Tasman Rhapsody.

My Tasmanian mini-stay was nice. It occurred about two months ago, but in a totally unrelated manner I seemed to branch off into a complete and utter careless state of mind soon after returning to my city... 

But as I said Tassie was very nice. Nan and Pa were visited and much kissing and hugging ensued... the polaroid camera was pulled out and passed round... vintage secondhand stores were looted and breakfast houses were accommodating and fed us delicious things (Raspberry Farm pancakes - yes please). Mumma was so heavily pregnant and I felt lucky to witness her a week or so off D-day. It was also very nice to be mothered (talk about nesting mode) - I got my vans all muddy whilst trekking with my little brother and in the morning discovered them all cleaned and neat sitting by the front door. You don't take that sort of thing for granted after you've had to do it yourself so long!

As per the attached photographs, follow our doings: Much hiking of the country around Mum and Tom's little pocket of land with my brother (who may or may not know some of my deepest secrets as a result), markets, coffees, the exultant discovery of a beautiful vintage Olivetti portable typewriter in mint condition for a mere fifteen dollars, visits to Devonport and the Spirit (oh hello, The Spirit), absorbing the abuse of a six year old wench who wanted to use our playground equipment, blustery wind, sea spray and baby kicks. 

Of Girls, Crumpets and Stalking Part II.

Melbourne suburbs differ so greatly, and yet have this great wild feeling holding them together. I constantly have a love for this city gripping my heart tighter than skinny jeans shrunk in the wash. I can't help it. It doesn't matter if there's a crazy person on the city loop train pacing and yelling for no apparent reason, or that someone has yakked everywhere blocking the entrance to the Flinders Street Station toilets on a Saturday night... or that some dude is hanging his head in the door of my work on sunny Saturday, enquiring after a hot chick wearing headphones whilst making no sense whatsover - this city is mine and the people who reside here are generally included in my affections.

Well, all except a few: one of which is the aforementioned laundromat woman. Normally I love anything to do with laundromats... they remind me of freshly washed clothes and blankets, Twisties, magazines and the comfortable smell of warmth and washing powder. As if it would be possible not to have delightful memories of such a place! However, now I have to run past the one at the bottom of my hill (between my house and the station) in constant fear that I'm going to have a run in with this lady... and her bags. Or whatever.

I hadn't even thought about her for a couple of days. Sure, I told a boy at work and a couple of others - for a laugh, you know? I didn't mind, I felt she was harmless and that I wouldn't even have to see her again. Today however, having said goodbye to my kiwi friends in Brunswick, I set out up the street to cross the road and catch the tram into the city. Much to my horror, I looked up from my phone at the lights and there she was, less than three metres away with her bags set carefully around her on the pavement, just smiling at the general public and looking confidently put together. 

My thoughts froze and I quickly looked the other way. I could feel her eyes burning into the back of my head and my brain scrambled to think how this would look to her, if she did indeed consider me a spy like the last time we met. Here I was, showing up less than a week later, in a completely different suburb at the same time as her, looking stupidly suspicious due to the fact that I couldn't run away and dial Ju fast enough. 

'She's at the lights Ju, oh my goodness it's actually her! What am I going to do? - she really thinks I'm a corrupt police mole! Damn it I just missed my tram' - as my tram rumbles by - 'I'm so embarrassed right now! I almost said hello again! Shit!'

Thanks to Ju's level-headed directorship, I ran instead to the train station - not without a few apprehensive peeks back over my shoulder - and managed to get home without seeing her again. My mumma thought it was hilarious, and reminded me again that the suspected bugging of the woman's bags should keep me safe and sound, but it really took me the whole afternoon to relax and shrug it off. I get so jolly flustered when I feel that someone thinks badly of me... I really have no idea what to do. All I know is, she better not be in that laundromat tomorrow morning, or I'm taking a picture in case I'm ever in need of a restraining order (bless).

The rest of my weekend was lovely. I spent plenty of time relaxing and hanging out with my recently re-patriated friend from New Zealand, Ju. She is returned from her holidays home and I'm ever so happy. This means plenty more fun with the kiwi girls, and Nick (sorry Nick)! Friday evening was reserved for cheapies at La La Land, which was great. 

Saturday after work (20 Aug) I shopped all up and down Chapel Street with Emma and wrapped it up with a Spanish feast at Basque. O. M. G. that was amazing. I scooped that day... think a black velvety, paisely patterned cocktail dress (even better than it sounds), and black Vivienne Westwood gel sandals with gold buckles - vintage. For twenty five dollars. F***. My gratitude must hereby be extended to my darling Miss Winter for the vintage spot of the century. Well work, Miss Winter. Sorry you're not a size forty! The remorse...

Saturday night was set aside for hitting the city with the NZ girls again - fun as per usual. And I spotted some Space man graffiti on Meyer's Lane above Loop Bar. I'm not sure if it's original, but cool if it is!

This morning we woke late, got breakfast from Green Cafe and trekked down to Princess Park for the longest sit in the sun, half undressed. It was amazing - such a beautiful day! Spring is here for certain, and don't Melbournians love it? 

I do.

Carlton Football Club

Hot air balloons from my train the other morning. There were four, and my mouth was open for most of the train ride. I'm obsessed. I must do this soon.

Laneway Lovers.

Trekking the laneways of Melbourne at 3:30am on a Wednesday morning, post-Eurotrash fever!

Big Discounts

Every week, things get more hectic. So now I'm taking the time to chill out and get centered. I've not written one thing down for the last 3 weeks at least, so it's too bad. I've felt sorry for myself because I haven't been able to surround myself with my friends as much as I'd like, as they've been away - some of the really bad ones leaving the country completely (you know who you are). So you know what? I'm going  to think about the funny things that have happened lately and write them out for you. Like the time I felt bad and went back outside to help a homeless lady with her bags. Settle in, kids.

This lady looked friendly enough. She smiled and laughed with the bus driver when he made a little joke about her 'moving house or somethin' as she clumsily plonked down her six or so bags in the aisle of the bus. She didn't look dodgy, she looked quite well done - young and all made up. But I recognised her as the lady who is sometimes sleeping in the laundromat down near the station when I go in the mornings to catch my train. I feel a pang of sadness every time... and I always spend the time waiting for my train trying to think of a way to help her, or if she even needs help at all. I can't help myself - I wonder for ages.

So when she got off the bus at the top of the hill - my stop, out the front of my house - and began to pull all her bags out and put them on the ground, I felt guilty as I walked up the driveway towards my warm house, where I have warm pyjams and a warm, before bed hot chocolate waiting for me. I went inside and put my own bags down in my room, and before I even knew what I was doing I found myself walking back out the front to ask her if she needed a hand with her luggage.

Poor nieve little innocent me. I should have considered the fact that, for all she knew, I could have been a ring-in for the corrupt police officers / stalker gang / f**king nutcases who would love her to consider herself absolutely and certainly insane, and who constantly know where she is because they've put a f**king bug in one of her bags (this comment purposefully directed at said bags) and they've got all sorts of ways of keeping tabs on her - sneaky dirty tunnels right underneath the ground we were standing on - if I wanted a particular example. Who did she think these people were? Oh I don't know - people with AIDS or cancer who were angry at the world and didn't want her to live happily ever after, whereupon they made it their sole purpose in life to make her own a complete and utter fobbed out misery. I was quite probably recruited by these dirty mongers (as innocently sweet as I appeared) to help damage her life even further by offering to assist her, whilst finding out every little detail I could about her life so I could report directly back to my big evil CIA boss. I coughed because of my cold and the woman thought I was signalling to secret corrupt police officers who were most likely eagerly listening in on our conversation via the wires in my pocket. Mhmm.

Oh yes. This went on for at least one half hour... and I'm quite certain she stated in there somewhere that she also housed spiritual powers and the ability to communicate with angels. Did I mention that?

I, for one, began to wonder if the tirade was ever going to end. I was half leaning, half sitting on the neighbour's fence and my bottom was beginning to go numb with the cold. However, by this time I had grown much too frightened to walk back inside during her damaging and rather offensive declination of my good intentions, lest she become aware of my address and return for revenge once she had found and disposed of the bug she suspected was in her bags. Thank my lucky stars then, that God must have been listening to me (as opposed to the crazy lady), for a short time later, big, cold raindrops began to fall and it seemingly occurred to her that she'd best be on her way. She gathered up her bags and off she went, leaving me to dash back inside to my utmost relief. I had to call my mother right away as a means to sooth my frazzled countenance and become assured again that the woman was not going return for my head.

The next morning, there she was again in the laundromat, with her bags around her and her mobile phone plugged in. I've never skipped past so quickly in my life. I'm going to have to find a new secret path to the station, I think.

Checkpoint.

What I'm listening to: Oh, Ellie Goulding everything - but her acoustic versions are particularly great. I appreciate the version of Starry Eyed in the vid above... she goes off.


What I'm watching: When I got home tonight, Kate tossed the seventh season of NCIS in my general direction saying 'Here, I've finished it. Now you can watch the new hot McGee on your own time!' Not sure what that means, but I've smashed four episodes already (ok, he lost a little bit of weight and got a bit more manly - look out Donozo!).


What I'm eating: Soup. Lots of it, with buttered bread. Too much, but hey, it's winter. And I had a hot ham and cheese croissant for breakfast and it was bril.


What I'm reading: Erin gave me Pride and Prejudice for my birthday - the puffin book I can stuff in my bag and read on the train! Can't wait to get stuck right into it.


Where I'm going: Ok, this is ridiculous. Today I did 8 hours of paid training, for my job, at head office in St Kilda. We learnt just about everything you need to know about a million countries - UK + Europe (and surrounds), France and Italy, Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, China, the USA and everywhere. What I want to know now is: how the fuck am I going to fit this into four weeks of annual leave a year? I want to go everywhere! Best thing about my job? Half-priced to free tours with our wholesalers - mm mmm!


What I'm wearing: Pyjamas, again. Awesome!


What I'm wanting: To go to bed right and wake up tomorrow feeling like I've slept for a week. I love that feeling.

Kids.

In a Queensland child's life, the State of Origin stands out, whether or not their family is into football, or even owns a tv. I can remember it back for years.

Wednesday the 6th of July was a big one for Queenslanders and ex-pats alike. The third Origin simply rolled up into the climax of the season - Lockyer's last origin, and a true decider at that. We won and I was proud and happy... in a red wine haze of football and Skypes with Queensland work buddies. Nothing like a good game of NRL to bring a state together.

On Thursday, after work, it was Erin time again. We met on Chapel and made our way to the tacky IGA just down from my office. A bottle of red wine and a satay chicken dish later, we were deep in conversations about family trees, christmas and relationships. Deep. We sat for hours - a leisurely dinner - and afterwards made our way to San Churros for melted milk chocolate goodness. It was Erin's introduction and first time and her eyes were opened. Needless to say, San Churros is not a place you should frequent more than once a month. It's just really hard not too.

After work on Friday I found myself on the Frankston Express, headed swiftly for the Penince. This time I had to catch the bus from the station because the boys had already started drinking. Fortunately for me, the bus stop isn't too far from Brent's street, and I was able to make my way there without becoming frozen like a slushy. A couple of rounds of beer pong later, we were off to Main Street for a loose night - Mornington style. Brent was sad because he couldn't find his blue beanie anywhere, and I was amused because Brent's hair without a beanie can look silly.

God's Kitchen came first... we sat around and got boozed in a big old place that used to be a church. I bought Brent way too many goodbye beers. I don't know what I was thinking. I remember clicking my heels with Skinner as we skipped down the street towards Noodlebox. I vaguely remember inhaling a six inch Subway. Karl and Sam were there for a bit, and we danced a lot. I got into a domestic with a taxi rank officer who made me cry, Brent retrieved me delicately from the smallest, most seedy alley in Mornington and brushed away my tears (whilst assuring me that the taxi man thought he had false power and was the biggest bully on the planet), and then we went home and had hot milo and went to bed.

The next morning Brent, Skinner and myself had Big Breakfasts with sides of hollandaise and massive chocolate milkshakes, at Kate Mac's work. It was great. We found Brent's beanie in the dryer, then he and I road-tripped back into the city whilst nursing Gatorades and headaches, and singing. I will miss those trips.

You might think here: Hmm... Bronni's already had a pretty big weekend. It's Saturday afternoon and she's already been drunk almost every night of this week, she's played beer pong, she's smoked too much and she's probably going to have a shower, hop into bed, catch up on her blog and take it easy - because she has to work on Sunday.

Well you'd be incorrect.

I did have a shower, but it was only a five minute one - because we'd dillydallied much too long and I was super late. I had to throw on some clothes, quickly toss everything I needed for the next 24 hours into a bag and tear down the hill in a mad rush to catch the train. I was off to Miss Winter's house, to get ready for the Ball!

The Flight Centre ball was like nothing I've ever been to. It was very lavish; there was a red carpet and rows upon rows of waiters with trays of cocktails waiting on us in the foyer. There were ice queens on stilts, big blow-up candy cane people and haggard old dressed-up men wandering about, leering and making jokes. It was a christmas theme, and the little group from Student Flights in Prahran gazed at each other with gleaming eyes, grabbed two cocktails each, and proceded to become one of the very loosest bunch of colleagues at that ball...

Oh yes, that's us. All I need to reveal from that night is that: we danced, we drank, and Lizzie tipped a jug of milk all over Emma in her delicious black velvet dress. And we got a lift home in the Topdeck car.

When we got home to Emma's, we gobbled down some of her amazing potato and leek soup with grain bread and a big cup of water. I slept on the couch under the bear rug and with a silk mask. On Sunday, I woke up freakishly healthy (again), and off I skipped to work. That night I finally managed to get hold of my favourite cousin in Brisbane, Harvey, and we talked for hours and everything was very chill.

Monday 12 was the last opportunity I had to spend with my darling friend Ju, before she retreated back to New Zealand for a month to visit family. This time was not wasted. Well actually, we were very wasted, but that's a rather alternative concept... anyway, we found ourselves, quite late, at O'briens' Irish Pub on Southbank (as we quite often do, should we not frequent Ponyfish Island). We were five pints in, no dinner down, singing wildly to the boisterous Irish duo on stage and calling each other every Irish name we could think of. We settled on Bronni O'brien and Julia O'reilly. I got halfway to work the next morning before I realised I had potato and gravy from KFC all down the back of my coat and bag. Don't know how we managed that.

On Tuesday Shaggy, Brent and I assembled at the boys house after work for a lesson in the art of baking. The results spoke for themselves. Well, we didn't really speak that much, but those brownies were definitely good.

We ate pizza, watched Geordie Shore, trekked to Sevs Elevs, ate more brownie and chilled on the couch. For hours.

On Wednesday the 14th of July I went to the gym for the very first time since moving to Melbourne. I also made three bookings that day! Plenty of firsts, which is good. On Thursday I vegged at home, did the washing and started preparing for the weekend... again.

I had Friday off... which was happy and sad. It was the last official Brent and Bronni day we had together before he needed to leave for Amsterdam. It was hilarious.

We drove around like maniacs trying to navigate to the nearest Vic Roads so I could change my licence over to a Victorian one... only to find it packed and to totally give up and storm out right away. Then we went to Chadstone so Brent could buy Jess's 21st present and lots of other unnecessary things. After that we went home, finished the brownie, watched Cool Runnings (again), ate Thai, talked like Indians and Darren Lockyer for about an hour and a half and spent about $25 at Sevs Elevs, as part of the wildest spree yet (Chocky Milk)! Bakedous Maximous.

I slept really well that night, and the best part was that I didn't have to start work til 10 on Saturday morning. Which was lucky, because that sleep set me up for the weekend. After work on Saturday I hailed a cab and met Brent at my house, where I quickly got ready for Jess's and he smashed some beers. I then drove us all to the Tennisons, and on to the birthday venue. All you need to know about the venue is that it had an open bar. Thats all I know! The rest of that night is a blur of cousins, wine and drunk aunties and uncles on the dance floor. And facebook hacking and drunken dirty phone calls to workmates and friends. You get the picture.

Happy birthday Jess! Love from, Us xx (your special cousins)

I left when they turned the lights on - I don't remember it, I just know I was out of there. I was on the street and I got in a cab and I somehow managed to get home. Unfortunately in that space of time I also managed to vomit on myself and out the door of the cab, take the cabbie's handkerchief, use it and ungratefully toss it out the window. Needless to say, all those times I've woken up freakishly healthily after the largest of nights? They descended upon me at once, like a sack of bricks, and I did not have my last yak until 4 on Sunday afternoon. Class.

I think that's enough for now. B.