Coming back home to Brisbane was a shock, and not because of that. It was partially that I was back living with a parent for the first time in nine years, partially the fact that I didn't have a job or any real plans for the future, and partially because I had the worst case of jet-lag and plane flu going. The first night I was back in Brisbane I slept for 18 hours straight, then struggled to keep regular hours for another couple of weeks after that.
It did give me plenty of time to think though. Something that had struck me while travelling was that far from being miles above the rest of us, most tour guides were simply regular people, albeit ones with a bit of personality, a love of travel and an ability to talk on a microphone. This appealed to me, not least because I'd spent my childhood in the car criss-crossing the east coast of Australia either moving cities or visiting relatives.
I'd also spent a couple of years down in Canberra talking on a microphone for a community sports radio station. In that time I'd gone from helping out with the breakfast show to writing and voicing ads, hosting music request shows and doing live outside broadcasts, which included the Prime Minister's XI cricket game against England in 2002, and what I believe was the first-ever live indoor cricket radio broadcast in Australia.
Did enjoy writing and voicing the ads though.
It was someone that I met then that provided me with an option for the foreseeable future. Terry had developed the idea of "smooth jazz" while working in the USA, but had never really had the vehicle to develop it in Australia. He'd come on board in Canberra as that station entered its last few months; now he'd made an arrangement with an ex-pat dentist who'd purchased a licence up in Port Douglas. The offer came through: come up to PD and work with him, with the potential to run the station down the track.
I didn't jump at this straight away. Firstly, the money they were offering was barely enough to survive on; secondly the idea of becoming a tour guide was becoming increasingly attractive, and even if I didn't get work as a tour guide there was always the option of moving over to the UK and making use of the two-year working holiday visa before I turned 30.
We eventually came to an agreement with the wage; more importantly for me was that I could fly over to London if I got an interview to become a guide. It would be a flying visit that would cost at least a couple of thousand dollars, but in my mind the payout would be worth the risk.
AND so I spent the Australian summer of 2005/06 living in Far North Queensland. I settled into a dorm at the Parrotfish Hostel, and could walk to work in about five minutes. Nights were spent in the hostel bar chatting to the few that ventured this far north during the wet season, occasionally heading to one of the bars on Macrossan Street if we felt like kicking on. One of my favourite memories is of being in the Courthouse Hotel the night Australia played Uruguay for a place in the 2006 FIFA World Cup, chatting to an Englishman who'd last been in Australia when we'd qualified for the 1974 event. It was an omen, although over the 90 minutes of regular time, 30 minutes of extra time and the ten or so minutes of penalty shoot-out there were no guarantees that any omens would do any good. The noise when John Aloisi kicked the winning penalty though was something else, as was everyone radiating love and affection in every direction as we celebrated a great sporting moment together.
In November 2005 I travelled over to London for the interview. I planned on staying in London for a week as the second interviews were to be held straight after the group interview. We'd been asked to give a short talk on any topic; given that I'd prepared my talk on King Edward VIII, a man who'd given up the throne for an American divorcee.
I arrived in London on a cold November day and had the interview the next day. From the start things started to go badly wrong: I lost a contact lens down the hostel sink as I was putting it in. I hadn't brought any spares, so I either had to run around London with only one good eye (not appealing) or use my glasses, which I hadn't updated for at least seven years and were not strong enough for me to be able to see properly (not great for finding way around a city). Eventually I decided weak glasses were better than one contact lens.
Because this had taken me a while to get ready, I was now cutting it fine to be there on time. Thoughts of spending thousands of dollars then missing out by five minutes unhelpfully crowded my mind the way people were crowding the London Underground. The glasses had turned out to be a mistake as well, as I struggled to read which platforms I was supposed to go on for London Bridge. Had I simply stayed at the hostel where the interview was I would have saved a hell of a lot of hassle, but I didn't like their showers. Slightly ridiculous.
I eventually made it with a couple of minutes to spare and was led through a rabbit warren to the interview room. I began to relax - I'm here, it's all good - then panicked again as the first two interviewees got up to give their talks. The first guy gave a talk about how he was taking a school group through London on July 7 that year - the day of the terrorist attacks. Somehow he managed to take a very serious event and put his own twist on the story, without degrading what had happened. The next speaker gave a talk about shoes, with slides and everything. Both were very good and all of a sudden my talk about England's eight Eddie was was looking like his decision to abdicate - terrible.
So I'm in an interview room with nine or so other people. I've flown halfway around the world, can't see properly, arrived with only a minute to spare, and watch the first two people be brilliant.
What the hell am I going to do?
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