So this would be the day where Rob and his granny went . . . somewhere else . . . I can't recall. But I had things to do in and around Brisbane city centre, so I was on my own throughout most of today. I walked to the centre of Indooroopilly, wandered around the Westfield shopping centre for a while . . . this place still amazes me . . . yeah, okay, it's a foreign country and all, but shopping centres are shopping centres, surely? You would think. But, no, this place is different. Shopping centres don't smell like this in the UK. It's a sweet smell . . . caramel . . . kind of nutty . . . I don't know . . . it's gorgeous though. At 12:06 I completed a transaction at the post office there, posting a 1.162 kg cardboard tube back to the UK . . . this containing a map I had bought for Gav (centred almost at the international date line), a map for myself (upside down), a poster Rob had bought at that art gallery in Sydney, four magnetic soft-toy things (two koalas, two kangaroos, bought at Alice Springs in the first week), a bag of 'Clinkers' and the rest of the space stuffed with a T-shirt and bubble wrap. It cost me $25 to see this package safely home. So, erm . . . wandered around Westfield shopping centre for a bit, then made my way to the train station, going via this odd little cafe thing, for a cold drink. Ah yes, I remember many things now. I knew this would happen . . . it would all come flooding back . . . I recall the slices of garlic bread I was served in a bar/cafe roughly opposite Ric's Cafe Bar, and how one of these slices had a small depression in the surface of the bread that was nonetheless large enough to have gathered a puddle of garlicy oil. I recall searching around Fortitude Valley for an internet cafe, as my forms of communication with Rob and friends was restricted. No working mobile phone. I bartered with a guy running the only internet cafe around and managed to get a 15 minute slot for two dollars.

But I digress . . . I began this with a receipt. A receipt from Borders, the transaction having occurred at 15:17. The address . . . 162 Albert Street, Brisbane. I tried several book shops (and several Angus & Robertson (?!)), but I wasn't really sure what I was after . . . just a decent present for Dave and Gladys, and I thought something arty.

And the juice bars . . . so many juice bars . . . I popped into one (in so much as you can pop into a shop that opens out onto the pavement . . . no door), perhaps on Ann Street, and this beautiful ginger girl working there greeted me, "Hi there. How are you?" which always floors me, so I replied, "Yeah, I'm fine. How about you?" which they don't expect. She smiled, mouthed/said something (couldn't make it out) and seemingly gesticulated towards one of her co-workers who, when he was free, took my order. Damnit. I wanted to be served by her. But these juice things haven't really hit this country yet . . . perhaps the price/availability of fruit is the problem . . . but there's nothing quite like a pint of some freaky, chilled, fruit juice drink, containing ginger, beetroot, celery . . . maybe tomato as well. Gorgeous.

So I had to get the shop assistant on the information desk at Borders . . .

"His books are amazing, aren't they?"
"Yeah . . . erm . . . I've only read 'Stone', I think it was, but that was good."
"Oh, okay."

. . . to unwrap the shrink-wrap polythene on one of the copies of 'Time' as . . . well, it being that price, I wanted to have a good leaf through before . . . but it was all good.