More recent blogs and articles have been moved to "The Mini Adventures of Little Lane"

Short Sarah's short list short story

I've had a few requests asking me to reveal my 500 word short story, now that the final short list has been established. I did think twice about making this public (there's a fine line between 'selling yourself' and 'being really arrogant', which I believe I may have crossed in certain areas). But, I figured, since I've already read out on national TV that my first action in life was excretion, I probably have no shame left now anyway.


The brief for this was:

Write a 300-500 word story, including:

- A little about your background, previous employment, family, where you live
- What is most important to you in life
- If successful in gaining The Best Job in the World with Tourism Queensland, who will be joining you on your journey to the Islands of the Great Barrier Reef (partner and/or children and tell us a little about them)
- Anything else you would like to share about yourself


Please, enjoy at you leisure....

Twenty-five years ago a little girl was born - Sarah Louise: international jetsetter, centre section of the illustrious ‘Lane sisters’, and one of the smallest living organisms on Earth. This is my story…

Born on November 19th, I am what one calls ‘a winter baby’. But I didn’t let the cold weather get me down, oh no - I was a merry child from birth. Within seconds of entering the universe, I relieved myself on the maternity bed. My parents like to say that was my first joke and I haven’t stopped laughing since.

I grew […slightly] up in Watford, England – the kind of place that makes you dream of travel. Daughter of a pianist and a chemist, my early days were largely spent entertaining neighbours with music shows, learning how to blow things up and wrestling with my siblings. My two sisters were, and remain, my closest friends. Along with a handful of my funniest chums, they will definitely receive an invitation to the island. Since my lifestyle choices and their dancing careers keep us all regularly England-free, it would be the first ‘tripod’ reunion in years.

Thanks to the inherited gift of synaesthesia (a rare condition meaning I associate numbers and letters with colours) learning has always been enjoyable for me and I breezed my way through the education system. I completed my studies at university in Leeds, where I acquired the nickname ‘Party Girl’ for my love of dancing, and lived in a house with two girls, five boys and no bathroom door.

I’ve never been one to opt for the ordinary life and have had a range of ridiculous jobs, beginning, age fourteen, as a mobile phone ringtone composer. Later, I branched out into various other money-making schemes including working as a Red Bull girl, dancing for Watford Football Club, writing for a humorous city guide, and marketing a comedy TV channel. When times were hard, in a bid to raise funds for another global voyage, I even dabbled in tutoring guys on their dating skills. I may also be the only Londoner to have ever used the genuine excuse “Sorry I’m late, I’ve just commuted from Johannesburg”.

These days I like to think of myself as an international woman of mystery; bouncing around the world in random peregrination with nothing but my blagging skills and superior sense of smell to guide me. Those left behind are entertained by my much-loved blog ‘The International Adventures of Party Girl’; memoirs to accompany the diary I have kept since the age of fifteen.

Adventure, spontaneity, photography and writing are my true loves. I’m genuinely never in a bad mood and will talk to anyone, go anywhere, try everything and eat anything (except aniseed balls). I’m currently living in a boxing arena in Peru with ten fighters I met on a bus, but I really hope to relocate soon to a beautiful island on the Great Barrier Reef, and take my blog readers on an entirely new adventure…

NB. Queensland Tourism's feedback on this was:

"Very strong performance - engaging well written piece, answers all questions, desirable writing style"

Unfortunately, unless accompanied by hurling myself into the Thames, it doesn't account for very much (my words, not theirs). Damn it! It seems so obvious in hindsight. Still, nice that they appreciated my story anyhow…

Have a good day all… I’m off job hunting…

"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars" - Oscar Wilde

The Dumpling

Last night I was dumped in the worst possible way: by email, on national TV.

That sentence doesn't even really convey quite how acutely mortifying the whole situation was, since it omits other, vital, horror-inducing factors, such as:

1) The fact that I was surrounded at the time by 10 or so of my close friends, who had spent the last few hours shamelessly announcing to the BBC camera that they were 100% sure I was going through, because I had 'nailed it'.

2) The aforementioned camera was within a foot of my face and willing me to produce at least one or two tears for 'effect'.

3) My phone rang twice from a withheld number at the exact time that we had been told that the successful applicants would be notified. (Somehow, despite the fact that the whole evening was focused around my phone receiving one of the most important phone call of my life so far, I had managed to accidentally hang up on the first call, and been too busy visiting the wee wee shop for the second).

4) My friends seemed to have developed a new propensity for using the word 'f**k' in every sentence, especially during important moments of filming, so the whole scene is going to have to be bleeped out if it airs - not a good look.

Yes, the situation as a whole was pretty undesirable really, and the aftermath of the situation isn't looking much prettier.

I sit here in my friend's flat in my joggers (I must've subconsciously packed them in anticipation of this exact scenario). Remnants of last night's party are strewn around me, and the only amusement I'm managing to find in life right now, is realising how accurate my comparison of this whole situation to a relationship really was.

For a month now I've been in such an intense whirlwind romance with Tourism Queensland that it was only ever going to end in tears (my tears, unfortunately). QT had all the power from day one and I gave up everything in a desperate attempt to secure a future for us together and daydreamed about what could be. One short, impersonal email later, followed by a phone call from a receptionist, and it was all over. I'd been used. One month of free PR and QT got it's friend to make the call. Gutted.

So this is phase one of the break up blues I guess. Lying on the sofa while my friends bring me tea and biscuits to 'cheer me up' and give me reassuring shoulder squeezes, telling me it's going to be ok. I don't believe them yet of course. Right now it's taking all my will power to stop myself from calling to find out where it all went wrong or looking at QT's webpage to stalk it's new loves. "Don't worry, there are plenty more fish in the sea, you just need to get yourself fishing again", my best friend Michelle says, stroking my unwashed hair and giving me her best 'I understand your pain' look.

She's right. QT may have been a good catch, but there are plenty more fish in the sea and they don't all live in the Great Barrier Reef. There are 194 other countries out there for me to explore and I'm certain I will go on to find another job that a really love. I'm gonna keep my chin up, be grateful for the time we did spend together and look back on this chapter of my life with fond memories. I've learnt a lot through this relationship and I will take that with me as I look for my next adventure.

Also, on the plus side, Ben (a fellow Brit) did manage to get himself selected and I'm delighted for him. I think he'll do a bloody good job and I sincerely hope he goes on to win it. I wish him all the best. For now though, I'm off to call Holly (who also got dumped) for a good chat about our lost love. I'll get over it - I just need a bit of closure.

What's so great about the Great Barrier Reef anyway? I went there for 2 weeks and it rained the whole time ;)

The fate wait...

Today could be the last time I ever have to sell a beanbag.

It could, of course, also be the last time I hear from QT, and the start of the biggest anticlimax of my life so far. Yes, those are the two possibilities ahead of me and I have absolutely no idea which one it will be.

This is the worst butterflies in the stomach moment I have ever experienced... At least with exam results and my degree result, I had a vague idea of what I was expecting and there was never really the possibility of complete failure. 

That's the thing about this situation - there's no 2nd place. It's literally all or nothing. A beautiful house, a beautiful island, a perfect job, excellent career prospects, the opportunity to learn and experience incredible things, and a £70 grand salary to round it off. OR - no home, no island, no job, no prospects, and no money.

Damn, it seems like quite a gamble... and there's nothing I can do about it now.

Fingers crossed! (except my forth and fifth fingers on my right hand of course. As mentioned before - I have some trouble with this particular combination.)

Boy Trouble

Today, I have mostly been daydreaming about life on the Great Barrier Reef.

It's dangerous territory for sure. Now is not really the time to be remembering those sun-kissed, glorious days on the pristine white sands, or those wondrous diving adventures teeming with colourful marine life. No, two more days and it could all be over - my little heart crushed and those splendid memories back where they came from: in the 'maybe again one day, if you happen to win the lottery' box.

Really, I should forget about Australia and spend this time preparing my CV, sending off my writing to potential employers and looking forward to a good old British summer - in case the news on Thursday night isn't good. Yes, that was what I planned to spend my day doing, but I was fooling nobody.

I stumbled down the stairs and entered the kitchen. "Good morning little Lane, how are you today?" enquired Adelaide's Mum.
"50% excited, 50% nervous" I answered, "Oh, and good morning to you, too."
"Hmm..." Adelaide's Mum continued. "We need to do a life wheel for you."
(Adelaide's Mum is a creative life coach and has a variety of tricks up her sleeve to illustrate the fact that your life is never quite as sound as you think it is.)
"What? Why? I haven't even had breakfast yet!" I stuttered.
"Yes, that's exactly the point. It's 8am and you're already talking about the Great Barrier Reef again."
"That's a bit of a wild accusation!" I retorted, a little defensively, "I haven't said anything about the reef AT ALL!"
"No, but you implied it. You implied with your percentages that your entire life is consumed by this job."
"Ok, fair enough," I said, contemplatively, "I suppose, if I'm honest, those percentages were a little inaccurate - at least 10% of me is probably hot cross buns at the moment".
She laughed. "I wondered why the bread bin was empty! I'm serious though, there's more to your life than work you know. What about your family, your health, etc? You need to re-shuffle those percentages and make room for other things. You've been back from travelling three weeks now and you still haven't seen a doctor about Billy and the boys*."

She was right. That's the thing about Adelaide's Mum - she always is. I really should have seen a doctor. It's about four months ago now that I wrote a blog about contracting parasites in India. It's been so long, in fact, that it's become a bit of a running joke between my friends and family. They invite 'Sarah and co.' round for dinner, and write on invitations 'feel free to bring a +1 (Sarah Louise - you can bring +50)', and other such witty comments. She was so right. I couldn't just ignore this because an amazing job opportunity had arisen - my health is important to me. I decided there and then to finally get myself to the doctors.

It was too late to make an appointment, so I braved 'sit and wait' surgery. After an hour and a half of trying not to breath (because I was convinced the girl in the next seat was coughing some sort of contagious disease over me), I was finally in. I explained the situation to the doctor and she looked at me, tilted her head, and gave me a reassuring look. "Don't worry," she said, kindly. "It sounds as if you probably did have some form of parasite, but these things just die off after a couple of months, so you should be fine now."

I should have been happy. But, instead, I felt a pang of sadness. Without realising it, I had grown quite accustomed to the idea of sharing my belly with a few extra friends. These guys weren't just parasites to me - they were a part of my life. We'd been through a lot together. My friends and family loved them like their own, I'd planned a future for them in Australia, hell - I was still blaming 50% of my food consumption on them! To think that they'd just left without even so much as a goodbye was... well... sad really.

Still, at least I know I'm all fit for the island now. I may be 0% parasite, but I'm still ridiculously excited, and even with my small percentages of nerves, fear and hot cross buns... I've decided I'm still leaving a little bit of space for daydreaming about Australia. Whatever the outcome of this job, I know I'll return again someday - even if I do have to win the lottery first...

*For my new readers:
Billy = My fictional (I hope) tapeworm, created by my friends to explain my insatiable appetite, yet complete lack of growth.
The boys = The parasites I believe I contracted in India that caused me to sleep continuously for 3 whole days, throw up a few times, and seriously push the boundaries of friendship between myself and my travel buddy at the time.

Starting the day with a bang

This morning I woke up and had a 'lightbulb' moment...

Lying in bed, I reflected on the beautiful moment whilst making my application video, when my llama decided it wasn't cut out for such a show-biz lifestyle and spat in my face as I attempted to film it. I lay there feeling a little sad that such delightful footage was now in the hands of a thief, when I suddenly remembered that I had copied my memory card onto CD before my USB stick had been stolen. Was it possible that the out-takes from my video were on it, and had survived? Surely I would've copied that clip, along with plenty of other failed filming attempts involving various confused Peruvians?

I jumped out of bed and rooted through my travel bag until found the CD. Eagerly posting it into my laptop, I crossed my fingers in anticipation, muttering "come on, come on!" under my breath. 

Unfortunately, it seems I didn't think to copy the footage I wasn't using for the video, and only two sorry out-takes survive. Sadly, the CD had also been made the day before I had filmed the llama-spitting glory, so you will have to imagine how funny that was (Oh Lord - it really, really was funny).

On the plus side, I also found a mini stick of dynamite in my bag that I'd completely forgotten about. Apparently I've been carrying it around with me for two whole months, ever since it was given to me in a Bolivian mine back in January. Nice. I'm not sure how impressed US airport security would have been, had they found it in my hand luggage on my flight back to the UK. Sure, it's only small, but I don't think that would necessarily have been considered an adequate explanation for smuggling explosives onto an aeroplane...

Imaginary conversation:

US Airport Security: "S'cuse me Ma'am...what's this?" (points at dynamite)
Me: "Erm... a stick of dynamite?"
US Airport Security: "Ma'am, I'm afraid I can't allow you to take that onto the aeroplane"
Me: "Oh come on... it's only little!"
US Airport Security: "Oh, ok (winks)... run along then scamp..."

Still, luckily they didn't find it, so Adelaide and I set it off in the garden.

It wasn't as impressive as I'd hoped.

“All journeys have secret destinations, of which the traveller is unaware.” - Martin Buber

Bed Blogs

Mental Note:

Never walk into a room full of strangers in your sister's house and announce, "Michelle, I'm just going to go and blog in your bed". 

It won't be received very well.

Breakfast at Sissy's

When your day starts with the question: "Is it wrong for me to consume a naked picture of my little sister?", and is closely followed by your elder sibling emerging from the kitchen with your little legs dangling from her mouth, spraying your icing limbs all over you as she laughs -you know it's going to be a good day.

"I'm not naked, I'm wearing a bikini, so you're fine" I answered. "Eating bikini-clad pictures of your sister is perfectly acceptable. What's wrong, is the fact that you're eating cake for breakfast, and said cake is now three days old."

So, three days on from close of votes and what has my life become? Well, I've temporarily moved in with my friend Adelaide, which is basically the same thing as living in a 5* hotel, but without the bill. Her catch phrases are "I've just made some fresh coffee, would you like some?", and "just to let you know, I've turned on your electric blanket, so it will be all warm when you get in bed". Heaven. All my friends are green with envy and attempting to feign homelessness to get the same royal treatment.

On the negative side, my dire money situation left me with no choice but to face up to the two options ahead of me:

1) To take a promo job selling bean bags, which would destroy my soul but provide me with instant cash.

2) To die on the street.

It probably shouldn't have taken me as long to decide as it did. But, when you've had the best job in the world dangling in front of your nose for a few weeks, it's difficult to return to a job where the highlight of your day is eating two free packets of Mars Planets that another promo girl is giving out. By the end of hour one of my first shift, I'd already used up all of my standard time-passing techniques*, and had to harness all my willpower to prevent myself from running out of the door during the remaining 7 hours of beany hell.

Today, though, is a glorious day. It's my day off, and voting is over! I've had breakfast at Sissy's and now I'm finally ready to face the world and socialise again. I can have coffee with friends without having to slip in the words "Have you voted today?", I can sit and watch the world go by in Trafalgar Square, read my book, and dance the night away in a latino bar. Yes. That's what Sarah Lou shall do...

Have a good day all...

*1. Working out how all of the signs within my peripheral vision would be written in Spanish and German.

2. Tap dancing.

3. Testing to see if I am yet able to link my forth finger over my fifth finger on my right hand, without the aid of my left hand (annoyingly this is still a no).

4. Imagining what my surroundings would have looked like in the Tudor era (this was pretty redundant in a building built in the 1900's).

QT vs Boyfriend

10 reasons why Queensland Tourism is a bit like a really bad boyfriend...

1) You never know what it's thinking.
2) It made you do a psychometric test before it would consider taking things further.
3) It owns a collection of videos of other girls it's also interested in.
4) It's always judging you and comparing you to others.
5) You pour your heart out to it in a 500 word email and have to wait three weeks for a response.
6) It offers you everything and promises you nothing.
7) You know for a fact that it's recently spent a significant amount of time searching the internet for pornography involving a Russian Blonde.
8) It only likes you for your video.
9) There's the constant possibility of it rejecting you because it prefers another girl.
10) If it does dump you, it's going to be by email.

Still, QT, I pledge thee my undying love...

Congratulations Clare for absolutely whipping all of our butts and bagging the wild card. I hope that if all goes well, I will meet you and some of the other internationals at the next round...

Sarah Louise

An Absolute success...

'Tis the final day of wild card votes guys, so I trust you are all busy voting away (for ME, Simon - don't be tempted by the sensual lure of those foreign females...). I've done the maths and I need 147,000 votes to win this, so if you could each set up 100 email accounts today, we may just swing it yet...

So, I'm currently sitting on the floor of a central London bank and have just unplugged a lamp so I can charge my laptop and write to you. Not sure if this is socially acceptable behaviour, but when you've got to blog, you've got to blog...

Judging by the number of texts that have just crippled the last, unstable leg of my poor, pre-historic phone's life - most of you already know this... but, for the audibly unaware amongst you -I managed to blag myself a live studio interview on the Absolute (formerly Virgin) breakfast show this morning. Score! It's amazing what a few bikini clad cakes and a little bit of press release banter can get you...

I did intend to lavish the radio staff with the remainder of my creative cake selection, however, the 4.30 am start to my day induced me into a trainy trance for the majority of my journey to Absolute. Consequently, I accidentally left my bag of cakes on the carriage as I alighted... (better the cakes than my laptop, at least). I can only imagine the joy some unsuspecting soul had this morning - calling security for a terrorist bomb alert - only to find 24 little fairy cakes with a semi-nude girl prancing around on each icing topper...

The breakfast show was great fun and they offered me a job if I don't manage to secure the 'best job in the world', so it's a win/win situation really (although I'm 99% sure they were joking). The BBC filmed the whole thing plus a couple of extra bits, and I also secured an interview for Southern FM and persuaded an internet cafe full of people to place their votes. It's been a pretty busy morning.

Listen to audio here

Right, I'm being moved on... apparently it's not a customer's right to rearrange bank furniture for their own convenience. Fair enough really.

On one last note, may I wish Miss Cat Lane the happiest of happy 24th birthdays. I pray that we reunite for belated birthday celebrations on Hamilton Island...

Have a good day folks...

Sahara xx

“The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.” - St. Augustine

Mum's the word

It's mother's day... why not celebrate by getting your mum to vote for me...?

One hit wonder?

I consider myself to be a happy person. However, there is one little thing that has niggled away at me for five years now... ever since that fateful day when I was carrying out a bit of mid-exam task avoidance and typed my name into Google to see what came up...

Schoolboy error. In 0.23 seconds flat, Google successfully managed to obliterate my ego - leaving me feeling common, boring, insignificant, and under-qualified. There, in front of my disbelieving eyes, it generated a long list of other Sarah Louise Lanes, smugly equipped with PHDs, MBAs, awards, medals, and personal websites, who had clearly managed to impress Google far more effectively than I had.

It took half an hour and a desperate image search before I finally found myself - in a little head shot picture from an agency in Leeds. I cursed my parents for being so inconsiderate at my birth. How could they be so thoughtless? A simple twist like my nickname 'Sahara' or a middle name like 'Phoenix', would have had my picture in the front running for any Google search.

Today, however, my five years of feelings of inadequacy came to an end when I typed my name into Google, searching for a web copy of an interview I'd done. There, on the first page of search results were five articles about me, including a BBC article I'd never seen before. What a glorious day this is turning out to be... thank you 'best job in the world' judges for my long-awaited Google success!

In other news, I've finally confirmed a studio live interview on Absolute (formerly Virgin) radio for Tuesday morning, am waiting to hear if I will be on GMTV on Monday morning, and have organised an Australia-themed London stunt for tomorrow. Everything is going spiffingly.

Only four days left now... please pull out all the stops and stir yourselves into a voting frenzy...

Pornographic upgrade

Sorry fellas - I bring thee bad news... Julia (the Russian) has been disqualified from the best job in the world! The good news is that it was for posting explicit videos on the internet, so you can still give her your vote on you tube. Don't believe me? Check out this link:

Julia's Unlucky Day

(Courtesy of Angharad Watkins' search skills)

Simply splendid news for me of course - I've been upgraded to 19th place and there's one less contestant in the running, thus slightly increasing my chances of success! Hurrah! Now all I need to do is beat the other 48 contestants (not literally, of course - I'm not that competitive).

So where is my life going now? Well - other than being jobless, skint, homeless, and (if I send one more email asking for votes) probably friendless too - everything is just fine and dandy. I'm still being stalked by the BBC and have learnt the hard way that you really need to watch what you say when the cameras are rolling. Yesterday I came out with a classic line when asked how I felt about the fact I have no home and am having to bounce around from house to house accepting bed and breakfast offers from friends. My response was nothing short of: "Oh it's fine, I've slept in a different bed every night for the last 4 months, why not continue?"

Nice one Sarah Louise... there's another quote for the Daily Sport.

I did promptly add that this was because I have been travelling and therefore staying in different hostels, but my money is on that explanation not making the final cut (a situation not helped by the fact that I accidentally relayed this story to James [Australian contestant] later on, while the cameras were rolling AGAIN!). Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.

In other news, I should be on the breakfast show on Virgin on Monday, I managed to get a click through vote piece in the UKTV website and I have developed an addiction to hot cross buns (I ate a 12 pack today).

Right, let's wrap it...

Mini x

What a capital day...

This morning Johnny Vaughan called me a fox, live on the capital breakfast show. I don't care if it's inappropriate - it's going on my CV.

Listen to audio clip here

Decided my cortisol levels had been high for long enough to have earned myself a night off. It's never really a night off though when the BBC turn up to film you having dinner and drinks with your friends...

I talked about the best job in the world for so long that I started to hate myself and then ordered the 'Brisbane' pizza for luck. This has got to stop.

“Do not follow where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path and leave a trail” - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Cake walk

Dragged myself out of bed at 5.30am, after what felt like about 10 mins of sleep, to take personalised cakes and press releases around all of the major radio stations in London. Just the very fact I'm writing this in a normal, conversational tone makes me wonder if I'm losing my mind...

Luckily, it was all worthwhile. I sweet-talked security at Capital FM, went up and gave cakes to reception, and engaged in banterous conversation about 'the best job in the world'. After about 20 minutes, they were completely behind my campaign and told me, with a wink, that they'd see what they could sort out for me. Legends. A few hours later I received a call from the producer asking me to do a live interview on the breakfast show the following morning! What lovely, lovely people!

Met the other candidates for a press stunt at Big Ben in the afternoon. It's so nice to be around other people who are as obsessed with the Great Barrier Reef and 'the best job' as I am. I'm pretty sure I managed to persuade a non-English speaking Romanian couple to take their next holiday on Hamilton island, even if they did leave looking a little confused...

I was so knackered in the evening that Michelle offered to cook me dinner on the condition that I accompanied her on a road trip to pick up her new sat nav. We got lost on the way... oh the irony...

Maybe it's because I'm a Londoner...

The London media ring is a tough nut to crack.

I've spent nearly 48 hours phoning, emailing, phoning again, networking, chasing up, phoning again... it's got me nowhere. The story is over a week old now and even when I provide a new spin, any interest I manage to generate is inevitably followed by those ominous words: "OK, put it in an email and I'll get back to you". BBC London won't put me on because they asked Holly (other British contestant) to do a piece in my absence while I was in Peru. I've tried using my Watfordian roots to get me local coverage there, but, other than press and a couple of radio stations, I have found the same problem, since Holly is also from Herts and they got to her first.

Still, ever the optimist, I've decided to take matters into my own hands. If nobody will give my perennial streams of press releases, phone calls or emails the time of day, then what will they make time for?

The answer? Cake. Everybody loves a bit of cake don't they? If I take cakes around to radio stations in London then they're bound to let me in. The problem is that once I've got my way in, they're likely to just eat the cake and forget about me... not what I'm after. I need a way of personalising the cakes, so that every time they eat one they will be reminded about me and hopefully give me a shout out on air.

I've read enough about psychology to know that, in a situation like this, you need to have about twelve points of contact with someone before you'll stick in their mind. I've already had about six forms of contact with each radio station, through my constant emails and phone calls. A few trays of personalised cakes followed by a few more phone calls and emails will surely crack it?

Half an hour of internet surfing and I've found it; a service that can print photos onto icing toppers for fairy cakes. Bingo. I have already sent the radio stations the profile picture of me jumping on a beach, in various emails and press releases. Hopefully, this will jog their memory in a delicious, cakey bite - overloading the senses with sugary endorphins for positive reinforcement, and getting me that little bit closer to my goal (psychological manipulation is the key...). The photo is colourful, topical and eye catching, and they even do next day delivery. Perfect.

Let round two of London radio campaigning begin...

So how does this happen? One minute I'm sitting on a bus on my way to Ecuador, minding my own business and completely anonymous to all those around me. The next minute I'm being filmed by the BBC arriving at Heathrow (in my socks, because I don't own any shoes) and having press and radio call me to ask what campaign ideas I have in place to guarantee my place in Oz.

The answer? None. I wasn't prepared for this. When one creates an application video in Peru using nothing but a compact digital camera, a talking llama and a Spanish version of Movie Maker... one doesn't really expect to beat 34000 other applicants to the short list (even if one is pretty short - 5'1" to be exact). I'd been mobile phone-less, laptop-less, and on the other side of the world in a different time zone when I found out I'd been short listed. This is a situation that does not make for easy campaigning.

I did as much as I could in Peru, doing radio interviews at 3am etc. However, I want this job more than I've ever wanted anything else in my life, so I decided to cut my travels short to come back to England to publicise my little bottom off. I landed just in time for a media press meeting with the other British candidates, the BBC, and the Queensland Tourism staff. 

It was brilliant to finally meet the other British candidates, and luckily we get on really well (mainly because we're all happy to constantly talk about Australia). I'm a little concerned about being behind on publicity. While I was in Peru, Holly (the other British girl) was asked to go on BBC London news, which is huge coverage for her. Also, Clare (the Taiwanese candidate) has somehow managed to get 80,000 votes! I've definitely got my work cut out for me. That said, I have the most votes out of everyone in Britain by a long way, so I guess that will work in my favour. Luckily, my sister, Michelle, has sorted out my 'homeless' problem by offering to let me share her room for the next week, so now it's go, go, go!

Come on Britain... there are 60 million of you... one vote each and I'm 59,920,000 votes ahead.

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness.” - Mark Twain

This is what I love about life... two days ago I didn't even own a mobile phone, and today I've spent the entire day chatting away to journalists, doing radio interviews at 3am (because of the time difference) and have sent and received so many emails that I've been blocked out of my hotmail account for 24 hours! I didn't even know that was possible!

I was also planning to be in Ecuador at this moment in time (I use the term 'planning' loosely - you're not that easily fooled). Instead I find myself living in a boxing arena in Peru with some fighters I met on the bus, whilst simultaneously making the Metro headlines in London. To me, this is what life is about... continuous possibility... never knowing where you're going to end up, who with, or why.

The guys are amazing! They are ridiculously generous and have not only allowed me to stay with them rent free (they would not accept any money), but they've also lent me a laptop and mobile, cooked for me every night (I've even received breakfast in bed twice), and taken me everywhere I need to go.

The only condition, it seems, is that I have to surrender my body to the world of fighting and learn to embrace their strict training regime (maybe they're training me up to be their cartoon guard dog). I feel so at home here, but I do feel a little at risk of turning into one of these guys. They make me drink protein shakes, eat lots of meat, watch fighting videos and do circuit training. I even now 'appreciate a good fight'. Another random adventure, into the world of martial arts, and thoroughly enjoying it.

I have also realised that you boys and girls are fantastic! I set up a facebook group asking all my friends to vote, and it got passed around so many strangers that I shot up to 14th place on the leader board. I may be 10,000 votes behind Taiwan, but I'm confident we can still kick a bit of international ass... especially with all this martial arts training I've been doing...

Sleep with one eye open Taiwan...

I also like the way that this is probably the most ridiculous situation I have ever found myself in (and that's saying something), yet none of you seem remotely surprised by all this. The constant response I seem to be getting is "that is so typical of you". Typical?! How can living in a fighting arena in Peru and receiving Z-list celebrity status off the back of a talking llama be considered 'typical behaviour'? And if it is, then how the hell did I manage to pass the psychometric test?

Right, I need to call every single journalist, radio producer and publicist I can possily think of, so ciao for now brown cows...

So, I have received a few messages asking me how the hell I ended up living in a fighting arena in Peru. Allow me to reveal in a small, bite-size morsel:

Having just discovered I'd made the short list, I danced my way onto the bus to Piura, hassled a poor Peruvian guy called Jose until he lent me his mobile phone to text my sister the good news. Then I got stuck in Nazca for 3 hours because the bus broke down, got harassed by a homeless guy who liked to pat me on the shoulder, practiced my Spanish on some street kids, and bought them some grapes in return. Eventually the bus kicked back into action and we finally arrived in Piura about four hours behind schedule.

By this point I was basically popping with excitement and desperate to get on the internet to start my campaigning. One mention of the words 'wireless internet' from Jose and we were on our way to his house (which turned out to be less of a house and more of a mixed martial arts fighting arena with two small rooms above it).

I only intended to stay for a couple of hours, but the fighters all cooked me dinner and I was enjoying speaking Spanish with them, so I remained there until the evening. I was just about to head out to find a hostel, when Jose said, "Sara, it's dark. Why don't you just sleep here? You can have your own bedroom..."

So, my friends, that is how I ended up living in a fighting arena in Peru.

Are we sitting comfortably? Good. Then we'll begin...

So folks, in my last blog I left you dozing off on the beach in Chile. Well wake up! I have quite an adventure to tell you about...

Now, I mentioned that my video application for the best job in the world was shown on GMTV. What I didn't tell you (because it was confidential information) is that I also received an email from Queensland Tourism telling me that I as being considered for the short list! Amazing (but not that surprising really - I mean, I am pretty short).

I now needed to take two psychometric tests to continue my application - not exactly the way I had envisaged spending my first day at the beach, but I was buzzing so much that I ran straight down to the nearest internet cafe, downed a Red Bull (there you go Red Bull girls - a bit of free advertising for you) and took the tests.

A couple of days later, I decided to travel up to Ecuador. I kissed Clare (the English girl I met in Oruro) goodbye and trundled to the bus stop alone. It was going to be a long journey (about 50 hours of buses on total), so I broke up my voyage with a dune buggy and sand boarding expedition on the sand dunes of Ica, Peru. Amazing fun - next time any of you decide to go snowboarding, count me in.

After a 17 hour bus ride to Lima spent cramming Spanish grammar, I had an hour to kill before submitting myself to another 17 hour journey to Piura, and popped into an internet cafe to pass the time. As I sat down I noticed the time: 18.59pm. At 5 hours behnd the UK, that made it 23.59 GMT - the exact time that the fina short list for the best job in the world was announced!

Eagerly, I surfed to the website (which took about 5 mins) and loaded the page (another 5 mins). The short list had been finalised, but the internet couldn't handle the stress and displayed just 50 boxes with red crosses in place of the pictures. I scanned through them, searching for a video from the UK and there it was; the only UK entry in the short list, looking back at me, taunting me to click. I pressed on the link and 3 mins later the video popped up.

It wasn't mine.

Not willing to accept failure quite so readily, I opened up my emails, desperate to find a little email from Queensland Tourism telling me to ignore the Peruvian internet.

Nothing.

It was 19.12 now... I had to acknowledge my fate. Yes, I had been considered for the short list, but not everyone could make it, and maybe the psychometric tests had revealed some psychotic behavioural traits in my personality...! Either way, I had to remind myself that I was just about to get on a bus to Ecuador - I was still a very lucky girl with everything to be happy for.

Disappointment subsiding, I began to close down the internet pages, when... there it was... a little girl, jumping for joy on a beach. But this wasn't any little girl. No, this was a very familiar little girl - it was me! Sarah Louise, United Kingdom.

How was this happening? Was it a mistake? A fault with the system that happened to load up my video from a database of 34,000 and display it in front of me in a cruel, freakish coincidence?

I couldn't wait for the answer... damn this slow internet! I clicked furiously at the tab for my hotmail account and eventually it gave way to my will and opened. There, at the top of the list in bold, unread writing were the words, those words, those beautiful words:

'Is this the email you've been waiting for...?'

Damn right it was! It's true! I've made it! I, Sarah Louise Lane of London, United Kingdom, have made it to the final 50 short list for the best job in the whole wide world! Life is amazing...

“Not all those who wander are lost.” - J. R. R. Tolkien