This weeks been a bit of a bore. I have now worked 31 farm days with 25 officially signed off, so there’s a bit of a farmer-chase-up which isn’t supposed to be easy or heaps of fun. Now there’s 57 days of slaving away left to go. I enquired about when work is meant to pick up and was told April – it means a few weeks of not much work, but the only things keeping me here are that I really can’t be arsed to move and there’s a Domino’s around the corner.

With that said, I did work a few short shifts. Monday and Tuesday I think we were planting capsicums. Sometimes we have to be out of bed and on call at a certain time if the weather’s a bit crap just so we can be up if the farmer wants us. That was me on Wednesday, and I honestly don’t know how I used to do it working a ski season. My personal best from bed to work, during a hangover on Christmas Day 2013, is three minutes; my nineteen year old self would have been very disappointed by my effort this week.

After doing a beer run on Saturday evening, I found out that I had a shift on Sunday, which will probably end up as a full-time job. There was also a notice above the job saying that if we turned up to work hungover, we’ll get fired from the job and kicked out of the hostel as the contract is that important to the hostel. As it’s an indoors job, I don’t have to douse myself in sun cream or wear a hat and was alright as farm work goes – just put eight melons in a box for five hours. For someone who got a G in their GCSE RE, I think I did a pretty good job of feeding the five thousand.

Cyclone Debbie has allegedly changed its course to come right at the town that I’m living in, and is grade four. We may even have to get evacuated out of what has been described as “this wooden shack” and into a proper shelter, which according to Google isn’t fit to act as a shelter. When I moved out of my flat in London to go travelling, I had anticipated that I may sleep in more unusual settings – night buses/trains, sofas, uncomfortable hostels etc., but it never crossed my mind that I may be stuck in a sodding hurricane shelter.