Oh bugger! Spent all this time in Australia pretending to be a decent, considerate human being and ruined it all last night by getting bladdered on my first day in Adelaide. Now I am wondering exactly what bad behaviour you need to get up to if you want to be thrown out of a Barmy Army-backed nightclub.
It all began after we checked into our hotel following a two-hour flight from Brisbane. We took a stroll into town and met Darren Gough, the legendary England fast bowler and Celebrity Come Dancing star, on the way. The Kitchen designer got him to sign a Barmy Army shirt that he had bought for his mate Tim, who arrives out here for his birthday just after Christmas.
Goughie was great, really approachable, and got really animated when I discussed the Dance With the Stars programme which has just finished over here. The winner was some Aussie rules player who got 10 out of 10 from all four judges.
"Ah was watching tha' you know," said the Dazzler. "Bloke was bloody crap. God knows how he got those high marks."
Good old Dazzler, still putting down the Aussies. Wish he was playing today.
We went on to a bar which contained a mechanical bucking bronco and were pleasantly surprised that on the menu was steak and chips, plus a schooner of lager, for the equivalent of 4 pounds. Lovely stuff.
Walking on I spotted a bloke in an Adelaide Utd top. He said tickets were running out for tonight's game and pointed us in the direction of ticket line.
You see, the Aussies now have a soccer "super league" and we heard last week that Romario has just signed for Adelaide at the age of 43. The chance to see a real-life World Cup winner was too good to miss so we went and bought tickets for 19 dollars, the equivalent of a tenner. English Premiership, take note.
Strolling back to the hotel we stopped off for a pint and were joined by Pete, a deaf lad who had suffered a nightmare with schedules but ended up staying in the same hotel as the Aussie cricket team, and Malc, a nice guy from Bedford. It turned into quite a sesh, then it was back to the hotel for a quick shower and down to PJ O'Brien's, the Barmy Army recommended bar.
Oh my God. A couple more drinks and I was in loveable drunk mode. Harry, our former work experience lad, turned up and bought me another pint and then I decided to invade the stage where there were a few people trying to impress with their dancing.
Move aside - Rippers is here. I managed to get pushed over for patting the DJ's girlfriend on the arse (bit silly really, for some reason I thought she might persuade him to play The Clash), then managed to spill a pint over the DJ's decks. He wasn't happy and I was waiting for the inevitable expulsion but, joy of joys, the Barmies seem to be immune.
Went and bought another drink where for some reason I got preferential treatment at the bar, then handed over a pint to a bloke who I thought was Harry, but apparently wasn't. I saw Harry moments later and inquired as to the whereabouts of the pint I had just given him. "What pint?" was his reply.
Finally got a taxi back to the hotel and crashed. The Kitchen Designer woke at 6.30 and recorded my snoring. Apparently it broke the decibel limit for downtown Adelaide.