Mrs. K and I have been avidly following Married At First Sight Australia (MAFSAUS) on TV, which as ever has proved to be treasure trove of narcissism, mendacity, affectation and drama.
With the exception of one couple, who genuinely seem to have developed strong feelings for each other - they use the 'L' word a lot, but let's see how things are at the 'weeks later' reunion - we're surprised that any other couple made it to the 'final vows' ceremony.
As the couples left their temporary home/bubble in Sydney in last night's episode, I thought of my stay in the city during my backpacking tour of Australia. As it happens, Saturday 11th and Sunday 12th May 1991 coincided with the tail end of my time there, and a memorable night time tour of King's Cross.
Looking back from a distance of three and a half decades, I'd forgotten how wet behind the ears I still was at twenty years old...
Take it away, er, me....!
Saturday 11th May 1991
The day didn't start too well, weather-wise, so I chose to stay in and write. Talking with my room-mate Jonathan on the roof of the hostel, it transpired that he was also a writer, which led to some interesting conversation.
Later, there was a new arrival from Canberra in our room. My suspicions were aroused when he praised the city, the totally opposite reaction to everyone else I've met who's been there. He complained that he was lonely after a few months' travelling. I was unsympathetic; I mean, how hard is it to make friends here?! After our tedious small talk, he decided to go for a walk.
Jonathan reappeared with an American girl, called Michelle. They'd bumped into each other earlier: it was Michelle's last day in Sydney, she'd run out of money, so was it alright for her to crash in our room? No problem.
The hostel had largely been taken over by the Malaysian national Dragon Boat team, who were competing in the annual race in the harbour over the weekend. I don't remember quite how this happened but, as night drew in, Jonathan, Michelle and I, and four of the Malaysian team, decided to go on a tour of King's Cross, Sydney's notorious red light district.
The Malaysians didn't actually speak a lot with us, and I didn't catch any of their names, although they all appeared to work for Malaysia Airlines. They seemed affable, but they were not destined to be with us for very long.
Arriving in separate taxis, we disembarked and walked along the main street. It was unbelievable. Every second building, it seemed, was a strip joint, with three or four men outside, trying to entice people to enter.
Most of them looked stoned and didn't waste time on a person, quickly moving on to the next passerby. Prostitutes and pimps were intermingled with street salesmen and panhandlers, and numerous police paraded the area, pretty much turning a blind eye to all that was taking place around them.
I'd been walking with Michelle, when we realised that the others were no longer with us. Pausing next to a 'Gypsy Rose Lee' and watching her read tarot cards for a punter, Jonathan eventually caught up with us and explained that the Malaysian quartet had succumbed to temptation a few strip clubs back. They'd made some vague promise to meet us outside McDonalds at 10.30pm.
We wandered around some more, taking in the sights: the drunk being forcibly evicted from a club by a mean-looking bouncer; a fight breaking out between two rival 'gangs' of security staff; a prostitute calmly waiting in a café for her 'pickup', then stepping into a white Rolls Royce, and the cocaine scales and equipment on display in the window of a tobacconist.
There was a little boy, he must have been about eight years old, watching everything with disinterested eyes as he sucked Coca Cola through a straw [yes, he was accompanied by an adult - K]
I mean, parts of Bristol were full on, but this was something else entirely!
After a drink at McDonalds and no sign of our newfound (and lost) Malaysian friends, we carried on to the outer limits of the district. We saw another prostitute, wearing a bikini and an overcoat, climbing into an expensive car. I hate rich people.
Our taxi ride home was a nightmare. The cab driver was literally half asleep, and admitted as much. What he didn't admit to was his flatulence, which he generously expelled for the entirety of the interminable journey. Even the windows wound down couldn't shift the fug.
Needless to say, we were surprised and relieved to get back to the hostel in one piece.
Post Script: Sunday 12th May 1991
We got up at 8.00am to get ready for the Dragon Boat races and, to be honest, we didn't make too much of an effort to be quiet. Our new room-mate stared at Michelle uncomprehendingly and said, "What brings you here?"
MIchelle replied (and I love her for this), "Oh, you know, these guys found me in King's Cross last night and I had nowhere to sleep, so they brought me back".
He said nothing, but the expression on his face was priceless.
In 2007, Tracy Thorn recorded a beautiful cover version of King's Cross. I've also picked four other theme-appropriate classics to accompany this sordid tale.
