper is the tallest residential building in the world (at least until Trump finishes the one he's building in New York). It's sleek and unusual and really does look like it's scraping the sky. We like.

Noise pollution

OK, I admit it. I snore. And not in that gentle soothing kind of way, more in a loud intrusive way, like a rickety juggernaut bombing down a dirt track. It's in the genes: my dad snores for England, and when I stayed with my cousin in New Zealand the whole house shook. Luckily for me, Steven's managed to put up with it. But just as he'd started sleeping through it all, I go and get tonsilitis. Suddenly I'm snoring more like the demon in the Exorcist might after a hard day's head-spinning, spewing and cussing people's dead mothers. I know this not just because Steven alerted me to the fact, but because I actually heard myself as I woke up. Sorry, Steven. Normal pneumatic drill sounds will be resumed as soon as possible.

Howard's Way

The Australian Capital Territory, a small piece of land surrounding the capital Canberra, recently voted to introduce civil unions for same-sex partners throughout their tiny region. All well and good, you might think.

Step up Australian Prime Minister John Howard. He doesn't like it. "The fundamental difficulty I have with the ACT legislation is the clause which says that a civil union is different from marriage but has the same entitlements," he says.

(This puts him firmly to the right of George Bush who, while opposed to gay marriage, supports "leaving the state legislatures free to make their own choices in defining legal arrangements other than marriage.")

Now, I'm a little murky on the mechanics of Australian politics, but apparently because the ACT is a "territory" rather than a "state", the Prime Minister can overrule it. And overrule it he did, by sending the Attorney General to the Governor-General to get his signature on behalf of the Commonwealth.

In another ingenious step, Howard swapped his usual suit for a ridiculous slim-fit Australia tracksuit and invited a breakfast television programme to film him cheering on the Socceroos (the Australian football team) from the comfort of the prime-ministerial living room.

Both moves seem designed purely to increase his popularity.

Both, I trust, will turn out to have backfired.

Birthday boy

It was my godson Jake's eleventh birthday this week. So last weekend we had a video iChat for him to open the rather uninspiring presents I'd sent, which he received a lot more enthusiastically than I would have at his age. It was good to see him.

It looks extremely unlikely that I'll end up with kids of my own, so it's been great to be able to hang out with Jake over the years, just kicking a football round a park or whatever. However messed up or confusing my life appeared to be, these were moments when everything seemed clear. I'd like to think that I might have contributed in some tiny way to Jake growing into such a great human being, but what's more definite is that he's helped turn me into a better person.

There's no business like snow business

While getting my regular fix at Astronomy Picture of the Day, I discovered possibly the ultimate in (not so) hot webcam action. Yes, it's North-Pole-Cam, transmitting the latest "snow cover, weather conditions and the status of PMEL's North Pole instrumentation" to all points due south. This was the state of play at the time of posting - I for one will be glued to my screen to see what happens next. But hurry! The webcam is solar powered, and only gets enough light to transmit between April and October.

Weekender

I had a blissful weekend.

Not because of the fabulous pasta and atmosphere in the Cellar Bar (Londoners: think Amato moving round the corner into Bar Italia) or the fun time at Spleen or the visit to the Traders' Bar (great idea - the price of each drink fluctuates throughout the evening depending on how many people are buying it - sadly, a bit rubbish otherwise).

Not because of the shopping trip where we both bought a pair of Converse (in different colours) and the same jumper (in different colours) [how sad are we!], or the night eating ice-cream in front of 'A Perfect Murder'.

Not because of the afternoon in 'historic' Williamstown (a row of vaguely old buildings sandwiched in between a couple of tower blocks) looking out at the industrial bay view.

But because of the uninterrupted Quality Time I got to spend with Steven through it all.

Aaaaaargh!

Steven is starting to scare me. He's made me jump, cry out and curl up with fear. Don't worry, i'm no Julia Roberts and this isn't Sleeping with the Enemy - instead, Steven's made it his mission to further my embarrassingly poor education in the field of horror movies. So far he's persuaded me to watch When A Stranger Calls (the remake), Wrong Turn, The Omen (remake), Happy Birthday To Me, The Fog (remake), Friday the 13th and Friday the 13th Part 2. (The syllabus excludes Parts 3 to 11 due to the Horror Law of Diminishing Returns.) It's been fun.

Dazed

Saturday night was a game of two halves - the En-ger-land match and Winterdaze, a legendary (so I'm told) Melbourne gay dance party.

For the former, I slipped away from the apartment, where we'd been having a few drinks with Alex and Anna (the two ladies who were accompanying us to Winterdaze), to the Irish pub down the road - (almost) just in time for the 11pm kick-off. The upstairs bar had a big(ish) screen, blaring sound and around 15 people sitting around. I ordered a pint, found a spare bar-stool and perched. England scored. I drank my pint. Then it was the half-time toilet break, pint ordering and a scoreless 2nd half slid by. I got talking to a guy wrapped in a St George's flag. I don't think I've ever talked to a guy in an English flag before, but expats can't be choosers. An Aussie guy told him that 1-0 was nothing, that his (Australian football) team won their last match 15-7. Me and Flag Guy had a good old laugh about that.

Then I walked the short distance to Winterdaze to meet the others at 1.15. for an action-packed second half to the evening. It was an impressive event on four floors - and the Melbourne boys had turned out in force to enjoy it. We went from the basement to the roof terrace and back again, enjoying the happy atmosphere on each floor. I even bumped into someone I'd met before - John and Austin's friend from Mardi Gras - which kinda made me feel like a bit of a local. After a few hours, me and Steven slipped away into the morning and left the gals to it.

Post-match analysis: a good game, full of contrasting styles, though the players were obviously tiring towards the end.

You. Are. Gold.

Last week, we went for a night out with some people from Steven's work, courtesy of one of their printers. It was the first time I've ever been to a works do as someone's partner, so that was nice enough in itself. But to add the cherry to the proverbial cake, we were going to a Gold Class cinema screening. Do they have this in London? I don't remember hearing about it. Basically, it's a smallish cinema screen but instead of the normal rows of seats, you get posh versions of those Chandler 'n Joey style recliner seats, arranged in pairs round small tables. Eight of us went, and we took up an entire row. (And there were only three other rows.) The tables are important, because it is there the waiters place the goodies you ordered beforehand. The ice-cream tubs come on a saucer. With a folded napkin. And a real tea-spoon. The Maltesers come in a proper bowl. (Most commendable as it eliminates rustling.) The beer comes cold and the coffee comes hot. And you get to choose exactly when it arrives. This could actually get a bit annoying, as there's a bit of a stream of waiters bringing stuff, so you wouldn't want to see a good movie there. Luckily, we were seeing The Da Vinci Code. What with the ice-cream, the Maltesers and the rather nice Italian meal we'd had downstairs at one of the Crown Casino's glitzy restaurants, I occasionally felt the need to burp. Thanks to the luxury seats, this wasn't a problem - whenever necessary, I glided up from a horizontal position to a sitting one, belched (silently, I hasten to add) and glided straight back down again. Ancient Rome would definitely have approved.

1 Dalmation

By popular demand, here's the photo of the dalmation puppy I mentioned earlier. John got him for Austin's 30th. They've christened him Woody - after Vivenne Westwood, natch.

Sweet dreams (are made of this)

We bought three important items for the flat at the weekend:

1. An Airport Express. As a two iBook household, we can now both go online at the same time. From anywhere in the flat. No more "Have you finished with the internet yet?" Domestic bliss.

2. A cork board. (I don't think you need a link for that one.) We'd both fancied one of these, allowing for the putting up of all sorts of things. Like photos of us. Or maybe of you folks back home. Or the children which you lot seem to be producing in alarming numbers. Or your dalmation puppies.

3. A (second) Malm bedside table from Ikea. The Malm bedside table attaches to the Malm bed. With a Malm bedside table on one side but not the other, it still felt like Steven's place. But with one on each side, it now feels more like our place. A little thing, to be sure. But one that makes sleeping together even nicer.

The other half

So this is Steven. He's the one at the back. He may look littler, but that's the power of perspective for you. Steven's the reason I'm still in Melbourne, getting interrogated by immigration officers, drinking beer that tastes of the smell of sweaty socks, too far away from En-ger-land for the World Cup, having to get up at 5am for one of the England matches, putting up with winter (well, they call it winter) when it should be summer, watching TV channels with too many commercial breaks and making do with Liptons instead of PG. But trust me. He's worth it.

Alien landing

Originally, I was only going to spend a month in Australia. Luckily my round-the-world ticket was flexible, so no problems there. And according to the Australian Government website, the conditions of my electronic visa are:

"It is valid for visits to Australia for tourism or to visit friends or relatives
It is valid for multiple visits within 12 months from date of issue
The maximum length of each visit is three months
You may not work while in Australia"

Which all sounded fine and dandy. Wanting to do everything by the book, I flew to New Zealand shortly before my first three months in Oz was up.

Had a lovely time - spent a few days in Auckland with my friend Mark who was, as ever, a most entertaining host. Then nipped down to Wellington to hang out with my cousins and their family for a few more days. After a thoroughly enjoyable time, I boarded the plane back to Melbourne last week.

The guy at the immigration desk called his boss over. "Shall I let him through?" he asked, his stamp poised an inch above the page, his arm muscles taut in readiness to descend. The boss studied my details on the screen and thought about it. "No, I'll just ask him a few questions."

He pulled me out of the queue and started asking. He then suggested that as there were so many people about, we might be better off somewhere a little quieter. We went through a door, down a corridor and into a little room containing a table with a chair on either side. A second door contained a window with mirrored stripes. It looked like something out of The Bill (or Blue Heelers, depending on your hemisphere).

He questioned me for over an hour. We went over the same areas again and again, what I'd been doing in the last three months, what I was going to do for the next three months, when I'd last worked and so on. It was not a pleasant experience. He wasn't exactly rude, but he certainly pushed brusqueness to new levels. I didn't go into my relationship with Steven at first as a) I didn't see it was any of his business and b) I thought it might have a negative impact, but eventually he said, "You must have a really good reason to keep coming back to Melbourne." To which I replied, "Yes, to spend more time with Steven."

Once he was aware of our relationship, he actually became a lot nicer. There were still loads of questions to get through - how I was going to support myself etc. - but the general atmosphere was much more pleasant. I think he must have suspected I was coming back to Melbourne for work, and was relieved to find out I was only coming back for a man.

And I guess I should be thankful that we live in a time when coming back for a man is considered a valid reason. I can't imagine that would have got such a good reception 20 years ago. There's even a special "interdependency" visa for men in relationships. (Though you have to have lived together for a year first - the words "catch" and "twenty-two" spring to mind.)

So still some question-marks for the future, but the main feeling was a huge relief that I'm here for another three months now. When I'd recovered enough to leave the flat, me and Steven went out to the local grotty Irish pub. I'd forgotten how so much draught beer here tastes like the smell of sweaty socks. But that night, the taste was sweet.

First post

So there I was on my round the world tour, pretty much halfway round in fact. You must get in touch with Steven if you go to Melbourne, Lynda had said, so I did. Went for a drink on the Saturday, woke up at his place on the Sunday, met up again on the Monday and moved in on the Wednesday. Craig David could write a song about it.

The end result being that the second half of my travels is on hold for now. Hence I'm moving from the World Tour blog to the Melbourne blog. The other one was hopelessly behind anyways, so this way you can read about what I'm doing right now instead of what I did four months ago. It's also a good excuse to move from iWeb to Blogger. Much as I love the Apple (more of which later, no doubt) I've been craving a blogspot blog like everyone else has got. And now I have one.