"I THINK your bum's the best bit." The voice came from the top bunk. It was Liz. She was surveying me, squinty-eyed from under a heap of crumpled blankets.
There were eight of us in the dormitory at the back-packers hostel in downtown Sydney. The odour in the room was a fusion of stale beer, strange cigarettes and gorgonzola footwear. On the floor were anthills of discarded clothes draped over rucksacks.
I was trying to hoick up my jeans under my "Sydney's not for Softies" T-shirt. Liz had obviously been watching me dress. Being an Aussie, subtlety gets an outing about as often as cucumber sandwiches without crusts…….