We leave behind Ayers Rock with its cinemascopic panorama and head out into the great blue yonder (watching out for smurfs) to the north east. About 45 minutes out from Cairns the terrain changes to lush green and soon afterwards so does the weather to a thick cloudbank which underscored the scenery all the rest of the way. On the ground this translates to rain, although not too heavy. A kind of a grand soft day like Ireland. It is, however, warm and very humid.

The taximan into our flophouse was full of Irish jokes although he didn't sound like a Sassenach. The hotel (Cairns Colonial Club) turned out to be a sort of self contained resort about 3 miles out of town (no complaints) with 3 swimming pools, one of which had a bar and counter stools in the water - I'm not sure why except perhaps to confuse all us dry land tipplers.

Sometime after we had packed our bellies and watered our tonsils, we decided to forego visiting the Great Barrier Reef. It was around 1 hour out in a boat and the weather at sea was reportedly quite rough. In any event it seemed less attractive unless you were prepared to get in and swim among the fishes i.e. laziness and fearful rationalisations won the day. Instead we settled on going into town on our first full day and taking a full day trip to the Rain Forest on the following day, which in any event was our main reason for going to Cairns.

Despite the "grand soft day" weather again, town was interesting in some ways and a real eye-opener in others. In European terms it's small (I'd say about the size of Drogheda) and they have a square near the Bus+Rail Station with stepped seating facing a stage area replete with all the usual sound equipment. There seemed to be 3 free concerts every day. We happened upon a fella about sixtyish playing all the old Shadows stuff on electric guitar. It was good. Ber wanted to shop a bit so I had some extra time to sit, drink and listen. Ya know how it is - so tough having nothin' to do. Afterward hunger broke out and we went in search of sustenance. Again we "happened", this time upon a dicy lookin' pub which nevertheless had a salmon lunch advertised outside.

At the risk of upsetting your delicate sensitivities, dear reader,  as well as my own balance of grip on reality, here's what went down inside. We be seated at a small table, surrounded by other small tables in a sort of patio type terrace. Motley group of customers hanging loose, from middle aged blokes having a few tinnies with their mates, to other couples (some looking like pensioners), to a few (both hemales and shemales) looking like they had a long intimate acquaintance with the bottle, etc. We got the nosh (definitely not salmon, or at least not salmon as we know it Jim) and had started on the main business when I noticed a very strange look on St.Bernadette's face. It wasn't like the look she had in Bali when she saw the rat in the pub (she seems always to have the knack of sitting facing the action) but the thought did flash across me mind. She conveyed (by telepathy I think) that I should turn and look at the bar, which I did pronto. Sweet Baby Jay, standing there in the same suit as little JC himself was this perfectly shaped lady (model figure) selling raffle tickets. First prize - bottle of brandy, second prize - tray of beer. She was totally starkers apart from high heeled boots and a G string thing barely doing its job protecting the front lawn like. It was an incredible sight for the middle of the day in a straightforward if slightly dodgy lookin' pub. I just kept thinking it could never happen at home. (Could it? Is that why we travel?). The floor shook underneath when all mouths suddenly experienced gravity. However, we all quickly recovered our poise and everyone carried on as if nothing unusual was going on. For me the hot flushes started again when she leaned over to ask if we wanted to buy a ticket. I think I now know what drowning feels like as the feckin' beer went into me lung when I took in a big draught to steady the nerves. The odd thing is that there was no great hint of roughness in the place. It really happened as if it was the most natural and normal thing in the world. One weird place is Cairns although I suppose that particular pub is hardly on the visit list of most touristes. I'll never hear people talk about that town again without the mind's eye going into overdrive, ya know what I mean.

That night back at the ranch and after the supper, we got into a long session over a few scoops with an oldie from Newcastle England (as the Yanks would say) goin' on about the great business he ran back home and how they were goin' to win the FA cup (yea, right). He was delighted with our company because it helped him escape for a while from constant familial female fraternising in the shape of the wife and her two sisters (at least I think that's what he said). Apart from that, the hotel pub ran frog races with a big circle on the floor and betting on which frog gets out in the least number of hops. Is this also an Aussie thing or just weird Cairns again?