Aehso’s Output

Sean and Lorna head back to Sydney early in the morning and we spend the day going to the beach (when you’ve got 3 kids in tow, this is a lot more work than it sounds like although AnnMarie seems to have it down to a tee). Basically a big time vedge out day!

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Sean and Lorna head back to Sydney early in the morning and we spend the day going to the beach (when you’ve got 3 kids in tow, this is a lot more work than it sounds like although AnnMarie seems to have it down to a tee). Basically a big time vedge out day!

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Bad head day! We’re all feeling worn out so we pile into the minivan with my sister and the kids and go on a tour. We stop off at Brighton beach to admire the multi-colored beach boxes (little huts on the edge of the beach that are supposedly worth > $30,000 each!) and then head down to the pier to absorb the views of the city. A couple of photos later we’re onto Fitzroy St. which is kinda a trendyish cafe strip. The kids are getting restless though so home it is, followed by a traditional Aussie barbque. Ah yes, now I remember why I like this country! Sean is looking a bit ropey though…

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Back down to the track for the qualifying session. No big surprises with two Ferraris at the front of the grid. Meet up with Sean and Lorna who have arrived down from Sydney for the weekend and are staying out with us. We grab some beers and tour the various junket stands around the track. (Mental note to self: I want a Lexus SC 430)

At the end of the day, we head out to my sisters with the firm intention of grabbing food and going straight back into the Casino. However, we run out of steam, and end up, quess what, drinking VBs until the early hours. I blame the jet lag which is the worst I’ve ever had…

aehso australia, travel, trip

Back down to the track for the qualifying session. No big surprises with two Ferraris at the front of the grid. Meet up with Sean and Lorna who have arrived down from Sydney for the weekend and are staying out with us. We grab some beers and tour the various junket stands around the track. (Mental note to self: I want a Lexus SC 430)

At the end of the day, we head out to my sisters with the firm intention of grabbing food and going straight back into the Casino. However, we run out of steam, and end up, quess what, drinking VBs until the early hours. I blame the jet lag which is the worst I’ve ever had…

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Up earlish and off into the track for the main event. They put on a good show during the build up (jet fighter aerial displays, drivers parade, Fosters girls hmmmm) and then it’s time for the race.

Ralf Schumacher takes an instant dislike to driving around other cars and decides to try going over Barachello’s Ferarri without anyone noticing on the first corner. Of course, we did, as did Barachello and about 10 other cars behind them who crashed into each other while all saying “What the f—” at the same time. Mind you the sound of the 120,000 in the crowd saying the same thing is something I’ll never forget!

The race continues and for a while we get a great look at Schuey and Montoya ,(‘The Monster’) rubbing wheels (or as the commentator was fond of telling us “applying the blowtorch!!!!???”) with each other. Schuey gets past the young pretender and disappears into the lead for the rest of the race. However, the crowd forgets about him when the hear that there’s a ‘bloody aussie’ in 5th place. Yes, rookie Mark Webber is in the points for Minardi, of all teams (even Jordan are out of the race at this stage much to my disgust). Schuey wins and Webber manages to finish 5th and the Aussie fans go mad. While there’s a decent crowd outside the podium for the presentation, there’s a bigger crowd outside the Minardi pits adoring their new hero. We were stuck in the stands wondering which way to go and then decided to stay where we were and watch both parties. Impressive and a great end to the weekends racing.


To celebrate Webber’s triumph in our own way we immediately head to an Irish bar called “The Irish Times” on Little Collins Street which I can now highly recommend. This is where the session that was threatening to happen all weekend finally took off. God knows how many pint of Stella and Bourbons later we’re upstairs in the pub watching a U2 tribute band featuring a lead singer who suffers from a serious identity crisis – this bloke thinks he is Bono (Kieran you would have loved him). He’s got it all, the gear, the hair, the attitude but he’s about 4″ too tall. Me thinks he wouldn’t hesitate to chop his feet off if he thought it’d make his act more convincing but I decide not to suggest it to him in case he tries it there and then. And that’s about all I can remember.

We’re lost but do we care?! Oh, I do remember that we walked around for a while looking for my sisters house and after successfully opening the gate we proceeded to the beer fridge for a night cap before hitting the kids trampolene as all grown ups do at 3am after a session.

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Meet up with a friend, Ian, who’s just arrived down from a tour of the east coast – he’s got the matching Queensland tan to match while I still look like a walking milk bottle. Head into the track for a look at the F1 practice sessions.

The stand seats we’ve got are pretty good – we’re in the Fangio stand across from pit lane. The nearest teams are new boys Toyota and Minardi (wip de doo but more on them later). F1 cars are LOUD but the speed has to be seen to believe. My ears are buzzing after a few minutes so we go off in search of a beer tent for treatment. Unfortunately Fosters are sponsering the race so that’s all that’s on sale. Ho hum…

On our travels around the track Ian calls a friend who’s managed to get himself into a private on-track building. After supplying the secret knock on the back door, we’re into the Melbourne Rowing Club’s clubhouse (they must use the lake in Albert Park to practice or something). We have a second story view of the 3rd/4th corner cicane through a glass wall and a beer fridge full of, well you’ve guessed, VB. Nice one. There are marshalls below us sitting in their crane waiting for the first casualty of the weekend and they start howling when they spot our VBs. Tough…

After the second practice session we head off only to find mayhem trying to get a tram into town. So we head off to the pub to buy some time.

The jet lag kicks in now and I’m asleep by 9pm. Not to worry, it’s early in the weekend yet!

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6am: Wide awake, bright as a button. This never happened to me before in my life and it’s a bit disorienting. Don’t really know what to do until midday comes.

A quick trip on the Met (train) and I’m at Albert Park to collect tickets for myself and Ian for the Grand Prix at the weekend. It looks like a great setup for the GP but whats with all these clouds? I thought I’d flown to Australia? Hello?

More VB. Hmmmm…

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10am. Two days later, I arrive in Melbourne – so far, feeling great.

3pm. The feeling is short lived. It seems that only managing 3 or 4 hours of sleep on the way down is a bad thing. I blame Quantas who have put little tellies in the back of each seat so you can watch films and play games (tetris) until your eyes bleed rather than sleeping like a normal person.

6pm. My sister and her hubby are now treating the jet lag with copious quantities of VB(Victoria Bitter). Seems to be working…

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Jump into a plane for the start of a 33 hour 4 flight marathon to Melbourne. Feeling good having squeezed more than I thought possible into my pack. I’ve got four flights to get there – Dublin->London->Bangkok->Sydney->Melbourne…

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