*or ‘Aaron Bowater vs. the World (of English Cricket)’- whichever is deemed wittier.

So long Perth. We hardly knew thee.

Apart from the fact we did know thee. We knew thee fucking forwards, backwards, right-side up, and upside down. And a damn good time was had.

Whilst I remain very much annoyed by the nature of England’s first defeat of this series, and one fears not our last, I will not join the chorus of red-faced, middle aged, overwhelmingly middle-class men griping about the fact the result was settled in two days. It wasn’t ideal, I grant that, but let us not pretend that had the coin toss landed other side up, with tails trumping Head, we would have been in anything other than near fortnight of fervent delirium. Rather than the last two weeks of moping and moaning. We batted stupidly. It was ours for the winning and we blew it by thrashing about with the bat and giving our bowlers no time to rest. Oh- and Head took us to the cleaners.

The shortness of the match is not, in and of itself, the problem.

ANYWAY.

And so, as noted in my last post, Dad and I were left with just under a weeks’ worth of time to fill in Perth. And fill it we did.

We met Fremantle properly on Monday, this time minus the hoards of Aussie weekenders and a few of the less-shell shocked English people. The market only being opened at said weekend, the great big signs advertising the opening hours somehow missed by both of us, meant Dad has yet been able to purchase Kangaroo and/or Koala themed gifts for Flobo. We wandered up past the market to the Fremantle Gaol, a World heritage site. Busy, the flustered tour guide and ticket office manager informed us that the day before had been, for want of a better term, mobbed. We booked on for a tour of the founding of the prison and the early history of its operation and purpose. A good tour, well-pitched to the group, and where the tour-guide batted away my raised eyebrow and ‘well…actually’ upon her initial claim that the prison did not accept ‘political prisoners’ from the UK. She said she’d come back to that. Which she did. After the tour, we enjoyed some corking seafood (please see below a sop to the readers (okay… one reader) who have requested food pics) and a trip to the Gage Roads brewery- purveyors of one of our favourite beers here the ‘Single Fin’.

Upon heading back to the city proper, I finally pulled on my running shoes and went for the first run proper of this trip, taking on (some of) the route Maddy had suggester by running up to the Optus stadium, crossing the Matagarup bridge, down the river, back over the thin bridge, before calling it a night at 4 miles. It was beautifully lit up and a really peaceful run, made slower by my stopping to take pictures (unaided, I suspect, by the beer and chowder.)

Went for a long walk on Tuesday. This time we completed the rest of the running route I was unable to complete the night before. A good 15k chatting away, finishing up with a painful climb of the 200 odd step Jacob’s ladder. I’m amazed we haven’t killed each other yet and, dare I risk tempting fate, neither of us seem to have been on the precipice of committing any degree of murder upon the other. At Kings Park we dozed, read, and wrote in the sun. From there, we descended back into Perth proper for a top notch supper of Korean (see further sop photo below) before heading up to the roof-top cinema.

Which was fantastic. An awesome set up, Dad and I pitched for a double bean bag, popcorn, beers and a blanket. Granted, not sure they were pitched at us given we were the only two sharing a bean bag who didn’t spend any of the film intimately involved with one another, but no bother. The rooftop cinema is an annual series the local arts council put on throughout the summer as part of a wider Perth cultural festival. They take up the top of the car-park and play one movie a night, normally fully booked throughout the Christmas period. We plumped for the Tuesday night showing of ‘Zach Pilgrim vs. The World’ which neither of us had seen before and is now my new favourite rom-com. On the other side of the World and there’s still the issue of audience etiquette but the new me isn’t going to make a song and dance about it (beyond recording it in a blog ostensibly about my travels and adventures and not the griping of a middle-aged man.)

Back on the beach by Wednesday. We took a train and bus out to Mandurah and went for a long walk along the beach. I swam. I shouldn’t have. My shoulder is still absolutely buggered. Cheers Eagle (Vauxhall).

In the city, we packed up our bags to move from the Barmy Army hotel and into our new digs on the other side of the tracks for two more nights on the West Coast. I need to start shifting books. This is no way to backpack around the World.

After settling into the new apartment, we went to ‘La Cholita’- a place I’d never have thought to go to a few years ago and before I joined the woke, London, metropolitan elite. The food was fantastic, actually filled you up, and was ordered with a confidence by myself designed to allay the confusion which seemed to grip dad. All a front on my part of course- I had no idea what I was ordering. It was bloody good. They also had a menu dedicated to tequila of 100 plus different types. And a damn good Sangria. Then we wandered down to a jazz and cocktail bar where, after confirming that I was not, nor related to, Rob Beckett, I had a long, slightly hazy, discussion with the barman and regulars about the bizarre politics of Perth and Australia.

Thursday was a return to the scene of England’s batting crimes with a tour of the Optus stadium. My sandpaper joke played exactly as I’d hoped and went down badly amongst the majority of the other folks on the tour. Got a laugh off a Spurs supporter from Stoke who we’ll meet up with for pints in Brisbane. The stadium is vast and impressive- delivered on time, to budget, and owned by the State. Socialist utopia of Western Australia is probably a bit of a stretch #MakesYouThink. We followed up the tour working on our short game with 18 holes of minigolf. A 2011 Rory style meltdown on the 18^th cost me the double win, with dad winning on the number of strokes, but a draw over all with me winning the most holes. Wahey. After that, I ascended the Matagarup bridge for a climb to the top, and a zipline down. Incredibly professionally done (I suppose you’d hope so) and a really friendly tour group. A packed Thursday ticking off the last of the Perth tourist guide.

Dragged dad to the arcade post supper since he didn’t fancy karaoke. Played MarioKart and Big Buck Hunter. He was shite.

Friday we moved, and we’ve now decamped to Brisbane and have enjoyed a nice quiet weekend getting to know the city. Christ is it humid. We’ll get to that. But for now… we’ll always have Perth- the book of which I finished on the plane out to Brisbane and which was a compelling read that delivered much more an honest appraisal than your usual travel guide. 3.5/5.