This great Geordie expression accurately sums up my holiday look, and, to some degree, Sydney as seen through my eyes. None of my clothes were right for the weather, which was cold, windy and wet, with the result that I (and Tricia too, for that matter) were fetchingly clad in light summer tops, in multiple layers (not great for the fuller figure) for warmth, bare feet in sandals, for comfort, as we tramped miles of wet pavements, and raincoats for pulling the whole image together. Hair straighteners were entirely redundant, so the Wurzel Gummidge look was complete. Basically, we looked like many other people in Sydney; apart from some obviously office-based workers, most people seemed to have a somewhat haphazard approach to dressing themselves for the weather, and we fitted right in.
All the tourist sights were seen, both from land and on a cruise of the harbour, pitching and tossing in the rain and wind, and oddly enough, we had a good time and were impressed with it all. I resisted throwing up, although it would have been easy to yield to the waves and the stench of diesel and drains that seem go together and cling to boats, and I took many, many photographs to inflict on the unwary when I get home.