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A general lie in, as much as is possible in the front room with no curtains. We um and ah over car options, make some calls and use the hideously slow (what, no broadband?) Internet. But to no avail, we'll have to go into town.

We've had half an idea to buy a vehicle for the duration, especially as Aussie daily rental charges are at least AU$10 more than NZ. We head first for the King's Cross Car Market. On the phone the guy had said that if you have the wrong car at the wrong price you can take a week to sell it. We now saw what he meant. Three floors down [in a multi-story car park] the car market has taken over a whole floor in one of the least salubrious areas of town, tatty hand-painted signs beconning you in. Expecting something along the lines of a regular dealership, here, we can only presume that the "dealer" takes a cut from the sales by individuals. Each space is occupied by an ancient banger with an overinflated price in the window (AU$3000 and more) and a hopeful vendor beside it. The more astute vendors bring a table and chairs for the long wait. Ancient old Ford Falcon stationwagons (Granada Estates) almost exactly fitting the image of the backpacker's car. We would have left straightaway but I had to see the full horror of it. A few campervans and 4x4s finished it all off. On the way out we had a quick chat with a girl and I said Not exactly cheap! She gave me the most disgusted look. I think the problem is that they expect to get their money back on the already aged car they've just thrashed around Australia. Not from me!

The alternative is to rent and just around the corner is William St where all the rental companies hang out. From apparently one man bands to the big names and a long trudge from door to door. Surprisingly, [last shop] Hertz comes out with a good (it's all relative) offer of AU$ 43 per day, AU$ 2750 excess (aiyee! [but sadly almost uniformly consistent across the companies]) Ford Laser which is a decent looking Escort sized car. We book it and head off into town for a look see. btw, the sports saloon cum pickups are called utes (singular: ute).

Central Sydney seems OK with a suitably diverse range of shops to keep the punter amused. We head back to Mark's but Helen has the beginnings of another migraine. We put Helen to bed and I bravely offer to look after her while the rest of the gang doll themselves up as best they can to gain entry to the pubs of a Saturday night [some things don't change]. I order pizza from the local joint and nearly panic when I've walked five minutes into unknown suburbia when the "Topping Mad" place looks like an eaterie. Oh dear, I've found the wrong set of shops. But no, two doors down is the takeaway (do the waiters nip down the high street for the order?). Helen is getting better and is up and about when the others get back and is forced to stay up 'til half one as they ply me with drink and start nattering.

Chez Mark, Sydney S33.90526 E151.26016 Elev. 72m