I don't really drink. Which means that I often go an entire week or sometimes a month without having a drink. When I go to the doctors or fill out health questionnaires online I do not have to lie about my units per week because there are very rarely any report.
I can drink and I sometimes like to drink but I have never liked being drunk. For some odd reason despite having grown up around plenty of alcohol, and worked in bars on and off for years, I just don't have the strange love affair with booze that other people my age seem to.
This doesn't make me better than anyone else and I honestly believe that. It is difficult to come across as genuinely meaning that. Whenever I try to have a conversation with anyone about it the self-righteous 'drinking is evil' and the anti-hedonistic 'drink is the devil' soap-boxes ruin things for me. I don't belong in either of those camps. I actually find it awkward sometimes that I don't like to drink, and that when I do drink to excess, that I get freaked out and upset more than I get deliriously happy and have a great time.
Standing behind a bar every weekend doesn't help. I actually make a living out of observing and contributing to drunken behaviour. I also watch my evening disintegrate into a chore rather than a pleasure as the people I enjoy talking to slowly get more and more drunk. Sadder even still is that so many of them are back night after night putting away 10 - 15 pints and not seeming to register that it isn't healthy or normal. But there is the problem; I think that it might actually be normal.
Last night was particularly difficult. A girl, can't have been much younger than me, let's say around 22, came into the bar, on her own, very, very drunk.
She sat down, pestered the people around her in that way that really trashed people do by slurring and stroking them inappropriately, by gesticulating wildly, shouting and knocking things over. I served her. That is my job and her money is as good as anyone else's. Initially I served her because when she came in she was so familiar with a guy at the bar that I thought they were together and I had already served him. Unfortunately for him he was just her first victim. Then she asked for a shot of tequila which I really shouldn't have given her. But I did. I simply didn't realise how drunk she was. So often it's difficult to tell - if you don't know someone then you don't know their limit. Another girl might have fared better after that shot of tequila. Might not have thrown up at the bar and then in the street. Another Bar Person might not have been so horrified. Or surprised.
I can't explain how sick I felt for her and at myself for having served her. I did the hair holding, water bringing, where do you live thing but honestly I had no hope. The little sense that I could get out of her seemed to indicate that she lived around 20 miles away, that she lived alone and that she didn't know anyone in the city. I couldn't force her onto a train [which she might not have been allowed on in her state] and I knew she wouldn't be let into a cab so when she left there was nothing I could do to stop her.
That is an extreme example, but what the hell happened to her? She was in no state to protect herself or make rational decisions. And she was a stranger.
One of my friends has recently become tee-total after realising that she actually did have a problem. I didn't even know she had a problem. Because I don't drink I never really drank with her, and so I never realised how much she drank, or what she did when she was drunk.
At university I lived with a girl who gave herself alcohol poisoning at least once a month and eventually learnt after many nursings, that if she kept boiled sweets by her bed she could stop herself from uncontrollably vomiting when she woke up without telling anyone.
Almost every girl I know has told me a story about a time when they really shouldn't have gone home with that guy, or when they really shouldn't have walked back on their own or when they really should have reported that taxi driver/doorman/random over that horrible thing that happened.
My Dad is probably an alcoholic and has been for as long as I can remember.
I don't hate drinking or our drink culture. I don't worry about drink prices or 24 hour licencing laws. I don't want to ban public drinking or raise the age to 21. I don't advocate stronger controls over pubs, clubs or bars. It's your life - if you drink then it's your choice.
What does bother me is that drinking is something we accept without thinking about it because it is all around us. Our society promotes it. We all 'need a drink' sometimes. We all laugh about the last time we got wasted and what a awful hangover we had.
But you know what? It's not actually funny for some people. For some people it is a serious problem.
20 September 2009
31 August 2009
Blind Love . . .
Here is a concept not previously considered in any depth. One that was forced on me last night whilst watching television with my hysterical mother and Pickling Friend.
I have thought on the complexities of Love At First Sight and its likelihood [not very]. I have wandered about the effects of Love Sickness and Puppy Love. I'm not sure I have experienced either. How can you be Love Sick and not hate the person who is making you Love Sick?
Anyway - Blind Love is apparently a phenomenon where you are fall madly in love but cannot see the disaster you are about to encounter. Where you cannot fight your way out of a relationship that is fundamentally unstable. No, not unstable, damaging.
Love it seems is subjective. Perhaps not a surprise to most people. But think of how love is marketed. How we commercialise, package and deliver love - in films, in advertising, in product promotion, in sport, on animal rescue programs, on television. We have a single view of love. We are sold a one-time-one-stop-solution-if-you-feel-like-this-then-its-love theory. In our society now this has even less restrictions than it used to; you can now love someone of the same sex, or of a different race/culture/religion, you can marry an animal, you can fall in love with some decades older/younger than yourself, you can fall in love online. But we know what it feels like don't we? It feels like it felt for Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman. It's like it was for Alfie and Kat, or Katie and Peter. But perhaps not always.
You see Blind Love is even more obsessive and destructive than the Hollywood template. It's love with no reason. A love with only one feasible outcome. An unhappy ending.
But who am I to say that this is psychologically damaging and that these people aren't really happy? The way that I 'love' might not be Hollywood and it might not be blind but it isn't right either.
Blind Love is the ultimate emotional extreme.
Who can say that isn't the best way to love?
I have thought on the complexities of Love At First Sight and its likelihood [not very]. I have wandered about the effects of Love Sickness and Puppy Love. I'm not sure I have experienced either. How can you be Love Sick and not hate the person who is making you Love Sick?
Anyway - Blind Love is apparently a phenomenon where you are fall madly in love but cannot see the disaster you are about to encounter. Where you cannot fight your way out of a relationship that is fundamentally unstable. No, not unstable, damaging.
Love it seems is subjective. Perhaps not a surprise to most people. But think of how love is marketed. How we commercialise, package and deliver love - in films, in advertising, in product promotion, in sport, on animal rescue programs, on television. We have a single view of love. We are sold a one-time-one-stop-solution-if-you-feel-like-this-then-its-love theory. In our society now this has even less restrictions than it used to; you can now love someone of the same sex, or of a different race/culture/religion, you can marry an animal, you can fall in love with some decades older/younger than yourself, you can fall in love online. But we know what it feels like don't we? It feels like it felt for Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman. It's like it was for Alfie and Kat, or Katie and Peter. But perhaps not always.
You see Blind Love is even more obsessive and destructive than the Hollywood template. It's love with no reason. A love with only one feasible outcome. An unhappy ending.
But who am I to say that this is psychologically damaging and that these people aren't really happy? The way that I 'love' might not be Hollywood and it might not be blind but it isn't right either.
Blind Love is the ultimate emotional extreme.
Who can say that isn't the best way to love?
30 July 2009
The Little Mermaid . . .
Here is a old tale with a new twist and it's not Disney.
My oldest friend has recently come to shore and is now happily living with me in the glorious sea-side town of Brighton. We have been friends for 22 years but I am discovering things about her now that I never knew. One of them is her midnight transformation. I'm not talking about the spine-cracking, fur growing, spiky toothed, howling kind of transformation, oh no, this is better.
I am referring to what happens when my dearest friend looks up from her drink and gets a strange twinkle in her eye, suddenly leaps from her chair, canters out of the pub and disappears across the shingle yelling about "Midnight Sea Swimming".
Now this isn't so unusual, in fact, it's almost a phenomenon around these parts. I have known many succumb to the waves after a few. In fact I have shared beds with still salty people in all their clothes. I have distracted taxi drivers with precarious kebabs whilst a gang of dripping drunks have piled into their cabs. But not one of these events has been executed with the style that this siren so seamlessly possesses.
What makes the Midnight Transformation so special is her ability to recruit. On the stormy nights that she has thus far stripped off and plunged into the waves it hasn't been alone - but more amazingly it also hasn't been with any of the original party. No, this girl, whilst streaming down the beach shedding dress, shoes and bra, collects randoms from the shore and ensconces them into her salty frolics.
So whilst I am becoming used to waking up and staggering into the bathroom with a hangover only to hop and swear on the shingle strewn across the floor, I am also the only girl in Brighton who gets to make tea for the morning-after mermaid.
13 July 2009
Selling Out . . .
Why have I never thought of this? Instead of having of an ex-boyfriend box I have discovered a new joy; a new and more economical alternative to the infamous Ex-Boyfriend-Bonfire. Oh yes. This is the new world - selling all the memorabilia. Selling it all on eBay!
Now, before you judge me, this does make complete sense. My emotional attachment to these items means nothing to the anonymous bidder. I get to avoid the painful unearthing of items with memories by wrapping them in brown paper and sending them far, far away.
I am making a profit of the turmoil of breaking up. I am a true capitalist. I have no soul. But, despite this, I do actually feel better.
I did happen to have a boyfriend who regularly gave me utterly useless things which I didn't want. He also sulked about my reception of such gifts as I have one of those faces which it is difficult to hide disappointment on. My face cannot lie and so I was doomed to always receive my impromptu love-gifts and then begin an argument about my disgustingly ungrateful attitude. Is it really so wrong to want something fluffy or sparkly or cute and then look a little bit sad when you are given an electronic guinea pig, which is frankly none of the above? No. No it is not. In fact I think you are beginning to see my point, no?
Well, my time has come and revenge is sweet because now that I am passing on my treasures I can truly get what we so often get to experience - satisfying closure. Because now I can take my heartless profits and buy what I bloody well wanted in the first place. And it won't matter what face I make when I get it home!
I recommend this. Pass on the joy!
Now, before you judge me, this does make complete sense. My emotional attachment to these items means nothing to the anonymous bidder. I get to avoid the painful unearthing of items with memories by wrapping them in brown paper and sending them far, far away.
I am making a profit of the turmoil of breaking up. I am a true capitalist. I have no soul. But, despite this, I do actually feel better.
I did happen to have a boyfriend who regularly gave me utterly useless things which I didn't want. He also sulked about my reception of such gifts as I have one of those faces which it is difficult to hide disappointment on. My face cannot lie and so I was doomed to always receive my impromptu love-gifts and then begin an argument about my disgustingly ungrateful attitude. Is it really so wrong to want something fluffy or sparkly or cute and then look a little bit sad when you are given an electronic guinea pig, which is frankly none of the above? No. No it is not. In fact I think you are beginning to see my point, no?
Well, my time has come and revenge is sweet because now that I am passing on my treasures I can truly get what we so often get to experience - satisfying closure. Because now I can take my heartless profits and buy what I bloody well wanted in the first place. And it won't matter what face I make when I get it home!
I recommend this. Pass on the joy!
10 June 2009
Secrets & Lies
‘are… intimate secrets what make [people] the unique beings [we] love? No. What people keep secret is the most common, the most ordinary, the most prevalent thing, the same thing everyone has.’ Identity - Milan Kundera, pg. 97
Do we all have secrets in common? Why do we choose to keep secrets?
I keep secrets because I know I cannot admit something without revealing a dishonesty or hurting someone. I cannot tell the secret without exposing myself in a way that leaves me or others too vulnerable. I keep secrets to protect others from myself. So I have very few secrets because for me they are a bad thing. I have none from the people I love most.
Some people keep secrets for different reasons; some keep them because they are delicious: succulent, selfish pleasures. They create mystery, they satisfy a need to intrigue – they are a holding back. A tease. Having a secret can give you a thrill – can make you feel special, but why are you keeping it?
What makes it different from a lie? Where does the line fall between a secret we keep for pleasure [that we feel entitled to save for ourselves] and information we know we cannot pass on without incriminating ourselves? Sometimes they must be the same surely. So do we justify lying by calling it something else?
One can lie by omission. Holding back something we know to protect others from the truth. We reason that if we are not asked a direct question then it is not lying to not tell what we are not asked for. Is this a secret?For example if I am having an affair is my affair a secret that is mine to keep, a delicious, sexy secret knowledge or is it a lie to my husband? If he never asks me if I am sleeping with someone else can I pretend that it’s a secret to never tell him?
How many lies do you tell? How many secrets are you keeping? Or have you kept? And when you choose to tell someone a secret [which we nearly always do] what are you doing? You are decommissioning the knowledge, making it public – is this trusting someone or betraying yourself or possibly the others involved? What if the secret isn’t yours to tell? How well do you keep other people’s secrets – does it count if you know the have already told you?
When someone loves you and you love them does that grant them access to everything? Do you have to tell them your secrets? Or your lies?
Do we all have secrets in common? Why do we choose to keep secrets?
I keep secrets because I know I cannot admit something without revealing a dishonesty or hurting someone. I cannot tell the secret without exposing myself in a way that leaves me or others too vulnerable. I keep secrets to protect others from myself. So I have very few secrets because for me they are a bad thing. I have none from the people I love most.
Some people keep secrets for different reasons; some keep them because they are delicious: succulent, selfish pleasures. They create mystery, they satisfy a need to intrigue – they are a holding back. A tease. Having a secret can give you a thrill – can make you feel special, but why are you keeping it?
What makes it different from a lie? Where does the line fall between a secret we keep for pleasure [that we feel entitled to save for ourselves] and information we know we cannot pass on without incriminating ourselves? Sometimes they must be the same surely. So do we justify lying by calling it something else?
One can lie by omission. Holding back something we know to protect others from the truth. We reason that if we are not asked a direct question then it is not lying to not tell what we are not asked for. Is this a secret?For example if I am having an affair is my affair a secret that is mine to keep, a delicious, sexy secret knowledge or is it a lie to my husband? If he never asks me if I am sleeping with someone else can I pretend that it’s a secret to never tell him?
How many lies do you tell? How many secrets are you keeping? Or have you kept? And when you choose to tell someone a secret [which we nearly always do] what are you doing? You are decommissioning the knowledge, making it public – is this trusting someone or betraying yourself or possibly the others involved? What if the secret isn’t yours to tell? How well do you keep other people’s secrets – does it count if you know the have already told you?
When someone loves you and you love them does that grant them access to everything? Do you have to tell them your secrets? Or your lies?
8 June 2009
Free Fallin'
Today I remembered a few things about being younger. When life was not about bills and banks, politics and policy, work and worry. The days I drank in the afternoons without feeling guilty and spent hours in a pub with only a pint and never worried about looking like a pikey. The times that I thought smoking was something I'd give up when I got older and that I'd never end up like my parents.
The days I discovered The Eagles and Tom Petty and thought I was original. When heartbreak was something you pretended to have because it looked interesting on Dawson's Creek. When having an argument with your friends meant making up via a passed note in English or French or Maths depending on how long you could hold a grudge for.
The nights when not doing your homework was the most brilliant rebellion and that Cocktail was a blue movie because of the waterfall scene.
Here's to those days! What a beautiful, sweet memory they are now. And for you darling, here's some music that takes me right back there . . . . to The Angel and Queens Street and 8a and our wonderful, fucked up issues.
She's a good girl, loves her mama
Loves Jesus and America too
She's a good girl, crazy 'bout Elvis
Loves horses and her boyfriend too
It's a long day livin' in Reseda
There's a freeway runnin' through the yard
And I'm a bad boy, 'cause I don't even miss her
I'm a bad boy for breakin' her heart
And I'm free, I'm free fallin'
All the vampires walkin' through the valley
Move west down Ventura Blvd
And all the bad boys are standing in the shadows
All the good girls are home with broken hearts
And I'm free, I'm free fallin'
I wanna glide down over Mulholland
I wanna write her name in the sky
I wanna free fall out into nothin'
Gonna leave this world for awhile
And I'm free, I'm free fallin'
I love you x
The days I discovered The Eagles and Tom Petty and thought I was original. When heartbreak was something you pretended to have because it looked interesting on Dawson's Creek. When having an argument with your friends meant making up via a passed note in English or French or Maths depending on how long you could hold a grudge for.
The nights when not doing your homework was the most brilliant rebellion and that Cocktail was a blue movie because of the waterfall scene.
Here's to those days! What a beautiful, sweet memory they are now. And for you darling, here's some music that takes me right back there . . . . to The Angel and Queens Street and 8a and our wonderful, fucked up issues.
She's a good girl, loves her mama
Loves Jesus and America too
She's a good girl, crazy 'bout Elvis
Loves horses and her boyfriend too
It's a long day livin' in Reseda
There's a freeway runnin' through the yard
And I'm a bad boy, 'cause I don't even miss her
I'm a bad boy for breakin' her heart
And I'm free, I'm free fallin'
All the vampires walkin' through the valley
Move west down Ventura Blvd
And all the bad boys are standing in the shadows
All the good girls are home with broken hearts
And I'm free, I'm free fallin'
I wanna glide down over Mulholland
I wanna write her name in the sky
I wanna free fall out into nothin'
Gonna leave this world for awhile
And I'm free, I'm free fallin'
I love you x
3 June 2009
The Blunders of Men
As a newly single person I feel that it is important to share my most recent experiences with you.
I do appreciate that I have been ‘off the scene’ for a while and probably was never very on it in the first place but despite not looking for any kind of partnership I have encountered some serious blunders in recent weeks. Not my blunders I add. The blunders of men.
The first is pretty standard accept for the total denial of the protagonist. I met someone recently who I was going to ‘date’ [as in going out with the intention of getting laid] but it never really got off the ground. We live some distance apart and so it seemed too complicated given that neither of us was really that keen. Well, he decided to get back in contact recently and I happened to be available so suggested a meet [this time not with any intention] but he had a busy schedule. We missed each other again and I decided that rather than wait up all night I should put it down to fate and go to bed. I also happened to turn my phone to silent [unusual] for me before I finally fell asleep. When I woke I had 16 missed calls, 5 txt messages and 2 answer phone messages from this person. All of them from the time between 02:15 and 02:45. Obviously the man was drunk and his messages proved how utterly incoherent he had been – but this severe flurry of activity seems to have occurred during the time at which he would have been least capable of entertaining me. What makes this perhaps typical oddity even stranger was that he continued to ring me throughout the morning until I finally spoke to him and he accused me of being a “light-weight” and not “up for a laugh”. Have I missed something here?
After this disappointing show my weekend proceeded to get weirder.
I left very early from Devon to drive back to Sussex and stopped in Taunton for some fuel. I pulled up to a pump at 06:22 and proceeded to try and fill the tank – the pump unfortunately was not working and looking around in hope of finding some assistance I noticed a man staring at me from the door of the service station. Now, I want to be quite clear in this description, he was about 40 and was dressed in a dirty, cream linen suit and he was decidedly dishevelled – he looked like a cross between the man from Delmonte and Michael Douglas when he gets out of a coffin in Mexico in The Game.
I asked him in a bit of a stroppy tone “Is there a reason that this pump isn’t working?” thinking 'he probably knows something that I don’t which is why he’s grinning at me'. He replies, in the most disgustingly smooth voice “I don’t know darling but I’d really like to help you” and starts walking towards me.
At this point I get that uncomfortable feeling I get when two ugly people are snogging in public. But just in the nick of time a bloke walks out of the garage and tells me that pump 5 is not working but he’s just about to go so I skip the car over and fill up the tank. Mr Delmonte has backed off a bit and is lurking by the door. As I go in to pay for the petrol he asks me where I’m going and so I tell him I’m going home to Brighton.
As I leave the shop he’s still there and starts walking besides me toward my car.
HIM: “Next time you’re in town why don’t you come up [insert address and postcode!] – I will make you feel very welcome.
ME: Abject horror.
HIM: “I think you’re lovely.”
ME: “It’s too early for this shit.”
Why on God's earth would you give a total stranger your full address and postcode?
Men here is a note worth taking down. There are ways and means and neither of the above examples are acceptable. Must try harder.
I do appreciate that I have been ‘off the scene’ for a while and probably was never very on it in the first place but despite not looking for any kind of partnership I have encountered some serious blunders in recent weeks. Not my blunders I add. The blunders of men.
The first is pretty standard accept for the total denial of the protagonist. I met someone recently who I was going to ‘date’ [as in going out with the intention of getting laid] but it never really got off the ground. We live some distance apart and so it seemed too complicated given that neither of us was really that keen. Well, he decided to get back in contact recently and I happened to be available so suggested a meet [this time not with any intention] but he had a busy schedule. We missed each other again and I decided that rather than wait up all night I should put it down to fate and go to bed. I also happened to turn my phone to silent [unusual] for me before I finally fell asleep. When I woke I had 16 missed calls, 5 txt messages and 2 answer phone messages from this person. All of them from the time between 02:15 and 02:45. Obviously the man was drunk and his messages proved how utterly incoherent he had been – but this severe flurry of activity seems to have occurred during the time at which he would have been least capable of entertaining me. What makes this perhaps typical oddity even stranger was that he continued to ring me throughout the morning until I finally spoke to him and he accused me of being a “light-weight” and not “up for a laugh”. Have I missed something here?
After this disappointing show my weekend proceeded to get weirder.
I left very early from Devon to drive back to Sussex and stopped in Taunton for some fuel. I pulled up to a pump at 06:22 and proceeded to try and fill the tank – the pump unfortunately was not working and looking around in hope of finding some assistance I noticed a man staring at me from the door of the service station. Now, I want to be quite clear in this description, he was about 40 and was dressed in a dirty, cream linen suit and he was decidedly dishevelled – he looked like a cross between the man from Delmonte and Michael Douglas when he gets out of a coffin in Mexico in The Game.
I asked him in a bit of a stroppy tone “Is there a reason that this pump isn’t working?” thinking 'he probably knows something that I don’t which is why he’s grinning at me'. He replies, in the most disgustingly smooth voice “I don’t know darling but I’d really like to help you” and starts walking towards me.
At this point I get that uncomfortable feeling I get when two ugly people are snogging in public. But just in the nick of time a bloke walks out of the garage and tells me that pump 5 is not working but he’s just about to go so I skip the car over and fill up the tank. Mr Delmonte has backed off a bit and is lurking by the door. As I go in to pay for the petrol he asks me where I’m going and so I tell him I’m going home to Brighton.
As I leave the shop he’s still there and starts walking besides me toward my car.
HIM: “Next time you’re in town why don’t you come up [insert address and postcode!] – I will make you feel very welcome.
ME: Abject horror.
HIM: “I think you’re lovely.”
ME: “It’s too early for this shit.”
Why on God's earth would you give a total stranger your full address and postcode?
Men here is a note worth taking down. There are ways and means and neither of the above examples are acceptable. Must try harder.
15 May 2009
Being yourself
"To be nobody-but-yourself -- in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else -- means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting."
e e cummings
Perhaps it is being yourself which is the hardest thing to do. It is difficult to know exactly how to define what ‘being yourself’ is exactly. People say “You don’t seem yourself” but I could be that you are the only person who will ever really know what it means to be yourself.
To a certain extent it is arguable that all of our interactions are an act. Every time I am observed I am acting. I act being myself. I act work, I act play. I act love. And you act love as well. So when we say “I love you” we are just reading the most cliched of scripts.
How much courage does it take to strip that down to the bone and to never lie or to hide anything. Sometimes a lie is the best thing. A white lie; a lie that protects. What about helping someone else to lie? Covering up. What about the lies we tell every time we smile at someone we don’t like? Is this being yourself? Our lives dictate that we must learn to adapt our behaviour and yet we hold integrity and honesty of character in such high esteem. How can we achieve both?
I am growing back into my own skin again. Like a stranger in my body; a tourist in my life. I don’t have to think twice about every decision but I do notice that as I let go I am starting to do annoying things like be forgetful. I cherish my own company less because I am not running away from anyone just for the silence. And I am happy. Strange and clumsy word on my tongue – unfamiliar shadow. An entirely new light falls on everything – even the things that make me sad.
e e cummings
Perhaps it is being yourself which is the hardest thing to do. It is difficult to know exactly how to define what ‘being yourself’ is exactly. People say “You don’t seem yourself” but I could be that you are the only person who will ever really know what it means to be yourself.
To a certain extent it is arguable that all of our interactions are an act. Every time I am observed I am acting. I act being myself. I act work, I act play. I act love. And you act love as well. So when we say “I love you” we are just reading the most cliched of scripts.
How much courage does it take to strip that down to the bone and to never lie or to hide anything. Sometimes a lie is the best thing. A white lie; a lie that protects. What about helping someone else to lie? Covering up. What about the lies we tell every time we smile at someone we don’t like? Is this being yourself? Our lives dictate that we must learn to adapt our behaviour and yet we hold integrity and honesty of character in such high esteem. How can we achieve both?
I am growing back into my own skin again. Like a stranger in my body; a tourist in my life. I don’t have to think twice about every decision but I do notice that as I let go I am starting to do annoying things like be forgetful. I cherish my own company less because I am not running away from anyone just for the silence. And I am happy. Strange and clumsy word on my tongue – unfamiliar shadow. An entirely new light falls on everything – even the things that make me sad.
7 May 2009
Bras & Anti-Capitalists
It was a pleasant bank holiday weekend in Brighton. Starting on Saturday with a trip to the vet with Steve that left me £90 lighter and broke the car.
In the evening I took Rob, Henry and his friend Jon to Komedia to see the Krater Comedy late-show. A pretty good line-up with a very, very funny first act. There was then continuation of the drinking which as usual, ended on West Street – oh God help me. I blame Henry entirely for this as I never go there unless he is around. I did meet some very “nice” lads from Haywards Heath [exotic] who we couldn’t get rid of for a few hours. One of them had a Sugar Puff t-shirt I remember vaguely.
Sunday I had lunch with Ilona in the Pavilion Gardens – where the sky mirror has been set-up. We did some catching up and she is very excited about a new man on the scene. I then went for a very long walk from Hove lawns to the Pier and back again and watched ‘The Day the Earth Stood Still’ for the second time.
Monday the weather was disappointing so there were no frivolities on the beach; which had been planned for 51 as a bonding session. Instead Katie cooked me some lovely lunch and stuffed me full of Ferrero Rocher before forcing me into Bravissimo. Now, it is important to note that Monday was also the chosen day for the Anti-Capitalist March through Brighton which targeted businesses such as Macdonald’s whom they believe to be connected to the weapons manufacturer in Mouslecoombe. I had no idea that they were building weapons at the bottom of my road! I lived there for a year without this knowledge. Anyway, there were quite a few angry people wandering through Brighton whilst Kate and I were browsing bra-styles and waiting for fittings.
Maybe I am naive but I wasn’t really prepared for the fitting experience. Firstly, although I am famed for my love of a little naked time I do tend to only indulge around well known company, taking my top off and having a stranger stare directly at my chest was very odd. I don’t mind the top off part but the sort of direct staring was unnerving. Then having several bras handed to me and being instructed to “put yourself in it properly” whilst muttering and pondering about sizing was occurring began to make me uncomfortable. To add insult to injury I began to worry that my fitting lady would be alarmed by my actions and so I couldn’t decide how to stand or whether to put the robe on or where to look. Anyway, the result of the entire experience is I have been told that I am a 34F. Yes. An F cup. I am horrified by this knowledge although my bra does feel pretty good.
So whilst policemen were swarming all over Brighton trying to prevent a riot and paramedics were being warned that they would be targeted in any violence and protestors were shouting and burning things to improve the world I was having my breasts sized by a strange woman.
I think mine was the more successful revolution.
In the evening I took Rob, Henry and his friend Jon to Komedia to see the Krater Comedy late-show. A pretty good line-up with a very, very funny first act. There was then continuation of the drinking which as usual, ended on West Street – oh God help me. I blame Henry entirely for this as I never go there unless he is around. I did meet some very “nice” lads from Haywards Heath [exotic] who we couldn’t get rid of for a few hours. One of them had a Sugar Puff t-shirt I remember vaguely.
Sunday I had lunch with Ilona in the Pavilion Gardens – where the sky mirror has been set-up. We did some catching up and she is very excited about a new man on the scene. I then went for a very long walk from Hove lawns to the Pier and back again and watched ‘The Day the Earth Stood Still’ for the second time.
Monday the weather was disappointing so there were no frivolities on the beach; which had been planned for 51 as a bonding session. Instead Katie cooked me some lovely lunch and stuffed me full of Ferrero Rocher before forcing me into Bravissimo. Now, it is important to note that Monday was also the chosen day for the Anti-Capitalist March through Brighton which targeted businesses such as Macdonald’s whom they believe to be connected to the weapons manufacturer in Mouslecoombe. I had no idea that they were building weapons at the bottom of my road! I lived there for a year without this knowledge. Anyway, there were quite a few angry people wandering through Brighton whilst Kate and I were browsing bra-styles and waiting for fittings.
Maybe I am naive but I wasn’t really prepared for the fitting experience. Firstly, although I am famed for my love of a little naked time I do tend to only indulge around well known company, taking my top off and having a stranger stare directly at my chest was very odd. I don’t mind the top off part but the sort of direct staring was unnerving. Then having several bras handed to me and being instructed to “put yourself in it properly” whilst muttering and pondering about sizing was occurring began to make me uncomfortable. To add insult to injury I began to worry that my fitting lady would be alarmed by my actions and so I couldn’t decide how to stand or whether to put the robe on or where to look. Anyway, the result of the entire experience is I have been told that I am a 34F. Yes. An F cup. I am horrified by this knowledge although my bra does feel pretty good.
So whilst policemen were swarming all over Brighton trying to prevent a riot and paramedics were being warned that they would be targeted in any violence and protestors were shouting and burning things to improve the world I was having my breasts sized by a strange woman.
I think mine was the more successful revolution.
3 May 2009
The End of Days
Well avid readers [Leah] as I'm now home it seems nonsensical to continue blogging about Australia, but because I want a complete diary of my trip I will finish what I started . . .
After returning from our trip down The Great Ocean Road El made us a lovely prawn pasta [this is her speciality] and we caught up on all the action and I was very grateful to be back in Rupert who by this time felt like home.
Poor El dutifully went back to work the following morning and Leah and I continued our adventures over the next few days by visiting Ackland Street for cake [oooooh custard pastry thingy with icing sugar], drinking lots coffee, eating pizza in a wind storm, going to the fantastic Art Gallery in Melbourne [one of many] to see the beautiful stained glass ceiling and ending up trapped amongst some very ornate silverware. We managed to see Constable's Clouds and some fine impressionists so I was happy. We spent some serious time editing The Cooking Show with what I hope will be hilarious results - I believe it will be posted on Leah's blog if you have a spare 25 minutes check it out - it's probably the most embarrassing footage ever taken of me. I no longer have any shame.
I took Leah to the Reading Room at the library and we spent a few happy hours there together doing what we love best [reading] and I suddenly realised how arrogant it was of me not appreciate my schooling. I was given time [like we all are] to learn for free when knowledge was freely available for the taking and the resources I needed were supplied and I had the audacity to complain about it?! Rob said something interesting on Friday evening, he said that as teenagers we truly believe that education is more for the benefit of the teacher than the pupil. I know I felt like sometimes especially with subjects I didn't like, but for the opportunity to do it again now, at this age; to just be able to study whatever I wanted because I had time and I wanted to learn, I'd bite your hand off!
Anyway, however pleasantly the last few days of my stay passed it was always with the heavy knowledge that I would have to leave. And believe me when I say that it weighed me down just knowing it was coming.
Darling, I can't thank you enough for all the effort you made whilst I stayed with you both. El was incredibly patient and lovely and let us have all that gorgeous time together and had to work! You planned so many things for me to see and do and it wouldn't have mattered if you hadn't because just seeing you again after such a long time was amazing. Leaving was horrible and I cried a lot on the bus to the airport [by the by I was about 3 hours early for my flight] and thought about you all the way home. I am the luckiest person I know to have you in my life and I have no idea how to get through the next couple of months without you all over again.
I had a fantastic time and came home full of energy and very, very happy.
You rock my world, even from the other side of the planet.
After returning from our trip down The Great Ocean Road El made us a lovely prawn pasta [this is her speciality] and we caught up on all the action and I was very grateful to be back in Rupert who by this time felt like home.
Poor El dutifully went back to work the following morning and Leah and I continued our adventures over the next few days by visiting Ackland Street for cake [oooooh custard pastry thingy with icing sugar], drinking lots coffee, eating pizza in a wind storm, going to the fantastic Art Gallery in Melbourne [one of many] to see the beautiful stained glass ceiling and ending up trapped amongst some very ornate silverware. We managed to see Constable's Clouds and some fine impressionists so I was happy. We spent some serious time editing The Cooking Show with what I hope will be hilarious results - I believe it will be posted on Leah's blog if you have a spare 25 minutes check it out - it's probably the most embarrassing footage ever taken of me. I no longer have any shame.
I took Leah to the Reading Room at the library and we spent a few happy hours there together doing what we love best [reading] and I suddenly realised how arrogant it was of me not appreciate my schooling. I was given time [like we all are] to learn for free when knowledge was freely available for the taking and the resources I needed were supplied and I had the audacity to complain about it?! Rob said something interesting on Friday evening, he said that as teenagers we truly believe that education is more for the benefit of the teacher than the pupil. I know I felt like sometimes especially with subjects I didn't like, but for the opportunity to do it again now, at this age; to just be able to study whatever I wanted because I had time and I wanted to learn, I'd bite your hand off!
Anyway, however pleasantly the last few days of my stay passed it was always with the heavy knowledge that I would have to leave. And believe me when I say that it weighed me down just knowing it was coming.
Darling, I can't thank you enough for all the effort you made whilst I stayed with you both. El was incredibly patient and lovely and let us have all that gorgeous time together and had to work! You planned so many things for me to see and do and it wouldn't have mattered if you hadn't because just seeing you again after such a long time was amazing. Leaving was horrible and I cried a lot on the bus to the airport [by the by I was about 3 hours early for my flight] and thought about you all the way home. I am the luckiest person I know to have you in my life and I have no idea how to get through the next couple of months without you all over again.
I had a fantastic time and came home full of energy and very, very happy.
You rock my world, even from the other side of the planet.
27 April 2009
Days 8 & 9: Pixie & The Great Ocean Road
We sadly abandoned El to the beginning of her working week and the now 2 Musketeers went in search of breakfast. We dined at a delightful cafe and I had green eggs and ham - I didn't even know that this existed. I was very happy about the ham and not so sure about the green eggs. Leah and I discussed how people with lots of money learn how to spend it and whether if we had lots of money we'd care to become "It" Girls. I'm sure you can imagine the outcome of that chat!
Anyway, before too long we set-out without a map to find the beginning of The Great Ocean Road and navigate our way to my Godmothers. As is Leah's way she has been known for some ten years as Pixie Godmother as we once encountered her on a train back from Brighton. If she did once resemble a Pixie she doesn't any longer, but either way she is now living at least half the year in Aireys Inlet about 2 hours from Melbourne. A very convenient stop on our tour and the place where Round The Twist was filmed. The lighthouse from the program is the famous Split Point Lighthouse just outside Pixie's door!
So we arrive at about lunchtime after a quick coffee in Torquay and not too many wrong turns. We are taken on a pleasant walk to the bay and taught about the local wildlife and history of the area. I fail to get any personal information out of Pixie and we settle for small-talk.
We ate lunch together and as Leah and I are planning our escape to avoid the next walk Pix invites herself along for a swim. She then directs us to a secluded bay which requires a half mile cliff scramble and attempts to teach me to body-board. This is hilarious as she is not the sort of woman that I ever expected to be whooping and splashing around the in sea! We then have dinner and get put to bed very early after detailed discussions of Pixie's imminent trip to Tasmania and a short program on unemployment in Australia.
We hot-footed it out of Aireys early the next morning to prevent any delay to Pixie's Tasmainian tour and continue our drive along the fantastic road. It is difficult to describe what an amazing experience this was; you are driving on the clifftops for most of the journey as if you could slide straight into the brilliant ocean. There is hardly a car in sight and the weather was fantastic.
We stop to pick up a couple of French boys from the side of the road and drive them to The Twelve Apostles. They are quite quiet but Leah informs me that one of them smells pretty strongly. The road has turned inland at this point and we are now driving across acres and acres of beautiful farm land. We deposit our European load and take in the eleven ancient pillars of stone before I decide that it's time for a swim and Leah directs us to Lock Ard Gorge.
This is a deep cut, secluded beach with huge caves at either end. I am too scared to go in the water mostly because of the shark scene in The Beach [it looks just like that beach] but also because it's quite rough, so Leah buries my leg in an attempt to get me to understand what it would mean to be disabled and after I'm sufficiently sun burnt we leave to find some lunch. Incidently, this place is named after two passengers who washed ashore after their steamer was wrecked and who survived in the cave for a night before being rescued.
We lunch in Port Campbell where I park the wrong way in the street and upset some locals, we have a damn good sandwich and then some even better ice cream and I go in to the most perfect surf shop in the world and wish I had more money and that I spent my life surfing and being cool. It is now time to go home and despite the fact that we did plan to camp one night somewhere on route we ditch this idea in favour of returning to El and having more time to spend in Melbourne before I have to leave.
I suggest that if you get the chance to ask Leah what we discussed on our journey home that you do as I feel I cannot publish it here but that it should be shared.
26 April 2009
Day 7: Hot Springs
Morning broke and we packed up camp. I sadly returned "the crab" to the reception even though it had been offered as a gift the previous evening. We waved goodbye to the campsite and set-off off the the local market.
I am not a fan of markets. It's not that I don't see the point of them, or that I cannot acknowledge that you can pick up some good bargains/fresh produce/original gifts, it's just that whenever Leah and I go anywhere we have to attend a market. So this occasion was no different except perhaps that this was a market of particular poor quality with a band. I say band, but maybe I should explain that it was one elderly gentleman who was almost certainly deaf and his crazed looking wife armed with keyboard. Her contribution to the music was to choose the demo backing and hit the start button whilst he sang tunelessly about when he had been younger. I sincerely hope that when he had been younger that he had been of better calibre.
From here we journeyed on to a Wildlife Reserve with real life Kangaroo's that you could hand feed and a lama and a pen full of Hoppies [Wallabies] and horses and a whole bunch of terrifying Emus. The place is built in the shape of a worm and seems to be mostly dedicated to the special species of endangered earth worm found in the region. Unfortunately we did not get the pleasure of seeing one of the 3 foot beauties as they are no longer allowed to keep them in captivity due their extremely rare status. Shame.
We then beach hopped a bit and I made Leah go for a very cold swim which wasn't nearly as cold as the swims she has made me do in Brighton. We read some of The Bone Collector as this was the story of the moment and I ate some chicken, parma local speciality which was good. We went to the look-out point and then on the secret location.
I had been told at the beginning of the week that some surprise had been planned that was to take place at the weekend. I was then banned from reading Leah's blog as it detailed the surprise and so I was pretty excited and not disappointed! I was taken to some Hot Springs and it was heaven. A very beautiful resort laid out with pools of differing heat, a plunge pool and steam room all outdoors just as the sun was going down. Perfect.
After an hour of soaking up the blissful waters of the springs we headed back into Melbourne and got cozy in Rupert for the night.
A really fantastic weekend - thanks girls!
I am not a fan of markets. It's not that I don't see the point of them, or that I cannot acknowledge that you can pick up some good bargains/fresh produce/original gifts, it's just that whenever Leah and I go anywhere we have to attend a market. So this occasion was no different except perhaps that this was a market of particular poor quality with a band. I say band, but maybe I should explain that it was one elderly gentleman who was almost certainly deaf and his crazed looking wife armed with keyboard. Her contribution to the music was to choose the demo backing and hit the start button whilst he sang tunelessly about when he had been younger. I sincerely hope that when he had been younger that he had been of better calibre.
From here we journeyed on to a Wildlife Reserve with real life Kangaroo's that you could hand feed and a lama and a pen full of Hoppies [Wallabies] and horses and a whole bunch of terrifying Emus. The place is built in the shape of a worm and seems to be mostly dedicated to the special species of endangered earth worm found in the region. Unfortunately we did not get the pleasure of seeing one of the 3 foot beauties as they are no longer allowed to keep them in captivity due their extremely rare status. Shame.
We then beach hopped a bit and I made Leah go for a very cold swim which wasn't nearly as cold as the swims she has made me do in Brighton. We read some of The Bone Collector as this was the story of the moment and I ate some chicken, parma local speciality which was good. We went to the look-out point and then on the secret location.
I had been told at the beginning of the week that some surprise had been planned that was to take place at the weekend. I was then banned from reading Leah's blog as it detailed the surprise and so I was pretty excited and not disappointed! I was taken to some Hot Springs and it was heaven. A very beautiful resort laid out with pools of differing heat, a plunge pool and steam room all outdoors just as the sun was going down. Perfect.
After an hour of soaking up the blissful waters of the springs we headed back into Melbourne and got cozy in Rupert for the night.
A really fantastic weekend - thanks girls!
23 April 2009
Day 6: Tents & Penguins [pen-gu-an]
I have to start with the end of yesterday because it is priceless!
After the shocking spider incident we did manage to complete the journey to Philip Island, although initial reports cannot be very detailed as it was dark on our arrival. We buzzed in to the camp site and met Milly the cat and Darren the campsite manager.
We drove to our patch of grass – it was near the kitchen [a light source] and not very far from the office so we thought we were going to be ok. Fools.
We started optimistically, with the erection of Leah and El’s tent. All went up lovely what with it being a nice modern model with flexible poles and ropes.
We then moved on to the more complex task of piecing together the medieval tent in which I was supposed to sleep.
Now, at this point I think it is fair to reiterate that I have only been camping twice previously in my life and that during neither of those excursions was I in charge of putting up the tent. So we started with the poles and laying out the tent and a debate began about the best way to go about the process with no instructions. I repeat; it was dark. After about ten minutes a couple walked past us to the bathrooms and offered help. We declined. After a further fifteen minutes they returned and ignoring our protestations began to help. At this point we are five people all with a pole in one hand and a bit of fabric in the other. All with an opinion of how it should be done.
After a further half an hour we managed to fit the damn poles and fabric together and realised that with no ropes [we did not bring ropes] that the whole structure would not stand. We gave up.
The truly lovely Don and Karina then offered us a coffee [or something stronger]. I opted for something stronger and we went to their very nice cabin round the corner and all had serious cabin-envy. As it was lights-out/quiet-time at 22:30, Darren came round to shush us up as we were getting on well and sharing stories about fruit picking and surfing and Australia. I told him about our predicament and he shuffled off with his torch. Shortly after he returns, my knight in shining armour, with a tent. A nice modern tent with the bendy poles and lovely attached ropes etc. I could have kissed him, but I refrained. Anyway, this was a dream to put up and I was soon sipping wine and drifting off to sleep to the sound of the sea and insects.
The morning started early as Leah and El went off to the pool and I slept on. When finally forced out of bed we all began the day with a hearty English breakfast [unappetising] and then began our adventures by stopping at the Koala Reserve. Suffice to say that this was a highlight – these animals are lovely, although they do suffer from Chlamydia.
From there we stopped at a beach so that I could run into the sea with all my clothes on and get very sandy. A quick change into Leah’s top, jauntily worn as a skirt and we were off to a farm reserve with a petting section [petting animals, not each other]. It was almost criminal for me to be seen in public in my attire [any photos posted of this will result in violence] but it did not hamper the fun and we continued the roll to The Nobbies.
The Nobbies are a big set of rocks with lots and lots of seals on them. It’s beautiful and wild and apparently smells pretty horrible if you get close.
Exhausted we returned to camp to write postcards before the amazing Penguin spotting. This takes place at a jetty on the beach. The gorgeous little penguins gather in clusters and scuttle across the sand in terrified unison before pattering up the sand dunes toward their burrows. The land around the beach is dotted with hundreds of burrows and all the mother penguins and their young click and buzz whilst the Daddies come in from fishing. They completely ignore all the staring and whispering. I cannot explain how lovely it was to see them. I will never forget it.
With all this over we header back to base to cook up a storm and met some more chatty Australian people to share burgers with in the kitchen [a shed with grills and a sink]. We were told this cracking joke: “A seal walks into a club . . .” A classic, I’m sure you’ll agree.
Finally absolutely exhausted we hit the hay. Credit goes to El for driving all day and to Leah for keeping her temper with me – I did get pretty crabby. There is so much more that I will remember about this day but I cannot reasonably make this post any longer!
After the shocking spider incident we did manage to complete the journey to Philip Island, although initial reports cannot be very detailed as it was dark on our arrival. We buzzed in to the camp site and met Milly the cat and Darren the campsite manager.
We drove to our patch of grass – it was near the kitchen [a light source] and not very far from the office so we thought we were going to be ok. Fools.
We started optimistically, with the erection of Leah and El’s tent. All went up lovely what with it being a nice modern model with flexible poles and ropes.
We then moved on to the more complex task of piecing together the medieval tent in which I was supposed to sleep.
Now, at this point I think it is fair to reiterate that I have only been camping twice previously in my life and that during neither of those excursions was I in charge of putting up the tent. So we started with the poles and laying out the tent and a debate began about the best way to go about the process with no instructions. I repeat; it was dark. After about ten minutes a couple walked past us to the bathrooms and offered help. We declined. After a further fifteen minutes they returned and ignoring our protestations began to help. At this point we are five people all with a pole in one hand and a bit of fabric in the other. All with an opinion of how it should be done.
After a further half an hour we managed to fit the damn poles and fabric together and realised that with no ropes [we did not bring ropes] that the whole structure would not stand. We gave up.
The truly lovely Don and Karina then offered us a coffee [or something stronger]. I opted for something stronger and we went to their very nice cabin round the corner and all had serious cabin-envy. As it was lights-out/quiet-time at 22:30, Darren came round to shush us up as we were getting on well and sharing stories about fruit picking and surfing and Australia. I told him about our predicament and he shuffled off with his torch. Shortly after he returns, my knight in shining armour, with a tent. A nice modern tent with the bendy poles and lovely attached ropes etc. I could have kissed him, but I refrained. Anyway, this was a dream to put up and I was soon sipping wine and drifting off to sleep to the sound of the sea and insects.
The morning started early as Leah and El went off to the pool and I slept on. When finally forced out of bed we all began the day with a hearty English breakfast [unappetising] and then began our adventures by stopping at the Koala Reserve. Suffice to say that this was a highlight – these animals are lovely, although they do suffer from Chlamydia.
From there we stopped at a beach so that I could run into the sea with all my clothes on and get very sandy. A quick change into Leah’s top, jauntily worn as a skirt and we were off to a farm reserve with a petting section [petting animals, not each other]. It was almost criminal for me to be seen in public in my attire [any photos posted of this will result in violence] but it did not hamper the fun and we continued the roll to The Nobbies.
The Nobbies are a big set of rocks with lots and lots of seals on them. It’s beautiful and wild and apparently smells pretty horrible if you get close.
Exhausted we returned to camp to write postcards before the amazing Penguin spotting. This takes place at a jetty on the beach. The gorgeous little penguins gather in clusters and scuttle across the sand in terrified unison before pattering up the sand dunes toward their burrows. The land around the beach is dotted with hundreds of burrows and all the mother penguins and their young click and buzz whilst the Daddies come in from fishing. They completely ignore all the staring and whispering. I cannot explain how lovely it was to see them. I will never forget it.
With all this over we header back to base to cook up a storm and met some more chatty Australian people to share burgers with in the kitchen [a shed with grills and a sink]. We were told this cracking joke: “A seal walks into a club . . .” A classic, I’m sure you’ll agree.
Finally absolutely exhausted we hit the hay. Credit goes to El for driving all day and to Leah for keeping her temper with me – I did get pretty crabby. There is so much more that I will remember about this day but I cannot reasonably make this post any longer!
Day 5: First Encounters of the 8 Legged Kind
The true joy of today was visiting yet another library. This time I went to the big library in Melbourne. It is huge and amazing.
There is a beautiful Reading Room with an impressive two storey glass domed roof and antique reading benches. It is peaceful and inviting. I could have stayed there all day but I only stayed a few hours reading some Australian poetry before heading back into St. Kilda for the preparations for our camping trip.
Firstly, the tent. Leah borrowed a tent from a friend at work and it arrived in Thursday night. It is a pre-war tent of epic proportions and I don't think we were expecting it. But we packed it all the same with the two air-beds [oh yeah, this is luxury camping] and pretty much everything else from the house.
Secondly, the car. El hired it from a work contact and we got a good price for it. It is an automatic estate with air-con but it makes this horrific clunking sound when it changes gear. I can't get used to the fact that the car changes the gear for you, suddenly your left foot feels completely useless. Anyway, it's comfortable.
Thirdly, the camp-site. We are staying on a plot at a site with a pool and we should arrive around 20:30. Last check-in is 21:30 and we have to buzz in. We have to put up the tents in the dark which should be quite entertaining.
I am excited.
Finally, the spider. I have been very fortunate on my travels as I have not encountered anything hairy with eight legs, until, we go to a MacDonald's drivethru [which are called Mac Cafe here]. We are just pulling up to the speaker box that you tell your order to when someone notices the dead but HUGE spider on the lit-up menu. It has either crawled in under the plastic and fried itself or someone has taken mercy on us aracnophobes and done me the favour of squashing it. It very nearly put me off my food. I was terrified.
Camp ahoy!
There is a beautiful Reading Room with an impressive two storey glass domed roof and antique reading benches. It is peaceful and inviting. I could have stayed there all day but I only stayed a few hours reading some Australian poetry before heading back into St. Kilda for the preparations for our camping trip.
Firstly, the tent. Leah borrowed a tent from a friend at work and it arrived in Thursday night. It is a pre-war tent of epic proportions and I don't think we were expecting it. But we packed it all the same with the two air-beds [oh yeah, this is luxury camping] and pretty much everything else from the house.
Secondly, the car. El hired it from a work contact and we got a good price for it. It is an automatic estate with air-con but it makes this horrific clunking sound when it changes gear. I can't get used to the fact that the car changes the gear for you, suddenly your left foot feels completely useless. Anyway, it's comfortable.
Thirdly, the camp-site. We are staying on a plot at a site with a pool and we should arrive around 20:30. Last check-in is 21:30 and we have to buzz in. We have to put up the tents in the dark which should be quite entertaining.
I am excited.
Finally, the spider. I have been very fortunate on my travels as I have not encountered anything hairy with eight legs, until, we go to a MacDonald's drivethru [which are called Mac Cafe here]. We are just pulling up to the speaker box that you tell your order to when someone notices the dead but HUGE spider on the lit-up menu. It has either crawled in under the plastic and fried itself or someone has taken mercy on us aracnophobes and done me the favour of squashing it. It very nearly put me off my food. I was terrified.
Camp ahoy!
19 April 2009
Day 4: Fitness & Food
Today I decided to be healthy. All the eating of cheese and pizza and the drinking of wine made me feel slightly guilty so I headed out towards the Melbourne Aquatic Centre. To do this from St. Kilda you have to walk across Albert Park which is massive and whilst you’re walking along you realise just how disgusting your UK lifestyle is. Melbourne is set-up for fitness freaks, everywhere you go it’s geared towards encouraging you to run, or sail, or workout by a lake or drop your kids off at football. Walking the 2.5km along the lake there are water fountains and those little exercise areas and every twenty feet some super fit, bronzed Adonis whips past you on their seventh lap of the park. I even saw mothers out with those three wheeled buggies in their sweats power walking their newborns in the sunshine. Madness.
Needless to say, by the time I got to the pool I was feeling like I should step-up my meagre attempts at fitness and get myself some kind of drill sergeant. It’s not just any pool either – this whole complex is huge. It’s got indoor courts and a badminton centre and then an Olympic pool inside, with a wave pool, Jacuzzi & steam room, an outdoor pool and a kid’s pool. As I am doing lengths here’s a girls diving competition going on with all these tanned, hyped-up teenagers bouncing off the 3 metre board and when they’re not in the water they are flinging themselves around on a trampoline practising tucks and rolls and flips.
Half an hour was enough. I got out – I negotiated with the locker computer to release my stuff and I was hot-footing it out of there to the nearest tram stop!
The evening was more my style with the first filmed episode of the cooking show. El has this brilliant palm camcorder and Leah and I had whipped a meal idea and El was filming and doing the starter. For anyone who doesn’t know, the cooking show is something that Leah I do when we cook together. One of us is ‘guest chef’ and the other is resident and we pick a social topic for discussion whilst we walk the audience through whatever we are preparing for the evening meal. Hopefully this will be airing soon and as our previous audiences have consisted of Tonic and Steve the public reaction will be interesting.
Tomorrow we’re off to the wildness of Philip Island for the third camping experience of my life. I’m excited.
There will be no updates for a few days due to our exotic location.
Needless to say, by the time I got to the pool I was feeling like I should step-up my meagre attempts at fitness and get myself some kind of drill sergeant. It’s not just any pool either – this whole complex is huge. It’s got indoor courts and a badminton centre and then an Olympic pool inside, with a wave pool, Jacuzzi & steam room, an outdoor pool and a kid’s pool. As I am doing lengths here’s a girls diving competition going on with all these tanned, hyped-up teenagers bouncing off the 3 metre board and when they’re not in the water they are flinging themselves around on a trampoline practising tucks and rolls and flips.
Half an hour was enough. I got out – I negotiated with the locker computer to release my stuff and I was hot-footing it out of there to the nearest tram stop!
The evening was more my style with the first filmed episode of the cooking show. El has this brilliant palm camcorder and Leah and I had whipped a meal idea and El was filming and doing the starter. For anyone who doesn’t know, the cooking show is something that Leah I do when we cook together. One of us is ‘guest chef’ and the other is resident and we pick a social topic for discussion whilst we walk the audience through whatever we are preparing for the evening meal. Hopefully this will be airing soon and as our previous audiences have consisted of Tonic and Steve the public reaction will be interesting.
Tomorrow we’re off to the wildness of Philip Island for the third camping experience of my life. I’m excited.
There will be no updates for a few days due to our exotic location.
17 April 2009
Day 4: Red Light District
Today I set off for the local library. A strange choice you might think, but always one of the first places I want to see when I'm travelling. Anyone who hasn't been in the British library has committed some kind of crime. Where is it written that we should visit locals churches and cathedrals [houses of God] but not local libraries or book shops [houses of my God; words]?
Anyway this trip involved walking as I have developed an aversion to the trams. There isn't anything wrong with them but I always thinking walking is the best way to get around in a new place. This city is a grid [more or less] and I was convinced that it was simply a case of having to memorise it and I would be happily meandering like a local. Sigh. Why is it that my girl brain can never ever remember a map? I have to get it out of my pocket every single time I get to a corner. I used to take the piss out of Leah for having to always take an A to Z to London, but maybe I am finally understanding why!
The one thing I do notice as I begin my walk is the amazing buildings here. The streets in St. Kilda are packed with these huge low riding colonial style houses with wrought iron steps and verandas and canopies and huge Georgian windows. I love them. They are also beautiful colours, alabaster, greys and greens. The run down ones looks even better because they are mottled and weather worn. I want one of these houses and I imagine them standing empty with cracked paned french windows and dusty tiled floors; like the house in Interview With A Vampire - the one that Tom Cruise holes himself up in after they've cut and burnt him.
Anyway, back to the walking . . . I have managed to navigate myself [correctly] to the biggest road I have ever seen! Well, that might be an exaggeration but it is pretty huge and as yesterday's post revealed this is terrifying for me. St. Kilda Road cuts straight through the city to the sea and I crossed it. I sort of hopped around a bit and was quite scared for my life at least twice but I did make it across and to the silent electric doors of the library in one piece.
On the way back I discovered Greeve Street [by accident]. I am walking down the road looking at a woman standing in the street, she's quite pretty and I am wondering why she would be standing on the road like that and decide she is waiting for a lift. About twenty feet down the road there is another woman, she is less pretty but also waiting for a lift. Another twenty or thirty feet down the road is a really quite ugly woman and I suddenly realise that she can't be waiting for a lift as well and that in fact they are all on the game and I have wandered into another red light district. This seems to happen to me every time I go anywhere by myself.
Prostitution is legal here apparently, although I think it's only allowed in brothels, but the police don't seem to mind either way.
I find my way to the St. Kilda Botanical Gardens [an anti-climax] and then go to the local supermarket [yes Kate - how exciting] to buy the ingredients for the cannelloni I have promised to make. I buy some very expensive cheese because everything is so shiny that I am confused by the choices.
We eat and drink a nice bottle of wine. The cannelloni is a bit crispy but quite good really. We watch The City of Ember which is an OK film - good idea a little patchy but I did go to school with the guy who plays the lead.
I'm beginning to like this place.
Anyway this trip involved walking as I have developed an aversion to the trams. There isn't anything wrong with them but I always thinking walking is the best way to get around in a new place. This city is a grid [more or less] and I was convinced that it was simply a case of having to memorise it and I would be happily meandering like a local. Sigh. Why is it that my girl brain can never ever remember a map? I have to get it out of my pocket every single time I get to a corner. I used to take the piss out of Leah for having to always take an A to Z to London, but maybe I am finally understanding why!
The one thing I do notice as I begin my walk is the amazing buildings here. The streets in St. Kilda are packed with these huge low riding colonial style houses with wrought iron steps and verandas and canopies and huge Georgian windows. I love them. They are also beautiful colours, alabaster, greys and greens. The run down ones looks even better because they are mottled and weather worn. I want one of these houses and I imagine them standing empty with cracked paned french windows and dusty tiled floors; like the house in Interview With A Vampire - the one that Tom Cruise holes himself up in after they've cut and burnt him.
Anyway, back to the walking . . . I have managed to navigate myself [correctly] to the biggest road I have ever seen! Well, that might be an exaggeration but it is pretty huge and as yesterday's post revealed this is terrifying for me. St. Kilda Road cuts straight through the city to the sea and I crossed it. I sort of hopped around a bit and was quite scared for my life at least twice but I did make it across and to the silent electric doors of the library in one piece.
On the way back I discovered Greeve Street [by accident]. I am walking down the road looking at a woman standing in the street, she's quite pretty and I am wondering why she would be standing on the road like that and decide she is waiting for a lift. About twenty feet down the road there is another woman, she is less pretty but also waiting for a lift. Another twenty or thirty feet down the road is a really quite ugly woman and I suddenly realise that she can't be waiting for a lift as well and that in fact they are all on the game and I have wandered into another red light district. This seems to happen to me every time I go anywhere by myself.
Prostitution is legal here apparently, although I think it's only allowed in brothels, but the police don't seem to mind either way.
I find my way to the St. Kilda Botanical Gardens [an anti-climax] and then go to the local supermarket [yes Kate - how exciting] to buy the ingredients for the cannelloni I have promised to make. I buy some very expensive cheese because everything is so shiny that I am confused by the choices.
We eat and drink a nice bottle of wine. The cannelloni is a bit crispy but quite good really. We watch The City of Ember which is an OK film - good idea a little patchy but I did go to school with the guy who plays the lead.
I'm beginning to like this place.
16 April 2009
Day 3: Road Wars
I have deduced that Australians love two things; roads and drink driving.
The roads in this city are insane. I am scared of them. The road outside the house is not a particularly busy thoroughfare but it is rammed with traffic almost constantly and Australians do not mind a little leaning on the horn either. In fact only yesterday a woman reversed into a static line of traffic from the opposite side of the street and called the guy behind her a 'fuckhead' for not backing up.
It is impossible to 'jay-walk' safely over here [for me anyway] there is of course the obvious confusion about which direction the traffic is supposed to be coming from, then the added complication of watching for trams and sheer expanse of tarmac which you are attempting to cross. Sadly, standing at a pedestrian crossing is not much more pleasant as it seems that waiting for the green man takes easily five minutes each time. This makes you feel really daft especially if you are alone at said crossing. So once you've felt self conscious for a few minutes and wondered whether you've missed the obvious and should have crossed already a noise like a nuclear weapon charging goes off [this is the cross safely noise] which literally frightens you across the road. Or half of the road. Because the roads are so wide that the time allotted to cross them in is not long enough so usually you only make it the middle. You then have to repeat the whole performance but this time in the perilous epicentre of the erratic, confusing circus.
Add to this that every other advert on the TV is about how not to drink drive and you may be getting the concept. Apparently there was a crack down on drink driving over a bank holiday weekend recently and just in Victoria 1 in 11 people stopped were prosecuted. Joy.
After a night's sleep I was feeling quite perky and got up around 11:00 and decided to be helpful around the house. This took a few hours. I discovered the dulcet tones of Bridget Pross who Leah and El have seen live. She is brilliant so I was rocking out to that a bit.
I went to visit El who works just around the corner in a tiny little office by herself helping backpackers with their tax returns. There are some crazy laws about tax returns over here. If you do any period of work and then leave the country you can claim up to 80% of your tax back after you leave! We went to the Grocery Bar and ate some tasty lunch. They have sandwiches here called Pitta's which are not made of pitta bread but they are good and full of cheese and avocado etc.
I then made my way back to the beach to finish 'The End of Mr. Y' which is brilliant and very interesting and should be read by everyone. I found St. Kilda pier and went to the end of it where there is a heap of shingle and rocks where penguins and sea lions appear sometimes, not that I saw any. I did not get any kind of tan which is disappointing. I think there might be a slightly denser smattering of freckles on my right arm but I can't be sure.
El made roast dinner and strangely although I didn't think that I would want it I really did and it was brilliant. Then we played a couple of hands of Rummy which I discovered I have been playing wrong my whole life which kind of explains why I never win.
A good day so good night.
The roads in this city are insane. I am scared of them. The road outside the house is not a particularly busy thoroughfare but it is rammed with traffic almost constantly and Australians do not mind a little leaning on the horn either. In fact only yesterday a woman reversed into a static line of traffic from the opposite side of the street and called the guy behind her a 'fuckhead' for not backing up.
It is impossible to 'jay-walk' safely over here [for me anyway] there is of course the obvious confusion about which direction the traffic is supposed to be coming from, then the added complication of watching for trams and sheer expanse of tarmac which you are attempting to cross. Sadly, standing at a pedestrian crossing is not much more pleasant as it seems that waiting for the green man takes easily five minutes each time. This makes you feel really daft especially if you are alone at said crossing. So once you've felt self conscious for a few minutes and wondered whether you've missed the obvious and should have crossed already a noise like a nuclear weapon charging goes off [this is the cross safely noise] which literally frightens you across the road. Or half of the road. Because the roads are so wide that the time allotted to cross them in is not long enough so usually you only make it the middle. You then have to repeat the whole performance but this time in the perilous epicentre of the erratic, confusing circus.
Add to this that every other advert on the TV is about how not to drink drive and you may be getting the concept. Apparently there was a crack down on drink driving over a bank holiday weekend recently and just in Victoria 1 in 11 people stopped were prosecuted. Joy.
After a night's sleep I was feeling quite perky and got up around 11:00 and decided to be helpful around the house. This took a few hours. I discovered the dulcet tones of Bridget Pross who Leah and El have seen live. She is brilliant so I was rocking out to that a bit.
I went to visit El who works just around the corner in a tiny little office by herself helping backpackers with their tax returns. There are some crazy laws about tax returns over here. If you do any period of work and then leave the country you can claim up to 80% of your tax back after you leave! We went to the Grocery Bar and ate some tasty lunch. They have sandwiches here called Pitta's which are not made of pitta bread but they are good and full of cheese and avocado etc.
I then made my way back to the beach to finish 'The End of Mr. Y' which is brilliant and very interesting and should be read by everyone. I found St. Kilda pier and went to the end of it where there is a heap of shingle and rocks where penguins and sea lions appear sometimes, not that I saw any. I did not get any kind of tan which is disappointing. I think there might be a slightly denser smattering of freckles on my right arm but I can't be sure.
El made roast dinner and strangely although I didn't think that I would want it I really did and it was brilliant. Then we played a couple of hands of Rummy which I discovered I have been playing wrong my whole life which kind of explains why I never win.
A good day so good night.
15 April 2009
Day 1 into 2: The Time [not space] Continuum
It is difficult to really say where Day 1 ended and Day 2 began . . . mostly because they were the same span of time with no sleeping in between them. There is a rule [which Leah is very hot on] that states if one does not go to sleep then it cannot become the next day. This is why you must go to sleep before midnight on Christmas Eve or you don't get a Christmas at all!
So with reference to this principle technically Day 1 and 2 are just one day. However for the ease of the narrative let's pretend they are two separate periods of time.
I got off the plane at about 09:00 in Melbourne and got straight on the Skybus into the city. A very informative and brilliantly timed TV show plays on your way into the city telling you all about what you can do and where you should go. It recommends Draculas and I am trying to persuade Leah and El to attend this scary cabaret restaurant. So far no luck.
As I stepped off the bus Leah flew down the ramp and so the reunion was complete and the reason for my trip attained. It was emotional but unfortunately I don't think I pulled off my best performance, in fact, I don't think I was very convincing at all as I was too tired to have feelings. Suffice to say that you'll have to take my word for it.
I had then possibly the best cup of coffee in the world [excepting the Red Roaster] in a cafe called the Grocery Bar. Possibly because it was the first cup in 48 hours. I also ate some real food.
I was then taken to Rupert - and he is a beaut. Absolute blinder of a flat. Great tall ceilings and lots of light. Lovey spiral staircase.
We spent the day wandering; went to the beach and Luna Park [old school 1950's theme park] and then drank wine [which at the time I didn't realise would be such a bad idea] and ate some very tasty pizza. We were acosted by the first person I have spoken to in 24 years with a proper Australian accent. She was very drunk and crazy about Brighton and the Fat Boy Slim concert on the beach. Yes even here it is legendary.
I too was drunk. After only two glasses [which is about two glasses earlier than this usually happens] and started thinking quite deeply about the quality of the barman's blue eyes [crystal clear oceans of aquamarine etc.]. It was at this point about 19:30 local time.
I was taken home. I was made to watch Superhero Movie - I do not remember anything that happens in this film. Leah had to shout at me at regular intervals to keep me from what I was insisting was "resting my eyes".
Finally, after what felt like several lifetimes El kindly pumped up the glorious airbed and I was allowed to sleep and readers - it was awesome.
So with reference to this principle technically Day 1 and 2 are just one day. However for the ease of the narrative let's pretend they are two separate periods of time.
I got off the plane at about 09:00 in Melbourne and got straight on the Skybus into the city. A very informative and brilliantly timed TV show plays on your way into the city telling you all about what you can do and where you should go. It recommends Draculas and I am trying to persuade Leah and El to attend this scary cabaret restaurant. So far no luck.
As I stepped off the bus Leah flew down the ramp and so the reunion was complete and the reason for my trip attained. It was emotional but unfortunately I don't think I pulled off my best performance, in fact, I don't think I was very convincing at all as I was too tired to have feelings. Suffice to say that you'll have to take my word for it.
I had then possibly the best cup of coffee in the world [excepting the Red Roaster] in a cafe called the Grocery Bar. Possibly because it was the first cup in 48 hours. I also ate some real food.
I was then taken to Rupert - and he is a beaut. Absolute blinder of a flat. Great tall ceilings and lots of light. Lovey spiral staircase.
We spent the day wandering; went to the beach and Luna Park [old school 1950's theme park] and then drank wine [which at the time I didn't realise would be such a bad idea] and ate some very tasty pizza. We were acosted by the first person I have spoken to in 24 years with a proper Australian accent. She was very drunk and crazy about Brighton and the Fat Boy Slim concert on the beach. Yes even here it is legendary.
I too was drunk. After only two glasses [which is about two glasses earlier than this usually happens] and started thinking quite deeply about the quality of the barman's blue eyes [crystal clear oceans of aquamarine etc.]. It was at this point about 19:30 local time.
I was taken home. I was made to watch Superhero Movie - I do not remember anything that happens in this film. Leah had to shout at me at regular intervals to keep me from what I was insisting was "resting my eyes".
Finally, after what felt like several lifetimes El kindly pumped up the glorious airbed and I was allowed to sleep and readers - it was awesome.
14 April 2009
Day 1: Transit
"Certainly, travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living."
Well dear reader - I am sorry, but, whilst travelling to the other side of the world I was too delirious to do much changing deep or permanent, unless you count the almost probably permanent damage to my mental health.
The first problem was the issue of my visa. The one that I only purchased because Leah reminded me that it was necessary. Now, there has been some very sensible setting-up-of-website-behaviour going on in the Australian Immigration Department or whatever they call themselves. You may now purchase a visa online as long as you have your passport number and are not a criminal. The clever website sends you a text message to confirm your acceptance and then the website explicitly tells you not to print anything as the visa is electronically tagged to your passport. This part is a lie. Do not listen to this if you ever wish to travel to Australia.
Luckily I do not believe websites and so I did print a copy of my email confirmation and it was a good job frankly because my visa did not get tagged to my passport, or rather it did but only in parts and so although it did say I wasn't a criminal it did not allow me to travel. This, as you can imagine, caused a great deal of worry at arrival in T4 on Saturday evening.
Luckily the good old fashioned version of my visa proved that it was the website that was criminal and not me and so after some fussing by the fantastically gay check-in staff at the BA desk it was decided that Australia should be telephoned and my visa was deleted and re-applied for and finally tagged to the damn passport and I was allowed across the golden lines into the departure area. Phew.
No one really tried to tell me just how odd it would be to get on a plane at one time of day, get off at the same time of day half way across the world, get back on another plane and then get off it again at the totally opposite time of day on entirely the other side of the world. Yes reader, I lost a day, but also so much more than that.
I can tell you that Singapore airport has some very nice arrangements of orchids and a pretty waterfall and that Sydney airport lies to you about where to get domestic transfers [more than once] and that BA is actually Quantas or perhaps it is Quantas that is actually BA, but I think it depends on where you are in the world.
I did manage to eat a lot. Praise the Gods who invented plane food and for the continuous serving of it to keep one occupied. First I had lasagne with a pleasant salad and some toxic chocolate sponge flan [yes I too did not believe it was really a food] and orange sauce which has a very particular consistency similar to baby food. A few hours later I was served a breakfast omelet with baked beans [the devil's food] and mushrooms and a muffin thing although all of this was coated in the juice of the devil's food [accept the muffin which came in it's own little plastic bag]. Then I changed planes.
On plane number two there was surprisingly good beef curry and an equally good oyster mushroom salad. Then some more breakfast but this time it was a chocolate coated twisted pastry thingy and some awful tea. Don't drink the tea on planes - bad ju ju.
On plane number three there was more breakfast but this time it came in a box with another seedy muffin [seedy as in poppies not as in old men]. It was not served with devil's juice either which was better than the first attempt.
I did eventually arrive. I hope that I will not suffer continuing mania as a result of sitting so near to so many strangers for so long. My ankles do seem to have grown in width even though I did all that shrugging and rotating and flexing that they tell you to do. Not attractive.
But hoo'ray for the genius of being able to actually be in Australia! And for the glory that is putting your feet down outside the airport!
Well dear reader - I am sorry, but, whilst travelling to the other side of the world I was too delirious to do much changing deep or permanent, unless you count the almost probably permanent damage to my mental health.
The first problem was the issue of my visa. The one that I only purchased because Leah reminded me that it was necessary. Now, there has been some very sensible setting-up-of-website-behaviour going on in the Australian Immigration Department or whatever they call themselves. You may now purchase a visa online as long as you have your passport number and are not a criminal. The clever website sends you a text message to confirm your acceptance and then the website explicitly tells you not to print anything as the visa is electronically tagged to your passport. This part is a lie. Do not listen to this if you ever wish to travel to Australia.
Luckily I do not believe websites and so I did print a copy of my email confirmation and it was a good job frankly because my visa did not get tagged to my passport, or rather it did but only in parts and so although it did say I wasn't a criminal it did not allow me to travel. This, as you can imagine, caused a great deal of worry at arrival in T4 on Saturday evening.
Luckily the good old fashioned version of my visa proved that it was the website that was criminal and not me and so after some fussing by the fantastically gay check-in staff at the BA desk it was decided that Australia should be telephoned and my visa was deleted and re-applied for and finally tagged to the damn passport and I was allowed across the golden lines into the departure area. Phew.
No one really tried to tell me just how odd it would be to get on a plane at one time of day, get off at the same time of day half way across the world, get back on another plane and then get off it again at the totally opposite time of day on entirely the other side of the world. Yes reader, I lost a day, but also so much more than that.
I can tell you that Singapore airport has some very nice arrangements of orchids and a pretty waterfall and that Sydney airport lies to you about where to get domestic transfers [more than once] and that BA is actually Quantas or perhaps it is Quantas that is actually BA, but I think it depends on where you are in the world.
I did manage to eat a lot. Praise the Gods who invented plane food and for the continuous serving of it to keep one occupied. First I had lasagne with a pleasant salad and some toxic chocolate sponge flan [yes I too did not believe it was really a food] and orange sauce which has a very particular consistency similar to baby food. A few hours later I was served a breakfast omelet with baked beans [the devil's food] and mushrooms and a muffin thing although all of this was coated in the juice of the devil's food [accept the muffin which came in it's own little plastic bag]. Then I changed planes.
On plane number two there was surprisingly good beef curry and an equally good oyster mushroom salad. Then some more breakfast but this time it was a chocolate coated twisted pastry thingy and some awful tea. Don't drink the tea on planes - bad ju ju.
On plane number three there was more breakfast but this time it came in a box with another seedy muffin [seedy as in poppies not as in old men]. It was not served with devil's juice either which was better than the first attempt.
I did eventually arrive. I hope that I will not suffer continuing mania as a result of sitting so near to so many strangers for so long. My ankles do seem to have grown in width even though I did all that shrugging and rotating and flexing that they tell you to do. Not attractive.
But hoo'ray for the genius of being able to actually be in Australia! And for the glory that is putting your feet down outside the airport!
7 January 2009
Resolutions . . .
This year I have not really considered what I should resolve to do. This is mostly to do with the fact that I haven’t got a clue what I want. I feel like last year lived me and not the other way round and maybe I need to recover from that?
Too many things happened last year for it to have been a ‘normal’ year. So many traumas and changes. Maybe all I am feeling is a sense of apprehension – 2009 might be meaner; it will definitely be leaner whatever happens. The newspapers have been full of terrible predictions about the state of the world in 2009.
What shall I do about the state of my world?
The usual perhaps? Promise myself to get thinner and fitter. To be more assertive, to back down less? Maybe I should get the things I want and focus on the material. I’d like a tailor made suit and a new car. Instead I might be forced to love the things I have more and worry about where I’m going to live and how much it will cost me to get o work. I should probably clear out. New Year - new start. Get rid of those clothes. Sell those things I am never going to need/use on eBay. One man’s junk and all that.
I could take up old habits – have piano lessons, join a choir? I could expand new horizons; Indian Head massage, creative writing. Remember those lesbian potters? They were on to something.
What about travel? I want to see you so badly and I miss you so much, especially on your birthday. I still really want to go to India. Can we arrange to meet there? When you’re done with Oz? A month in Goa?
I still think sometimes that there are people out there who have this stuff sorted. That some people know exactly what they want and somehow have obtained inner peace. Who are those people and how the hell did they do that? Do I have to stay in isolation of the Orkney Isles to achieve such dizzy height of self-enlightenment?
Do I look forward to my future? Do I still believe I’ll be dead by thirty and that if I don’t die then I’ll end up with cats instead of kids and too many cardigans? Cardigans aren’t so bad are they?
Too many things happened last year for it to have been a ‘normal’ year. So many traumas and changes. Maybe all I am feeling is a sense of apprehension – 2009 might be meaner; it will definitely be leaner whatever happens. The newspapers have been full of terrible predictions about the state of the world in 2009.
What shall I do about the state of my world?
The usual perhaps? Promise myself to get thinner and fitter. To be more assertive, to back down less? Maybe I should get the things I want and focus on the material. I’d like a tailor made suit and a new car. Instead I might be forced to love the things I have more and worry about where I’m going to live and how much it will cost me to get o work. I should probably clear out. New Year - new start. Get rid of those clothes. Sell those things I am never going to need/use on eBay. One man’s junk and all that.
I could take up old habits – have piano lessons, join a choir? I could expand new horizons; Indian Head massage, creative writing. Remember those lesbian potters? They were on to something.
What about travel? I want to see you so badly and I miss you so much, especially on your birthday. I still really want to go to India. Can we arrange to meet there? When you’re done with Oz? A month in Goa?
I still think sometimes that there are people out there who have this stuff sorted. That some people know exactly what they want and somehow have obtained inner peace. Who are those people and how the hell did they do that? Do I have to stay in isolation of the Orkney Isles to achieve such dizzy height of self-enlightenment?
Do I look forward to my future? Do I still believe I’ll be dead by thirty and that if I don’t die then I’ll end up with cats instead of kids and too many cardigans? Cardigans aren’t so bad are they?
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