I arrived in Perth two months ago today. It’s been a great adventure so far (more about that here) and things are going really well overall, but recently I’ve felt twinges and twangs of missing home. While this is totally normal, I’ve observed it seems to be the little things that I miss the most.
Some of the things I’ve been missing:
- My nieces. Their little faces, their energy and their love. I hear about them from my family and we’ll sometimes have a chat on the phone so I know what they’re up to, but I miss hanging out with them. It’s the little moments like exchanging tips on how to draw the best fairies, getting hair styling advice and being schooled in how to draw unicorns (“mummy does it better”). I’m also worried they’ll forget who I am – not the twins as they’re five and I think we’re pretty solid, but Little A is only two – how much can a two year old remember? Should I be attaching my face to some My Little Pony’s so I remain top of mind?
The Sydney Writers’ Festival is an annual event featuring talks and panel discussions from authors around the globe. It’s a time when I get my writing/reading nerd on so I thought I’d share a feel for what a day at the festival is like.
- I arrive. Sodden from the rain.
- I get directed and redirected until I find the correct ticket window. Volunteers are in abundance, but unfortunately hold no clues.
- I get misdirected again.
- The queue is large by the time I arrive; the line stretches along the pier. It’s a free talk with limited space so volunteers count people waiting… 15, 16, 17… Continue reading
Can you feel the ocean breeze? Smell those freshly mowed lawns? Hear those birds (you know the ones, they go booooooooo-woop)? The sensations of leafy suburbia – where I’ve taken respite from my inner city life to house-sit for a couple of days – feel good. I came for a bit of peace and quiet and easy beach access, but got a whole lot more than that. And it’s hard not to compare it to my usual residence in the grimy inner city.
So how do they stack up?
In the morning…
Suburbs: Sunday morning sleep-ins may come to an abrupt halt due to the sounds of birds (seriously it’s like a fricken rainforest out here), small children and lawnmowers.
Inner city: You are gently lulled awake by conversations of friendly locals as they drift past your house on their daily trip to the rehab centre. I don’t know why, but they prefer to converse with each other by shouting from opposite sides of the street. Continue reading
Last weekend I hosted a garage sale as part of the annual Garage Sale Trail. Seeing as we don’t even have a garage this would appear a pretty amazing feat, but that’s just how I roll.
The Garage Sale Trail is an annual event in which everyone is invited to host garage sales or get amongst the sales as a buyer. It began in Bondi and now in its third year has spread Australia-wide. Continue reading
Combine a seemingly disjointed mix of pop, rap, grunge and every other musical sound, Twist and Shout vigorously, drench in sweat, and add Kelly Clarkson to taste. Here you have the recipe for the perfect gig: a Girl Talk gig. Just don’t forget to add water or you might not make it out the other side.
Last Saturday saw Gregg Gillis perform yet another sweat-fest of a show at The Enmore in Newtown, Sydney. Working PARTYING under the alias of Girl Talk, Gillis knows how to get the party started, climaxed, and utterly done, all the while leaving the crowd panting for more.
I never quite thought I would be able to say “I saw that new black and white silent film last night – and LOVED it!” But last week I did just that. I saw The Artist at St George Open Air Cinema and would recommend it to all.
Originally I wasn’t that keen to see it, but one of my more ‘culturally in-the-know’ friends was going and I really wanted to see her. Plus, heading to the open air cinema is one of my favourite summery things to do in Sydney. So I purchased my ticket on a whim and went along for the ride. Continue reading
Porteño is my favourite restaurant in Sydney.
OK, so I haven’t eaten at ALL the restaurants, especially the fancy ones, (remember no-one pays me to do this… yet) but hey, I eat a lot! So that’s got to count for something besides a popped button on your slacks, right? (Did I just say slacks? Am I my mother? Dear God.)