Watch and learn my friends, who says romance isn't alive in these hectic times.

It has been a long time since we published a blog entry, and for that we apologise. We have been in Sydney for two weeks now and what with the getting a flat and a job (which we have pretty much failed to achieve on both counts!) we've let our blogging slip a bit. But fear not, we are ready and armed with a few inspiring tales from our trips. Just to keep you hungry for more, here is a short video we made on the Whitsunday Islands, we're thinking of sending it to Wish you were here..

It might take a couple of minutes to load up, so be be patient now.

So, Tom has been at it again. We arrived at Surfer's Paradise and bumped into a couple of girls that we had met a couple of times previously on our Fraser Island camping trip and at The Australia Zoo. We said hello, they said hello, we pretended to be interested in what they had to say and so it continued, but there was a hitch. Tom discovered, after punch had loosened tongues to a worrying degree, that he had pulled one of the girls in Cairns a couple of months ago. This was fine, we were pleased for him...Okay, that's a lie, we couldn't care less. In fact it was completely the opposite rection from the other Hot Lunchers! As soon as we heard this we knew his pervy little eyes would light up and target themselves upon her young ass. And so it was, the poor girl never stood a chance. We shan't bore you with the details of their courtship but let us just tell you this, Tom's developed some sort of rash on a certain part of his body and he has to make sure that girls really like him, otherwise when they take off his pants they may think twice about letting him do the clunge plunge! Don't tell him we told you all though, he's a bit embarassed about it! The young lady did not seem to mind about his affliction but there is suspicion that that has more to do with the dark room and copious amounts of goon that she had ingested. So, they had sex. Squelchy squelchy sex. We then departed to Byron Bay and shacked up in what's basically a hippy commune.

This post shall be finished soon, the computer we're using is really slow..

Martin kicked himself in the balls today. It was whilst playing football and by accident. Ouch.

Hotlunchers have departed England in order to broaden their minds, make new friends, not get shafted by tax, and one of them has gone to pick up as many STD's as he can (Tom). One of these reasons has since been dropped, as it appears that Martin, Simon and Chris, and an adopted hotluncher Dan don't like people. They can't explain why but to them talking to new people seems like too much effort. It could be the fact that every fuckin backpacker asks the same questions and really they don't want to know how long people have been away, or which way they're travelling. The Hot Lunchers made some effort, once, but questions about people's favourite music led them to hatred of many, The killers just ain't that good!!!! A classic case of this happened on a boat tour round the whitsundays, which lasted 2 nights and 3 days. One would assume that in such enclosed environments with 20 other people they would try and make friends. Not these guys. They sat at the front of the boat both nights, a box of goon with them of course, and growled at people who tried to make friends with them. I think they're just very good friends though. On one occasion two girls came, sat down (despite the growling), and tried their bloody hardest.........but the Hotlunchers just got up and went to the other end of the boat! Simon then slept with one of these girls at a later date, her name is Lisa!!!

Through all this you may wonder where Tom was. Well, him and Ollie did what comes natural to them; they were harrassing every woman on the boat. This is because they are registered sex pests. They love trying to get their winkles played with....... to no success though, but they tried bloody hard. Which brings me to a closing thought; If at first you don't succeed then try every girl, and if you still get nowhere, drink more goon so you dont remember making a twat of ones self in the search for quim.

When very, very, very drunk, two hotlunchers, Martin and Simon, enjoy nothing more than discussing why sales can or cant be an arm of marketing.......... they dont just talk about sex like most drunk men. To enjoy this level of interlectual conversation there are a few musts:

1. Goon, and lots of it
2. Necking Stella while out because it seems like a good idea
3. Interlect
4. No interest in women
5. Peep show - watch it religiously

Number four is a must, because women can never be involved in such an enlightening conversation. So for everyone out there, we do do others things other than making twats out of ourselves.......... we talk business

For most regular human beings 8 hours sleep is considered to be sufficient. However, Martin Charles Howarth is no regular man. Unfortunately we cannot specify how much sleep Martin needs as it can affected whatever escapades the rascal has been up to. From the beginning of this trip 3 of our heroic hot luncher's have been able to survive with the aforementioned amount of sleep and have seen far more daylight than Howarth. Needless to say martin sleeps a fucking lot of the time and is a ball ache to get him up andWe cannot explain why martin sleeps for such a large amount of the time, it may be due to his innards being lined with fast food and alcohol stewing in his liver and his poor little withered body is having a tough time dealing with the punishment. Martin's incredible sleeping powers are not the greatest mystery, for some strange reason when martin has consumed a large amount of goon he will be able to rise and maybe shine. We cannot explain why this is so. However, once the booze has worn off, back to bed he goes. To give an example of Howarth's sleeping powers, Martin was able to fall asleep on a racing yacht while it was at full sail, tilted at 35 degree angle for at least 1 and half hours. Impressive, I hear you say, maybe, but I cannot stress enough how much this hinders our other Hot Luncher's day!

This is him in his natural environment, look how happy he is!

Hello there bloggers, hope all is fine where you are on the planet. What follows is a brief explanation of why Simon Bartlett is sometimes - and I stress sometimes, a little down. Its not because he misses home, or the fact you cant get Lucozade Sport in Oz (although this is a sour point for all hotlunchers). No, none of these reasons work, its not even the fact they changed Neighbours to channel five before he embarked.................. it is solely due to him sleeping, or at least trying to sleep, with women he doesn't actually like!!! The first question that may pop into mind is why does he do this? Well there is currently no scientific reason, there have been tests, but it seems the most pleasure young Simon gets from these experiences is when the fine (average) young women in question leave. It all started in Cairns, with a fine young lady, and she was quite a looker. The problem was she sounded like something out of Emerdale, and wouldn't just accept that Simon was Jimmy Anderson....... she pestered him for hours with tedious questions. Simon clearly has read the critically aclaimed book 'A Brief History of Jimmy Anderson'. He got every question right, and got her in bed. Chris didnt find this experience too good, he only wanted a picture to show our adouring audience, and she stole his bloody camera (which has since been returned). There were two other girls in question, the first was pretty enough and as soon as she turned up at our room with her friend in tow (She was friends with one of our roommates) her intentions were obvious. She wanted to schlong Simon. She plonked her formidable ass down next to him and informed him that he was on her team for the drinking card game. She proceeded to ever cosier to the boy from Manchester with blonde highlights, everyone clocked this and winks and nudges were exchanged, oh yes we knew exactly what was going down! Anyway, the night wore on, drinks were had, goon was spilt and dancefloors were seriously cut up. Most of the Hotlunchers returned to the room at various points in the early morning, except for one. Simon. He dragged his sorry ass back to Gilligans (The hostel) at around 4pm the next with our roommate and, dare I say it, new friend Ross (You will learn more about this Fella in a post to come). They had both struck lucky with the two girls who had turned up at our room the night previous. YESSS!!! HE GOT SEX!!! BRILLIANT!!! This would be the normal response to the situation. But something was amiss; Simon looked drawn, he seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. What was going on, we wondered. He plonked himself down on his bed and began to reveal all. I won't bore you with the details but you should consider  the following information in the light of the fact that we were very drunk when she turned up and there was no light on the balcony so we didn't really get a good look at the young lady. I digress, basically he broke the damning news to us by saying, 'Let's just say she had a steak on her shoulder'. This led to confused looks being a exchanged between his captivated audience, 'What are you talking about?', asked Tom. 'She had a bit of meat on her, is what I mean', Si responded. Oh no. This was not good. We all had a moment of silence to reflect on what had happened and then after Simon had had a little sob to himself in the corner we had to just resolve to move in. It's important to have your friends around you in times of sorrow and despair.  Thank god that he had the shoulders of 3 sympathetic Hot Lunchers to cry on. Thank god.

And onto the next girl he didn't want to nob but did anyway! She went by the name of Lisa. She was far better looking but very annoying. For some reason though Si didn't seem to mind this when she took all her clothes off and writhed around with him and let him spray his love tonic on her face! RESULT FOR BARTO!

P.S. Tom had a really smelly shit today.

Until next time...

This is a quick post from us in the land down under and it is about Martin. It is in fact a continuation from an earlier and previously mentioned incident, when Martin told the girl from Manchester he was a county cricket player in order to bed her. Basically, what we would like to share with you today is that he had a wee bit o' trouble in that department! Did he get her back to his room, I hear you asking. Why yes! Of course he did, he's Martin Charles Howarth, he's basically sex on legs! However, it was once he got her back to his bed that the trouble began. He put his winkle in her special place, which is the first hurdle overcome. Well done Martin. But we all know that that is just the starting point for sexy time. In order for both parties involved to derive some pleasurable feelings from this 'sticky' situation we must THRUST. Thrusting is very important. This is where Martin fell spectacularly short. For two nights in a row she let him 'enter' her special place and was only allowed 2 thrusts before she withdrew him. After this contiuned for near on a week he finally hit the magic three and then just as he was about to try out the fantastic fourth poke, Chris and Tom walk in the room. Foiled again! On the bright side, during the middle of the day (when three other people, none of whom were Hot Lunchers, were in the same room) Martin had a wank in his bed.

Here is the girl leaving Martin's bed after another night of having a 'speed schlong'..

Please observe the following tips, strategies and techniques for seducing the fairer sex. But, and we cannot stress this enough, use caution when trying these because they are normally only practised and used by professional ladykillers such as ourselves and may result in girls going radio rental (mental) for you. After every tip we will mark the name of the Hot Luncher that invented the move. Thank you for reading.

1. When attending a Coyote Ugly performance at an Irish bar with Professional dancers on the bar, you should turn to the nearest girl and girn inanely whilst shouting the following witty comments;

'Mum, get down!'
'What's my girlfriend doing up there!'
'Men!' (This should be combined with rolling of the eyes and a smarmy grin)
'Where's the water!'

These were all from Tom Whitmore. Needless to say, this failed. She thought he was a plum.

2. Tell two dopey but likeable girls from Manchester that you two of you are professional England cricketers (Jimmy Anderson and an unspecified county level cricket player, on the brink of his England call up) in order to get sex. This was 100% successful and was tested by Martin and Simon. You must be careful with this technique as they may require further evidence when they are not smashed. Especially if they live in the room opposite. And you are clearly lying. And you have to hide from them all the time (This is made harder when Chris shouts her name all the time and Simon has to scurry around the hostel like a blue arsed fly).

3. Tell Random girls that your Grandad invented any of the following; Lego / Ribena / Parking meters. This was tried by Martin, on the whole it failed and people tended to berate Martin for every parking fine they have every recieved.

4. Tell People that your job at home is to thread the laces through trainers. Chris gave this a whirl, it failed.

5. Wander up to a girl on the dancefloor and, in a seedy voice, sleaze the following sentence at her, 'I've been watching you for over half an hour'. The genius who thought this might secure him some minky was Tom. Do you think this worked? Silly question really. He is an idiot and it failed!
 
6. Clamber into a tent full of girls whilst blind drunk, empty your satchel, repack said satchel, poke one of the girls legs for a bit, attempt to eat the back of a girl with a tattoo and then pass out on one of their stomachs.  This was Chris' favoured technique and whilst he still maintains that they bloody loved it, there is some suspicion amongst the others that it in fact made him look like a pissead pervert.

7. Tell a ridiculously hot girl who thinks that you are gay that you are straight but when examined under further questioning by said hottie, admit that you are a bit gay, but only when drunk. Well done Tom.

Thank you and good night.

As you may or may not know, The Australian trip began in a somewhat fragmented manner. Chris arrived first, then Simon a day later and finally Martin and Tom one day after that. This meant that, for the first night, Chris was on his own. Those of you who know about his amazing social skills may think to yourself that this would present no problems whatsoever, but it turns out that he's not so good with people. Oh dear. He found himself the other side of the world and knowing not a soul. W ith a steely look of determination, Chris immediately sought out other loners. Almost immediately, he found success in the shape of a Canadian guy called Shane. They were united by a drunk old Australian man who wandered into the tour office they were sitting in and proceeded to be thrown out, but not before he tried to bargain with the staff by opening his bag and pulling out a bell pepper that was easily the size of a football and slurring, 'But look at what I've got!'. Impressive as this was, he was still thrown out. I digress, the point is that Chris had made a friend (The Canadian guy, not the drunk old Aussie). As night drew ever closer Chris and his comapanion met some Canadian girls and got really drunk, Chris lost everyone and started talking to an Australian girl with nice breasts. He was dragged to the local meatmarket, The Woolshed, and met her friends, got even more drunk, threw some incredible moves out on the dance floor for everryone to enjoy and ended up pulling the ample-chested girl's less hot mate. Good work, son. HOWEVER, all was not as it seemed. It turns out that no matter how much of a tit Chris made of himself over the next 3 week period, how many times he passed out whilst in bed with her instead of finishing the job or how many days he failed to respond to her texts, she still kept comiing back. No one knows why, it certainly wasn't his charm, sexual prowess or awesome sense of humour, we all know he isn't a rich man and probably not the cleverest but still she was not deterred. Maybe it was because she had both her nipples pierced, there are theories that this can turn women insane in the membrane. Although she was a bit strange and clearly a little bit mental, every time Chris found himself drunk and in her bed he had a lovely time in the morning as she would pop out and buy him Lucozade and a sausage roll; WINNER WINNER, CHICKEN DINNER!!

The night starts off as usual, Martin in his boxers for 8 hours, Tom playing with his hair for 2 hours, Simon restyles his hair 15 times and Chris empties his bag everywhere. This general ritual is followed by 1 hour of goon at our favourite wooden table outside 2 kangaroos (if this means nothing to you, dont worry). The lovely (hideous) girls in 2 kangaroos did their usual moaning at the amount of drunken shite coming from 4 extremely friendly English mouths; time to go to the Woolshed!!! 

After the usual stumble, which took approximately 20 minutes (10 by daylight), we enter the only establishment that suits our nature, the infamous Woolshed. To put it into perspective, its like the Carlton but sleazier!! If you dont know the Carlton, then it was basically a room, with music, alcohol, and women dancing on tables looking for a bone to chew.

On the night in question, Mr Thomas Whitmore got a little lucky towards the end of the night. We say lucky, but thats for you all to decide, because what happened 20 minutes before he found this lovely lass is quite interesting.

To begin with, the girl in question had her eyes firmly set on the other three hotlunchers, whom Tom is travelling with. She systematically tried to pull, cop off with, snog, french kiss, bone, suck off, etc.The fact off the matter is, the other hot lunchers had a winning combination of less alcohol and the power of sight, so stood firm on a 'No' to this girls approaches. Tom didnt, and so took her home.

Tom insisted on 45 minutes to do his magic, we know he only needed 15 really, but we gave him the time anyway.

So, it's taken us over a month to add the first post about our Australia trip but it will be worth the wait my friends, well worth the wait. We began by checking into a hostel called 'Carins City Backpackers', it was shit. Really shit. Here are the facts; we booked in for one week, we drank lots and lots of goon (ridiculously cheap boxed wine that it made from 'fish products', for those of you who don't know), we played ring of fire, we were the cause of 5 complaints over 2 nights, the management warned us they were going to throw us out, a hot asian girl made dinner in the kitchen, Martin never put any clothes on, we had to do lots of walking in to town, an unattractive girl with a large belly told Chris off for not properly washing his hands after having a piss and Martin begins his 18 hours a day sleeping regime.

We apologise for the quality of this first post, it is a bit general and uninspired but just you wait, the good stuff is all still to come..

What you will find below will inspire and disgust you in frighteningly equal measure. All we ask is that you approach these chronicles with an open mind and a trusting heart. Every story, every fable, every tale is a testament to our mission. That mission, my friends, is a mission of dignity. We hope to spread civilisation to corners of Australia that have never witnesses such delictable delights as the one we call, 'Howarth'. Come with us as we travel across this vast continent and spread our undeniable message, our message of love, our message of peace, our message of minky.

First off, we need to meet our valiant missionaries. What you read below has been extracted from faded scriptures as old as time itself. The four 'wise men', as many know them, have been walking the globe for many many years and truth has arguably melded with legend. All we know for sure are that they are bloody sexy.

Introduction over.

Let the biographies begin;

Christopher Light

Christopher Light was born Ronseal Aloysius Digweed at some point in the 80's. This was truly the decade that fashion forgot, evidenced by the fact that Ronseal's parents used to dress him up in a green shell suit with zips all over the place. This would continue until his 21st birthday when he broke the shackles of his strict parents and flew freely of his own accord. This is not the time, nor the place, to divulge the adulthood of the ex-Ronseal Aloysius Digweed, Chris Light.

Ronseal was the by-product of a drunken fumble in the back of a veterinary practice. His mother, Beatrice Chamberlock, had taken her sick iguana, Meryl, to the vets. The vet was a man by the name of Terrapin Jones. After an entire morning of smoking athlete's foot powder, Terrapin launched himself on the unsuspecting Miss Chamberlock. This is how Ronseal was conceived, on an operating table that was just big enough to fit a medium sized domestic cat on it's surface. They were forced to marry soon afterwards, but it was quite a nice thing to do actually, seeing as they both enjoyed getting wasted on Scholl foot products, either by smoking them or melting them down into a semi-viscous liquid and injecting them.

Ronseal was born in Gimli Green Psychiatric Hospital just after "Neighbours" had finished. He weighed a paltry 2lbs 3oz, but he soon beefed up on a diet of soft cheese and Anchor Spreadable.

A very apt pupil at school, was Ronseal, despite being the butt of many jokes. He was bullied severely for the entirety of his school life, but this was mainly due to the green shell suit debacle. He graduated from school with an unprecedented "Not Bad, Ronseal" on his school report. He didn't have any qualifications to speak of. He was rather good at fitting his entire body into washing machines.

He continued his studies at Metric College in London. He specialised in "Some Mothers Do 'Ave 'Em", he was the only student on campus who could recite the entire run of episodes from start to finish. He could often be found sitting alone in the refectory, speaking in tongues with the occasional "Oooh, Betty!" thrown in for good measure. This ensured that he kept up appearances as a "weird loner who will end up climbing the bell tower and taking pot shots at traffic with a 12-gauge shotgun" (quote needs citing, unsourced).

As always, graduation came around. The education system was very kind to young Ronseal, awarding him a first class honours degree in sex offending. Ronseal was no different to the thousands of graduates entering the world of work. The question on everyone's lips was this: "How on Earth will Ronseal Digweed find stable work as a sex offender?". Well let me tell you, right here and right now, that he's doing better than anyone ever expected. This is only since he changed his name to Christopher Martin Light.

Coincidence? You decide.

Here he is:

Thomas Whitmore

Thomas "Can't Remember His Middle Name" Whitmore was born Aloysius T. Mangewater in a one bedroomed garden flat in Beckberry-On-The-Rye, South Dumbledore. His first mother was a pack of basset hounds with numbers where their names should have been. Needless to say, the more maternal basset hounds were even numbers, the odd numbered canines didn't want much to do with him. He changed his name when the dogs ran off after a cat and he was found by a group of bailiffs repossessing the one bedroomed garden flat. At this point they changed his name to Thomas, as they were all avid fans of the creepy faced tank engine.

Until the age of 16, Thomas was dressed like a blue locomotive. He was forced to wear a latex Thomas The Tank Engine mask but soon found that it helped him to make friends rather than alienate all around him. He still has the mask in a glass cabinet in his drawing room. It's sandwiched between his Lego butterfly knife collection and his Polly Pocket cupboard.

Thomas was a model student, like a shop mannequin. He just sat there, never speaking or moving, for an entire 7 years. His results? All vowels, but none of them A's. University was a far more enjoyable time. He graduated with a first class honours degree in "Life Drawing Modelling". Strangely enough, he has only just begun to move and talk. His friends gave him a dictionary for his birthday and so far he's up to the letter "H". He can spell part of his name.

These are some of his favourite activities:

Stripping peas from their pods
Eating uncooked rice
Cutting his thighs open with a stanley knife and standing on his head to stop the blood coming out
Paying through the nose for a prostitute, but only so they can read him bedtime stories
Taxiderming old people
Playing in the road

In addition, Thomas is the current British champion at storing drawing pins in his mouth. At any one time he has 47 of the sharp customers in his gob.

This is him:

Martin Charles Howarth

Martin Charles Howarth (76 years old and still rising) was born M.C.H. in North Wellington, New Hockney State. His parents didn't flesh out his initials until his 18th birthday came around. The reason for this is so that he couldn't attempt to procure alcohol or cigarettes or children until he was old enough to know better. You'd better believe me when I say that all he spends his money on is the above. He also invests heavily in grinning and failing Mensa tests.

In school, M.C.H. was the most popular girl. All the boys wanted to sleep with him and all the girls wanted to put make-up on his face. To this day he is still very pretty. He did OK in his exams. Just OK, nothing special. Consonant city, population: Martin. He did display a penchant for sneaking into the changing rooms while the boys were in there, but they don't give out grades for this practice.

University was a black hole for Martin. 3 years spent walking from house to house, trying to sell blue movies to teenagers and Police Officers. He also collected a plethora of restraining orders and parking tickets. The tickets remain unpaid and the restraining orders are still in effect, no changes here.

Over the next few months, Martin Charles Howarth has vowed to sleep with as many oxygen tanks as he can. He has found that his penis fits snugly in almost all denomination of oxygen mask. He is also going to build on his past-times, which include:

Dancing with his hands behind his back
Jumping over lamp posts
Throwing dirty magazines at elderly folk
Sticking pages of The Sport together with Pritt Stick and demanding a refund from WH Smith's
Swapping the Pick n' Mix round
Racing snails

Here he is:

Simon Bartlett

Simon Bart-Lett was born via caesarean section on 29th February 1984. This was meticulously planned by his parents so that they only had to fork out for birthday presents once every four years. As a result, Simon is 5 years old. He'll be 6 in 2012.

When Simon was in school, he got a hold of the class register and removed the hyphen from his surname. From this day on he would be known as Bartlett, much to the dismay of his family. It really annoys them when they see the incorrect spelling on letters addressed to Simon.

In 2005, Simon's life was literally threatened when he slipped over in the shower whilst using a particularly strong menthol shower gel. He was left paralysed for hours with the minty liquid covering his skin. When they found him, he had turned the colour of lime cordial. The green pigment eventually washed off, but it left Simon with an alarming resistance to cold. He walked across the great snowy plains of Antarctica in nothing more than a stained vest and a pair of kahki hot-pants.

Simon exclusively eats circular foods, shunning anything that isn't served in the round. His favourite meal is as follows:

Starter - Spaghetti Hoops
Main Course - Rolo goulash
Dessert - Doughnut covered in polos

Currently, Simon is in the process of seeing how long he can go without blinking. It's amazing how many people throw sand at him once they're told about his challenge.

This be him: