I am just posting this picture to make the blog look a little more interesting. (This was at the Borough Market on Saturday).
The post below is what you should be reading.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Solubility
Every day when I walk down the street, catch the tube, watch TV, go to the supermarket, i see loads of things that I would love to write on here - little gems of mini-humour that amuse me no-end. Sadly for all of you, I can never remember them, no matter how much I try and deliberately commit them to memory!
People who have lived in London bear with me, the little insights that I do manage to recall and that I present as my own probably have no whiff of originality for you, and I recognise that they are a bit over-exuberant and self indulgent. But while it's all new I am unapologetic, because my eyes have already started adjusting to the lights of this old town.
I haven't written nearly enough about the tube, and every day I have to stifle laughter for one reason or another when I catch it. The moment I stop being amused by tube body language and my own crazy tube thoughts, I will know that my sense of humour has dissolved and/or I have become the most cynical type of London public transport patron.
It struck me today as I eeked out my path along the District and Circle lines to Barbican station, that every tube ride sees me having numerous conversations in my head. I also tend to imagine what other people are thinking about those around them.
Last Friday night as I caught one of the last tubes back to Earl's Court from Putney, I was alone, observant and a little inebriated having spent the afternoon at the Coat & Badge with some newly arrived pals. There was a bloke of about 26 with a carton of beer in one arm, and a big packet of hot chips under another. He was handing out the beers to whoever would take them, mainly young attractive girls who looked about 17. The dialogue going on in my head at that point was something along the lines of "oh god, please don't roll one of those things at me" given that I was by myself, and probably not particularly able to string a good deflection sentence together.
Ok, so that wasn't one of the most amusing or witty conversations that I have had with myself, but I was tired, full of beer, Pimms (heaven in a jug with cucumber for good measure) tarragon chicken burger, and confused about certain happenings on a certain Putney Bridge.
Today on the way home from work, I moved seats to try and get a bit of space ("Hmmm - a vacant double seat - I can read my copy of London Lite without having to give myself elbow cramps") and at the very next stop a bloke got on and sat right next to me, therefore defeating the point of moving in the first place ("Oh great one Del, draw unnecessary attention to yourself by moving, and then pick the seat where someone sits down straight away.") And then a brief pause..... ("What the hell is that smell? *Subtle sniff* Ok, don't vomit, it's just unwashed clothes, mixed with stale tobacco and alcho-breath. Nothing too offensive.") A casual sideways glance.... "is it a hobo? no it's a man in a suit. *internal grunt & snicker* Oh you fool, you've just inhaled air from his pongy aura".
Even slightly more amusing is the conversation my two selves enjoy when a good-looking man boards the carriage. "Go on give him a wink" says the 5% of me that would ever dream of doing such a thing. "Keep your head down and admire tactfully from afar", says the dominant, sensible, astoundingly Virgo 95%. That fraction always wins. Sigh, if only I were a Gemini.
Now the only reason I can think that I have all these strange little conversations is because of the acute silence on the bloody things. In fact, the only people who speak on the tube are those who speak a language other than English, and (unsurprisingly?) Americans, usually in family groupings. Today when I asked a slightly infirm woman if she would like my seat, she initially looked at me like I had poked her in the rear with a pin, until she realised that I was actually offering to give up my little luxury and stand the rest of the way home rocking on my uncomfortable stiletto heels, for HER BENEFIT.
Anyway, this is just one short instalment in my tube adventures. There will, I can assure you, be more.
BTW those of you who previously read my blog when I was living in Jakarta will know of my penchant for Project Runway, the fashion designer reality show, and I have one eye on it right now as I am typing this. Which is timely, as the commercials have reminded me of something else - the fact that I suppose in an effort to not be London-posh-centric, commercials in and of themselves are oh-so-politically correct in that one will come on with a Welsh voice-over or a Jordy voice over or a Cockney voice over or what I like to call "miscellaneous-northern-sounding-but-not-quite-discernible-accent". I actually don't call it that at all, but you get what I mean.
And in my phrase of the week which I don't know whether makes me laugh or cry, an Irish lady in my current workplace came over to the desk next to mine earlier today and said "This fu**ing thing is about as tidy as a tinker's trolley". I need to practice my poker face, as when she saw my reaction she looked at me and winked. Naturally I was aghast.
Anyway, I am not talking about work this week. I am doing a short stint in a painfully boring role until the other thing is sorted (Government, pah!) and it is killing me. My brain is numb.
My final little self-indulgence for this post is to say a shout-out to the exquisite Ruby-Mae, my new little cousin who could not be cuter if she tried. Don't let her grow up until I come home.
People who have lived in London bear with me, the little insights that I do manage to recall and that I present as my own probably have no whiff of originality for you, and I recognise that they are a bit over-exuberant and self indulgent. But while it's all new I am unapologetic, because my eyes have already started adjusting to the lights of this old town.
I haven't written nearly enough about the tube, and every day I have to stifle laughter for one reason or another when I catch it. The moment I stop being amused by tube body language and my own crazy tube thoughts, I will know that my sense of humour has dissolved and/or I have become the most cynical type of London public transport patron.
It struck me today as I eeked out my path along the District and Circle lines to Barbican station, that every tube ride sees me having numerous conversations in my head. I also tend to imagine what other people are thinking about those around them.
Last Friday night as I caught one of the last tubes back to Earl's Court from Putney, I was alone, observant and a little inebriated having spent the afternoon at the Coat & Badge with some newly arrived pals. There was a bloke of about 26 with a carton of beer in one arm, and a big packet of hot chips under another. He was handing out the beers to whoever would take them, mainly young attractive girls who looked about 17. The dialogue going on in my head at that point was something along the lines of "oh god, please don't roll one of those things at me" given that I was by myself, and probably not particularly able to string a good deflection sentence together.
Ok, so that wasn't one of the most amusing or witty conversations that I have had with myself, but I was tired, full of beer, Pimms (heaven in a jug with cucumber for good measure) tarragon chicken burger, and confused about certain happenings on a certain Putney Bridge.
Today on the way home from work, I moved seats to try and get a bit of space ("Hmmm - a vacant double seat - I can read my copy of London Lite without having to give myself elbow cramps") and at the very next stop a bloke got on and sat right next to me, therefore defeating the point of moving in the first place ("Oh great one Del, draw unnecessary attention to yourself by moving, and then pick the seat where someone sits down straight away.") And then a brief pause..... ("What the hell is that smell? *Subtle sniff* Ok, don't vomit, it's just unwashed clothes, mixed with stale tobacco and alcho-breath. Nothing too offensive.") A casual sideways glance.... "is it a hobo? no it's a man in a suit. *internal grunt & snicker* Oh you fool, you've just inhaled air from his pongy aura".
Even slightly more amusing is the conversation my two selves enjoy when a good-looking man boards the carriage. "Go on give him a wink" says the 5% of me that would ever dream of doing such a thing. "Keep your head down and admire tactfully from afar", says the dominant, sensible, astoundingly Virgo 95%. That fraction always wins. Sigh, if only I were a Gemini.
Now the only reason I can think that I have all these strange little conversations is because of the acute silence on the bloody things. In fact, the only people who speak on the tube are those who speak a language other than English, and (unsurprisingly?) Americans, usually in family groupings. Today when I asked a slightly infirm woman if she would like my seat, she initially looked at me like I had poked her in the rear with a pin, until she realised that I was actually offering to give up my little luxury and stand the rest of the way home rocking on my uncomfortable stiletto heels, for HER BENEFIT.
Anyway, this is just one short instalment in my tube adventures. There will, I can assure you, be more.
BTW those of you who previously read my blog when I was living in Jakarta will know of my penchant for Project Runway, the fashion designer reality show, and I have one eye on it right now as I am typing this. Which is timely, as the commercials have reminded me of something else - the fact that I suppose in an effort to not be London-posh-centric, commercials in and of themselves are oh-so-politically correct in that one will come on with a Welsh voice-over or a Jordy voice over or a Cockney voice over or what I like to call "miscellaneous-northern-sounding-but-not-quite-discernible-accent". I actually don't call it that at all, but you get what I mean.
And in my phrase of the week which I don't know whether makes me laugh or cry, an Irish lady in my current workplace came over to the desk next to mine earlier today and said "This fu**ing thing is about as tidy as a tinker's trolley". I need to practice my poker face, as when she saw my reaction she looked at me and winked. Naturally I was aghast.
Anyway, I am not talking about work this week. I am doing a short stint in a painfully boring role until the other thing is sorted (Government, pah!) and it is killing me. My brain is numb.
My final little self-indulgence for this post is to say a shout-out to the exquisite Ruby-Mae, my new little cousin who could not be cuter if she tried. Don't let her grow up until I come home.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Plethora of Things I've Noticed
Well first thing's first - I am disappointed to report that the post about going to see Angus and Julia Stone was a little eager. I traipsed across town to Hoxton & Shoreditch to a little place called the Hoxton Bar & Kitchen only to be told the damn show was sold out. Fortunately Geoff came with me in the end, so I didn't have to sit there like an idiot, alone. The worst thing was that I reckon we were the only Aussies there, and the door bitches took sadistic delight in denying our entry. Cows.
Anyway I've been noticing silly little things and I want to write them on here now before I stop noticing them and they become normal.
So first thing is - apparently road helmets are not compulsory here. I am not sure why this bothers me, given that I am entirely disinterested in cycling anywhere, ever. However some seldom used neuron in my brain seems to remember a graphic advertising campaign when helmets were made compulsory in Australia. Something to do with a watermelon smashing on a road?? (Have I imagined this?) So basically when I am walking down the street seeing all these un-helmeted cyclists, they transform into a bunch of melon-heads on two-wheelers. Kind of entertaining. I just don't want to see anyone fall off.
Second thing is, unsurprisingly, the ongoing neuroticism about and obsession with, the weather. The entire first week I was here was miserable - punctuated with an absolutely divine weekend last weekend (I got sunburnt a little bit!) and even Monday was pretty good. Now, having grown up in Australia where wide open spaces are not an especial privilege (except if you live in inner-Sydney I guess) I cracked a chuckle on the street (strict no-no anywhere in the world i suppose -makes you look like a bit of a nutter) when I saw people in BIKINIS sunbaking on the Redcliffe Square Gardens just up the road. It is a common lawned area that is locked in the evenings, but when the sun was out, people were lying there catching rays. I found that absolutely bizarre. It seems unnatural (and a little brave) to me to lie scantily clad in a garden that is in full view of surrounding 4 story terrace houses.
But each to their pasty-skinned own i guess!
Some big news here lately has been the recent smoking ban. It is now absolutely illegal in the UK to smoke anywhere that is not completely outdoors. I have seen some amusing debates on the likes of Sky and BBC where they have pulled in a 40 a day smoker, croaking her way through the irritating consequences of the ban on her life, alongside a self-righteous loner who is happy that he will now be able to enjoy is solitary pint in smoke-free solitude. Hurrah. I must confess it was a weird novelty to get home last Saturday in the early-hours and not reek of smoke.
The other weird thing about getting home at 3.30 am, was that the sun was already rising. Now THAT dear friends, is damned hard to get used to. Especially since it is not properly dark until around 10.30pm. My jet lag (which was already fairly annoying) was made even harder to bear by my body's stubborn determination to awaken at 6am regardless of the time I went to bed. The benefits of long days however, are that, given the erratic weather, the longer the day the greater the likelihood of sunshine. (See I am starting to get fixated on the weather already!)
Running around here is not as easy as I would like - although once you get down to the river, the Chelsea Embankment is not a bad run. Unfortunately, I am out of running action for perhaps one more day as I have blisters on my heels, basically because I was stupid enough to wear new shoes when I walked to the shop. They hacked up my heels so fast it was astonishing. And given that I start work soon I don't want to aggravate them further.
Oh yeah, work. So I have a job. 3 month contract through a legal recruiter. Doing some hopefully interesting work with this organisation. ;-)
Anyway I've been noticing silly little things and I want to write them on here now before I stop noticing them and they become normal.
So first thing is - apparently road helmets are not compulsory here. I am not sure why this bothers me, given that I am entirely disinterested in cycling anywhere, ever. However some seldom used neuron in my brain seems to remember a graphic advertising campaign when helmets were made compulsory in Australia. Something to do with a watermelon smashing on a road?? (Have I imagined this?) So basically when I am walking down the street seeing all these un-helmeted cyclists, they transform into a bunch of melon-heads on two-wheelers. Kind of entertaining. I just don't want to see anyone fall off.
Second thing is, unsurprisingly, the ongoing neuroticism about and obsession with, the weather. The entire first week I was here was miserable - punctuated with an absolutely divine weekend last weekend (I got sunburnt a little bit!) and even Monday was pretty good. Now, having grown up in Australia where wide open spaces are not an especial privilege (except if you live in inner-Sydney I guess) I cracked a chuckle on the street (strict no-no anywhere in the world i suppose -makes you look like a bit of a nutter) when I saw people in BIKINIS sunbaking on the Redcliffe Square Gardens just up the road. It is a common lawned area that is locked in the evenings, but when the sun was out, people were lying there catching rays. I found that absolutely bizarre. It seems unnatural (and a little brave) to me to lie scantily clad in a garden that is in full view of surrounding 4 story terrace houses.
But each to their pasty-skinned own i guess!
Some big news here lately has been the recent smoking ban. It is now absolutely illegal in the UK to smoke anywhere that is not completely outdoors. I have seen some amusing debates on the likes of Sky and BBC where they have pulled in a 40 a day smoker, croaking her way through the irritating consequences of the ban on her life, alongside a self-righteous loner who is happy that he will now be able to enjoy is solitary pint in smoke-free solitude. Hurrah. I must confess it was a weird novelty to get home last Saturday in the early-hours and not reek of smoke.
The other weird thing about getting home at 3.30 am, was that the sun was already rising. Now THAT dear friends, is damned hard to get used to. Especially since it is not properly dark until around 10.30pm. My jet lag (which was already fairly annoying) was made even harder to bear by my body's stubborn determination to awaken at 6am regardless of the time I went to bed. The benefits of long days however, are that, given the erratic weather, the longer the day the greater the likelihood of sunshine. (See I am starting to get fixated on the weather already!)
Running around here is not as easy as I would like - although once you get down to the river, the Chelsea Embankment is not a bad run. Unfortunately, I am out of running action for perhaps one more day as I have blisters on my heels, basically because I was stupid enough to wear new shoes when I walked to the shop. They hacked up my heels so fast it was astonishing. And given that I start work soon I don't want to aggravate them further.
Oh yeah, work. So I have a job. 3 month contract through a legal recruiter. Doing some hopefully interesting work with this organisation. ;-)
Monday, July 09, 2007
I am.....
......GOING TO SEE ANGUS AND JULIA STONE TONIGHT IN LONDON (alone probably!)
Yayayayaya.
New pics on the photostream btw.
Yayayayaya.
New pics on the photostream btw.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Three Virgo's Walk Into A Bar.....
.....one says "let's make a list", the second says "well I'm going to have to be the one that writes it", the third says nothing and knows that he could do it far better than the other two. The third also orders some champagne.
I had a lovely dinner Monday night with Frilly and an old colleague of hers. We ate at a little restaurant - Tom's Kitchen - which is I think like a side-project of a famous chef. I'm sorry, I've forgotten his name but I assume it is Tom something...... Anyway, as it turns out - we were all virgos and had a relatively entertaining discussion (among others) about our shared traits. I wasn't attempting a joke with that first paragraph (well I sort of was) - but virgos in my readership will be amused I'm sure.
I ate a delicious grilled tuna nicoise salad, and consumed copious amounts of champagne, and suffered the entire day yesterday because of it. I actually did very little apart from sit transfixed as it HAILED in the middle of summer (as depicted in the video below).
Sunday night I popped over to an old school and uni friend of dad's place - who is now the Minister of State for Climate Change here. I hereby publicly vouch for his cooking - absolutely delicious - Thai Pork Chops and mushrooms. Yummmmmy!
Monday I had an interview with an agency who called me three hours later to offer me work (that didn't pay enough ;-) and then I had another interview that will potentially become work in September, once I have finished the GDLP requirements. So, things are simmering away on that front, happily.
Last night I caught a train with an old family friend, up to Cheshire and am currently writing this from his cottage. I had a lengthy conversation with him on the train about how, even though leaving Australia entails saying goodbye to for example, nice weather, great lifestyle, comparatively cheap cost of living etc - living in the UK brings new treats, such as being able to visit friends in 300 year old cottages. Yes, this house is older than post-settlement Australia.
People who have found me on Facebook (new addiction) will have noticed my current status which is "Adelle is in Cheshire, and coming to terms with the fact that living in the UK means that "weekends in Europe" is actually a phrase that exists." Yes people, I anticipate a short sojourn in Europe in the next four weeks. Honestly, the tickets are so cheap, and now with all the bombing plots etc people are a bit antsy about travelling. Not me!
My final thought for this post is on the terror stuff. I can't help but be rather envious of the way in which the Prime Minister and Home Secretary have chosen their words carefully on the subject - careful not to make statements that have the effect of demonising all Muslims. John Howard is probably champing at the bit for a plot to be foiled in Australia so that he can roll out his nasty, divisive, xenophobic rhetoric and claw his way back up a few points in the polls.
Political nuts might be surprised to hear that the NT Aboriginal Stuff has also made the news here -the mates I saw on Friday night seemed to know a fair bit about it, which was surprising.
Anyhoo, am jumping out of my skin as Kim is arriving here soon, and I get to meet Tilly (her daughter). Will put photo's on ASAP.
I had a lovely dinner Monday night with Frilly and an old colleague of hers. We ate at a little restaurant - Tom's Kitchen - which is I think like a side-project of a famous chef. I'm sorry, I've forgotten his name but I assume it is Tom something...... Anyway, as it turns out - we were all virgos and had a relatively entertaining discussion (among others) about our shared traits. I wasn't attempting a joke with that first paragraph (well I sort of was) - but virgos in my readership will be amused I'm sure.
I ate a delicious grilled tuna nicoise salad, and consumed copious amounts of champagne, and suffered the entire day yesterday because of it. I actually did very little apart from sit transfixed as it HAILED in the middle of summer (as depicted in the video below).
Sunday night I popped over to an old school and uni friend of dad's place - who is now the Minister of State for Climate Change here. I hereby publicly vouch for his cooking - absolutely delicious - Thai Pork Chops and mushrooms. Yummmmmy!
Monday I had an interview with an agency who called me three hours later to offer me work (that didn't pay enough ;-) and then I had another interview that will potentially become work in September, once I have finished the GDLP requirements. So, things are simmering away on that front, happily.
Last night I caught a train with an old family friend, up to Cheshire and am currently writing this from his cottage. I had a lengthy conversation with him on the train about how, even though leaving Australia entails saying goodbye to for example, nice weather, great lifestyle, comparatively cheap cost of living etc - living in the UK brings new treats, such as being able to visit friends in 300 year old cottages. Yes, this house is older than post-settlement Australia.
People who have found me on Facebook (new addiction) will have noticed my current status which is "Adelle is in Cheshire, and coming to terms with the fact that living in the UK means that "weekends in Europe" is actually a phrase that exists." Yes people, I anticipate a short sojourn in Europe in the next four weeks. Honestly, the tickets are so cheap, and now with all the bombing plots etc people are a bit antsy about travelling. Not me!
My final thought for this post is on the terror stuff. I can't help but be rather envious of the way in which the Prime Minister and Home Secretary have chosen their words carefully on the subject - careful not to make statements that have the effect of demonising all Muslims. John Howard is probably champing at the bit for a plot to be foiled in Australia so that he can roll out his nasty, divisive, xenophobic rhetoric and claw his way back up a few points in the polls.
Political nuts might be surprised to hear that the NT Aboriginal Stuff has also made the news here -the mates I saw on Friday night seemed to know a fair bit about it, which was surprising.
Anyhoo, am jumping out of my skin as Kim is arriving here soon, and I get to meet Tilly (her daughter). Will put photo's on ASAP.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Irony and Fatigue
As I stated in the first post of this particular adventure, I am a devoted fan of discordant juxtapositions. Equally however, I am fascinated by irony.
In that context, you can imagine by current state of mind, given that after having just travelled through a country at war (Sri Lanka) my arrival in London was timed perfectly to coincide to a new wave of apparent terrorism, albeit apparently in an amateurish form .
As I sit now, I am watching Sky News about the Glasgow car attack which happened just a couple of hours ago. Rewinding back to yesterday, I was running a few first-day errands, one of which involved a visit to Piccadilly to pick up my bank card. I naively assumed, seeing a section of the Circus cordoned off, that someone famous was in town or that a movie was being shot. Imagine my surprise then, as I descended underground to jump on the tube back to Earls Court, at seeing a newspaper stand screaming the words "London Nightclub Terror Plot". Serves me right for not watching the morning news.
Anyway, can barely believe it, but not to worry. There's not really a lot to be done.
Meanwhile, London has been a blast thus far. Admittedly, I haven't done much, and my body is stubbornly clinging to abnormally early wake-up times whilst at the same time giving me mid-evening second-winds that keep me awake. So I have a growing sleep deficit, that I am determined to rectify this evening - I was mean to be training it out to Woking to catch up with family friends, but after packing my bag and getting ready to leave, sat down and fell asleep!
Other than that, I can't resist mentioning a weird thing that keeps happening, and I am dead keen to hear if anyone else has had this happen to them in a similar situation. Basically, as I have been walking the streets I keep seeing people and double-taking because they bear striking resemblance to people at home. It has happened about 20 times now and is completely bizarre!
Something else strange that happened today after I went out to find a salon that sold decent shampoo and conditioner (yes, dear friends know I am finnicky about hair products!) was that I popped in to subway to grab myself some lunch and was in the queue behind an Aussie guy who upon hearing my accent turned around and asked me where I was from. Turns out he and his mate were from Adelaide - a pair of Italian guys called "Johnny and Vince" who work in the Europa Cafe down at Glenelg. So I sat down and ate with them, because I suppose, there was no reason not too, and we had a good laugh. The idea of starting an "Adelaide Club" was mooted. Numbers were exchanged. They are heading over to Spain for the running of the bulls, so if they make it back in one piece, I expect we shall meet for beers. Random.
And finally, another, well not ironic, but somewhat fortuitous thing occurred last night. Many of you would have recieved the email with my contact details in the UK which I sent last night. (If not, let me know). Anyway, as I was winding down last night (immediately prior to the arrival of the "second-wind") I got a call from an unidentified male speaking in a relatively thick Sri-Lankan sounding accent. I interrupted to say basically "who the hell is this" - and after a bit of a laugh at the other end of the line, the mystery man revealed himself to be my mate Kara, who I met in Yogya last year. It turned out that he was at his girlfriend's place a mere 100m or so away from where I am staying. So we caught up for a beer (and a Monk - cointrea, soda and lime) at a pub in Chelsea called The Hollywood Arms, and reminisced on old times! Very pleasant!
Anyway, eyes are shutting and I want to get to sleep before bloody second-wind arrives! Although with about 50 channels of news to watch all this stuff unfolding, I'm struggling to drag myself away. The fact that it stays light until about 9.30 doesn't help either - and is probably adding to the confusion of my already befuddled body-clock.
Should have jobs update for you very soon. As I have managed to burn through a couple of hundred quid already ("establishment expenses!") need to hurry up and get one! Can you believe my dry-cleaning bill for my suit, two jackets and a dress was about $70??!!! Aaaargh!
Also, to the alcho's who called me in the middle of the Adelaide night to say hello - you made my day. Hehehehe. Bet your heads are thumping today.
In that context, you can imagine by current state of mind, given that after having just travelled through a country at war (Sri Lanka) my arrival in London was timed perfectly to coincide to a new wave of apparent terrorism, albeit apparently in an amateurish form .
As I sit now, I am watching Sky News about the Glasgow car attack which happened just a couple of hours ago. Rewinding back to yesterday, I was running a few first-day errands, one of which involved a visit to Piccadilly to pick up my bank card. I naively assumed, seeing a section of the Circus cordoned off, that someone famous was in town or that a movie was being shot. Imagine my surprise then, as I descended underground to jump on the tube back to Earls Court, at seeing a newspaper stand screaming the words "London Nightclub Terror Plot". Serves me right for not watching the morning news.
Anyway, can barely believe it, but not to worry. There's not really a lot to be done.
Meanwhile, London has been a blast thus far. Admittedly, I haven't done much, and my body is stubbornly clinging to abnormally early wake-up times whilst at the same time giving me mid-evening second-winds that keep me awake. So I have a growing sleep deficit, that I am determined to rectify this evening - I was mean to be training it out to Woking to catch up with family friends, but after packing my bag and getting ready to leave, sat down and fell asleep!
Other than that, I can't resist mentioning a weird thing that keeps happening, and I am dead keen to hear if anyone else has had this happen to them in a similar situation. Basically, as I have been walking the streets I keep seeing people and double-taking because they bear striking resemblance to people at home. It has happened about 20 times now and is completely bizarre!
Something else strange that happened today after I went out to find a salon that sold decent shampoo and conditioner (yes, dear friends know I am finnicky about hair products!) was that I popped in to subway to grab myself some lunch and was in the queue behind an Aussie guy who upon hearing my accent turned around and asked me where I was from. Turns out he and his mate were from Adelaide - a pair of Italian guys called "Johnny and Vince" who work in the Europa Cafe down at Glenelg. So I sat down and ate with them, because I suppose, there was no reason not too, and we had a good laugh. The idea of starting an "Adelaide Club" was mooted. Numbers were exchanged. They are heading over to Spain for the running of the bulls, so if they make it back in one piece, I expect we shall meet for beers. Random.
And finally, another, well not ironic, but somewhat fortuitous thing occurred last night. Many of you would have recieved the email with my contact details in the UK which I sent last night. (If not, let me know). Anyway, as I was winding down last night (immediately prior to the arrival of the "second-wind") I got a call from an unidentified male speaking in a relatively thick Sri-Lankan sounding accent. I interrupted to say basically "who the hell is this" - and after a bit of a laugh at the other end of the line, the mystery man revealed himself to be my mate Kara, who I met in Yogya last year. It turned out that he was at his girlfriend's place a mere 100m or so away from where I am staying. So we caught up for a beer (and a Monk - cointrea, soda and lime) at a pub in Chelsea called The Hollywood Arms, and reminisced on old times! Very pleasant!
Anyway, eyes are shutting and I want to get to sleep before bloody second-wind arrives! Although with about 50 channels of news to watch all this stuff unfolding, I'm struggling to drag myself away. The fact that it stays light until about 9.30 doesn't help either - and is probably adding to the confusion of my already befuddled body-clock.
Should have jobs update for you very soon. As I have managed to burn through a couple of hundred quid already ("establishment expenses!") need to hurry up and get one! Can you believe my dry-cleaning bill for my suit, two jackets and a dress was about $70??!!! Aaaargh!
Also, to the alcho's who called me in the middle of the Adelaide night to say hello - you made my day. Hehehehe. Bet your heads are thumping today.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Reading Balzac, Knocking Back...Lion Beer?
I wasn't planning on getting to the internet this early today, but a crazy Irish woman showed up at my hotel last night and has been causing trouble this morning - disturbing the serenity for me, the only other guest. All the other SriLankan's are saying she is absolutely nuts, and after a short conversation with her in which she managed to tell about 5 lies, I concur.
Meanwhile, with a belly full of devilled crab last night, I sat taking photo's, reading my Balzac book (am now obsessed with it - it's fantastic) and wrote these things (among others) in my little book of thoughts that I am carrying with me;
What do crabs eat?
How many people die each year at the hands (shells?)of falling coconuts?
Happiness is not a warm gun; happiness is a warm bed, a warm beer (sometimes) a warm belly (a full belly), a warm heart.
"There never was a truer saying than the most beautiful things in the world are a frigate at full sail, a galloping horse and a woman dancing." The character Eugene, "Old Goriot", Balzac.
"To do what you want is freedom, to do what you like is happness" - Anande, Manager, Lucky Dolphin, 23/6/07.
A rupee for your thoughts Madame? A rupee for my thoughts.
Meanwhile, with a belly full of devilled crab last night, I sat taking photo's, reading my Balzac book (am now obsessed with it - it's fantastic) and wrote these things (among others) in my little book of thoughts that I am carrying with me;
What do crabs eat?
How many people die each year at the hands (shells?)of falling coconuts?
Happiness is not a warm gun; happiness is a warm bed, a warm beer (sometimes) a warm belly (a full belly), a warm heart.
"There never was a truer saying than the most beautiful things in the world are a frigate at full sail, a galloping horse and a woman dancing." The character Eugene, "Old Goriot", Balzac.
"To do what you want is freedom, to do what you like is happness" - Anande, Manager, Lucky Dolphin, 23/6/07.
A rupee for your thoughts Madame? A rupee for my thoughts.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Jelly Legs
Well, I knew I couldn't maintain my early pace for long and consequently I now have to catch you up on the last few incredibly relaxing days in one post. Fortunately (for me and my lazy typing fingers) I haven't been doing very much.
To begin with, it is very much low season here in Hikkaduwa. Which is fine in many respects - no drunk backpackers screaming on the beach, cheaper prices and no waiting anywhere. The downside is that the high, rough monsoon seas have taken a big bite out of the beach which is too rough for swimming, I stick out like a sore thumb, and there aren't many people to talk to about the place.
I have been therefore engaged in several activities which are entirely undemanding, being; sleeping, eating, reading, and ayuervedic treatment.
The first two are fairly self-explanatory. Eating here is good and cheap and because I am next to the ocean have scoffed down a variety of seafood. Also tried vegetable rotti today for the first time, which for fans of Indian food, is like a piece of naan bread stuffed with yummy vege filling.
On the reading - I just finished the book club book, "The Year of Living Dangerously" and am now left with a choice between Balzac or Shakespeare, which were the only 2 English language books I could find in a little book stall I came across. Heavy.
As for the Ayurveda - well that came about because I was looking for somewhere to have a massage - and came upon a clinic where there was actually a Doctor of Ayurvedic medicine. I ended up having a consultation, after which he prescribed me a 3 two-hour sessions of various treatments to re balance my chi or something like that (am being a little trite, mainly because I can't remember the name of what it is that needed to be rebalanced....)
So for the last three days I have been variously slapped, chopped, kneaded, rubbed, prodded, beaten with bags of milk soaked rice, given a facial and had my face massaged (definite winner for those of you who have never had that done) bathed in herbal water and given different energy tonics and herbal concoctions to swallow.
The best thing however was definitely the Shirodara which I was a little worried about at first, as it reminded me of Chinese water torture, but after half an hour of oil plopping on my forehead and running through my hair, I was asleep like a baby and very deeply relaxed. I left the clinic yesterday with my oiled hair wrapped in a weird cloth (much to the amusement of the tuk-tuk drivers on the side of the road as I walked back to my cabana) with strict instructions not to wash my hair until evening, and to "very relax" for the rest of the day. I read my book for about an hour and then fell into a total coma for three hours, at which time I could no longer stand the oil in my hair and ended up washing it and going out to find dinner. But I very much recommend Shirodara.
One thing that I haven't mentioned yet is that Hikkaduwa was one of the parts of Sri Lanka quite affected by the Tsunami. It is not as bad as some of the places up north that I saw on my way from Colombo (my driver pointed out one spot where an entire train full of people were wiped out - 1500 people in one 200 metre spot). On the way down here there were lots of signs along the road, indicating where various aid organisations and donations from countries have paid for regeneration. Hikka was nowhere near as bad as those places, but a lot of the people here lost their families and livelihoods.
Last night I chanced upon just about the only other Aussie in town, a guy from Perth, and after the restaurant we were eating in shut at 10, we took two Lion beers with us and sat on the beach, musing over what we would do if the sea started sucking out in anticipation of a killer wave. I am not sure what conclusion we ultimately reached, but I think it was something along the lines of "run into the jungle as fast as you bloody can". I wasn't too keen on the topic of conversation.
Nonetheless, am not worried - Nimal assured me that Tsunami's happen about every 200 years in Sri Lanka just to wipe out some of the excess population; "You see Madam, every few hundred years the earth get too heavy - like when you carry to many coconut in one arm and your arm tired - you dropping no? - tsunami it get rid of extra people so earth not falling out from sky."
Pristine logic no?
Anyway, have reconfirmed my flight for the next leg. (Apparently Sri Lankan Air are notorious for bumping you if you don't) - and now is time to face the next challenge - getting through Immigration in the UK without my British passport. Sigh. No amount of Ayurveda is going to cure my anxiety about that.
I will try and upload some more photo's - video even. Haven't taken many though - as I haven't moved very far out of the same 2Km stretch of road since Saturday.
Ok am going now - an ancient Sri Lankan lady who looks a little bit like she might be involved in the dark arts (i.e. be a witch) just extended her hand through the window, and I was too scared not to give her 50 rupees. I am sure she is perfectly fine and very nice, but there was something worrisome about that hooky little nose.......
To begin with, it is very much low season here in Hikkaduwa. Which is fine in many respects - no drunk backpackers screaming on the beach, cheaper prices and no waiting anywhere. The downside is that the high, rough monsoon seas have taken a big bite out of the beach which is too rough for swimming, I stick out like a sore thumb, and there aren't many people to talk to about the place.
I have been therefore engaged in several activities which are entirely undemanding, being; sleeping, eating, reading, and ayuervedic treatment.
The first two are fairly self-explanatory. Eating here is good and cheap and because I am next to the ocean have scoffed down a variety of seafood. Also tried vegetable rotti today for the first time, which for fans of Indian food, is like a piece of naan bread stuffed with yummy vege filling.
On the reading - I just finished the book club book, "The Year of Living Dangerously" and am now left with a choice between Balzac or Shakespeare, which were the only 2 English language books I could find in a little book stall I came across. Heavy.
As for the Ayurveda - well that came about because I was looking for somewhere to have a massage - and came upon a clinic where there was actually a Doctor of Ayurvedic medicine. I ended up having a consultation, after which he prescribed me a 3 two-hour sessions of various treatments to re balance my chi or something like that (am being a little trite, mainly because I can't remember the name of what it is that needed to be rebalanced....)
So for the last three days I have been variously slapped, chopped, kneaded, rubbed, prodded, beaten with bags of milk soaked rice, given a facial and had my face massaged (definite winner for those of you who have never had that done) bathed in herbal water and given different energy tonics and herbal concoctions to swallow.
The best thing however was definitely the Shirodara which I was a little worried about at first, as it reminded me of Chinese water torture, but after half an hour of oil plopping on my forehead and running through my hair, I was asleep like a baby and very deeply relaxed. I left the clinic yesterday with my oiled hair wrapped in a weird cloth (much to the amusement of the tuk-tuk drivers on the side of the road as I walked back to my cabana) with strict instructions not to wash my hair until evening, and to "very relax" for the rest of the day. I read my book for about an hour and then fell into a total coma for three hours, at which time I could no longer stand the oil in my hair and ended up washing it and going out to find dinner. But I very much recommend Shirodara.
One thing that I haven't mentioned yet is that Hikkaduwa was one of the parts of Sri Lanka quite affected by the Tsunami. It is not as bad as some of the places up north that I saw on my way from Colombo (my driver pointed out one spot where an entire train full of people were wiped out - 1500 people in one 200 metre spot). On the way down here there were lots of signs along the road, indicating where various aid organisations and donations from countries have paid for regeneration. Hikka was nowhere near as bad as those places, but a lot of the people here lost their families and livelihoods.
Last night I chanced upon just about the only other Aussie in town, a guy from Perth, and after the restaurant we were eating in shut at 10, we took two Lion beers with us and sat on the beach, musing over what we would do if the sea started sucking out in anticipation of a killer wave. I am not sure what conclusion we ultimately reached, but I think it was something along the lines of "run into the jungle as fast as you bloody can". I wasn't too keen on the topic of conversation.
Nonetheless, am not worried - Nimal assured me that Tsunami's happen about every 200 years in Sri Lanka just to wipe out some of the excess population; "You see Madam, every few hundred years the earth get too heavy - like when you carry to many coconut in one arm and your arm tired - you dropping no? - tsunami it get rid of extra people so earth not falling out from sky."
Pristine logic no?
Anyway, have reconfirmed my flight for the next leg. (Apparently Sri Lankan Air are notorious for bumping you if you don't) - and now is time to face the next challenge - getting through Immigration in the UK without my British passport. Sigh. No amount of Ayurveda is going to cure my anxiety about that.
I will try and upload some more photo's - video even. Haven't taken many though - as I haven't moved very far out of the same 2Km stretch of road since Saturday.
Ok am going now - an ancient Sri Lankan lady who looks a little bit like she might be involved in the dark arts (i.e. be a witch) just extended her hand through the window, and I was too scared not to give her 50 rupees. I am sure she is perfectly fine and very nice, but there was something worrisome about that hooky little nose.......
Sunday, June 24, 2007
A Cheeky Post
Just to make it 4 from 4 days - and to tell you that I have uploaded some pics of the trip so far for your enjoyment.
You know the drill.
You know the drill.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Hikkaduwa
Well I can barely believe it, but I have limped my way down the coast to Hikkaduwa and wouldn't you know it, the sea air has breathed some new life into my still-hurting throat.
My hotel, The Lucky Dolphin, is run by a dutch guy and is impeccably clean, very cute, and damn cheap. So ner mum! You CAN a decent room for 20 bucks a night.
I am mainly blogging today for the benefit of Uncle Daz, because he asked before I left to have cricket related tales relayed to him and I can't leave this one out. (As a side point, what is with the recurring cricketing theme of the journey so far?!
Once again the present story involves Nimal, my driver.
As we were leaving the airport and he was sussing me out so as to try and sell me his driving services, he asked where I was from. This has happened a number of times now (usually blokes asking) and when you say "Australia", they ramble off all the cities that have cricket grounds, and when they get to "Adelaide" and I say "yes", the inevitable answer is, "oh, that's a very famous cricket ground, Adelaide Oval" (sounds funnier if you imagine it said with a Sri Lankan accent - like Indian basically).
So Nimal launched into this tirade, "Well your country, you beat my country in world cup. Australian is cricketing King. Sri Lanka, we only come second."
"But that Adam Gilchrist, he is no good man".
To which I responded "Really, why do you think so?".
"Oh you know, he play with the ball in his glove and he wrecking the ball during world cup. He bad man."
Now I knew nothing of these ball tampering allegations whatsoever. So I was a little incredulous, and was sitting there musing over it when Nimal begrudginly said;
"Don't get me wrong, Adam Gilchrist, he is the "Master Blaster", but he no good man, he playing with ball."
Did I hear Nimal correctly? "Excuse me?, I said.
"Oh you know, Gillie is the Master Blaster. He is bloody good player."
I am not sure this comes across as funnily in print as it did in person, but my goodness, I had to bite my fist not to wet myself with laughter.
Its really hilarious, that Cricket is the cultural reference point for me and the bulk of the Sri Lankan populace, given that I generally loathe the Australian team. Nonetheless, it is nice that EVERYONE has heard of Adelaide here, if a little weird.
Meanwhile, all my male friends beware - I have merged you into one man and create a mythical boyfriend of you, just to keep people off my back when they ask if I have one. Don't ask which traits I have taken from which friend.....
Ok, have befriended and Irish lady here in the net cafe and invited myself to join them tonight when they are having drinks. Not going too hard, given my ongoing affliction (bought antibiotics today - that was amusing in itself - an ancient Sri Lankan man insisted on talking to me through a microphone that the whole pharmacy could hear, even when I was standing directly in front of him!) but will be nice to have a beer.
Okey. I believe thats three for three. (In some people's language I believe that is in fact called, a hattrick!)
My hotel, The Lucky Dolphin, is run by a dutch guy and is impeccably clean, very cute, and damn cheap. So ner mum! You CAN a decent room for 20 bucks a night.
I am mainly blogging today for the benefit of Uncle Daz, because he asked before I left to have cricket related tales relayed to him and I can't leave this one out. (As a side point, what is with the recurring cricketing theme of the journey so far?!
Once again the present story involves Nimal, my driver.
As we were leaving the airport and he was sussing me out so as to try and sell me his driving services, he asked where I was from. This has happened a number of times now (usually blokes asking) and when you say "Australia", they ramble off all the cities that have cricket grounds, and when they get to "Adelaide" and I say "yes", the inevitable answer is, "oh, that's a very famous cricket ground, Adelaide Oval" (sounds funnier if you imagine it said with a Sri Lankan accent - like Indian basically).
So Nimal launched into this tirade, "Well your country, you beat my country in world cup. Australian is cricketing King. Sri Lanka, we only come second."
"But that Adam Gilchrist, he is no good man".
To which I responded "Really, why do you think so?".
"Oh you know, he play with the ball in his glove and he wrecking the ball during world cup. He bad man."
Now I knew nothing of these ball tampering allegations whatsoever. So I was a little incredulous, and was sitting there musing over it when Nimal begrudginly said;
"Don't get me wrong, Adam Gilchrist, he is the "Master Blaster", but he no good man, he playing with ball."
Did I hear Nimal correctly? "Excuse me?, I said.
"Oh you know, Gillie is the Master Blaster. He is bloody good player."
I am not sure this comes across as funnily in print as it did in person, but my goodness, I had to bite my fist not to wet myself with laughter.
Its really hilarious, that Cricket is the cultural reference point for me and the bulk of the Sri Lankan populace, given that I generally loathe the Australian team. Nonetheless, it is nice that EVERYONE has heard of Adelaide here, if a little weird.
Meanwhile, all my male friends beware - I have merged you into one man and create a mythical boyfriend of you, just to keep people off my back when they ask if I have one. Don't ask which traits I have taken from which friend.....
Ok, have befriended and Irish lady here in the net cafe and invited myself to join them tonight when they are having drinks. Not going too hard, given my ongoing affliction (bought antibiotics today - that was amusing in itself - an ancient Sri Lankan man insisted on talking to me through a microphone that the whole pharmacy could hear, even when I was standing directly in front of him!) but will be nice to have a beer.
Okey. I believe thats three for three. (In some people's language I believe that is in fact called, a hattrick!)
Friday, June 22, 2007
All I (Don’t) Wanna Hear Is The Message Beep
Apart from myself there were 3 other non Sri Lankan or Indian women on the flight, and the plane was about 70% men.
I am yet to work out whether it was blatant disregard for the authority of the air hostesses or blatant disregard for their own safety, but it became apparent as the plane flew into land, that very few of the idiots on board the flight with me had actually switched their phones off when they got on the plane, and so I (and my fellow rule-abiding passengers) were struck by a cacophony of message beeps just as we hit turbulence on our way down.
The guy sitting next to me, who I idiotically had pinned as a nice quiet Indian man (especially since he reacted so placidly to my spilling half a cup of disprin on him), turned out to be a dirty rotten mid-flight texter. I couldn’t believe the audacity of the man to sit there sms-ing (Probably along the lines of - ‘Yeah, coming in to land now bro, see you in 20….”) , when my unhappiness at the whole situation was palpable.
After getting caught in the disembarkation stampede, I followed the steps of my Lonely Planet guide to the letter (look for information desk in arrival hall 1 – ask for price of taxi – go to arrival hall 2 - engage taxi driver), only to find myself standing like piffy at the front of the airport with no taxi’s in sight (“Madam, they aren’t allowed in here anymore for security reasons”).
Cue the entry of my new friend Nimal. I couldn’t even haggle him down 50 rupees, but was getting sick of standing there, and so agreed to pay a premium price (don’t ask) to get taken to my hotel. Now Mr Nimal is like Encyclopaedia Sri Lanka and I certainly made sure that I got my money’s worth from him on the way to my hotel. He even stopped to pick me up a sachet or 4 or a herbal remedy that he assures me will assist with my sore throat and bad chest. Meanwhile he was rescheduling my entire trip to
Anyway, just had a forgettable meal in an unforgettably dowdy restaurant in my hotel – the only good thing about it was the wonderful views of the port, which is right next to where I am staying. I haven’t seen another Anglo face now since I left the airport, which is not something that I am unused to, but it’s just that when it has happened in the past I spoke the language.
I got a free upgrade to a deluxe room when I checked in (you get what you pay for, this place is OKAAAAY), and the concierge then rang half an hour later to ask if I liked my room and also to inform me that there is a nightclub in the hotel. Quite hilarious, but not for me right now. I am exhausted – my body is 4 hours out of whack – as well as sick still. My glands feel enormous – shudder.
Anyway enough melodramatic talk. Wow 2 days 2 posts. Can she maintain the rage????
Signing off from Lanka.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Do Eastern Europeans Play Cricket?
Friends, you know that I love discordant juxtapositions, and my flight over to KL was no exception. I was stuffed in the back section of the plane with half of eastern Europe butted up against the
Rewind a moment. As I boarded the plane, a very nice lady pointed out that I might want to dab my tear-stained face with a tissue, and when I looked at myself in the mirror, I thought that it had been very polite of her NOT to point out that I looked like a half-drowned swamp monster. When I took my seat, the man I was sitting next to was a little elderly, and could see that I had been blubbering, and in that reassuring grandfatherly way called me “good girl” every time I said anything, and “luv”, as only Aussies can.
He turned out to be the coach of the Saints cricket team – a man by the name of Neil Danzie, who played cricket for SA for 20 years, and was a state selector for 30 years. He was an absolutely delightful man, salt-of-the-earth, and kept me company throughout the flight (and I taught him how to use the inflight entertainment).
Anyway, cut to random plane full of Europeans. The whole row behind me were Albanians and then to my left and the front were Croatians. Those who saw me off at the airport, may remember the Albanians for such things as – having 2 screaming children (one who threw herself on the floor for a good 10 minutes as I was checking in!) The children did scream for a portion of the flight, however thanks to a good combination of Sudafed, Red Wine and Neil Young on my ipod I managed to ignore them, and ultimately befriended them (they gave me lollies – or “caramelle” in Albanian). They were only little after all – 1 and 2½ . The older one insisted on talking to me in her guttural accent that made absolutely no sense to me of course, but it was endearing. She won me over. I must be getting jelly-hearted in my old age….
Anyway, as I disembarked with Mr Danzie from the plane, the Saints boys all cheered him on (he threw his arm around me for good measure) and the little Albanian girls bid me adieu. I then realized that my bloody bags should have been checked all the way through to Colombo, as I had to do a dodgy at immigration and come all the way back out to the airport hotel having collected my bags (involved an intra-airport train ride and lots of stares – “Why has SHE got her suitcase on this side of immigration!?!”) It was one of those times where speaking a little bit of Indonesian (Malaysian) helped me to a) jump the queue b) get assistance and c) bend the rules. I knew that semester last year wasn’t wasted!!
So yeah, I am actually in KL in one piece, practically catatonic, throat swollen and very sore, in the airport hotel typing this on the delightful 1970’s bedspread, waiting for morning and wishing I had some Aspro Clear.
The first leg is complete.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Ze Adelaide Weekend
The Adelaide weekend is over - and the debaucherous evidence is available on my photostream.
It was also the anniversary of the Yogya quake on Sunday. I was awake at the exact anniversary - approx 5.54 am. I can still remember it like it was yesterday. :-(
It was also the anniversary of the Yogya quake on Sunday. I was awake at the exact anniversary - approx 5.54 am. I can still remember it like it was yesterday. :-(
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
A Comment on Simple Pleasures
In the last two days I have had two experiences which have given me cause for great delight.
One - walking down to the pub for Monday night drinks, watching the sun set behind moody clouds and between two buildings while listening to the bells from the Adelaide Town Hall ring for no apparent reason at 6.17pm.
Two - eating a gigantic juicy field tomato this afternoon while perched in front of my computer reading Crikey in lieu of a lunchbreak.
Aaaaah yes, the simple things in life are often the best.
I know, I'm a loser.
One - walking down to the pub for Monday night drinks, watching the sun set behind moody clouds and between two buildings while listening to the bells from the Adelaide Town Hall ring for no apparent reason at 6.17pm.
Two - eating a gigantic juicy field tomato this afternoon while perched in front of my computer reading Crikey in lieu of a lunchbreak.
Aaaaah yes, the simple things in life are often the best.
I know, I'm a loser.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Xavier Rudd
This probably breaks a whole bunch of laws, but if you click this link, you can see the 5 minute video of Xavier Rudd that I took at Blues and Roots. It is his song "Let Me Be" in full!
Monday, April 09, 2007
Generational Dilemmas
So I promised a few more words about the Blues and Roots Festival before the week was through. I might not get these published until Monday, but I am writing them on Easter Saturday. Erina and I have been watching/listening to Live 8 all day at the shack, which is an interesting musical backdrop to discuss the importance and power of music as an instrument of change and engagement.
That aside, the crowd got right into the “stand up and be counted” messages.
But – I am not sure if the songs are ever construed by the punters as the writers intend them. I wonder if the social commentators of today hit their mark?
Now to Ben Harper, who played one of the most inspiring sets I have ever seen. That guy is a very skilled musician and from my privileged viewing position about 10m from the stage, some of his songs took on a new meaning for me. The beauty of his music is that he writes wonderful songs about love, loss and heartbreak but also makes political statements about war, violence, corruption and so has the capacity to speak to anyone who will listen about whatever is on their mind. His political messages are subtle, but to me are about engaging with a system that won’t always engage with you, about the power that one person has to refuse to accept that the way things are is the way things must be.
As someone caught between two generations of politically apathetic peers*, these are potentially powerful messages.
I worry that the punters, the people most likely to be listening to the messages, hear them not as words of motivation and messages of empowerment, but as excuses to disengage and to detach…. Using them as justifications to absolve themselves of responsibility for decisions made on their behalf by the governments they may have helped to elect, or to dismiss as lost causes the ongoing struggles of people around the world, and of those in their own backyards………..
“Policy and politics, it’s a drag – they put one foot in the grave, and the other on the flag”. And that is a lyric that links back to my previous post about inspiration and the ongoing quandaries of a surface dwelling existence – that lyric, it burns behind my eyeballs in those rare and self-indulgent existential moments …..
So, yeah uh…. Thanks to those people who wrote emails to me about the inspiration blog – even though there is only one comment on there, a few people took the time to tell me their thoughts, which was nice. And Erin your compliment did not go unnoticed (thanks – very kind) although obviously I am obliged to disagree with you. Hahaha.
*AM happy to take debate on this point, but I have decided that at 24 I am neither Gen X nor Gen Y, but a bit of both, Gen X+Y/2. Sound right?
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Blues and Roots
Just got back from Blues and Roots festival in Perth - it was absolutely amazing. Saw (amongst others) Wolfmother, The Waifs, Blue King Brown, Eugene Hideaway Bridges, John Mayer, Gomez, Ben Kweller and the master, Ben Harper. Also discovered a new artist - Piers Faccini - who was Jeff Buckley-esque and had the (slightly hungover) Sunday mid-afternoon crowd absolutely mesmerized.
I should get more thoughts about the festival on here by the end of the week, but in the meantime - here is a pic of Erina and I enjoying a bev and a sing to Xavier Rudd!
I should get more thoughts about the festival on here by the end of the week, but in the meantime - here is a pic of Erina and I enjoying a bev and a sing to Xavier Rudd!
Saturday, March 24, 2007
The Inspiration Void
Sitting a few nights ago at a work function, which should have been one of the more rewarding things to pad out my working week, I was struck quite suddenly by two thoughts.
Firstly, as the speaker on the podium discussed the importance of professional mentors for young women who are trying to climb the ladder in what still is (sorry but it is) a man's world now decorated with the cacophony of competing interests tugging at the trouser legs of young women, it dawned on me that it is important in your professional life to have someone quite removed from your working situation, to mentor you throughout your career. It is a meritorious idea for a number of reasons. One being because in your workplace you rarely get the kind of g's up and pats on the back that spur you on and give you the confidence to push yourself that bit harder, and secondly, because of the intrinsic value of having the unbiased advice of someone outside the circle, who has your interests at heart, and, no reason to be anything except honest with you.
While I was sitting there contemplating possible mentor candidates for myself, I was thinking that my potential mentor would need to be someone who along with all the other things, was inspiring.
And then it hit me. I have been struck in an inspiration void since I got back from
I love ideas. I love thinking about them, talking about them, debating them. And I rarely have time to do any of those things. Or, when I do, translating that excitement into something tangible that I can put into practice is usually doused by the hum-drum ho-hum of the day to day drudge.
Playing catch-up is not innovative. Absent a big-picture, the piecemeal nibbling at ideas is not visionary.
But alas, that is where I am in my window-less office, working on stuff that is going to make a massive difference to the lives of the constituency it is aimed at, but nonetheless which should have been accomplished years ago, and for which, being associated with claimers of kudos, feels a little dishonest and the diametric opposite of inspiring.
So as I sat there glazed-eyed, listening to debate and discussion about *someone's* vision, I depressed myself almost to the point of having to clutch the table - panicked and white-knuckled. Where does one draw inspiration from such a bleak picture?
I find books and music are often the sources of great exhilaration, but rarely inspiration. You can chuckle behind your hand, spit at my feet, roll your eyes, when I tell you that one of the most inspiring books that I have read, was Paul Keating's biography.
For his multitudinous flaws, and occasional lapses of public front, Keating had and articulated with passion, a clear vision of the type of
It is a little glum to think that any little flames that everyday things ignite, can be so easily extinguished by the sodden grey rag that is, ahem, reality. Slap, slap goes the rag. What's that you say? I am only allowed to think ahead until the next election? this financial year? until I decide to have children?
Of course, this is not the way I feel about life generally, but it is, I think, the peril of the worker drone. The 60 hour week, paper pusher – the 70 hour week billable unit machine – you name it. Absent leadership and inspiration, too easy it is, to bog on down in the day-to-day and forget or ignore, the ideas that make it worth it.
I am still trying to work out exactly what the point of this post is, apart from pointing out the frustrations of rudderlessness. And the ironic thing is that I have a rudder – one that is going to steer me on out of my office, the state and the country. Deh!
I am concerned that I always come off looking pessimistic, angry and defeatist on this blog when I raise this kind of issue – but you know I’m not. Things just niggle at me until I have to bring them up.
,
I am interested to hear what inspires you kids (and no, boozy nights out, fine food and wine, and the football don’t count!)
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Sittin' Down Trackside
I went to the races on the weekend! There are some pics on the photostream for your amusement!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
