Bloc o'clock

Sitting on bus, panting slightly but rather overly proud of self for making it to last bus home with seconds to spare.

Amazing evening at the Hordern Pavilion watching bloc party (from England, as they were keen to emphasise). Took me back to being young, with unachey feet and enough sense not to bring a huge handbag to a gig. Ah, those were the days! A particularly awesome friend had scored me a free ticket. It was amazeballs, as the kids say these days...

The post-gig euphoria carried over to the trip home. The initial sprint for the bus back to the city was livened up by some hideous body art (who gets Corky the cat tattooed on their bicep???) and prime viewing of a guy getting a cavity search at Taylor sq while his female friend stood by and laughed. clearly the best kind of friend.

Jumping off at Elizabeth St with 5 minutes to spare I passed two Asian twenty somethings trying desperately to keep each other upright. Eventually giving up, they crawled into the nearest doorway, which happened to be a karaoke bar. Yes, that will help...

The last thing before I spotted the bus and started a headlong sprint (which naturally proved unnecessary, as things always do when you put that much effort in to them!), was two girls watching entranced as a fountain boasting a statue of a dog talked to them and then woofed goodbye. Which I think you will agree is a completely natural occurrence and definitely not some random hallucination.

In other block news, its the final week of my current fave Aussie programme, appropriately named 'the block'. Think grand designs slash changing rooms on a longer time frame. Its amazing and utterly addictive. Harri got to visit the set (or rather, the building site) the other day, and scored a signed cap which I was incredibly jealous of. Lesson of the week: if you are having a argument with an Australian, its best to emphasise this by calling your opponent 'mate' at every opportunity.

The bus journey is considerably improved by it being my favourite driver at the wheel. He's driven me to work every day for the last two weeks and a nice repartee has struck up. He is fantastic with the customers, knows the names of all the school kids travelling solo and checks on their sporting progress etc (this week we are disappointed that Carly didn't make the netball team). I was overjoyed the other day to see him presented with a box of chocolates by a man who proclaimed that it was the 10 year anniversary of him being his driver. It was genuinely touching yet utterly bewildering to a londoner. Ah Australia, you continue to surprise me

A working woman

So, back to work I went. The work wardrobe hasnt exactly changed - still a scary mix of weekend
wear and old school uniform helped along by asos. The elation at being back in an office, hearing the printers whir, phones ring, colleagues type!

Cut to two days in. Trying to look busy as I have already finished all the work allotted for today and its just getting round to lunch time. There are only so many times in the day you can request more work without looking like you are taking the piss. So I am making my own work - otherwise known as playing with the stamps on my desk  - God knows how I didnt realise that they print what is written on their lids - yes, I was wondering why that one read 'do not bend' when you would be hard pushed to manipulate such a solid object. My boredom would be rather evident to anyone wandering
past - as not only is the page now covered in 'do not bend' and 'air mail' stamps, but they have all had the d's, o's etc filled in with permanent marker.

But generally all is good - have my diet coke stash under the desk, cashew nuts in the draw and glossy mags surrepticiously hidden to be whipped out at lunch. However, I am still flinching everytime the phone rings and looking round to make sure someone else will answer it. Slightly
apprehensive of leaving at the end of the day as there is a huge cockroach guarding the hall, its hairy legs bristling with hostility.
 

Mardi Gras

The last week in Sydney has been rather depressing. A combination of job interviews, another move and hideous weather. The long awaited return to work was very welcome - but slipping in my sodden ballet pumps and falling over in the middle of the street was not. My ego, and other parts, were severely bruised.

But then the weekend hit. And Mardi Gras was here! And amazingly, the rain held off for a large part of the parade! The journey into the city from Lane Cove was filled with semi-naked 14 year olds dressed as rainbow fairies, firemen and corsetted policemen. They squawked and screamed and made extremely loud, rude observation about everyone else on the bus, before adopting a 50 something year old man and making him tell them all about his plans for the evening (going bowling with his girlfriend). He seemed rather chuffed by all the attention to be honest! I quaked in a corner behind Harri - groups of teenagers scare me.

Heading through Surry Hills in an attempt to lose the thickest crowds, we ended up on Flinders Street, and within half an hour had managed to muscle our way to the front, as those less enthusiastic members of the audience dropped out. On hearing that the girls next to me had been there since three to secure their position on the front line, I felt distinctly smug (we rocked up around 8). While we did unfortunately miss Dykes on Bikes, we were there for the Warriors of Love, the Catholic, Anglican and Jewish parades, the political affiliations, and many many more!

It was a truly fantastic evening - the atmosphere was buzzing and everyone was so incredibly friendly. I've never seen a parade quite so happy (and not even that drunk!). It certainly knocked Notting Hill into a cocked hat. And to my great delight, one of the Warriors of Love, having approached for a Happy Mardi Gras hug, and unfortunately tripped and fallen over onto me, then presented me with his Roman pink feather-crested helmet as an apology. As an avid hat collector, this was the perfect end to a wonderful evening.

 

 

Paddington pastimes

Sorry this blog has been so sporadic since my return to Sydney. To tell the truth, there just hasnt been that much interesting happening to write about. After staying a week in Lane Cove, we returned to the house in Paddington for another two weeks of catsitting Inky. Since then, we have settled into an uneasy regime.

You will notice the word 'we' appearing a lot here. Me and Harri have been thrown together, and have basically turned into an old married couple. Unable to afford a traditional night out, we have taken to inviting friends round for dinner in the hope that they bring wine and entertainment. It has been commented on by many of these friends that we have started finishing each others sentences, and making comments such as 'oh yes, WE loved that!' We drink tea and put our glasses on and read in bed and have developed habits of the 'honey, I'm home' kind. Its a bit sickening...

So, yes, at the moment, life goes: job hunt, flat hunt, watch movies (save money), walk in centennial park, pass out in front of fan afterwards.

After two consecutive evenings of watching her on screen (Hunger Games and then the Oscars), WE have both developed a huge girl crush on Jennifer Lawrence. She comes up in conversation at least 4 times a day. Often followed by some kind of abuse of Anne Hathaway.

Headed to coles for the weekly food shop this morning, stopping via the pet shop at Bondi which to our joy and disgust still contains tiny puppies and kittens in cages. Kelpie puppies priced at only $50, clearly so desperate for exercise that they are running round banging into their enclosures, as opposed to the drugged up kittens who woke up to be sick, lick lips, and then fall asleep again. Nice. It was heartbreaking to walk away from some of them. The Cavoodles, less so (part King Charles Cavalier, part poodle - not my fave...)

Poor Inky has been renamed Stinky due to his breath. We give him lots of love and affection and he repays it by starting to wash while sitting on your lap and almost causing you to pass out. While he doesnt seem to fond of his nickname, he isnt taking the hint either.

Its been a very buggy week. The other night, we were startled to see a huge cockroach walking across the ceiling. Talking about 3 inches long here. Too big. When pursued, it started to fly madly around the room. We were horrified, not having realised that flying was part of their creepy repertoire. On closer research (wikipedia) it was revealed that 'Australian cockroaches fly in hot weather'. Great. The next morning I came downstairs to walk straight through hundred of tiny spider webs. The wall was covered in tiny spiders. In the UK, I would label them as 'money spiders', harmless, sweet creatures that didnt merit squashing. However on closer observation, these tiny spiders were clearly huntsmen, and would grow from a few millimetres into monstrous palm-sized biting machines. Not good for sharing a house with. I unleashed a stream of insect spray onto them. To my intense discomfort, instead of dying quietly, thousands of the bloody things came streaming out from under the skirting board like some kind of post apocalyptic horror film. They swarmed towards my feet, as I let loose with the can of 'raid', screaming intermitently.

The joys of Australia. I miss home...!
 

Lazy and crazy

What am I doing? Hmm. In a nutshell, sitting around, vainly flipping through job seeker websites and wondering why the internet isnt recognising www.facemail.com

The cat has been following me ever since I had tuna salad for lunch, which isnt particularly flattering, and I'm watching reruns of Green Wing, and trying not to snort with laughter.

Oh and staring at a mindmap I made earlier (very Blue Peter) on hedge funds, which unfortunately I cant now read because my writing is so terrible.

A productive day then.

Money matters

Since returning to Sydney and a (more) normal life, money has become a serious preoccupation. My inbox is full of job applications made to gumtree for part-time work while I try and establish some kind of 'master plan' for the long term. Unfortunately, I appear to not be marketable, even to dishwashing and leafleting jobs. This is a bit of a slam... Although I'm sure past flatmates/family members would have some kind of joke to make about me not being particularly efficient in the dishwashing department...

One thing I have set up is an account with FineArtAmerica.com. Shameless self-marketing alert. Go ahead and check out some of my pictures at this address:

http://fineartamerica.com/profiles/elizabeth-hardie.html

And please feel free to leave comments (well, only complementary ones...!) and pass on the address to any one you know who is particularly in the market for other people photos or original greetings cards. Yeah, I know, I'm already wondering whether these people actually exist. So go ahead y'all!

Flo's farewell

It was a sad evening when we all converged on the Glenmore hotel to wish a fond farewell to our Floriane. After weeks of backpacking together it just doesn't seem natural that she wont continue to be there every day! So we celebrated with some great food and lots of wine.

As the wine flowed, the conversation also edged away from the norm. The Sydney crowd wanted to hear all about our trip, which took things into the diving realm. As with most evenings, at some point, the conversation invariably deteriorated. The topic tonight for some reason settled on procreation underwater. It was acknowledged that ducks can only copulate in running streams. Some confusion was cast over fish and their reproductive cycle. These can be seen as a biological facts - anything David Attenborough might comment on cannot be labelled 'smutty'. However, I'm betting the great DA never uttered the immortal words "you cant have sex underwater - just think about coastal erosion..." Hmm. Right. Yeah.

We left fairly early to start our first trip back to our new abode in Lane Cove. At this point, the heavens opened. The combination of the rain and the darkness was too much for us. We completely missed our bus stop, and ended up walking for at least half an hour in the torrential downpour. If we hadn't had umbrellas, we would have been completely washed away. As it was, I nearly lost my shoes on several occasions when encountering a raging river when trying to cross the road. To my intense embarrassment, i awoke the next morning to discover that somewhere along this slippy and slidey route, I had put my hip out of joint. I am now walking very strangely and feeling intensely geriatric. Cheers Sydney - great to be back!