(diaryland) June 11, 2009 - 9:30 a.m.

We went to Bendigo on Monday on a train. It kind of took three hours to get there, and then I sent my Dad a telegram.

I think the best thing about the trip could have been when I lost my headband 61 metres under the ground in a gold mine under the town. Somebody found it and brought it up to the surface. Awesome. When I was down there losing it, I got to see gold embedded in the walls and we watched a four-year-old child drill a hole in the tunnel with a huge machine. And we panned for gold up at the surface and I found about four specks and put them in a little bag. There were a whole bunch of children panning for gold too and I kept pretending I'd discovered retirement-worthy amounts. I think they believed me.

The next day, I was listening to the radio and a lady from Bendigo rang up and said that a mine shaft had caved in on her property and that her house was probably going to slide into it one day. I'm glad I knew that only the day after I watched a four-year-old child drill a hole in the mine tunnel. But hey, that's just me.

Anyway, back on the day, after the headband rediscovery, we ate afternoon tea at a bakery and I had two cups of Earl Grey tea. Fuckin' A.

The next thing we did was have a look at the Archibald Prize finalists, which was for some reason at the art gallery there. Some paintings were meticulously executed, but some people really need to get their act together when they're trying to do traditional realistic painting. I don't know what kinds of lazy underpainting was going on, but a couple of the entries just looked like a joke. Overall, I was disappointed this year. I only liked one painting which was a squiggly, shiny one and it was very nearly not even a portrait, unless you count a lady's butt as a portrait.

After that, we got on the train again. It was night when we left. There was no catering on the train. Christ, I was hungry.

It's really trippy to leave your house, go somewhere far away, and then realise you're back home again that night. It feels like you've been on a holiday, but you're not sleeping in an awful bed. All my holidays involve awful beds.

Next week: road trip Canberra.