Now that we have that out of the way, I can continue my little story. Many people are complaining about the state of the public health system in Queensland at the moment. While I would say I agree to a certain extent that it could be better, from my experiences it wasn’t too bad at all. There were some hiccups along the way, and I’ll get to those, but in the meantime I would simply like to say that I have a great respect and admiration for the people working in the public health system. Despite the seemingly lacklustre equipment and apparent poor state of some of the facilities, the fact remains that the staff are able to get the job done, and get the job done well. I’m very pleased with the treatment I received and the way things were handled, but that’s not to say that things were perfect.

I was due to have my operation starting early morning on Tuesday just gone. However, after arriving at the hospital at 7AM, going through all the pre-checks and donning my lovely hospital attire, I was told that I would have to go home because three anaethisatists and two doctors were off sick. It was Melbourne Cup day, though …

I’ll be honest, it was very annoying. I had plans and they were upset. It wasn’t really anyones fault (unless you’re cynical, which I can sometimes be), but it was still annoying.

My procedure was resheduled for 8AM Wednesday, and at around 11AM I actually went into the preparation theatre. It was at this point, while I was laying in bed, hooked up to the saline drip and wearing my ECG tags, that the fire alarm went off. For 15 minutes. I was informed that the procedure wouldn’t start until they were sure it was a false alarm, and it turned out that it was. But that didn’t stop the alarm, mounted in the roof not two metres from my head, from pounding electronic thumps through my already stressed mind.

After that though, I was given the anaesthetic and went to sleep pretty much immediately. I remember the doctor injecting it into my drip, and then a nurse infront pushed through the door, another started pushing my bed from behind me, and I don’t remember anything after that.

I woke up in the recovery room, and surprised myself by not being surprised. They had warned me that when I woke up I might think that I was still waiting to have the procedure and be very disorientated. I don’t know why, but I wasn’t. I woke up and I remember thinking that I was in hospital; I could see a nurse checking my vitals, and then I remembered that I’d had an operation. I fell in and out of sleep for the next few hours while we all waited for a bed to become available in a ward.

Eventually I was placed up on the fifth floor in a ladies ward because there weren’t any spaces in a mens ward. It didn’t really matter that much; in fact it was quite amusing as I was put next to the cutest (yes I just used that word in this context) old lady who so innocently peeled away her bandages “just to see what the doctor had done”.

Mum came to visit me and sat with me all afternoon while I continued to drift in and out of sleep. The painkillers they were giving me made me quite drowsy. Dad and my sister came to visit in the evening, shortly before Annie and Kate. Everyone stayed for a while, but it was a little crowded, so the girls all went to get food while I hung out with mum and dad for a bit. Then Kirsten came back, took herself and my parents home, so I was left to enjoy the company of Kate and Annie for the rest of visiting hours, until 8PM. Actually, they left at about quarter past eight when the nurse informed them to say their “final farewells” — busted! I’m glad everyone came to visit though. I would have been bored shitless otherwise.

After everyone left I had a choice of television (which I paid $10 for the privelidge of using), radio, mp3, book or laptop to keep me entertained. I ended up watching TV for a while, then listening to music, and then at about 10.30PM I went to sleep. I slept quite poorly because I only had one pillow, and the night lights kept me awake as well.

This morning was the most eventful part of the visit — after my surgeon came to check I was OK, I was told to have a shower and then the dressings on my wound would be replaced. I wasn’t too sure how to go about this because I knew the wound was a hole. You see, the operation required leaving an open wound in the small of my back. I knew roughly how large it was going to be, but after the operation, during sleep, and during the checking, it hadn’t pained me one bit. I made the mistake of removing the bandages, and then the packing (bandages placed inside the wound) and checking it out in the mirror in the shower.

Although I knew what to expect, the reality of it hit me at this point. I started feeling ill and I began hyperventilating. Thankfully I was able to ask one of the other patients outside to fetch me a nurse. I tried to control my breathing, and I tried to assure myself I was OK, but I believe I was in some kind of shock situation, and I lost control of rationality while waiting. It got so bad that I felt light-headed, and in turn ill. My arms and legs were trembling with pins and needles because I wasn’t breathing properly. The nurse finally came in, sat me down and calmed me down, while washing the area of the operation, which surprisingly did not hurt at all.

After she settled me down and washed me off, I tenderly dried myself and got back into bed for another nurse to redress my wound. She was cute as a button, softly-spoken and very nice, which helped a lot. Maybe they sent me a cute one on purpose after my little episode. Anyway, the most painful part of the redressing was not when she physically cleaned out the hole in my back, but when she had to remove some sticky residue from around it which was caught on my hair. Sigh.

So, I went home, and I’m alright now. The wound is a little painful when I sit the wrong way on it, but I have pain killers. Though they do make me a little drowsy.

Despite my thinking that some of the equipment looked a little old, that some of the facilities looked a little dilapidated, these are both gross overstatements. The staff at the hospital were lovely and helped me out as much as they could. I greatly appreciate everything they did for me, and I think, even though it’s highly impersonal, I will send a ‘thank-you’ card to the hospital addressed to all the staff. Though it’s probably the best I can do as I think I would’ve come into contact with no less than twenty or so people, not even a quarter of whom I can remember their names.

Thank-you, staff of the hospital. Thank-you very much for your time and care and helpful attitudes!

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Initially I set out to buy something I loved. Something a little sporty, something with character. Something with power and handling and all the essentials that make the ideal driver’s car. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a lot of money to play with, and that severely narrowed my options. Essentially, I wanted to find something that was rear-wheel drive and had the associated handling benefits, but was also semi-practical in terms of fuel efficiency. It’s easy to find a rear-wheel drive car with a big engine, any Falcon or Commodore ever made meets these prerequisites, however they aren’t very practical in terms of fuel usage, insurance or registration costs.

So obviously, I had to find something that was four-cylinder, sporty, and rear-wheel drive. As you may or may not be aware, pretty much all inexpensive four-cylinder cars made since the mid-eighties are front-wheel drive; it’s cheaper. In any case, I didn’t want to buy a car from the 1980s because every car made in that period was styled with all the passion and elegance of a cardboard box. Every car from the eighties is a box, and the only curvy part on such cars are the wheels.

This meant I was to turn the back a few pages in the history of motoring to the 1970s, where I surprised myself by reminding myself of a car I’d nearly forgotten, and had always wanted. Toyota’s Celica is a car I’d been pining for during my highschool years. When I started highschool, there was a senior student who had one. It was a metallic blue RA28 — the famed “Mustang fastback” — with LT2000 badges. Whether or not it was a genuine LT2000 is another question, one which I’ll never know the answer to, because the fuckhead wrote it off by rolling it in the field adjacent to the school while doing doughnuts, showing off to his mates.

So while browsing around the internet, I came across a few nice looking TA22 and TA23 models. These are the earlier versions from 1971-1976 which have charm in themselves, but they simply are not in the same league as the beautiful 1977 RA28 “Mustang” Celica. The main difference between the models was that the ’22s and ’23s were more narrow-looking and almost spindly in appearance, the rear end is curved inward and they appear to taper at both ends. The RA28 was more aggresive; with the front appearing wider and more staunch. These lines followed through the rest of the car to the rear, where the back was square with large, imposing Ford Mustang style tail lights.

I spotted a nice-looking TA22; black with the original 2TG motor. This is the 1.6L, twin-cam, twin-carb version that in its heyday produced around 80kW and 150Nm of torque. Not bad for a 30-odd-year-old engine. What made this car worth looking at was the fact the engine had been completely rebuilt about 5,500km ago, meaning that it would be just like driving it new. Unfortunately though it was located in Bundaberg; with three hours of driving between here and there, it was going to be an issue to see it. So the idea was put on the backburner for a few days, while I argued with myself and my dad about looking for a more sensible option. Of course, I wasn’t ready to give up on my dream yet, remembering that I’d wanted one of these Celicas since I first saw one all those years ago.

All the other Celicas I found were interstate, or had problems, or there was always some major issue with getting to see it or known problems from the outset. Imagine my surprise when browsing eBay, I come across this beauty, not even 10km from my house…

We went to check it out, and aside from a few small issues, it was perfect, and in my price range as well. Although it was not a true GT Celica with the 2L, twin-cam, twin-carb 18R-G engine, it had a balanced and blueprinted 18R-C (single cam, single carb) motor, which for the uninitiated means that the engine had been completely dismantled and all the parts tweaked to ensure maximum operating efficiency with respect to all the other parts of this particular engine; whereas cars coming from a factory are made to the specifications of the design, having your engine balanced and blueprinted means that in addition to being made to the specifications of the design, they’re also made to the specifications of each other. It also had airconditioning and the interior was in pretty good condition.

We took it for a drive, with the owner driving, as you would with such a rare classic. In fifth gear, uphill, with the bulk of approximately 300kg of people in it, and the airconditioning on full, the “weak” 18R-C motor was able to pull hard and accelerate quickly. It handled brilliantly in terms of being a drivers car, the ride was firm and the car told you everything that was going on under the wheels. I loved it, I wanted it, it was mine!

It was for sale on eBay. The auction was ending in a day or two. On the morning of the auction end, I woke up to find that it had ended about 15 minutes before I woke up. I was shocked. Fucking stupidly, I had failed to notice the auction end time was in AEDST; Australian Eastern Daylight Savings Time, and the auction was running on time an hour ahead of my own clock. I regret that mistake. It was the perfect car.

While we’re on the subject, here are some links to Celica porn: Celica gallery, and this beauty: Smoky the Bandit, which is one of the most awesome cars I’ve ever seen. Combining 1970s beauty with today’s modern technology, it’s a perfect balance of elegance, technology and power. It fucking looks hot as and I bet it goes like stink too.

After I got over that car, dad and I decided to go look at the Celica in Bundy.

We woke up at about 3AM one morning and made the uneventful trip in approximately three and a half hours, mostly travelling in the slightly-above-speed-limit speed range. Fortunately I got to drive this particular car, and although it looked nice in the photos and had the rebuilt engine, aesthetically it was fucked, with rust in major areas and the interior showing its age. To drive it though… was wonderful. You could hear the engine roar, you could feel the road at your fingertips through the steering wheel, and everything made a genuine metallic sound. This car was in no-way muffled, restricted or softended. It was 1974 manufacturing at its finest. It had decent power and torque, and was better than I expected with respect to that, but the seller wanted too much for it. He was dreaming. We had to depart and leave it behind us, and I was disappointed once more.

The next car I set my sights on was something completey different. Spotted in the Just Cars magazine, and out of my price range, I called on a whim to see what kind of deal I could work out. Surprisingly, the seller was happy to take what I was offering, so we organised to view the car… on the Sunshine Coast. A bit better than Bundy (a bit! more like a lot), but still a fair distance away. It was a 1987 Mazda Familia GTX; or in other words, the Japanese version of the Mazda 323/Ford Laser, with a 1.6L twin-cam turbo engine and your standard rally-style all-wheel drive system. It was white, with white rims, and it looked awesome. Taking it for a drive, it drove great. It was very powerful and accelerated hard, it handled excellently and stuck to the road. It wasn’t rear-wheel drive, but it was the next best thing. Although in looks it could never match the Celica, it made up for it with modern technologies and conveniences, such as electric mirrors, windows, and an electric sunroof! It was great.

We organised some simple legal papers and I put a deposit on it, with the deal being whatever was required to make the car roadworthy was taken off the final price. So, we took the car home. My dad, who generally hates “small Japanese buzzboxes” surprised me by telling me he found the car excellent on the highway on the way home, not too uncomfortable despite the lowered suspension, etc. We booked it into the mechanics, and… you guessed it, it was fucked. The assessment was it required approximately $4000 worth of parts and labour to make the car roadworthy, and that’s not including the turbo/engine rebuild it would’ve required in about six months’ time, on account of the turbo boost being dialled in at approximately double the standard level, with stock engine internals. The seller was quite surprised… strangely, I thought, it didn’t make a lot of sense for her to be. She said that eight months ago, she’d had the car checked out and it was excellent, in top condition. Then she lent the car to her friends for six months, and then we had it checked out, and it turns out to be fucked. I’m thinking… what do you really think happened in that six months?

Some people…

After the Familia Fiasco, I was again disheartened. I had given up on buying a sporty, performance-oriented vehicle at this point. I decided that if I couldn’t have speed, I’d have luxury. So, I did the leave-a-deposit-and-get-back-to-you dance again with a 1993 Mazda 626 on the south side of Brisbane. It sounded great; only 95,000km, good condition, etc. The seller didn’t give a fuck about the car because he’d had a new one for a few months, and it showed. Although the interior was pretty good, the car was a car park bitch, and had bits of paint missing from trolleys, small dents and crap all through it. Also, for some reason, they’d managed to close their garage door on the rear spoiler and bumper several times over, chipping the paint back to bare metal in several places.

So, I took it for a test drive, and organised to come back another day with a deposit and some more knocked-up legal documents along the lines of “if the mechanic says it’s shit, I’m not buying it” … typically, this car needed a fuckload of work too, though only $2000 this time. It essentially made the car worth a lot less than what they were asking, and I wasn’t prepared to pay money for something that was so seriously fucked. Several major engine seals (tappet cover gasket, head gasket) were fucked, the water pump was leaking, and it needed a new induction hose, which cost $280 alone.

In any case, it was probably for the better, because being a low-volume import car (imported by Mazda), parts were typically more expensive than your standard Australian delivered vehicle, and consumables were more expensive too. Tyres for example on average cost approximately $15 more per tyre because of their non-standard shape. Plus it was a 2.5L V6, and although it had nice power and torque, and was only small capacity, I think I’d feel the fuel cost more than I would’ve liked.

After that, things were looking pretty grim. I found a few more Celicas, and a few more Mazda 626s, but they were all too far away. By this point I’d spent approximately $250 on mechanics inspections, fuel, and other associated costs when travelling the countryside to check out cars. It was by chance that I came across the car I’m actually buying, and just convenient where it’s located: about five minutes’ drive from my house.

It’s small, white, and pretty boring. Though, it is in very good condition, it drives well, it has air-conditioning, and with the 1.6L GA16DE, achieves approximately 5.4L/100km or 18L/km highway fuel economy, which is a far cry from the 10L/100km or 10km/L that the above Celicas and 626 would’ve given me. I have had this inspected by the mechanic, with the result being a rear suspension component needed replacing, which is covered by the inclusion of a roadworthy certificate, so I’m not paying for it. It has approximately 213,000km on it, but it’s been regularly serviced on the dot every 5,000km and has been fed only BP Ultimate in its life, so hopefully that will bode well for the next 200,000km; not that I’m likely to be doing that many kilometres before I sell it!

Funnily enough, the seller attended highschool with me, in the same year as well. So it’s local, cheap, good condition, and perfect in every way, except of course for the fact that it’s not fast and it’s not exciting. Oh well, I can’t have everything.

Already I have plans for it, including, but not limited to:

• Remove black strip on the side; paint it white, put it back on;
• Rear bumper slightly dented; fix
• Add front driving lights (hopefully I can find some genuine Nissan ones to put in the front bar);
• Addition of remote keyless entry and alarm to existing central locking and immobiliser;
• Buy a dash mat
• Clear side indicators

They’re the sensible options that I’m probably going to do soon after I get it. Of course, there are a few other things I want to do that aren’t sensible and are simply a waste of money in terms of practicality… but:

• Some white 16″ or 17″ wheels
• Lowered
• Pod filter
• Extractors and exhaust

Probably won’t happen for a while, if ever.

So, I pick it up Tuesday. ^_^

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