An extract from my journal on Friday 22nd August, 2003.

“A town only shows it’s polished & seedy & preened, prepared, powdered exterior to the casual visitor, the tourist, the passer through. The attempt to find a feeling, a connection feels elusive. Wandering artificially lit streets & collecting mass printed flyers on street corners from made up and trendily dressed employees who are earning their beer-funding minimum wage by offering you offers of beer jugs, cocktails, happy hours on the rocks and with a twist. But the beat is the rattle of a cattle train. Beer doused backpackers leer and the locals who frequent these venues are on the look out for a zero maintenance “good time”. Soft pillow calls.

Looking for a pumping heart; a soft underbelly takes longer, luck and a feel for the creative, chilled vibe of the local rhythm. It takes a day of couch hogging and spaced out drink buying – just enough to justify hogging the best couch all day.

Sitting here skint and chilled with a plan in my pocket and a good book. The lonesome journeys of Kerouac my companion, as I explore from my armchair the life of Cairns, with a groovy soundtrack.”