January 2007

After dragging ourselves out of bed at 8am on New Years Eve, we quickly packed a pile of things to takes with us to Lismore. A pile of all the wrong things, but a pile of things none-the-less. Jimi drove us to the airport and we hopped into our cute little twin prop Saab and winged our way north.

Lismore, for those not in the know, is about 700km north of Sydney. It has a population of about 43,000 and every New Years hosts a gay and lesbian dance party called "Tropical Fruits". For years Greig and I have been meaning to get along to the party and this year the options in Sydney were all so lame-arsed, that it seemed the perfect time.

Pete was wonderful enough to meet us at Lismore Airport and drive us into town where we were sharing a hotel room with him. A huge thankyou to him for allowing us to share his room, otherwise we would have been sleeping in the gutter. The hotel, like every hotel in town is fully booked up by gays and lesbians. The hotel manager quaintly refers to all the poofs that invade town as "you people".

We settle down with a couple of bottles of wine and some block cheese that we found at the local grog shop. Then it was time to make ourselves pretty and head off to the Lismore Showgrounds for the party.

The Lismore Showgrounds are pretty basic. But you only need somewhere pretty basic to have a good time. In fact, often the more basic, the better the time. The party was huge fun. It draws guys from everywhere. As well as a few familiar faces from Sydney, we met guys and gals from Melbourne and Brisbane and all places in between. The party was very friendly. The lighting wasn't spectacular but it didn't matter. The atmosphere was great.

The biggest surprise was the fireworks at midnight. Being a relatively small party that wasn't charging a fortune for tickets being held in a country town, I wasn't expecting much. Instead we were treated to a half hour spectacular of locally made fireworks. We all laid on the grass outside the halls and "oohed" and "ahhhed" our lungs out.

Like I said, I bumped into a few familiar faces at the party as well as a few new ones. One of those new faces was a very cute Brisbane boy who was staying in the camping ground at the showgrounds. After the party finished at about 6am we both headed back to his tent to not sleep. As it turned out, Greig was heading back into town to a hotel with another couple to do similar.

At about 10am we crawl out of the tent. The sun is shining. The birds are tweeting. The cows are making a hell of a racket. I wish they'd all shut the fuck up. Very cute Brisbane boy with the incredibly hot arse's camp mates make us a cup of tea. (I've witheld his name to protect the guilty) It doesn't work. The cows are still mooing.

Very cute Brisbane boy with the incredibly hot arse gave me a lift back to the motel on the condition that I let him have a real shower in our room. A perfectly reasonable suggestion, I thought. We then headed out to the Lismore Olympic Swimming Complex for the Tropical Fruits Pool Party. I figured, after spending the whole night dancing vertically and the morning dancing horizontally, I'd just stick my head in, say hi to a few people and head back to the hotel to sleep.

As soon as we arrived at the pool, the heavens opened up. Rain poured down, and sometimes sidewards as Greig and I huddled under a towel trying to keep ourselves warm and/or dry. It seemed a bit silly to be trying to keep dry at a swimming pool, but that's what we did. The DJ gallantly tried to keep the rain out of his gear and keep the music going. After about an hour the rain stopped, the clouds parted and the sun shone through. The party started.

Arrrgh, me hearties! Fergal and Rocky - Kings of the pool!

A couple of hundred boys in speedos danced on the side of the pool while others paddled around the pool or floated blissfully on inflatable toys. Fergal and I commandeered an inflatable caterpillar and started launching "pirate raids" on other inflatables, tipping boys into the water and generally making a nuisance of ourselves.

Greig carefully staying out of the sun.

After the pool party finished at 4pm, I managed a one hour lay down and ate something dry yet greasy which was supposed to be chicken, before heading back into the Showgrounds for the recovery party. This was a smaller affair than the previous night. I must admit however, the music was more to my liking.

I spent a good amount of time chatting to a small group of local lesbians at the party. Ever since living in Wagga all those years ago I've thought that country lesbians always seem to be a lot more friendly than city ones.

On the dance floor, I spent half the night with Very cute Brisbane boy with the incredibly hot arse and the other half the night with Fergal and his crowd. When the party finished at 3am I wandered back to the camping ground with them and sat around for an hour chatting over a good hot cup of tea. I think I managed to grab the very last available cab for the night and dragged myself into bed at about 4am on now the 2nd of January.

All in all, a pretty good effort, I think. Ignoring the one hour lie down after the pool party, I've been going for 43 hours straight. A new personal best (or perhaps, personal worst).

There was probably lots of other stuff that happened this month, but it all pretty well pales by comparison. Except maybe for that night over the Australia Day weekend, but there are limits even on the Internet as to what can be revealed.