Sunday, July 1 2007, 10:47

1st of July

It's the 1st of July. I'm 29 tomorrow, 30 next year. It's a bit of a blow coming to terms with having a winter birthday instead of a summer one, although Google weather tells me it'll be just as warm in Sydney as in London, and it won't be raining! But even so, I'm used to the long, warm evenings and the party atmosphere of London when Pride hijacks my birthday weekend. But Pride weekend in London has been overshadowed by terrorism, and it's hard to be gay (in the original sense) if you're worried about car bombs...

But back to today: if I had the 'top friends' thing on my Facebook profile (yes, I'm so with the zeitgeist), Craig would definitely be listed there, because he's a smashing friend who I miss a lot. Today Craig and his bf, Greg, are running in the British 10k London Run, which is actually a 10k I could have been tempted to run in, since it goes through the landmark-filled centre of London, starting at Hyde Park Corner and whisking those dogged, tough-nut runners past St James's Palace, through Trafalgar Square, past Somerset House, St Paul's Cathedral, up to Tower Bridge, then back along the Embankment to the Houses of Parliament, with a quick hop over Westminster Bridge to the London Eye, then past Horse Guards to finish at Whitehall.

Fingers crossed the weather will pull something nice out of the hat for them as they both hope to manage personal bests of under 40 minutes (something I could only dream of, and even that dream is more like a nightmare). The boys are raising much-needed money for the Princess Alice Hospice where Greg's dad passed away earlier this year - here's the link if you want to make a donation; at risk of sounding like a packet of low-priced apples in Tesco - every little helps! Good luck, boys!

Thursday, July 5 2007, 17:39

Steeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrike!

Monday was my birthday. I'm now 29, which is convenient because I've been telling that to people who asked for the last six months. Scout-like in my preparation, I seem to mentally gear myself up for being another year older in advance of every birthday, although I think/expect next year's milestone will be an exception. I'm not bothered about nearly being 30. I'm mildly miffed by the extra sound effects my body seems to make these days (like a bowl of Rice Krispies) to punctuate the simplest of movements, but other than that, everything's good. I had some nebulous list in my head of Things To Do Before I'm Thirty, and I'm not doing too badly really. The biggest worry is that I've no idea how to celebrate my 30th; I feel that something exceptional is in order, but I've no idea what. Suggestions on a postcard, if you will...

Enough about next year!
John won't mind me revealing that he's a grumpy bugger first thing in the morning, but I was greeted with a smile on Monday, which was surely gift enough, but there was more: breakfast (protein shake) in bed, followed by pressies! But unfortunately, once the golden wrapping lay strewn all over the bed, there was no avoiding work as I have for the last two birthdays, so I had to get out of bed. There's nothing nicer than a surprise though - halfway through the morning, Craig's and Greg's gift of a basket of fruit was delivered: applies, strawberries, pineapple, melon, kiwis, star fruit, and more besides, including a few I didn't even recognise. Bless 'em.

Finally released at 6pm, and buoyed by your swathe of birthday greetings by text, phone, email, and Facebook, I zipped home to toast my birthday with Shane, Tim, and John with a few birthday bubbles before making our way over to the Entertainment Quarter, where we were joined by John W in time for a quick Italian feed. Bryan, Brian, and eventually Darren joined us at the bowling place, Strike.

My first game started propitiously with a strike, but from there it all went downhill. John W and Tim were unmasked early on as the closet bowling stars, Darren and John defied convention, playing ten pin flinging rather than bowling, Shane proved he'd spent his free time doing more profitable things, and the rest of us muddled somewhere in between. Stopping only for beers and cake (illuminated by sparkler candles which doggedly autoreignited on extinguishment), we battled on for three games, the last of which Darren, unfazed by the loud cracks as the balls hit the alley produced by his innovative technique, won by a mile. I, however, was rudely relegated to last place (on my birthday!), eclipsed by my thoughtless boyfriend and even Shane, who raised his game at the last minute just to add insult to my injury!

But you all know I'm not a bad loser [cue weak laughter] ;)

Tuesday, July 17 2007, 14:25

Brass monkey weather

I'm sure you'll all commiserate with me today on hearing that Sydney woke up to the coldest July morning in 21 years this morning - a chilly 3.7 degrees! Perishing! And John said I was mad to turn the heating on so I could walk around in my birthday suit...

It's been a couple of weeks since I wrote last. Since then, Chris and I had a joint birthday celebration-cum-housewarming party (only five months after Tim, John, and I moved in). Last weekend, it was Bryan's birthday, and we showered him with IKEA gifts to break up the barren wasteland of kitchen utensils that is his food preparation area...

John and I had an earlyish night after Bryan's birthday drinkies so we could go to the zoo on Sunday. Now I've been to Taronga maybe four times already, and it really isn't the sort of place you just spend an hour in, you certainly need most of a day. And this occasion was no exception! Since we went last March, Taronga has opened its Wild Asia section (which looks just like Thailand. Seriously, I thought I was buying my hotdog in Bangkok as Asian elephants strolled leisurely by in the background). This zoo is the gift that keeps on giving; not only were the elephants new, we got to watch a tapir swimming along, Asian otters playing underwater, wombats snoozing in their little dens, furry yellow-bellied gliders scrapping over food, a Tasmanian devil chewing up a bone right in front of us, not to mention a snow leopard licking its willy. My usual zoo experience is standing in front of the glass or bars for five minutes, trying to work out if that dark patch in the corner is the sleeping exhibit or just a pile of undergrowth, so these unusually frolicsome beasts were quite the novelty. Maybe they just like the cold weather...

Wednesday, July 18 2007, 16:38

Filth

I've been a huge fan of Wikipedia for ages now. It doesn't matter what the subject matter is, it's sure to be the pet project of some geek out there who was more than ecstatic to deliver the sum of his/her knowledge up to the web for the idle perusal of those stricken by office ennui. What's nice about Wikipedia is that it's open for any pedant to criticise, correct, pour scorn over, and generally edit. And today I came of age: instead of passively ingesting all this collected knowledge, I contributed! I feel quite pleased with myself :) No longer a leech, I gave something back.

Admittedly, the scale of my contribution was slim. I was talking sh*t with John earlier, if you'll pardon the four letter word, I didn't use it casually: I was (probably rambling) on the topic of a Latin word for crap (faex), and in the course of this, I happened across a Wikipedia page all about Latin profanity! What a treasurehouse that site is! Anyway, graduating from sh*tting to f*cking, I discovered all sorts of idiomatic uses of the Latin F Word, futuo, and it was here that I found some spelling mistakes and duly corrected them. Instead of "puella defututa", it had "puella defutata", which looks more like frittata to me. I'm sure Catullus was talking about a girl worn out by f*cking rather than some combination of f*cking and frying... But I could be wrong, this could be some obscure culinary sex fetish that I'm not aware of, those Romans were rampantly dirty buggers after all...

Friday, July 20 2007, 16:04

Barry Trotter and the Unnecessary Sequel

If you didn't know, Barry Trotter is in fact a real book, produced by the same folks behind Bored of the Rings, but while I've read Bored... and The Lord of the Rings, I haven't so much as read a word of Ms Rowling's much-admired scribblings. I have seen the first of the films, and was left to conclude that it was indeed a gripping yarn for youngsters, but sadly the child actors had about as much theatrical depth as the characters of Scooby Doo, and at least they had the excuse of being oldskool cartoonz... Still, year after year, the films continue, the merchandise proliferates, and now it seems the world is holding its breath for the last book to be released.

Of course, not everyone's a good sport, so ridiculously over the top measures have been put in place to keep the embargo intact, but today I found myself wondering why on earth such an embargo exists in the first place. It is, after all, just a novel. This isn't a book of scandalous memoirs that are politically sensitive, there are no state secrets inside, nobody's professional reputation hangs in the balance. So why do publishers put embargoes on books? The publishers' sites I looked at did talk about them, but didn't explain their purpose; a few other sites did that, including this article on Slate.com.

To paraphrase, it seems the reasons for an embargo on a novel are all cynical and vile. By making everyone wait for a book, a publisher can drum up buzz, publicity and interest by maximising media coverage; reviewers can't get to it early, so sales can't be depressed by bad reviews; through the lack of reviews and through public anticipation, initial sales are higher than normal, pushing the book up the bestseller list, which in turn has lots of beneficial effects. Author and publisher are laughing all the way to the bank. So, next time you read about JK Rowling "railing against spoilers", you'll know that she's more worried about reviews and profit margins than the wishes of "literally millions of readers"...

Friday, July 27 2007, 13:21

Size queens

The RTA in New South Wales has come up with a new advert to combat the disturbing number of speeding-related accidents caused by young drivers. The P platers in question are typically young, male "hoons" with peers to impress in the back seat. The 45 second advert is slo-mo footage of boy racers zipping around streets past various ladies, all of whom show how impressed they are by flexing their pinkies knowingly at each other. The ad campaign is called "Speeding - no one thinks big of you", and I think we all know what the little pinkie is a reference to: that's right - boy racers have small winkies. Check out the video on YouTube.

Well I thought it was all very amusing until I read an article about it the other day, and realised how socially acceptable it is to take the piss out of the size of a man's todger! Just imagine an advert that essentially said, "what a loser she is, she's only got tiny boobs!"; the ladies would be up in arms! There'd be accusations of misogyny and body fascism and brainwashing young women into thinking that breast size matters, etc. And they'd be right! Imagine a campaign whose message was, "those black people are complete no-hopers" - I think you can imagine the outcry.

Knowing how nasty girls can be, and how vicious gay men can be too, I assume that having a sub-average-sized john thomas must be an exercise in putting up with all sorts of bad manners and ridicule, not to mention a huge knock to the self-confidence and the oh-so-delicate male ego, all wrapped up in delusions about masculinity and potency, etc. It can't help to have a state-wide TV campaign poking fun at you too :(

Monday, August 13 2007, 13:00

In it for the long haul

Undoubtedly the least appealing part about continent-hopping for a holiday is the twenty-four hour flight, but as long hauls go, this wasn't half bad. Pete, Chris, and I had some great seats with loads of leg room for the first sector, a quick refresh in the Qantas Club lounge showers at Bangkok, and then I slept almost the entire second sector while Pete and Chris were living it up in business class, lucky upgrade bitches that they are.

I think when people ask me what I did on this holiday, I won't have much else to say other than I caught up with people, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Sunday was a lovely day of sitting at Pete's and Chris' new Limehouse home, enjoying the company of everyone who came to drop by, tucking into a roast dinner on the balcony overlooking the still marina, and sipping Pimm's as the sun slipped lazily down the sky. This is the life. And we SO need to get a table for our balcony in Sydney...

This morning I joined the morning commuters on the Tube, perusing the sensational tripe in Metro while hanging onto my bags, loving the reassuring sequence of Jubilee Line stations between Canary Wharf and Baker Street, delighting in the fact that this cross-London trip is so deeply ingrained that I don't even need to think about the station changes, I know this dirty metropolis like the back of my hand. Probably better since I don't spend that much time in hand study... Emerging at Paddington and loving the absolutely smokeless air of the station, cocooned in a warm familiarity I strolled over to Sainsbury's to buy my lunch, nearly swooned at the sight of Diet Cherry Coke and the variety of crisps on sale, and then, purchase complete, experienced a guilty thrill when I remembered the departure boards were too close to Millie's Cookies to avoid temptation.

And now, slipping through the gentle warmth of an English summer day, through green-gold fields and verges of nettles and brambles, cloud-dappled under a wispy blue sky, on a train that will pull up at a handful of archetypal countryside towns from here: Moreton-in-Marsh, Honeybourne, Evesham, Pershore, Worcester Shrub Hill, Worcester Foregate Street, Malvern Link, Great Malvern, Colwall, Ledbury... and Hereford.

Saturday, September 8 2007, 11:58

Strange to be holidaying in the UK

The last time I wrote, I was on my way to Hereford, and here I am back in Sydney, almost recovered from some of the most persistent jetlag ever. But anyway, back to Hereford. I spent most of the week there, spending some quality time with Sarah, Clive, Mum, Dad, dropping in on the grandparents, ransacking lofts in search of my stuff, and packing my bags with another 5kg of books, etc. to bring back to Sydney. Those days were probably the most relaxed of the whole holiday, with no rushing about at all!

From the moment I got back to London, that metropolitan buzz was back, and it didn't stop until I was on the plane again. If you've lived in London, you know what I mean - the city has such a quickened rhythm, and while sometimes it feels like you're rushing at breakneck speed against your will, stressed out, jostled and harangued, at others it's the vibrant pulse of a city that's constantly alive and invigorating, bursting with energy and excitement - whether you like it or not, in London you feel like you're in the centre of things.

This segment of my holiday was very London: half of me was loving the pace of catching up with so many friends one-on-one where possible - coffee, lunch, lunch, shopping, more coffee, more shopping, dinner, drinks! On! On! On! And the other half was a bit overwhelmed by the dashing about and disappointed when I couldn't squeeze people into a stupidly packed schedule; it would have been great to be able to lazily sweep through the week without once checking the time, but I suppose that was never going to happen.

Quite apart from seeing so many smiling faces, it was great to SEE London. The flight in took me over practically every London landmark I could recognise from the sky, from Canary Wharf to Kew Gardens and everything in between; the taxi from the airport took us on the scenic route through the centre, past Buckingham Palace, the Tower of London; and on those days of wandering, I feel like I mopped up so many of my favourite places - Soho, Piccadilly, Fitzrovia, the South Bank, Vauxhall, West Hampstead, Westminster, Covent Garden, Brick Lane...

There's not much more to say. I think that, for all of my friends, it's true to say that it doesn't matter how long it was since we last saw each other in the flesh, it will always feel like yesterday; and with texts, and photos, and email, and flickr, and facebook, I'm in touch with everyone's news almost as quickly as if I lived in the same town anyway. Obviously it's not the same, and there's nothing like sharing a laugh, a smile, a hug, or being a shoulder to cry on (or having one), or having a conversation about nothing in particular. And once I'd got off my nicely sleep-filled flight back here, and had John whisk me home with flowers, and I'd unpacked my stuff, I remembered that; and I've had a wistful week of it, missing all of you up there, but I'll see you again, soonish. Thanks for making my holiday so much fun.

Photos from Hereford - including (exclusive) never before seen photos of my family (and animals)

Photos from London

Friday, September 14 2007, 17:30

Good Morning Baltimooooooooore!

John, Adam, and I went to see Hairspray last night. What a feast! Undoubtedly the best film I've been to see in ages. A really talented cast with well known faces like Michelle Pfeiffer and John Travolta (with the latter reprising his musical past as you've never seen him before). The score includes a bunch of classic rock'n'roll tunes as well as some more motowny things for the stars of Corny Collins' Negro Day (compered by Queen Latifah). So we knew Travolta and Queen Latifah could sing, but Christopher Walken and Michelle Pfeiffer - who knew? Obviously the star of the show, Nikki Blonsky, as Tracy Turnblad has a great set of lungs, perfectly suited to all these Fifties tracks.

We all thoroughly enjoyed the film; at one point I got Adam's attention so I could point out John, who was staring at the screen with a face of undisguisable joy, mouth hanging open in childlike delight, bless 'im. I don't know about the others, but I've had the tunes to Good Morning Baltimore, I Can Hear The Bells, and It's Hairspray running through my head all day.

So if you're in the mood for a feel-good film, or you want a fix of beehives and slicked back hair, or want your feet tapping to songs that could have been in Dirty Dancing, go and see it. I'm so jealous that I can't get tickets for the stage musical in London!