You awake with a start: “Where am I?! I don’t remember anything from last night!”
You pull back the curtains and blink into the morning light, your mouth cotton dry from massive quantities of salty baked goods and booze. People saunter past, clad only in t-shirts and with deep, orange tans. Everyone seems to have an open bottle about them and in the distance looms a familiar looking bridge.
“Sydney! I must be in Sydney!”
You stumble out of your lodgings and instantly have the wind knocked out of you by an arctic blast. Those tans – they don’t look right and the locals appear to be speaking a language that isn’t quite English. You squint into that distance – that bridge sure does look a lot smaller than it does in the pictures – as your senses are assaulted by the whiff of a thousand steak bakes.
And then the penny starts to drop – slowly at first, but then with a mounting sense of horror and alarm:
“Wait a second… This… This isn’t Sydney. It’s… it’s… oh god, no it can’t be… IT’S NEWCASTLE.”
Darkness envelopes you. A light goes out inside your soul. All is lost.