Australia and the daily grind

"I want to fly and run till it hurts.
Sleep for a while and speak no words in Australia." Manic Street Preachers, Australia.

There's a portly old guy who sits on the corner of my street, occasionally blasting notes out his wooden recorder (that's not a metaphor), and otherwise just mumbling to himself in a manner which might pass for singing in a world where all the walls are padded. Further up the street a guy sings and plays the guitar while balancing a skateboard, upright, on his forehead. Poor looney tunes can't compete with that, but I think he does it for the love of it, and if the buskings not going well at least it will be sometime before he starves to death.
The point of this... there's not a lot happening right now. We attended Chinese New Year at Darling Harbour on Sunday, there was a parade - but none of those twenty-people dragons that look giant centipedes - and fireworks. The Aussies love fireworks and, to be fair, they're damn good at them.
The job's going badly again. Partly because we've brought out a new offer that is no better than the one on TV, partly because my bosses are incompetent, and partly because the fitters don't want to climb roofs in the heat. (They are installing cable and satellite in Sydney in peak summer, did no-one foresee it might get a bit warm?) The important thing is that none of this is my fault, the only non-faulty link in the chain, and if you believe that...
So I will probably get into debt, but it's only money, c'est la vie. I head to Queensland on Thursday for some surfing and a trip to Fraser Island, and soon I will be heading on to New Zealand.