This is how it happened.
On Monday, a day that even now seems like a life-age away, I was still at work. I finished a bit early, bid farewell to my colleagues and practically skipped out of the office.
I wasn't ready, I wasn't packed, I didn't have any of the travel vouchers I needed and our apartment looked as though a bomb had hit it. Actually, it was more like the bomb had hit a site where a train had derailed. No, that doesn't quite cut it either. Really, what it looked was, like a tropical cyclone had gone through, causing the train to derail, and then the train was hit by a bomb. Leaving all of my clothes unlaundered on the floor and leaving every single dish in the whole of existence unclean, all within the confines of our apartment. This needed to be attended to, but not yet.
Instead, Bear & I went to the pub.
We justified our pub trip, also known as procrastination, by having dinner.
As we finished off our meal, we had a call from our excellent house-sitter, and we toddled off back home to laundry and lunacy. The storm clouds settling in whilst we packed and cleaned.
In the morning Captain Obvious arrived to taxi us to the airport. We were on our way.
Wednesday, 18 April 2012
Singapore?
Honestly, it feels like only yesterday that I wrote that last post, I was sitting in Astinos in Newtown, chowing down on my regular order, and clacking away at Warren.
A few things have changed since then.
I'm in Singapore for one.
I'm not quite sure how this happened. In my post-flight, sleep deprived, jet-lagged state all the details are a little fuzzy. The one thing I do know is that in 10 minutes, it will be 5am and there will be a shuttle to take us back to the airport, and to board our plane to Koh Samui.
Onwards and upwards.
A few things have changed since then.
I'm in Singapore for one.
I'm not quite sure how this happened. In my post-flight, sleep deprived, jet-lagged state all the details are a little fuzzy. The one thing I do know is that in 10 minutes, it will be 5am and there will be a shuttle to take us back to the airport, and to board our plane to Koh Samui.
Onwards and upwards.
Saturday, 4 February 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, 1 January 2012
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.
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.
Friday, 30 December 2011
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.
Tuesday, 20 December 2011
Tuesday, 6 December 2011
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