Olaf grins buoyantly when he's waved to. He's always appreciated people who observe the decency of a good welcome. "That depends on your definition of weird," he says. "For me, weird is relative. Once, I was so high that I walked out of my mate's house and I woke up in Sydney," he confesses, which hadn't been a bad trip, exactly, but it had been tricky to explain to immigration when they wanted to know how long he'd been away. "Drinks help. Do you need a drink?"