Portobello Wilderness Safari

It is only since moving to London that I have realised what a cotton-wool, sheltered existence I have been living in. You've got rich living next to the poor, mansions and crack dens, limousines and pushbikes, fat and skinny, black and white, crazy and more crazy.

These days when I see some rambling psycho coming towards me in the midst of having a fight with the wind, the best defence to make sure he doesn't mistake you for some dream demon who is trying to steal his banjo, is to act more crazy than the crazy guy.

If he's talking to himself, I sing to myself.
If he's punching thin air, I start bashing myself in the lungs.
Better to beat them to the punch and scare them off with your own lunacy rather than end up in some ditch somewhere. At the very most I am alive, at the very least I would be asked to join their crazy punching the air, talking to yourself group. ( I would like to join that group)

Anyway, Mosman and Neutral Bay were never the cultural epicentre of racial variety, and the one place on earth you can learn about other human beings is in the gym change-room. Back in good old whitey mosman land, the most tit you would ever see would be side-boob, hastily covered up with a quick pull of a singlet, and never ever would you see bush, or if you did it would blur past you like a giant brown bumble bee in the peripheral..

Things are not like this in my gym. In my gym things are like this:

Except with you know.. less grass skirt, and more bending over.

There's a lot of types of naked I had never considered before leaving my sleepy bubble on the north shore, now I have seen naked burka ladies, naked black ladies, naked british ladies.. Needless to say, i'm learning a lot about women from around the world in my gym.

Naked black ladies have huuuuuge breasts. Bigger than your head. Bigger than two heads. They also like to sit down in the nude and eat an apple. Why would you eat an apple in a changeroom next to some other lady who has her big hairy minge 30 centimeters from your face?? who knows.. these are facets of human behaviour we can only hope to learn from careful and undercover observation.

There is a lot of nudity happening in this changeroom. Unnecessary Nudity.. maybe unnecessary to me and my mosman eyes, but I don't see the point in getting out of the shower and wandering around in the nude - going the toilet, using the hairdryer, sitting and rubbing moisturiser all over yourself if you have a perfectly good towel to wrap around yourself... Do you have to be nude this whole time??

Do you have to get changed right next to me, take all your clothes off get down to your undies and then remember to get something out of your bag and bend over to go through your stuff with your undies around your knees? (and your parts in my face)

It's just a magical world of bodyparts.

Maybe i'm the weirdo, with my clothes and towel. Maybe it's not London to be so covered up all the time, maybe the changeroom is a place to embrace your womanhood and sit down in the nude and eat an orange whilst pondering the facts of life.. I mean if you can't sit down in the nude and eat fruit in a naked lady changeroom then where can you do it???

This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius. The Age of Aquarrrrriiiussssssssssssssss

Halitosis on Wheels

There's just something about stench. nothing makes you ponder things in such detail as Stench.

Where I work - there is a stinky cupboard, whatever genius designed the building (and back in the day it probably was genius due to the fact this is a heritage listed building - it was a Riding School) so these days we have this smelly vent, that is now housed in a cupboard - which we put all the ugly things we don't want clients and directors to see (broken PC's, bags of costumes) but this vent is just wrong.

You walk past the smelly cupboard sometimes and it smells like a horse took a shit 800 years ago. Or someone took a shit 5 seconds ago.. either or. The point is - this wrongo vent oozes stench which builds up over time and knocks you out if you go near the cupboard.

Essentially I just stay away from the the cupboard.......... however... the coat rack is right outside the cupboard, so when I got in of a morning I would hang my jacket up and forget about it till the end of the day..

When I was walking home though I started to think I had trodden in shit along the way, and no amount of examining my foot could reveal any ounce of crap... from whence was the stench coming from???

Then I realised that DUH! the smelly cupboard is permeating through my fibres and leaving it's smelly mark on me - so I moved my jacket to the other end of the room and now I smell a little less.

However when I was getting on the tube to go home of an evening I was still getting a huge waft of stench.. I've moved my jacket away from Smelly Land.. I didn't stand in any crap on the street, I haven't crapped my pants - FROM WHENCE IS THE STENCH COMING!!!!!!!!!!

That's when I realised that people on the tube stink. It is like a concentrated metal tube of Halitosis. Rather than catching the Hammersmith and City line home - they should call it the Halitosis and Crap line.

Stench! Stench Everywhere!!!!!!

I just need to invent something where I can carry around my smelly candles at all time. mmmmmmmmm. Then I will go on Dragons Den.

Stench!!!!!!!!!

Joy Defined..

I am so freakin happy right now: here are 10 reasons why...

ohh yeah ooh yeah. the cherry ripe queen. all hail the cherry ripe queen!

Whilst London is good for some things, it is rubbish for others. ie: no Cherry Ripes.

I also have a bone to pick with their Milo.. it's just not right, its too sugary and not substantial enough. the only thing it can be used for is salting the sidewalks, cos if you're gonna faceplant and crack your skull open you may as well be landing in a pile of chocolate dust.

It's just hard adjusting to life without your trusty token household items. For instance - my magical bathtub cleaner 'gumption' - where is this?? my bathtub looks like someone who fell over in a mountain of milo had a shower in there. Not Right.

Smelly melty candle things. You know that shop Dusk.. whilst it can be headache inducing with an overwhelming array of smells, the one thing they are good for is melts - which go in the oil burner and never dry up or spit over the place. They don't have them here either. My house smells like a sausage got into a fight with a nag champa salesman.

that was until my care packages arrived. god bless care packages. Now I can sit around in my strawberry smelling loungeroom gorging on Cherry Ripes thinking up ways to import my magical bathtub cleaner (and to an extent: Maggi French Onion Soup mix). I tell you if i could import this stuff I would set up a stall at Portobello Markets and become a millionaire. Which would be a lot easier than coming up with some insane invention and trying to get onto an episode of Dragons Den (idea 1# a large Q-Tip for scratching the inside of one's bumhole in the middle of the night - thus eliminating the need to get up and wash your finger/banishing your hand to the edge of the bed for the duration of your sleep)

CARE PACKAGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Loved Up

This is gonna get pretty loved up, so pop an ecstasy and join me on the couch as we pile our limbs on each other and tap our feet to the music that we danced to earlier in the night, but we can still hear tingling through our bones.

I know it's Australia Day.. Straya Day.. Invasion Day, and I have a book of Australian Animals sitting on my desk right now.. Red Necked Wallaby (miss em) Red Necks (don't miss em) and don't even get me started on Huntsman Spiders, do you know how awesome it is to live in a country where you don't have to check every cornice before you enter a room properly. I would have liked to have worn a big fleecy jumper with a koala print on the front and some eucalyptus earrings to work today, but eh.. had I known this before I left I would have gone shopping and brought the most hideous outfits imaginable... I could wear that crap with pride on a day like today (whilst I listen to John Farnham for the first time in my life.. by choice)

And whilst kangaroos and koalas are great - you know what else is great?? London. I just love London.

I love the cold. I love central heating. I love my heated towel rack. I love my magical central heating timer that turns everything on and makes it warm so I can get out of bed and feel toasty in the morning.

I love dressing up in layers. I love boots. I love jackets. I love love love hats. I love gloves.

London is a city designed for socialising, back home if someone asked me to join them for a drink in Newtown on a weeknight my response would have been 'pahh ha' sif mate. sif. for one it will take me 2 hours to get home because of the entirely crap public transport infrastructure in the city. In London I can meet someone in any part of the city and be 2 mins away from a tube station, and wait no longer than 2 mins for a tube to take me home within 25 mins. Easy.

Peeps here are just nicer. I have come to a startling conclusion that Sydney is full of competitive un-friendly knobs. Everyone in sydney is wary, they are wary of new people, they are wary of new competition, and generally just try too hard to impress themselves upon others. It's tiring. I haven't gone out and met anyone I generally like or would like to meet again in years. Upon moving to London EVERY person I have met socially or through work have been the nicest people on the planet. They are interested in you as a person, not what they can gain out of the relationship. Everyone at my job has taken the time to get to know me, they invited me to their christmas party after 3 days of working there. I got a christmas card. I have worked at places in sydney where people struggle to remember your name after 2 months, and would email you to ask you something if they were sitting right next to you.

London is just a city that 'gets' me. They have a sense of humour, they find it hilarious when my australian accent confuses everyone..

"love that post office, there are no lines"
"wow you have lions in your post office?"
"lions?? what the hell? Lines. Queues"

Lions?? Mental. You can have a laugh with these people, not just be sneered at as the obscure new person who isn't "in the group yet". I feel like London has welcomed me with open arms, and that moving here was the right choice. I don't think I'll ever go back.. not until I'm old and want to retire under a palm tree, and in this futuristic dream they have invented a roomba for the roof that goes around scanning the ceilings for spiders for you.

Royal Advertisements

Have you noticed how much of a baldy balderson Prince William is these days. What is he? 52 years old?? that aint right. Poor Guy... You know what he needs..

He needs a membership to Advanced Hair (yeah yeah)

And I reckon if he's gonna go to Advanced Hair (yeah yeah) then he should at least do an ad for them. Noone cares about that philandering cricketer Shane Warne anymore. He's toast.

Can you imagine if the future king of England did an ad for Advanced Hair. It would be groundbreaking. Think of the barriers you could break down with Royalty doing direct advertising. It would be a magical world.

Then i'm sure we could get the Queen on board for Tena Lady (cos let's face it, the woman can't sneeze or have a good laugh without pissing her pants, you can tell by counting her crows feet, if you get to 2million, she's a piss pants)

However I think Hot Prince Ginge should only be doing high end Commercials. He is too hot for anything else. You gotta have respect. Respect for the Hot Ginge.

You can get it at Poundland

Back in Old Sydney Town, we have things called the '$2 shop' you can get everything in the $2 shop, but unfortunatley things in the $2 shop never actually cost $2, you still pay $5 for a giant bag of chips, or you'd pay 30c for a plug... it's a good shop, and when I worked there and was put on cash register duty, I did charge everything at $2... $30 crate of catfood?? $2.. $20 bikini $2.. people looked at me weird when I said everything in their basket was $2, but hey! don't call yourself a $2 shop and don't put me on cash registers when I specifically asked not to!!

That's all changed at Poundland.

In Poundland, everything costs One Pound. Everything.

toothpaste
toilet paper
batteries
chocolate biscuits
2 liters of milk
some almost expired ham
teatowels
sink unclogger
toblerone

chocolate orange

One Pound.

It's a magical place.

You know those crap ads, where there is some annoying voice over guy going "Poundland Poundland Poundland!!!!!!!!! you can solve all your troubles at Poundland, Everything One Pound!!Heaven is Poundland"

I would like to be in one of those ads. Being in a testimonial commercial for Poundland is my life's ambition. Especially if I was filmed in my crappy "goin to poundland" outfit. When you go to Poundland you don't need to dress up. I don't even wash my face. You can wear your tracksuit pants tucked into your gumboots and nobody would look at you sideways in Poundland. That isn't to say that sexy people don't go to Poundland. Poundland isn't just for ugly people. Poundland is for all people.

Fuck I love Poundland.

I also love seagulls in the snow:

Seagulls in the Snow
You don't belong here
Something must be wrong.
You've nowhere to go dear,
When there's Seagulls in the Snow..

Let's hunt for Treasure

You are never at a loss of Museums and Galleries to look at and learn things when in London, over this Christmas Holiday Break I have been around: The Tate Modern, The British Museum, the Museum of Natural History..... and you know what I have learned....

People will take a photo of anything that is behind a barrier. Seriously, can't you just appreciate the stuff in the museum by looking at it with just your simple corneas?? I miss the 80's. It was a simpler time. Peeps would just wander around Museums looking bored, dressed in brown pants and eating overpriced hot chips and vinegar and everyone was happy. Sure we would line up for 2 hours to see some dinosaur bones but at least we were appreciating the whole experience.

I swear I don't think half the people in the British Museum actually realised where they were... well sure I could look at in detail and read the plaque about this misappropriated artifact (imo) OR I could stand around taking a million cool photos to bore the shit out of people when I get back home. If there is one thing more boring than being in the Museum, it's having look at some jerk's facebook album about every single artifact they photographed in the museum..

"now check out this bowl!!!!"

"neato.. what era did that come from?"

"ummmmmmmmm... dunno, but check out the cool reflection of me on the rim as it bounces off the protector glass"

"sweet man." puts gun to head.

Pfffffffft.

I really wish I had something of value to offer a museum though, who wouldn't?? besides the Egyptians - who let's face it, put a curse on the 20th century for stupid white explorers who totally raped their entire culture to put on display and sell off to the highest bidder. I truly hope those myths about murderous scarab beetles are a fact.

I think museum treasure is only fair game if you accidentally stumble across it in your backyard and you didn't steal some magical tribal burial head-dress and put it under some heinous fluorescent lighting for yappy tourists to photograph to death.

Which brings me to this guy.... the guy who found the Staffordshire Gold Hoard.

I thought that by now we would have found all the treasure that is out there. We've drained the Thames, we've sacrilegiously probed every ounce of the Pyramids.. how else are you supposed to find treasure these days??

With a fricken metal detector that's how. I always wanted a metal detector. I would have spent hours at the beach finding $2 coins, and crappy watch bands.. but it would have been enough for me. This guy goes around for 18 years (which by now you'd kinda hope he'd found more than just some brass teapots thrown in a ditch) with his metal detector, invoking his magical phrase:

"I have this phrase that I say sometimes; 'spirits of yesteryear take me where the coins appear', but on that day I changed coins to gold,"

Wow. It that all it takes? 18 years and some magic words? sheesh. give me time and I will have conquered all my dreams by the time I'm 50.

A Very Rabies Christmas

A Very Rabies Christmas To Me! (to you!)

A Very Rabies Christmas To You! (to me!)

Christmas 2009 went down like this:

Christmas Eve in the Winter Wonderland, a themepark set up in Hyde Park to cater to ride lovers and shmucky yuletide festivities: German Sausages, Sauerkraut, Mulled Wine, and Eggnog!!!!!!!!! My whole life I have watched John Hughes Christmas Movies (home alone) and wanted to see what the hell this Eggnog business is all about??? BUT the one night of the year which is the most Eggnogy night of all, they stick me with this "we only sell Eggnog on weekends" pfffffft. So no eggnog for me, and the circus was sold out, so no circus lions or crappy yoke drinks this year.

Christmas Day, first time in London, there was no snow, but plenty of breezy cold weather. I cooked up some festive treats - including chef-ing up a roast and some ham.. let's talk about Ham.. Londoners don't really get ham. They sell this stuff called Gammon which is uncooked ham, and never having cooked a ham before I didn't want to start this year. I asked all around about Ham that is ready to go, but noone knew what I was talking about, finally my Christmas Ham Adventure came to a crux when I found a fistful of honeyed ham on the bottom shelf of Sainsbury's. London: 0, Christmas: 1.

Other things on my christmas menu included: mulled wine, pumpkin pie, and roasted chestnuts. We thought it would be nice to take some nuts to the park to feed to the squirrel's in Holland Park, and that is was, until one of them mauled me!!!

Nothing says Christmas like getting rabies from a Squirrel who is so full of christmas passion from my roasted nuts that he can't tell the difference between my fingertip and a nut. After Fluffy McFlufferson's chomped my hand off we had to find a chemist.. which is really easy on Christmas Day when everything is closed.

It was kind of hard to choose what we would do: a) run around London for some Squirrel-Off, or b) just suck it up and hang around the house seeing if my hand grew fur. My thoughts were we could just soak my hand in some Whiskey and hope for the best, and presto! No Rabies. although I did devour an entire bag of nuts, so whose to say that a little squirrelly vibe didn't rub off on me.

The rest of the time was spent eating and drinking, then eating, and drinking, and then some eating, followed by some drinking. Lots of Pear Cider and Pumpkin Pie, and Pannetone! This christmas brought to you by the Letter P!

Death to Wind chimes

When we moved into our new apartment we met our neighbours, there was an Aussie girl living under us, the person who used to live in our apartment was a french guy, and we met our upstairs neighbour who was pleased to note that we weren't psycho's.

Apparently the French Guy living there before us was a bit weird, as in didn't want to make small talk on the stairways when they passed each other, and just gave off a weird vibe. Having never met the guy I can't make assumptions on his weirdness. It is nice to know that I have been branded the normal neighbour, but unfortunately I am going to have to break that illusion because I am way more freaky than the anti-social Frenchy.

I have said this before but I absolutely deplore wind chimes. I hate wooden chimes, I hate seashell chimes, I hate tinkly aluminium chimes, I would seriously be shooting myself if I moved in next to the wind chime lady who lived in the Wind Chime House from Twister.

There is nothing worse than trying to get to sleep when you have to listen to someone else's wind chimes tinging in the breeze. It's like noise pollution. I equate it to leaving a festering pile of garbage outside in the blazing sun to rot all day and waft in through your neighbours windows. Keep that shit to yourself. If you like the sound of wind chimes hang them inside your apartment, and I in return won't play the drums in the communal stairwell.

You see?! how can I say this to my neighbour who thinks I am normal??

The positive thing about all this is that I appear normal from the outside (like a serial killer) who one day scales the building like a cat burglar to cut the cords on your freakin wind chimes like a shadow in the night.

Chunky Town

Wont you take me too... Chunkytown!
Wont you take me too.. Chunky Town!

It is really easy to put on weight in this town. Everything is so delicious. I cant walk through any of the supermarkets without buying packets of chocolate covered ginger biscuits/mint biscuits/chocolate covered cornflakes/chocolate pancakes. Not to mention that everything is so christmassy and there is extra yummy christmas food; turkey/cranberry sambos, gingerbread everything, german sausage festivals... Plus I have heard rumours that the water can you make you fat too, so lucky I have a gym otherwise I would be chunktastic.

I just feel hungrier here. Yesterday it was snowing (!!!) and nothing goes better than a nice cup of hot chocolate and a brownie to watch the snow with... plus the half a chicken, baked vegetables, peanut butter on toast, half a pack of biscuits, and a tub of yogurt...

I didn't have to work yesterday so I spent the day wandering around Notting Hill where I live and taking in the weather.. I was carrying my groceries home when I saw some chunky rain falling, so I stopped and did a quick survey of the skies, and OMG snow.. it was really quite pissy tiny sleety snow, but still I was excited.. then actual flakes started falling, and finally it was snowing proper. Sometimes when things like this happen I have to take a reality check and laugh because am I really carrying groceries home in the snow???? Laughable. this must be a dream.

So my wednesday was spent running in and out of the house like a kid all day to check out the snow.. which required a billion footwear changes as you need grippy warm boots to run around in the snow with, otherwise you will slip over and crack your head open, which is really uncool because most of my boots are really sexy yet impractical in that case.

Because I realised all my shoes were a death trap I went to the one place that Australians can go and feel right at home - Westfield. There is only one Westfield in London, so it's a relatively new phenomenon for the British to have every shop under one roof, wheres personally I would rather sit on a bicycle with no seat than go through the migraine inducing drama that is walking around a Westfield. I found a lot of expensive items that I want, including 'snow boots' 'snow hats' 'snow jeans' 'snow bras' 'snow vase'... but upon consulting my peeps we decided that £90 was too much to pay for a hat, even if the hat is totally cute.

It is supposed to snow bad on Friday, and when they say 'bad' I cant really comprehend, they are talking about not being able to come to work, tubes stopping, no buses... wtf? Oh well, snow day means more eating, more expensive hat buying, and more eating....

mmmmmm food.

I have a call from Smindoo

I am very new to this country. I admit that. However this is a predominantly english speaking country so I figured I would settle in quite easily and not have to walk around with a translator to figure out where the toilets and exits are...

I really need a translater though when I am answering phones at work.

I don't know if it is just the english dialect, or the fact that London is an exotic melting point of nationalities, or if I am just partially deaf and pretty stupid, but I can not for the life of me ever understand what anyone says when they phone up and ask to be transferred to someone.

So I just go with what I heard.. and so far I have heard some pretty weird things..These are the people I have transferred calls through to today:

"uhh hello I have Smindoo on the phone for you..."
" hi there, Nigaaaaart is on the phone"

"Nick from Hermee Ooffoo is on the phone"

And when someone Japanese comes in I just put a bunch of letters together "yeah mr awahsheki is here"

?????

Who are these people? are there people running around called Smindoo?? Are we living in Lord of the Rings???

The worst part is when I have called up and said 'Lateeshfart from Derem Penergen is here for you' then they just look at you and go 'ummm .. i said Craig...' sorry it's my Australian Eardrums, they obviously have British Dyslexia.

I would like Anna Faris to play me in the movie about me.

Gifted Pedo's

If you ever wanted to describe to someone who doesn't speak English what 'internal struggle' means, then talking about Gifted Paedophiles would be a good starting point.

I get a lot of joy from movies/music and art.. but when the the enjoyment in question is the brainchild of a kiddy fiddler, does that lessen the scale of enjoyment? Example:

Jeffrey Jones

Arrested on Child Pornography charges, and on the Sexual Offender Registry since 2003. Bad Bad Man. But verry funny in Beetlejuice and Ferris Buellers Day Off. I love these films. Love them. Should I feel bad for getting such enjoyment out of watching his performance? Should children be taught that if you draw a door and knock 3 times that rather than opening a door to a portal to the undead you could be opening the door to Jeffrey Jones who is gonna put you in lewd poses and post the pictures on the internet?

Michael Jackson

We all know what he did, or what he supposedly did.. Maybe I am brainwashed from all the Michael Jackson Bad Touch Crotch Thrusting Documentaries, but I truly think he did bad things. And during normal hours if someone said "something something michael jackson" my brain immediately screams KIDDY FIDDLER!!! but if i'm in a bar and a Michael Jackson song comes on my brain thinks "time to dance!" There is no denying that MJ was an incredibly talented musician/songwriter/dancer, and it's a shame that he will forever be synonymous with rubbing hairless dicks all over the world on his 1992 Dangerous Tour (dangerous is your name is Jordy Chandler). But I still love his music. I just need to give my ears a good clean after I am done listening to it.

Roman Polanski

Ahh Roman. Roman Roman. The problem with the Roman Polanksi Internal Struggle is that you know for a fact that he did really bad things. I've read the court transcripts. He drugged, molested, and anally raped a 13 year old, and even got up to answer the door before going back to continue raping her. This isn't like Michael Jackson's assumed guilt, or Jeffrey Jones banging one out to pictures of 4 year olds in his study. Roman committed a crime, was arrested and escaped justice. BUT!!! I really really love his films. The Pianist was One Million times better than Shindlers List. Rosemary's Baby is a timeless classic, but they are the vision of a depraved sexual deviant. I can't help but think that in a parallel universe all of Roman Polanski's films would have been taken out of the mainstream and burnt in a bonfire never to be seen again by critiquing eyes. We don't allow sexual predators who are locked up in prison to make films and distribute them to the public, lest our brains become infested with the madness that drove them to commit such dastardly acts in the first place. If we can't buy a painting by Ted Bundy, then why should we be able to watch films by a Child Rapist??

They are really good films though. You just need to take a cleansing bath afterwards to rid yourself of any deviant madness that may have attached itself to you through the magic of the silver screen.

I'm Home

Well, I finally have a postcode. Which means I officially have a home. Just like East 17 were singing about all those years ago, I am a West End Girl.. east end boys in a dead end world, East End Boys and West End Girls. West. End. Girls. deh neh neh neh.

One thing that is fairly prevalent when you are searching for a house in London, is the underlying inner racist that resides inside you (that you probably weren't aware existed), when you decide which ethnic group you want to be surrounded by. Shepherds Bush and Clapham are rife with Australians, so I definitely did not want to live there. And it all comes down to who you would rather be mugged by, the Brick Lane Indians in the East Side, or the Jerk Chicken loving Caribbeans in the West Side. Personally, I would rather be mugged by a Jamaican. I've always wanted to be friends with some Rastas who can take me under their wing and teach me how to wear gold jewellery and giant sneakers. Plus I love the soothing percussion of a steel drum band.

I have to say, moving 17,000 km's across the world really doesn't feel any different from moving a suburb away in Sydney, when you accidentally destroy a shelving unit in London, you still need to bang nails into the wall. Accidents are a global phenomenon.

My new apartment is in Ladbroke Grove, one street parallel from Portobello Road, which will come in handy on saturday afternoons when I go and haggle with a fruiterer for a £1 box of produce. mmmm. We have high ceilings, wood floors, heated towel rack, and on sunday night we discovered our Mystery Room.

When our apartment was advertised it said 1 Bedroom + Study.. well there was no apparent study when we inspected the place, unless the they were counting our walk in wardrobe an extra room?? So we just decided that whoever wrote the ad was clearly too busy smoking crack and eating jerk chicken and making up real estate lies.

However... we had 2 extra keys on our keyring. What were the keys for?? we didn't know.. we stuck them in every key-hole available and they didn't do anything. Maybe they were special Annoying Keys, designed to do your head in and stay up all night wandering what the keys do and what magical door they open.

Well we discovered which door they open... on our floors landing there was this door. We thought it might have been another apartment, or a switchboard room, so we tried out our Annoying Keys and lo and behold.. our Study!!!!!

A whole new room complete with shelving, electric sockets, a window with a view of the gorgeous church across the road.. What the hell?? what are we supposed to do with this room? It would be fairly inconvenient to sleep in there considering you'd need to unlock the main apartment door to get inside to use the bathroom or kitchen. What do you do with a room like this??

I suppose if you had people stay over they could stay in the Mystery Room and pee out the window. or you could rent it out to a family of illegal immigrants (again, you gotta sort out your own pee situation) At any rate - it is now our room of 'where anything ugly goes' - ie: suitcases (responsible for said Shelving Disaster) ugly chairs/ugly tables.. but the potential is endless.

*cocktail party room
* dead body room

*drug addict room
*coats, bags, and shoes room
*tiny rave room

*Lenny's Apartment

All we have to do now is get acquainted with our area, loads of cool looking pubs and bars, restaurants and clothes shopping. I think I will probably explode of excitement and go broke over the coming months.

And FYI to any whinging londoner who gives me shit about moving to London from Sydney .. I am really sick of this shtick I get from people about moving here, 'why would you leave sydney??' umm because Sydney is boring and London is exciting... There are more important things in life than a Beach. Beach Shmeach. They go on about how London is horrible and grey all year round.. Example:

Grey all year round huh?? that looks like a pretty fabulous blue sky to me. Just The Monument outside the building I am working in at the moment. That's pretty inspiring. More so than walking past the Matrix Fountain in Martin Place every goddamn morning.

Bondi Beach can kiss my ass, anyone who is stupid enough to go there deserves to stand in the copious amounts of dog poo left on the street to dry, and slide around in the spew from the drunk backpackers, and mingle with piles of festering garbage. .. or you could go to Europe for a quick Mediterranean getaway. but sure I can see how Bondi would be an equal comparison (not)

Weather isn't everything. If you're miserable in London, chances are you'll be miserable anywhere. Ladbroke Grove Forever. Bondi Never.

That's my two pence.

Measurement of Coldness

You know how cold today was: Dicksuckingly Cold.

I say this because that is the only way I can describe how cold it is so you get the full picture of the coldness. I don't know about you, but I have really sensitive teeth, and no matter how much sensodyne I use, I still can't eat cold things, and just thinking about eating something cold makes my front teeth hurt.

So today when I left home I noticed after awhile that my teeth were hurting, well my friends that would be because it was dicksuckingly cold.

- 1 degrees

Now i've rugged up to the best of my ability, and I'm actually feeling quite cosy and somewhat over-heated to be honest, except my goddam teeth are freezing.

There really isn't anything you can do if it's so cold your teeth are freezing, so I did the only thing I could do.. I walked around with cock-sucking face to keep my front incisors from freezing up and falling out.



What?!? What choice do I have until some genius makes me a toasty warmer tooth beanie?? the only way to stay warm teeth-wise, is to curl those lips over your teeth and try to breathe through your nose...much like the lady above is doing.

No wonder people were giving me the side-eye. Lucky I was walking around Soho which is the cocksuckingest capital of London so noone would have noticed anything too out of the ordinary.

Brisk

I thought I would escape the monotonous "hot enough for ya" talk when I moved to London, but I have instead landed in a world of constant "ooh its cold out there"..

really?? is it?

Plus its not just the constant repetition of the blaringly obvious about the cold weather factor that is weird, its that they talk about it like it's never happened before...

I'm pretty sure it's been cold in London for ooh a few thousand years, and everytime around this time of year the whole cycle repeats itself and it continues to get cold again, just like it did the year before, and the year before that.

I really don't think it's that cold. If you have a warm hat/gloves/scarf/jacket then its fine. You can't go outside in a pair of thongs and a sun visor. That's not going to do shit.

Can not wait to move into our own place so I can have a party and make the very scrummy Mulled Wine.. Mulled Wine being a big factor in my excitement of moving to London, yet upon arrival it seems that mulled wine is about as classy as a warm beer. Damn my culturally uncool tastes.. Will I ever get it right??

Next up: Squirrel Pie!!!!!!!!

Whinging around the World

I really don't understand why they are referred to as 'whinging poms', I've been whinging my ass off in Sydney for years.

People warn you that the tube is full of angry whinging poms, isn't every form of public transport rife with whinging people? I've been whinging for years. It didn't take moving to London and catching the tube to find my inner whiner.

Nothing is more annoying - no matter where you are, than people who don't move down the carriage - be it the tube, the 333 to bondi, or the manly ferry. People are annoying and slow all over the world. Pom's really have a bad racket goin on.

I don't even know they call them Pom's, considering POM means Prisoner of Mother England, and wouldn't that be like.. the Australian's?? considering their wily convict ways?? I find it hard to believe that the Londoner's shipped to Australia in chains forced to build roads didn't whinge about it..

That said, I would like to complain about the following things:

Tasteless Chips: you know when you buy a packet of chips and two of the ingredients are Chedder Cheese and Onions.. wouldn't you expect the flavour to be quite robust?? not so Kettle Chips, not so.. So I got online to complain about the lack of cheese on my oily potato chip, and their response is to send the offensive packet of chips back for analysis.. pfft what packet?? sure they sucked but we still ate the whole bag... who has time to find an envelope big enough for a packet of chips??? come on.. screw you kettle chips and your wimpy non-existent flavour.

When Twilight creeps up on you: when I first tried to read Twilight because of the hype about how great it was, I threw the book across the room and peed on it, because it was so preachy and read-between-the-lines 'don't have sex... ever' Mormon stance. But... when I watched the movie I didn't hate it per se.. then I saw New Moon and read the book whilst I had nothing to do, and I actually realllly liked it.. Who am I??? I don't know who I am anymore, specially seen as how I walked into the Islington Library and borrowed "blood rivals" the biographies of Taylor Lautner & Robert Pattinson.. (note: not much to write about, given they are about 12 years old)... Taylor was born.. went to primary school, and is now in the Twilight series... oooh Mary Kay Letournou I feel your pain.

Anyway, enough whinging, I really have nothing bad to say about London. They're all angry on the tube, but so am I .. and when someone severs your toe from standing on it in their 9 inch heels, they do say sorry... and if you are ever really thirsty you know you could just walk into a Foxtons office and pretend to look for rental listings and drink all the free coke you want. These are the true signs of a civilised society.

Rock the Casbah

This week rates up there with one of Good Ones.

It's alllllllllll coming to plan.

I've been spending my days working at a very high end Talent Agency in swinging London. Clients include: Joseph Fiennes, Emily Blunt, Jeremy Irons, Helen Mirren, Anna Friel, Tim Curry!! (antici..pation) and sooo many others, The Haitian from Heroes! Suresh from Heroes! Soo many cool people to stalk.

First up, I was sorting the fan mail, and hence: got some good stalking info, for instance, do you know Emily Blunts home address? I do.. Do you know Helen Mirren's email??? I got it.

Joseph Fiennes came into the office, however no autographs allowed, I would a need spy brooch to take some sneaky photos, should be fine given that M16 and Scotland yard is just down the road, there would be tonnes of places selling dodgy WWII spy gear.

So. Awesome.

We have a home!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! In Notting Hill! Well Ladbroke Grove, which is on the peripheral of The Hill, where The Clash came from. Our place is one street away from Portobello Road, so that means lots of fruit & veg markets, and lots of antiquey crap.

ZING!!!!!!!!!!

Also, last night I saw New Moon, and I personally have never been into Twilight, but I do like the thought of Taylor Lautner shirtless, and this movie certainly delivered. Shirtlessness so much shirtlessness! Taylor must have had in his contract "must be allergic to clothes".. so awesome. If I was 16 years old, id be spending all day today at home in bed pleasuring myself to thoughts about Taylor and his teenagery wolfman hotness.

It's Cougar Time!!

My Russell Brand Moment

There is always a lot of things happening in London, places to eat, exhibitions to see, and live entertainment to spectate. Unfortunately, we haven't done any of those things. I've been here 10 days and all our time is spent looking for apartments - which in itself is pretty fun, as the Real Estate places chauffeur you around in cute little black Mini's showing you a buffet of places according to your specifications, and you get free drinks! So we've seen a lot of areas of London and have narrowed down our fav spots to live in (Ladbroke Grove/Angel) BUT we haven't really done anything yet.

YET!! Today however the dry spell has broken.

Being that I am obvs a huuuge fan of Russell Brand, I am in the know of his whereabouts at all times, and thankfully the stars have aligned to put me and Russell in London and the Scandalous DVD debut and Q&A at the HMV on Oxford Circus.

I got my wristband. I got my DVD. I stood in the group and watched Russell do his thing. Then there was a lot of waiting around before I got to go up for some body on body touching.

As you can clearly see - Russell is giving me the "helloooo" eyebrows.

The only problem with fan meet and greets, where they are signing things - is that it's impersonal, reeks of an assembly line and is empty and void of any real emotion, and you know the person you're there to see is only there out of obligation to a merchandising contract. But you know what?? if I was in Russell's shoes I would feel exactly the same... bunch of randoms coming up to hug you and make you sign things.. he was definitely in a Post-Signing-Haze by the time I got to him.

He did go in for the hug first though.. But then his eyes kinda glazed over whilst he did the repetitive "yeahh thanks for comin out, where you from? oh that's lovely that is, how do you spell your name? thanks so much"

So essentially the words I said to Russell were:
Hi
Sydney.. I saw you at the Hordern Pavillion
E.L

But still.. 10 more words than before today... next time I can only hope that we meet in a bar and we can talk more important topics, like what he would name his next cat, could he sign my London A-Z, can I sit on your lap(face)?

A Post for Epileptic Dogs

When I was really into Rock of Love, I remember there being a challenge where Megan Hauserman wanted to raise money for her charity for Epileptic Dogs, and everyone rolled their eyes like "sif there is such a thing as epileptic dogs"

Then Flight of the Conchords came out with their track 'A Song for Epileptic Dogs' and once again, eyes were rolled because HA! that's a hilarious song, but you know.. sif dogs with epilepsy actually exist...

Yet I have now seen first hand an Epileptic Dog and the heart breaking scene that is an Epileptic Dog Fit.

We are currently dog sitting an epileptic dog in London and it is the saaadest thing ever to see an epileptic dog having a fit. At first I thought he was just unable to stand up properly on the wood floor until I realised OMG this dog is having a fit right in front of me. I put him in my arms and sang calming Dido lyrics until the fit ended (not really, but next time.. for sure)

So sad. The only real thing you can do for an epileptic dog is use a Valium medication that unfortunately is rectally administered, and I'm sure the last thing a dog having a seizure wants is a tube shoved up its bum.

Poor baby. I am such an animal lover that 8 days into my dog sitting period, he is already my Lenny patch, and I would quite happily walk around with him strapped to my chest in a baby harness, sporting a shirt "I Heart Epileptic Dogs" shaking a can collecting money "spare a penny for epileptic dogs??"

Good Luck to the owners coming back to claim him.

KNOCK KNOCK
"we're here to pick Zeke up"
"No babies here!!" SLAM.. (takes out restraining order against said owners)

First Week

So upon arrival in the UK, my new home as it were, I was a bit worried i'd be suffering from Post Partum Depression - ie: giving birth to this brand new life and not being able to bond with it. Luckily, London is a very cool city so I was worrying for nothing.. Had I moved to somewhere rubbish i'm sure I would have felt different (zone 6..)

Luckily we are living in Zone 2, in Finsbury Park (land of mosques and Muslims) - where luckily we have a room to stay in and aren't some burdensome lump on the couch in someones loungeroom. Much easier to be a burdensome lump with your own door. Plus it's only 11 mins on the tube to Oxford Circus, so you can deal with the roughness of the area if you run really quickly past the Mostaqbal (terrorist supermarket) to the tube station.

So far this week has been about finding a suburb we want to live in, so we have been going around to real estate agents in all sorts of areas, so far our favourite is Angel, but today we are looking around Notting Hill - it is a classic war of East vs West.

I have applied for about 40 jobs, so hopefully over the coming weeks I will have some interviews to attend, and can start earning pounds so I can go shopping!!!!!!! I haven't brought anything yet, as I am still yet to receive a suitcase of clothes I shipped over here, but there is soooo much good stuff that I need.want.

On the plus side, I have had a taste of Fruli, and the delicious snacks from Waitrose.

There are Christmas lights everywhere, which is actually cool for once, as Pitt St just doesn't quite get it right. Christmas makes sense in the Northern Hemisphere -icicles, snow, reindeer's -not prawns, pool toys and SPF 30.

1 week down. 5 years to go.

I'm gonna be a millionaire .. idea #17363

Ok, so you know how a lot of amazing things come to people whilst they are sleeping? ie: lyrics to great songs/inventions... well I had a dream about a new appliance that is going to change the world...

I call it... The BACON MAKER

Essentially: picture a machine that is a hybrid juicer/microwave contraption... uncooked bacon goes into a slot (like an ATM) and then you set your Bacon Maker to how you want your bacon (well cooked/crispy as hell) and then BING comes out the other end perfecto.

Is this genius or what?? The Westinghouse Bacon Maker is gonna make me a millionaire.

If only it was the 60's when people had really useless giant appliances in their kitchens.

Is Demtel Hiring??

London iiiiyt

So. I live in London now.
That is bizarre. It's like saying.. "ok, i'm a zebra now"

It was very sad leaving home and all my friends and Lenman. I should have brought a blanket with all his hair all over it that I could roll around in when I am feeling pangs of missing him. (the pangs are palpable)

The day after I left home it was 39 degrees. When I arrived it was 9.

One thing that I am still getting used to is stupid Fahrenheit. Why do we have Fahrenheit? It's like one of those crap Zimbabwean currencies that make no sense.. how can it be cold if it is 29 degrees outside? Screw You Fahrenheit Barometer.

I am yet to start exploring the city, but today I will buy the one thing that I came here for: a container of Waitrose Cornflake Clusters.

Even though I brought 2 bags of clothes with me, I am still walking around the High St shops going "want it.. want it.. need it" to all the great stuff in the windows. A girl can never have enough hats & scarves.

Tonight I'm going to see a Guy Fawkes Fireworks thing on the Thames, which is quite bizarre - as you wouldn't think a country would have a fireworks celebration night themed around a guy who tried to blow up Parliament?? I doubt we'll ever see Al-Queda Fireworks Night in NYC.

Bizarre-O-World. Population = 1.

3 Nights

Moving House is sooooooooo much fun!! NOT. This is my life right now:

Wake up.
Walk back to apartment.
Walk around with a bucket and rag scrubbing at any marks that I spot on the walls, although at this point i'd have to say that the marks on the walls are 80% imaginary, and 20% mangled huntsman guts from when we squish them against the wall with the mop (die scum)

Lenny, did not take the move well. When he went to his new house for the next 6 months, he had what I would refer to as a 'minor breakdown'... as in: That cat has rabies and needs to be put down... he was going to kill me I swear. I had to hide behind the couch for hours whilst he swiped and hissed at me, and sleep with one eye open, lest he try to disembowel me in the night. Poor Man... I dont know what he's complaining about - he has a lovely balcony to sun himself on, and i'm going to be freezing my tits off in 5 days time. (I hear men like the nipply look, so thats one bonus) He came around luckily, and has been sleeping in my armpit everynight, getting as much love as he can before we are seperated by the oceans of time. (damn you quarantine!!! sif my cat has any diseases...except for his violent rages)

My blue couch cushions that we threw out 2 years ago have made a last ditch effort to try and come to London with us, last time they brought a picnic blanket with them which we were not intersted in, so this time they came back with a crusty old beer refrigerator... it was very thoughtful but not something I really need to pack on a move to London, so they were once again shunned in the street and disappeared. Who know what they will show up with next.

The crazy lady downstairs has been really crazy. She keeps going through our garbage that we are throwing out into the council clean up, and putting it back inside the apartment. Which would be fine, except our body corporate calls us and is all "whats with the shit outside the apartment" damn you insanity woman... she also tricked me into carrying about 10 terracotta pots around for her, but that is another story.. a story about a mental lady and her wily ways.

Well, after all that, I'm kinda ready to leave. My house is empty and it's no fun sitting around on the floor waiting for movers, cleaners, real estate peeps. For one - I have cleaned the toilet to a saintly cleanliness, so when I need to poop I have to weigh the options of pooing in a plastic bag and hanging my bum out the window.. or just dropping a duce for the final time... unfortunately the burly moving men duced me up before I had a chance and I had to scrub it back to a germ free zone.

In excellent news - Russell Brand is doing a DVD signing of his show 'Scandalous' which I saw at the Hordern earlier this year. So I am going to go along to that in my first week in London to Oxford Circus with my things to sign, and when I say things, I mean my breasts. Down with Katy Perry.

Goodbye Sydney. My next post will be in London.
Goodbye fare harbour with your amber shades of grey. My home is girt by huntsmans.

Fermals & Furballs

Things I'm Gonna Do in London, no matter how lame they sound.

* Stalk Russell Brand - apparently he lives in Hampstead Heath, how big can that be? I think my first few weeks will be spent hiding in bushes with binoculars looking for men in tight leather pants to bad touch.

*If i'm gonna be hangin in the heath I better dress Heath. I've noticed that anything goes in London. So I am going to dress myself the way I imagine radioactive blind insane monkeys would. Thermals and a Wetsuit, spruced up with a nice hat.

*talk london. i'm not sure which dialect I should be aiming for here, but I'm going to first try out a bit of ye olde cockney - this will go down a treat when I am doing the dodgy sight-seeing at first, then onto poshy snob british, then I might do a bit of 'got no teef' london talk.

* lose my nose septum.

*grow my armpit hair nice and long for extra warmth

oooh yeah. 6 days.

My 20's... the sparknotes

2000
The Millenium came in a haze of disappointment. My computer continued to function and my microwave didnt come alive and try to eat me. I turned 20 this year. I began my first full time job at Channel 9. I was exposed to the world of corporate lunches/the executive bar/excessive throwing up at the executive bar. I lived in Manly, and listened to Marilyn Manson/NIN and wore black a lot. I was the Erin Brockovich of the television sponsorhsip advertising world. I even had business cards. I went to Norway for christmas and had my first white christmas. I had my 20th birthday in Manly and was shouted a round of Long Island Iced Tea -threw my guts up massively and woke up with a busted eyeball. I thought I had a brain tumor, but the chemist said I just threw up too much.

2001
This is the year I moved out of home to Cremorne. I turned 21 and thusly moved to where I would call home for the next 8 years - the lower north shore (north side bags yooo). Everyone was totally into Lord of the Rings, but I was into Big Brother. Kylie Minogue was suddenly awesome again. I had my 21st birthday at a Mexican Restaurant.

2002
Having been deathy afraid of hairdressers for the past 15 years I finally went to one who gave me a nice cut, and restored my faith in the hairdressing profession. I broke up with my boyfriend and share housed for the first time, in Neutral Bay. Having never seen a 'chores list' in a house with 3 adults before, I was apprehensive and assumed my current housemates were pedantic anal dicks within that first week, luckily they weren't so bad, but they did use a lot of toilet paper. I went out with a string of jerk's. My favourite band was The Donnas, and I watched a lot of Amelie, Donnie Darko and The Royal Tenembaums. I also started taking a lot of exstacy. Weekends were like this: clean up according to the chore list: buy drugs: take drugs: figure out what to do, or just stay at home on drugs, I made friends with a lot of people on the basis that we liked taking drugs together. This was also the year of Zoolander, and silverchair's Diorama. Instant Favourites. I had my birthday at the Greenwood -and hooked up with a tonne of guys.

2003
I went out with more losers, one of whom dumped me on my birthday. Then I met a really nice girl who was an immediate BFFF (best fucking friend forever) who also thought my flatmates were anal pedantic weirdos, and I moved in with her to Crows Nest. It was a great apartment and it was the best time i've ever had living with someone. I took less drugs during this time. I went on a holiday to Cairns for the first time where some douchebag doctor started me on a prescription of anti depressants after one x 15 min meeting??! Thus cementing in my mind that doctors from QLD are tools who found their medical degrees in cornflakes packets. Mark and I started dating one night outside the recycling bins at his apartment, and he moved in with me. Musically there was not much happening. Lost in Translation came out, and I brought a hot pink wig that I wore once. Kill Bill also came out and I really just wanted a yellow leather onepiece tracksuit. Musically we listened to a lot of Air - talkie walkie, and Jack Johnson. I was dumped on my birthday so I went to Radio Cairo in Cremorne to dull the pain.

2004
Mark and I moved to our apartment we live in now, Neutral Bay, which would usher in the 'best years of my life' movement. Most importantly, we brought Lenny home, who aside from a handful of humans, he is my favourite breathing creature on the planet. I stopped working at Ch 9, found an ad for a 'Theatrical Assistant' - having no idea what that was, I nailed the job at the interview and started my career as a Talent Agent. We went to the snow where I snowboarded for the first time. Gwen Stefani went solo, and I brought my first iPod and a digital camera, which changed the way we think about taking a million photos of one event. Anchorman was an immediate favourite and garnered a weekly watching and much quoting to the annoyance of everybody. I cant remember what I did for my birthday, but I remember carrot cake being involved.

2005
Mark and I went on a European/American holiday and got engaged in Las Vegas. Brokeback Mountain came out and was robbed at the Academy Awards by a stupid movie called Crash. Being a gay cowboy was suddenly cool. Steve Carrel also became cool with the 40 year old Virgin. All of a sudden your pyjamas werent cool unless they came from Peter Alexander. I discovered how excellent the world of MSN Messenger was, and became BFFF's with GJ. Madonna released "confessions" and Hung Up became a number one fav on high rotation on my kitchen music playlist. I started this blog. I loved The Life Aquatic. For my birthday we went to the Opera Bar and froze our nuts off.

2006
We had an engagement party, and no plans for a wedding anytime soon. Shakira's "hips dont lie" came out and everybodys temper went up a notch. I joined a gym for the first time in my life and lost 10 kg, which made me realise that for the past couple of years I had indeed accumulated a heckload of 'love fat'. Little Miss Sunshine came out which everybody raved about. I discovered Garden State, and whilst The Shins had one good song on that soundtrack, I didnt think they were that great. For my birthday we went to a Japanese Restaurant and drove down the south coast to some fancy restaurant.. I remember being pissed off the whole drive down.

2007
Probably the gheyest year ever. well the most 'professionally frustrating'. I resigned from my work in Double Bay for the fogies, who in hindsight were a bit nuts, but was still the best boss i've ever worked for, and the one place I wish I could go back to. I did some temping, which I realised none to soon is really shit, as they assume you can't function like a regular human with braincells. Cunts. Chris Lilley officially exploded into the ultimatum of coolness with Summer Heights High. We went to Argyle Bar for my 27th, where i got massively shitfaced and wore a cleaning rag around my neck thinking I was the sophistication of coolness.

2008
If 2007 was a ghey year, then 2008 was officially the worst. Having to work with some psychopath in their dirty cockroach infested shithole on Bondi Beach. Seriously, if anyone said they want to live at Bondi Beach I would punch them in the head, just to bring them around to sanity. It was also the year I got married (which was a good thing) but the rest was just tedius tedium. Life was all about quoting Superbad, musically, I dont think much happened. I was too busy hating the world in my dungeonesque hell hole. I listened to a lot of metallica during this time. I went to Melbourne for the first time, and once again - went to Cairns and got a siiic tan.

2009
Crazy. Crazy Times. I got sick of working in the shittiest hell hole on earth (second only to cleaning out Suddam Husseins bunker when he was hiding in it) I resigned and lived a life of leisure. I went to Cairns again - got permatanned. Went to Europe and saw a side of the world I want to be a part of. We decided to move to London in October of 2009. Crazy Crazy Times. 6 months passed since I quit that shitstain, and I find myself sitting in my apartment surrounded by boxes. Wonder what will happen next.

My 20's in a nutshell
Boyfriends: (for reals) 2.. a handful of jerks thrown in to spice it up
BFF's: 8 and counting
Residences: 5 and counting
Marriages: 1
Children: 1 (obviously the cat counts)
Siic Holidays: 8
Jobs: 8
Dead Braincells: 127,396,000

Moving to London, a dramatic reading

Pack Pack Pack and store things away
I wont take my DVD's

I'll watch you again one day.

Guitar, Sewing Machine, a Care Bear and an Amp,

These things I don't need anymore.

Would you like to buy my lamp?

Scrub the roof, Scrub the walls, Clean the drain of my Hair

I've never cleaned so much before.

How did mould get up there?

Going Sunday, Going Thursday, Going Monday, Going When?
I'll change my ticket a million times,

I'm having a farwell at the Rocks, i'll see you all then.

Lenny! You are my best friend

at the moment we are attached at the hip

Together till the end.

I'd honestly rather spend my last weeks hanging out all day

With my cat inside watching The Hills

April is only 5 months away.

I really hope that moving to London will be heaven

I don't want to hear how you hated it over there

Sif you would live in Zone Seven

At the moment i'm standing on a ledge, thats golden with shine

I'll jump into the darkness

To see what lurks behind.

It's time to go.... Crap

You know when you move house, you do a bit of spring cleaning, and throw out a huge pile of junk that you don't remember collecting but has somehow grown to fill 3 rooms worth over time?? well moving overseas is a lot like that, but a lot more ruthless.

When I move house for instance, I still traipse around with my sentimental junk, because no matter where I live, I know there will be some cupboard that I can store that crap in, never to see the light of day, until the next move when I open the box again and can't bring myself to throw the junk out once and for all.

However, being that I am relocating roughly 17,000km's from home, and my stuff has to be shipped/stored/destroyed, there are a loooot of menial decisions to make about a lot of garbage I have carried around with me for the past 29 years with my preverbial bag lady baggage in my cupboard of shame.

However first things first - we sold the car. We sold it within 2 days of posting the ad?!? wtf!! things are happening sooo quickly, its like the universe is saying "geettt oooout" like the Amityville House. Are my walls bleeding and talking to me? kinda. Sydney wants us gone.

Seeing the car go was a bit sad, it was one great car. We had excellent times (driving it on our honeymoon) and bad times (driving it into a parked car.... heyyy it came out of nowhere OK!) But now Herme has gone to a new home, and we have to walk around like homeless bums to the shops. Luckily Herme was brought by some rich guy in Mosman who brought the car for his daughter for her Uni Graduation (disgusting.. rich people disgust me) I love living in a rich neighbourhood. We get to reap all the benefits of their blase richness when they buy our cars on a whim (full price. no negotiations)

One thing down.. A billion more to go. I mean a car is easy. How do you decide on the worthiness of holding onto something that has no real value to anyone else, but you can't bring yourself to get rid of?? Ie: my rollerskates.

I've been holding onto these skates for at least............ 15 years. Which makes no sense really given that there are no such things as rollerskating rinks anymore.. (no cool ones anyway with sarsparilla/80's music and disco balls) But these skates are a symbol of my love of skating, that I used to spend every available school holiday opportunity at a skating rink, that I thought that one day I would grow up to be a rollerskating champion.... then when I got a little older I wore them to every 18th birthday party I went to dressed as Rollergirl..

But do I really need these skates???? would I pay $12 per KG to ship to London? can I really envisage myself rollerskating around Oxford Circus?? about the only place I could ever wear these skates is if I lived in Vondelpark.

So they're going.. I hope whoever gets them realises they are taking a part of my childhood dreams and maybe uses them once or twice to roll down their driveway, and they can spend some more time stored in a plastic bag living underneath the bed to keep the monsters away.

Frank Grimey Grimes

You know, even though when I move to London I will have live with the rain and cold (to be honest, I couldnt care less about this - I live for jacket and boot weather) but at least moving over there I won't have to deal with this:

This is Military Road in Mosman this morning.. Apocalypse... Armageddon.... the surface of Mars?? No just a mega dust cloud that covered the whole city.

If that wasn't bad enough - the dust permeated all through the apartment. Red dust on everything!!!!!!!!!! I had to spend about 4 hours cleaning up surfaces and vaccuming everything to get the red crunt of all our belongings.

At least I know when I move to London I won't ever wake up and feel like Frank Grimes with a film of red dust on everything I touch.

I'll just be cold and mouldy instead. Can't Wait !

Streetcar will kill ya

You're a dame and i'm a fella.... Stanely stop or i'll tell Stella!
All I want is one embrace... i'll twist this bottle in your face!

Can't you hear me yell-a
You're puttin me through hell-a
Stella..... STELLA!!!!!!!!!!

If there is one thing you can't fault The Simpsons for, is being tapped into all areas of modern culture. And thankfully, due to my couch potato ways I was well versed into today's performance of 'Streetcar Named Desire' at the Sydney Theatre Company.

I have been eagerly anticipating today's show considering I brought the tickets 10 Months ago, and it truly delivered on all my expectations.

The three lead's -Cate, Joel and Robin were fantastic. You just can't go wrong with a cast like that and the works of Tennessee Williams.

Cate Blanchett was captivating, beautiful, funny, and ethereal in her performance. She truly conveyed the sadness and wretched state of mind that is the script's pivotal character, Blanche Dubois.

Robin McLeavy definitely held her own against Cate, and once again I was truly impressed by her performance.. big things.. I forsee big things in her future (says me with my shawl, scented candles and captain obvious crystal ball)

Joel Edgerton was............ hot. I saw him arriving at the theatre when I was loitering around on the street, and saw this hunky, sweaty, tanned man walking towards me.. it took awhile when I cleaned the drool off myself to realise that it was infact the leading man - Joel Edgerton. I really had to applaud the direction of this play, as there were so many gratuitious shirtless scenes with Joel it seemed like an insider joke after the 14th time. But, his manly tanned pecs and arm muscles aside - he was also incredibly good. He should win the Hot/Shirtless and Good Acting Award 2009.

However the thing that makes this a great show, isn't the fact that it is sold out, that the material is superb, the killer cast.... it's the fact that all these things combined could actually kill a person.. maybe it's just so good it should be illegal. When the show was in previews when it first opened, Cate was bashed in the face with a rogue prop when it slipped out of Joels tanned, sweaty, muscly, wet, manly hands and conked her in the head, being the trooper that she is, she continued the scene until she realised she had some brain leaking out (you can't fault the professionalism).

In today's performance, some old geezer at the back thought the show as so good they actually had a fit! As in; gonna die, having a seizure fit.. luckily there was a doctor in the house (sif that ever really happens!?!) and they jumped over the chairs to stop this person swallowing their tongue and dying right there in the theatre. Needless to say there was a lot of commotion. But Robin and Cate never broke their stride, they know the risks. If you're going to be as red hot as they are on stage, the tickets need to come with a warning.

Warning: Watch at your own risk. This Performance might be so f*#cking good that you could die.

HAZCHEM.

London Population: + 3 (including the cat)

So, my big news of the week is that my UK Visa has been approved so we are moving to London.. within the next couple of months. EEEEEEeshk!!!

Harking Back: when we were in London we were loving it so much because it's such an awesome, big city with pubs/clubs/fashion/bands/the vibe, and to be honest. - I really enjoy catching The Tube, so we organised some meetings and within our 3rd week of being there we had 2 job offers in the bag. Thank god all that standing around on corners in Soho paid off.

However the one thing we didn't have was a visa to actually get into the country and work, so within our first week of being back we put together a really anal folder with birth certificates/marriage certificates, any type of certificate we could get our hands on (my shotput ribbon from 6th grade??) and went to the British Consulate for an eyeball and fingerprint scan, and hoped that that shoplifting fiasco from year 3 wasn't on my permanent record, and that Mark hadn't raped anyone and not told me about it...

We had heard all sorts of stories about visa applications taking forever, 3 months, a year... so it was a huge surprise to us when we got our letter of approval 3 days after we sent it off.

3 days!!!!!!!!!!!!! I had 3 months in my head. So now I am looking at all the crap that is in my apartment and mentally chucking/storing/packing.. I gave 3 bags of clothes to goodwill already, and have been eyeing off all sorts of rubbish that I have accumulated over the years to put into the bin.

Lenny has already been to the vet to get the process of his Pet Passport happening, so now it's just a matter of packing our crap, telling Fuckwit Fenwick that we are moving out (that will be bittersweet) and buying our One Way Tickets to London Baby Yeahhhh.

Can't wait to be living it up in Zone 2 (sif we can afford Zone 1) drinking Fruli on a regular basis, and being able to see bands that would never come to Sydney because they think it is too far away (yes you Madonna), and catching planes to European destinations that take 45 minutes for $17.

At least I will be there by Christmas so I will be able to step off the plane and into some hardcore London weather. Note to self: get a muth'ucking warm jacket.

Sooooooooooo exciting!!!!!!!!!!!

Dear Diary, I am 12

I've been culling through the hordes of crap in my spare room, one thing in particular is my picnic basket where I keep all my old journals dating back to 1992.. they are HILARIOUS!! omg I was and still am such. a. loser.. but i would still be friends with me.

check it:

July 1992 - at a time where I was obsessed with Edward Furlong

I love Edward Furlong so much it's unbelievable. I'd like to meet him but I don't know where he lives. But I have an idea on how to.
1. go to the post office and ask where to post a letter to him then follow the postman to his house. But I dont want to write a letter and I don't want to send a photo as I look nothing like Jodie Foster. And i'm not 15 yet.

Even back then I had the good stalking senses.