Just got back into Sydney after three days up in Cairns (pronounced like Cannes is spelt). The weather was pretty off throughout my whole stay, with only a little rain as I arrived back at port on Tuesday evening - and then only a sprinkle, though it was clear that just a few miles inland must have had a mini deluge from the clouds we saw.

Tuesday itself was mostly spent on Green Island. I'd decided that if I couldn't have a big international get-together for my 40th then I'd enjoy my own company and just spend some rare time in relax mode. I'd been to Green Island before, but this time I took a whole day trip rather than a 1/2 day and spent some major time on the beach just reading and sun-bathing. The island itself is quite small and I actually walked compeltely around its coastline in about 45 minutes, taking some shots of the wonderfully twisted trees and landscape. Also took a ride out in a glass-bottom boat and watched the fishes and the seagulls fight over the food thrown to them. A little like Leeds on a Friday night...


Back in Cairns itself it was interesting to find myself remembering things I hadn't even realised I'd forgotten. The town's grid-like set-up can easily get you turnaround on yourself, but my innate inner geek remembered exactly where the old book and comic store was and the classic The Woolshed pub, which I'd been told to frequent on my last visit there. I'd also forgotten about the Kamikaze Parrots and the Bats of Doom (which, let's face it, would've made a much better Indiana Jones title). The parrots - or member of the parakeet family - use the fading moments of twilight to barrel along the main Cairns boulevard like bomber pilots through Pearl Harbor. In small groups they speed through the square, sometimes mere feet above the ground and how they actually avoid impaling pedestrians I'll never know. I physically felt one skim by me. It's only fun until someone loses an eye, dammit! Equally only a few moments later, the bats come out. These ain't your grandaddy's variety - these are literally bigger than the seagulls. I think they could pick off a few pedestrians as well.

The days and nights were hot and so were the women (though this was a prime incentive to get decide to get myself in shape - it's all well and good ogling the numerous attractive ladies, but when you're stood next to surfer guys a good ten years younger than you are...peh... no chance). Didn't help when the guy in the bunk ABOVE, smuggled in a girl to our single-sex dormitory (four beds in total) and attempted to have *quiet* sex with them about 2 ft above my head.

I'd have commented, but I'm British, the guy was French and I think the girl was deaf and drunk. There's a TV show or a metaphor in there somewhere.

A round-up of 40s thoughts coming soon.