Lost In The World

I'd been out of the country a mere 7 hrs and 20 minutes before my iPhone abandoned my person, due to a not-so-rare act of carelessness on my behalf. Whats worse is the first seven of those hours I was sleeping like a little angel in the clouds, flying an unexpected Business Class Emirates upgrade across the Java Sea. My day started out great, but I wound up sobbing on a bench in the airport at Kuala Lumpur. Losing your shit half an hour in does not tend to make a 12 hour stopover in Malaysia as tolerable or pleasant as it might have been, and I fell asleep with a tear stained face, my bag tucked under my chin and my knees wrapped to make a little protective body bubble.

[So I just realized that I was lying when I bet Shaggy this morning that I was the only one who hadn't cried since they left Home. Bollocks.]

40 minutes later I woke in a much better mood, heightened by the fact that I now had much less to lose. I rang my mum from a payphone and told her I was all good, and to please find me the number to call to suspend my phone plan, and to lock my handset so the silly biddy who took my life handset couldn't access my Facebook account and write embarrassing things in Malaysian. Activities for the rest of the day included much walking of the quiet hallways, attempting to convert money (something I am absolutely awful at - no matter the currency), bumming cigarettes off the little man guarding the smokers lounge, making a friend, and drinking the coke from giant cups at Burger King. There was also huge glass cone containing a real bit of rainforest right in the centre of the terminal building, and you could walk through and breathe the hot, sticky outside air. When I flew out, it was in the midst of a big, booming tropical storm, and I felt lucky to have seen that in my time there.

Abu Dhabi was mentionable for it's Ferrari's and the fact that I bought a brill camera there. It's a Nikon and I love it. I'm too distracted in Europe to use it to the extent of it's capability probably, but I don't care. It takes video too, which is fun.

I landed in London after a full 30 hours of international commute, whereupon I still had to make my way through UK customs (notoriously jerk-like), and on into the city via the Heathrow Express. I got grilled by the meathead at customs because I told him I didn't have a contact address in the UK, and that I was meeting the boys at Piccadilly Square. Upon hearing this he told me I was a bad travel agent and I cursed my inability to say something rude back. Then he told me that he hoped he wouldn't see me next time he was doing the rounds. He was the meanest of customs men I've met.

I made my way to Piccadilly Circus by underground, whereupon I marched into the first Tesco I saw and purchased water, apples and cigarettes. All high priorities apparently, and I imagine minor jet lag, a clinging hangover from customary last drinks at La La Land prior to my departure from Australia and a surge of happy travelling adrenaline all had an impact on the decision making process there. I then proceeded to pick my way through little side streets to a darling coffee shop, to Skype my Muvver. She's pretty good, but we're in the non negligible position that, as the eldest, I am always the first to do grown up (not to mention idiotic) things: this worries her. No doubt she wishes it was Fran paving the way. Sorry Mum. I'll get your name tattooed in a big red heart on my arm as penance.

At 10 am I left the coffee shop and went to meet Shaggy. Shaggy was standing in the middle of Piccadilly Circus, eyes glazed and his mouth hanging open like a stunned clown toy. I thought his expression would change when he saw me, but it didn't, and he remained stoic in this uncomfortable leer until I all but lept into his arms shouting his name. He wasn't hungover - simply still inebriated from the night before, and I was unable to comprehend how he had even made the 15 minute tube journey to get me. It had taken him one hour. He was very happy to see me.

And so it was in this fashion that I entered England, and in an eager one we left London for Bristol later that afternoon, to meet up with Mike and spend some time where the wild kids from Skins go.

Carlosticus.

This is the little brother I kicked out out of my house... because he was always at the skatepark instead of doing his dishes.

This is why.

Digs to Levi Turner for the sic videography

Sharing is Caring.

It's already cut out to be the best summer yet... I'm in Melbs, the sun is out, tans are glowing and all my friends are pottering about doing what friends do best - sharing.

We've shared sunny brick walls with our backs pressed up and stockings off, seasons of Sons of Anarchy (my latest series vice), sunny afternoons on the deck and tobacco pouches, breakfasts in bed with baby, jolly conversations with strangers, crazy European adventure stories, an appreciation for arts and sculptures, kisses and visits to dirty hostels and the Vineyard in St Kilda, somewhat painful work related events turned good by a sense of fun and Captain Planet costumes, tattoo ideas and cherry breakfast doobies on days off, coffees and giggles, loose Sunday Fundays with bicycles, dim sims and silly friends pulling faces, laughs at workmates (not to be confused with 'with'), new workmates, creatively constructed messages using only emojiis, more sunny afternoons on the deck, cackles via Skype, a new barbeque, our beautiful city and BEERS. Thats a lot of caring!

Oh, and Canada and I discovered the Meaning of Life whilst walking from Hawkesburn to the Corner in Richmond very high on a Sunday Funday afternoon:

All you need is your little pouch and some sturdy shoes because, at the end of the day, we're really just walking around the world for free.

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.