To Jinx or not to Jinx?

I've been keeping secrets again.

I've been holding onto this one a little because I haven't received my renewed passport yet, and I didn't want to jinx it. For some reason though today seems like the day to throw caution to the wind and make the announcement.

Bear and I are going to Thailand! Tee to the Aitch, to the Ay, to the Eye... La-hand!

Land of the lady-boy, land of pristine beaches and floating markets, land of I'm not sure what else at this stage, but come this April we are going to find out.

We'll be riding elephants, petting tigers, living with hill tribes and popping Sassy Bear's international travelling cherry.

I'm pretty sure it's going to be amazing.

None the less, it has the Sassy Bear parentals a wee bit freaked. Especially Papa Bear, the idea of his poor, defenceless lil' baby Bear for the first time ever out in the world, with nothing but the Turtlepack to save her from all manner of imagined threats, sent him into a tailspin of fatherly concern initially.

He had called after Sassy had posted the news on Facebook more than a touch on the hysterical side. After establishing that it was not a joke, he half bellowed down the line, fear fuelled by the recent ransom requests in the headlines, "I absolutely forbid you from going to the Philippines!". "That's fine" my Sassy replied calmly, the edge of an excited giggle in her voice, "because, I'm going to Thailand"

We've been trying to reassure him ever since. It doesn't help that I'm a fairly seasoned traveller. It doesn't help that over six hundred thousand Australian tourists travel to Thailand every year. It doesn't help that Thailand was reportedly the deadliest destination for Australian tourists in 2009. Actually, probably better not to mention that last one.

I mean really, we're only travelling on multiple international flights, to unknown lands, to bask on who knows which beach, and party in who knows what nightclubs, with who knows which other revellers.

What could possibly happen to us?

Oh goodness, now I really have jinxed it.

Christmas with Captain Obvious

Driving anywhere with my father, Captain Obvious is always an experience.

An experience, in the way Chinese water torture is an experience.

The kind of experience that leaves permanent scarring on your psyche.

Christmas Day, I spent most of the day incarcerated in an innocent looking Holden Combo van being subjected to the psychological torture that is Captain Obvious.

We had decided to visit my family in Forster, and my Dad, in a seemingly kind gesture had offered to drive me there, and the first couple of hours, were actually reasonably pleasant. I should have been suspicious at this point, I should have known he was lulling me into a false sense of security. I should have chosen to travel on the roof racks instead. At about the half way point I posted on Facebook:

"2 1/2 hrs in the car with my Dad and no patricidal urges, must be a Christmas miracle!"

Alas, with one tiny unassuming little post, I had jinxed it. It was like he had seen that I was not writhing in mental anguish, taken it as a challenge and run with it.

He began the torture with a light game of Eye-Spy, in time he grew impatient with this and began to read the street signs.

All of them.

Out loud.

In the manner of a child learning to read.

For an hour!

It was enough to drive me up the wall or at least it would have been if cars had walls. Calmly, I loosened the grasping finger-hold I had on my sanity just long enough to reach inside my bag, retrieve my iPhone and pop on some tunes to drown out the incessant babble. I was just getting into the groove, when I noticed out of the corner of my eye, a fraction of a second too late, clawing fingertips reefing the cable of my headphones out of the phone. The dulcet tones of Dashboard Confessional being coarsely rent to be replaced most abruptly with the grating voice of the Father-Creature, intentionally flat, screeching out "I know a song that will get on your nerves".

Never has a truer word been spoken.

New Years Eve Eve

There are buskers in the square, set up between the statues. Break dancing comedians they are, performing mid way between a bronze queen and her puppy that for some inexplicable reason speaks with the voice of John Laws. 

I feel the sun splashing over my skin, the rays soaking in, right now it's all about the Vitamin D and not the melanoma, at this moment sun damage is so a tomorrow problem. Today is for enjoying the city.  

Like all big cities, Sydney has a hum, the soft buzz of the human hive. The delightful drone of everyday drudgery, punctuated predictably with the harsh tones of road rage, is more often the sound of the CBD clockwork ticking over, but today, on New Years Eve Eve, with the season's frivolity in full swing, my city is purring like a kitten. 

Snatches of song, "Your skin, your skin and bones", waft over from another soul singing for his dinner, "for you I'd bleed myself dry". A girl is crouched on the stonework surrounding a tree, near the Town Hall, reading. Her book on her knees, her hand on her cheek, sunlight trickling down through the leaves and a wall of hair speckling the pages. 

I have finished work for the year, my mild mannered insurance something something duties done for 2011, and been given a poets day for my trouble. I'm strolling the streets and loving every minute of it. 

The Universe is Talking to Me

33S 53' 40", 151E 10' 4"

The Universe is Talking to Me

33S 87' 14", 151E 20' 24"

Locating Laurent

Melbourne for me has a routine. I have travelled there a few times in my life, spent maybe a week there at a time, maximum and had up to 5 year gaps in between. Generally this works pretty well for me, as it means I know my way around well enough to not get myself completely lost, but not well enough to remember exactly where everything is. Like my favourite Melbourne café for example, I know that it is located somewhere in the vague mid section of the city, I know that it is kinda near a couple of arcades that I can almost recollect the names of, and I also know that it looks like the Gringotts building but with better posture.

As for the rest, it remains a mystery.

A treasure to be rediscovered, each and every time.

Just so, it has become my routine, that every time I touch down in Melbourne, be it via train, plane or once even by cruise ship, I allocate the hours at the beginning of my trip to locating Laurent. So habitual is my nature, that I even order the same Croque Mushroom, Soy Latte and Van Gogh Mousse Cake every single time, and every single time it is bliss.

Four-Thirty

At 4:30 this afternoon I was trying to work.

I really was trying to work.

I was also failing miserably.

A feeling had crept over me, you see, a feeling I have know for many years now, the sharp sting of anticipation, that precedes my every journey. A tingle over my skin, a chill, a readiness that makes my muscles tighten and taught, awaiting the plunge.

When I was younger, a lot younger, it was known to myself as "I'm-going-to-camp-today" feeling, it's very akin to "It's-Christmas-Day-today" feeling, and not at all conducive to getting any work done.

So, as of 4:30 today, I was totally failing at getting anything constructive done, and this is all because, tonight, I am going to Melbourne.