The plan was to fly to Sydney, and spend a couple of months working odd jobs and learning to surf at Bondi Beach. That was the plan. A good one.
Four hours after my flight touched down, I was ambulanced to Kings Cross hospital then wired up to a morphine drip, and surrounded by prostitutes and pimps, drag queens and drug dealers. Strangely, back in 2000, that’s what most people went to Kings Cross for anyway!
How did this happen? Basically, I fell down the stairs in the Cock and Bull pub in Bondi Junction, badly dislocated my shoulder and fractured my arm. Not my proudest moment, but certainly my most painful.
Of course, it ruined my plans. No work, no surfing…no getting dressed alone. But as always, I had to look on the bright side. I got to lay on the beach in Surfer’s Paradise for two months, learning to surf vicariously while working on my tan.