1 September 2010 and 7 October 2010

If you're paying attention to the dates, you'll see that they cover a huge time span. I'm doing a double day post again, but because September is so short, I'm going to bore you by telling you what I did yesterday.

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1 September 2010

The tour had quite a drive today. We drove from Aleppo in the north of Syria to the Krak de Chevaliers - Fort of the Knights.


The view from the camp ground (Image supplied by ACP)




Looking up to the main entrance today




The view from the doorway. I love the non-uniform line of the horizon




Ange and I in the doorway (Image supplied by ACP)

 But I do digress. I first need to write about the water wheels in Hama. These water wheels have been controlling and supplying the region with water for a few hundred years. They are massive structures and stand out as you drive / walk towards them. The wheels weren't on today though, so the area was a little fragrant.

Okay. Back to the Krak. These are some impressive ruins. This is also the only site I didn't google before leaving Australia. I think what makes them most interesting to me is the English history side of things. The history goes back to the Marmlukes, Ottomans, Turks etc. Each group adding something to the castle. All up there were seven of these fortresses with beacon houses between. If any castle was attacked the beacons were lit, and as they became visible, the next one was lit. Think Lord of the Rings and the call for Rohan to help Gondor. From the sheer height of the castle on the landscape it is easy to see how visible an invading party would have been.

Taken from the top, outer wall.

Our tour guide was a gent by the name of Walid. (Wal-eed). He was a strange, funny man. Very polite. He always had the elbow or the hand of one of the girls if there was a large step, or if he wanted you to lean over a high point to look at something. He seemed to be giving Ange extra attention so we teased her for that.

Ange and Walid

I found the size of the stairs incredible. You could stand next to one and have it almost reach your knee. When you also know from history, the men on the battlements (perhaps more so the English) were not that much taller than me at 5'4". I might have been considered tall for once. But to know they would have been running at speed, some in full armour is amazing.

We had each other in stitches on the wall. Walid had shown us areas in the wall where the castles defenders would poor burning oil onto the attackers, which, was then followed by three holes where the men went to toilet. Of course this led to what happens when you run out of oil type questions and photo oportunities.

Bruno - Ange - Agnes using the facilities. Not sure on Bruno's pained expression.

The other thing we were laughing at shouldn't need much explaining if I simply put Monty Python and the Holy Grail - with a little bit of Life of Brian thrown in for good measure. The other two, kept glaring at us like we were naughty children.

The best part for me was going into the rooms that were once Richard the Lionhears living quarters. A huge, spacious area where you can imagine him in his livery, attended by trusted friends and advisors, working out what the next best move would be.

Me in Richard the Lionhearts living quarters. No idea why I'm flailing my hands. Also note the infamous green shirt.

You can also see on the roof, the circular outline of Richards round table. It is truely amazing to be that close to a history you've known since you were a kid.

We camped the night at the Krak.

7 October 2010

Ange and I set off in search of Harry Potter film locations. We headed to Turnpike Lane tube station and taking the Picadilly Line, headed for Kings Cross St Pancras. When we got to the stop we wandered around trying to find Platform 9 3/4 but weren't having any luck. We were about to ask when we overheard two other girls asking the same question. We followed them and came to what we wanted.



After Platform 9 3/4 we headed back to the Tube. The above four photos are self explanatory.

The next part of the walk led us past Australia House, or as it's known in the movies, Gringott's Bank.

Our path led us next to St Mary la Strand church. The parents of Charles Dickens got married here.

"The church stands on the site of the old May-pole where the May-day festivals were held in medieval times. But in 1517, on what became known as "Evil May-day", rioting broke out around the May-pole on Strand, and the London Apprentices went on the rampage to protest at the ever increasing number of foreigners that were settling in London. It took three weeks for order to be restored and thereafter the May-day celebrations began to lose their lustre until they were ended altogether by Cromwell's Commonwealth and the May-pole was taken down." Harry Potter Tours http://www.the-magician.co.uk/harry-potter-tours.htm

We then went to Somerset House and played in the fountains.

To finish the day we went met up with the girls for a quick drink before heading to the theatre. As we came out of the club we'd gone to for a drink we walked past James May from Top Gear. I'm kicking myself now that I didn't go over and ask for a photo. Oh well. Soho will be there for a while yet and I'm not going anywhere.

The play we went to is called "Ghost Stories" - I use present tense because the show is going to run into the new year. It is fantastic, and I wish everyone could go and see it. Very clever and not overly scary, even though there were a few screamers in the audience. It is also nice to know how protective my cousin is. As she was getting a huge fright and jumping backwards in her seat, she was also turning to grab me from harms way. Such love.

And that's it for now.

30 and 31 August 2010

We were up this morning at 6am to make it to Palmyra as early as possible. We drove about two hours and reached the Roman ruins – well, kind of Roman but not entirely as the site has been occupied since pre-Christ to the 1930’s when the government moved everyone out. The area we covered and looked at is only about 30% excavated based on what archaeologists believe to be there.

The tour guide was really good. I can’t remember his proper Arabic name to let’s call him Doug. He led us around the site explaining the history of the buildings. We went into a large stone building that had started life as a temple to the Roman gods, a church and a mosque. Inside, in three separate areas you can clearly see the remains of the three usages.

Roman

Christian. Look hard, you can just make out the motif.

Muslim

Doug showed us the banquet hall where Romans would sacrifice animals (sheep, goat, horse, camel). The size of the animal decided on the size of their needs. The canal they had to build for the blood and the entrance of the animals is quite large, so it makes me think of animals plural rather than singular. Around this area, they know, are the remains of other levels of occupation, houses etc, but their location so near the temple means they can’t excavate. If they excavate there is the risk the temple will fall down.

A distance away is the main road into Palmyra. People would have arrived on camels to trade, meet, organise, socialise etc. Palmyra was on the old Silk Road until its destruction.

The road leading into Palmyra

A well repaired/remaining Roman amphitheatre is also on the site. It’s the same design as Amman but half the size. Doug was telling us about how they used it for plays, animal baiting etc and that when the theatre is used today, cushions are put out for people to sit on. We were allowed some free time to wander around the theatre and some silliness ensued with the singing of Celine Dion and Ange pretending to be a tiger.

Tour group on the top of the ampitheatre

At the end of the tour we re-boarded the truck, bound for Aleppo. The journey took about five hours. Life on the truck is a bit boring. I can’t ride backwards or read and so can’t socialise with anyone that well. Plus the heat saps you of energy incredibly fast so you seem to spend a lot of time napping. It’s an inbetween kind of world.

When we came into Aleppo I started to think even more so, “oh God, what have we done”. The road rules are pretty much non-existent. People do what they like, as they like and I have no idea how there are not multiple car pile ups every minute. Drew spent a lot of the afternoon blasting his horn at people, much the same as everyone else.

On reaching Aleppo proper my negative opinion started to improve. This is a city of about 2 million people and the older architecture is beautiful. It’s very different to what I’ve seen so far. The area also starts to look tidy – as though there is some pride in the area.

Coming around a corner you can begin to tell that this is where people live as well as work. A few of the “hotels” look a bit rough and ready and I was a little worried that one of them would be ours. We cruised past the 2007 built Sheraton and parked in a construction site. Drew led us across a road and down an alleyway. I marvel at how trusting we are because even though we’re on an organised tour, we don’t know these people.



A "jelousie" - designed so women could sit at the window without being seen.



But we reached the hotel, and with the help of staff we hefted our bags up three flights of stairs. The room I write this entry from is small, with three single beds, a coffee table and a hard sofa. It is clean enough and best of all has air-conditioning.

Teegan and Drew took us for a dinner of street food. We had deliciously spicy kebabs. As they were wrapped up the guy would bash them hard on the table. Pretty sure that was just for theatrics. The guy making them was sweating like crazy. I always feel sorry for people in these jobs.

We went then to a pub (name already forgotten) where D.H. Lawrence and Agatha Christie stayed and wrote. About ten-ish Ange and I found our way back. It was an odd sensation to be a Western woman walking around because everyone stops and openly stares at you. It’ll take a while to get used to that.

31 August 2010

Woke up after the coolest and best nights sleep I’ve had since leaving London thanks to the air-con.

Flitted around the room for a while, washing some really stinking clothes, then went downstairs for breakfast. It seems to be staple fare to have chapatti, jam, tomato, cucumber and soft cheese for breakfast. I think this is a diet that would suit me. I drink my tea black with 2 teaspoons of sugar and it is divine. Eastern tea doesn’t have the same bitterness as what we’re used to. You don’t need to spoil it with milk.

At 9 Ahmed met us to take a tour of the old city. He’s so cute. He’s 70 something and his first question to us was “Please explain Susan Boyle”. Had to laugh. Helen found it amazing that even in Syria “SuBo” has a reputation.

Ahmed led us down some side streets to show us parts of the new city and an intersection that made no sense and was kind of scary. Once across we were next to the walls of the old city. He showed us the eucalyptus trees that had been burnt in the heat of 48 degree days.

The wall itself has an interesting history. I can’t remember all of it now but in one section they’ve build a buttress of sorts in front of the main gate – this protected the door from the use of a battering ram. Such an ingenious solution.

Wall of the Old City

This led into the souk. I can only describe it as a maddening cacophony for the senses. It’s light and dark at the same time, the various spices overload your sense of smell and the noise is constant. It seems to be more the noise that’s easiest to deal with because there’s already been so much of it everywhere. The shopping area is exactly as you see it on tv programs. I didn’t take many photos because I didn’t want to annoy or tip the locals.

We headed out of the souk and went to the old hospital. It was built in an area chosen because of the way a lump of meat decayed – speed wise. The theory being that there was enough good, fresh air in the area to aid in healing and recovery.

In the court-yard there are ten rooms surrounding a small fountain and a little enclave where it is cool in the summer for visitors to sit (when it was in use obviously). The rooms in this area were used to treat headache, backache etc and smaller ailments.

Down a corridor you come to where they kept the most dangerous psychiatric patients. There are 4 cells around another small fountain. Very little light reaches here. They believed that a couple of years (2-4) of semi darkness and the fountain was a good curative of the mind and spirit. They were also dressed in green, as was my shirt for the day, so there was a little bit of amusement at that. As the length of stay progressed, the room, light, and fountain increased in size. Records show they had a very good success rate.

From here it was back into the madness of the souk. Ahmed took us to a shop where they sell pashmina’s and scarves etc. I got a beautiful cashmere pashmina and a rug I’m thinking about using as a bed cover maybe. Got to remember weight limits from here on in, not that I’d swap it.

Most of the walls are in this style. It's visually stunning.



Ahmed showing us how to pick good soap. Perhaps it was a hint.



While we were in the shop we were helped(?) by two men. Both of them are incorrigible flirts. I had a shirt on with a keyboard across the chest that one of them kept wanting to play. Unfortunately there is photographic proof. But they loved all the girls. Or more aptly, they loved our boobs. Our “personalities”. The chest playing guy also asked Penny if her arse was real and Bruno was kissed on both cheeks. The chest playing guy was also asking everyone what their star sign was, exclaiming on multiple occasions, “oh my god, we’re so f*^#ing compatible”.

Eventually we were all finished in the shop and shortly after the tour itself was finished. It ended up being a really long day because in all, this tour took about 6 hours where we were told it’d go for about 2. It was a shame really, because while the tour was really good, there was only enough to see in 3 hours. Plus we had Ramadan on, so while we could stop and eat, or drink, it didn’t happen so I think a few of us were about ready to pass out, or snappy.

Agnes had her birthday today so we all went out for dinner. So much food was delivered to our table. After dinner, Ange and I went to check our email and facebook instead of going to her party on the roof. I think we were so tired from the day we wouldn’t have lasted long anyway.

28 and 29 August 2010

This entry is taken directly from my journal. Certain editing has been done for readability.

***

It's already to the point where Ange and I have no real idea of what day it is. Supposedly it's Monday and that means I've got two days of catch up to write.

Ok. So. Saturday morning, Tom (because I didn't catch his real name) took Ange, Helen and I on a tour of two ancient castles and through the old city of Amman.

The first castle was Qasr Al Kharaneh - an 8th century AD Ilmmayad Fort.

The labe inside the doorway says they don't know much about its origins. It is a huge rectangular block on a very flay landscape. It succeeds in making everything else look dwarfish. Inside it is really dark and some rooms only have light coming in from arrow burrows nothed in the walls. (The picture below though is of a doorway as the arrow notches don't show anything).

The layout of the castle, to me, makes no sense. Even if it was originally used as a garrison, I would have expected to see cooking spaces, sleeping quarters, stables etc. Having said that, I don't know enough about the history of the Middle East to really say.

A little further down the road, about twenty minutes away, is Quseir Amra. It is listed on UNESCO's World Cultural and Natural History Register as it is an outstanding depiction of murals and baths from the region in the 8th century AD. Yes. That's from the sign at the entrance.

We came back into the old city of Amman after this and Tom pulled up, put us out of the car mentioning something about a Roman period construction and waved us on. Not quite sure what to expect we walked through a doorway and came face to face with Roman pillars.

We paid our one Jordanian dinar at the booth, turned and walked through another door, straight into a Roman ampiththeatre.

This pic shows just under half of what is actually there. It realyl was an exciting moment because I had no idea what was coming. We wandered around playing tourist, taking photos with other tourists in them to give an idea of scale. The place is huge. Ange and Helen climbed to the top but the flights have messed up my ears so badly, I wasn't game enough to go. Falling down the stairs didn't seem to be a fun option.

The last spot on Tom's agenda was the citadel. While we were driving up to it Helen asked if he'd heard what temperature it was. He told us about 32 or 33 but I find that hard to believe.

The citadel itself is placed so high it gives a great panormic view of South Amman. The view is quite incredible.

By the time we got to walking around the citadel it was so hot all three of us were getting to the point of not caring. The monument in the middle of the citadel is said to have been built by Hercules.

When we came out of the citadel Tom took us back to the hotel. When we arrived two other girls doing our tour had arrived and were making good headway on a bottle of vodka. We basically hung around for the afternoon, had a nanna nap, did some washing and went downstairs for the pre trip meeting at 6pm.

At this point we met our tour leader Teegan (Aust) our driver Drew (Sth African) and the others. Bronwyn (Aust), Amber (NZ), Penny and Kate - cousins like Ange and I (Brisbane), Bruno (Aust) and Agnes (Austrian). So much for the multicultural group I thought we might have.

We went out for tea at about 9pm. Very late but with Ramadan still going there is no other choice. Got back to the hotel at 11:30pm after great food and plenty of shisha smoking.

As invariably happens in these situation the alarm the next morning went of way to early. But we got up, took the bags down and had breakfast. We were on the road by 8am. We headed straight for the border of Jordan and Syria. All seemed to be going well. We went through border control, brough alcohol at the duty free and kept going. Before we were 100% over the Syrian border we pulled over. Only one man does the visas for this country and because three trucks were crossing at roughly the same time he made us wait. We sat at the border for about 2 hours. I knew these things could be tedious and I accept that, but it really felt like he was f*#^ing with us.

My first impression of Syria and the one that lasted until about an hour ago, is not flattering. Syria looks ugly. Rubbish piles up along the road and on occassion is so thick shallow breathing is the only way to proceed. There is nothing to look at, the houses look like they've never been repaired after some kind of warfare and there's nothing to see as far as the eye can see.

We entered Damascus and stopped to a grocery run. Top of my list was coke followed by lots of water. The bill came to about 1027pounds which is about 15GPB. From here we drove another couple of hours into the desert before making camp for the night. We all, or most of us, had a few drinks and we talked about the way place names are said wrong by people who have never seen them before. We were having a great time. Half 9ish I noticed Bronwyn and Amber weren't around. I said to Helen about it and apparently they told Teegan they weren't drinking because they wanted to enjoy themselves the next day. As Ange says, 'whatevs'.

Anyway, it got close to 11 so we figured we should call it a day. We set up camping rugs, mats and sleeping bags etc and settled in. We lay looking at the stars and watched the moving objects flash across the sky. We figured the only thing it could be were flighter jets patrolling the Iraqi border. Where we were camped was about 170kms from the country.

Sleeping in the desert sounded exciting when I first booked the tour but its really not. We cleared the sleeping space as best we could of rocks etc but even the smallest stones feel huge when you're lying on it. Some point through the night the wind came up. It wasn't too strong at first but it picked up. I got hit in the head with the sleeping mat as well as quite a good sized rock and in the morning everyone was nice and gritty.

Thirty-Three Days - Day One

This entry is directly from my journal. It is slightly modified where the English language got a little hard to work in.

***

27 Aug

Ange and I got up at about 7am and finished getting ready for the flight to Amman, Jordan. We headed to the Tube at 9am and arrived at Heathrow around half 10.

Check-in was easy and no hassles at security. We did the usual wander around to fill in time routine that seems to be expected at airports.

It took awhile for our gate number to appear on the board and when it did come up, we had to hightail it to the gate as it was down the opposite end of the terminal to where we were. As it turned out we didn't need to rush. Boarding was delayed by half an hour and then we say on the plane for about the same time. I don't know what happened but one of the runways was closed for a while so that held it all up.

Thankfully the flight was pretty uneventful. We had one of the funniest, nicest stewards. Yusuf I think his name was. He was a flirt and kept asking if we wanted more vodka.

When we got to arrivals there was a man with a sign saying my name waiting for us. It wasn't as exciting as the singing, clapping and instruments someoe was getting. Our guide told us later it was for a young man who had graduated as a doctor in London who was coming home.

The first thing you notice outside the airport is the heat. Our guide told us it was 55 degrees celcius at the Dead Sea that day.

They drive on the opposite side of the road here. It's like an organised kind of Russian Roulette. I'm not sure that there is a set speed, indicators are an optional extra and get used randomly and the lane markings are so feint you can't see them. The roads themselves are impressive. They're wide and smooth and better than anything I've driven on back home. And they're busy! So much traffic as we came in. Even now voices can be heard on the night air and its 1am.

This city in the dark is impressive. I don't know is this will still be the case when the sun coes up. On the roadsides are groups of people with eskies. They're taking meals and maybe drinking cause it's only day 17 of Ramadan. I guess we'll find out what that means for us tomorrow.

The Caravan hotel, from my quick glimps, looks to be architecture of the traditional style. The fans are going, the bed is comfortable and that's my next destination. There's a buffet breakfast in the morning. Ange and I are already looking forward to that.

Tomorrow our guide is taking us on a tour of the old city and two castles in the desert. It's exciting but the heat will be interesting.

A Dozen Boxes

I created a post, many months ago, giving details of my upcoming trip. As I write this, there remain just over 35 days until departure. I exist now, in the strange, no-man’s-land of waiting. Consuming the waiting though, is the packing, moving, storing, and re-directing of everything that has made up my life in the last half decade. The volume of nothing, accumulated, is staggering.
The unit I called home for over five years began the journey.

Systematically, over three weeks, my parents, and I removed the detritus – filling mine, and my neighbour’s garbage bins a number of times over, while packing into boxes the materials to be kept. In many ways, the process resembled an archaeological dig. Sifting, examining, and sorting the items of true value from the rest.

Then, last Friday, I returned the keys to the property owner and closed the door on a very big part of my life. In that unit, I wrote an Honours thesis and completed my Masters degree. I worked in three different jobs and spent rowdy nights with wonderful friends. The memories are not bittersweet because I would not change anything of my time there.

I returned to my hometown last Saturday. It is a quiet place, in some ways modern and in other ways, completely naive of the outside world. Thus far, the days have continued to pass in a flurry of activity, tidying, removing, walking, and organising for my Brisbane life to be compacted neatly into the lives of my relatives, who are storing that, which I cannot take with.

In the earlier paragraph, I wrote the undertaking has been like an archaeological excavation. Until I came home to Toowoomba, the extent of this realisation was less recognisable. This morning, as I removed the books and early (shamefully bad) undergraduate assignments to make room, I came across a few little gems.

First, was the diary my sister gave me when I was nine. It is quite amusing to look back on the writing style, the spelling, and the outlook on life that one has as a child. One particular entry is about going to church, and the hymns sung on the day. I have written of one member that he is the best “sinner” in the church, quite clearly meaning, singer. There is also the record that we gave my uncle an umbrella once as a birthday present.

Other diaries, from high school are a little less cheery to re-read. The trials and tribulations of being seventeen and the attempts made at life, and at relationships. Some of the entries bring back distinctly the emotions in which they were written. In some entries, time has faded the memory and I cannot recall with any clarity the people I refer too.

There are even short stories, started and never finished, that maybe now, I will have time to re-work.

I also found my stash of love letters. The clarity of memory when re-reading this is staggering. I lost contact with the chap many years ago, but he has never been forgotten. A part of me wants to seek him out. To see if his dreams and aspirations came true. To see if he found someone new. What does he look like? Has he gotten old like the rest of us? Perhaps the infamous nemesis “facebook” will have the answers.

The journey is still just beginning. Nothing starts without due preparation. Between now and leaving the country, I will see very dear friends, graduate (again), and spend money on essentials for the trip. I will have an Egyptian visa return in the mail, and apply for a Jordan visa. And hopefully, through it all, I can update this blog with some regularity, interest and entertain those reading and keep the fluttering of the over excited butterflies at bay.

Life

Let us endeavor so to live that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry.
- The Tragedy of Pudd'nhead Wilson and the Comedy of the Extraordinary Twins
 
Television, movies, books and the media bombard us with epic and grand narratives. They tell us how wonderful a person’s life is - they make us want to believe that our lives too can be some kind of grand discourse. A life that people discuss in detail over coffee - or tea and scones. Only for the most part, we never achieve this assumed greatness. We never reach the pinnacle of success that has been set down for us.
 
It leaves us disappointed and resentful. With a need to blame someone. Ultimately though, we can blame no one else but ourselves. It is us, as individuals who have brought into the lies and the deceit. It is us, as individuals who are seeking out the fame; the immortality. Only a few ever achieve it and I cannot say I believe them to be the lucky ones.

For as much as I might seek out what others tell me I want; what others tell me I need; I am slowly learning, daily and sometimes painfully, that I should be happy with what I have. I think what this concludes to is the acknowledgment that our individual grand narratives are okay however they turn out. You get back what you give so to speak.

We rush around so much with the necessary and pointless tasks of a day we forget to give this consideration.
I know I had forgotten. So here's to the grand narrative I want remembered. To the only story I want remembered?

Taking Chances

The road goes ever on an on, down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the road has gone, and I must follow if I can, pursuing it with eager feet, until it joins some larger way where many paths and errands meet. And wither then, I cannot say. – J.R.R. Tolkien


I turn 29 at the end of the month. Of those 29 years, perhaps the biggest risk I have ever taken was moving to Brisbane to re-start my undergraduate career at the University of Queensland. It is not that exciting given what some of my contemporaries from high school are doing. Ultimately, I have enjoyed what I am doing.

Perhaps the question you are asking now is why use the Tolkien quote if I am only talking about a move of less than 200kms. I am using the Tolkien quote because my next move is substantially further.

On 19 August 2010 I board a plane here in Brisbane and after two stopovers, one in Singapore and one in Abu Dhabi, I will touch down in London on 20 August 2010. After a week somewhere in London, my cousin and I fly to Amman in Jordan and start our twenty-eight day tour of Jordan, Syria and Egypt on 29 August 2010.

I cannot express here strongly enough how excited I am to know I will be going to places I have dreamt of since I was a kid. Mt Sinai. Damascus. Lebanon. Petra. Cairo. Luxor. Abu Simbel. The Pyramids. The Sphinx. The Valley of the Kings. The Valley of the Queens. Tutankhamen’s Tomb. The Nile. To know that I am crossing the boundaries of ancient civilisations like Mesopotamia and Babylon is incredible to my mind.

Of course, there is equal excitement for the sites around the UK but for now, I have to deny them to myself or else I will never finish my Masters thesis.

And so, in 165 days I will bid family, friends and Australia a fond farewell and see where the road leads me.

Open Highways

We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones - Stephen King

In my teens and early twenties, I adored horror movies and books. I still love both. I remember reading Stephen King’s “Pet Cemetery” when I was 16 and not going near my grandparents cat for weeks. I remember seeing “Scream” and not wanting to sleep under any windows but perhaps the most dominant memory is Freddy Krueger. The paedophile serial killer who I often wished would visit the dreams of people I went to school with. Yes. I was a disturbing adolescent (and adult).

Why am I telling you all this?

I’m sharing this with you because of Stephen King’s “Desperation”. For those of you who haven’t read it, or seen the movie (which I didn’t actually know existed) I won’t spoil it. I can’t, cause I haven’t finished it.

Let me give you the bare basics.

People are driving along highway 50 in Nevada and at random points are pulled over by a cop who, as the book progresses is getting creepier and creepier. This cop randomly kills some of the people he arrests for various “crimes” and locks others up for future murders. At the moment, the people he has locked up have just escaped, but being only half way through, I just know there’s potential for things to end badly.

I digress but all of this comes to a head last Sunday night. I had been in Toowoomba for my Grandad’s 80th birthday. As always, the time comes when you have to go home. And so, I find myself driving the Gatton Bypass – roughly 70kms of sheer, unbroken boredom (44miles for those playing in other countries). It’s 7:15pm, dark and raining and all of a sudden, a cop car goes flying past me. Trust me. It might not sound like much, but this is why you need to have read “Desperation” to understand the panic I felt.