Tryin'asplain a Strayan Christmas to Northerners

Growing up in the Southern Hemisphere in a country founded by Christians from the Northern Hemisphere enables one to become quite adept at doublethink. We know that Christmas imagery is snow, a fat man in a red fur suit, sleighs, reindeer, pine trees, bells and twinkly lights. However, upon reaching an age when one can recall their own previous experiences at Christmas, when one's frame of reference includes more than the images one sees on the (entirely) Northern Christmas movies, tv shows and books that one cannot help being exposed to, one realises that Christmas means other, opposing things. It means circling the undercover carpark for forty minutes because you refuse to park in the blazing sun while shopping. It means an inability to sleep on Christmas Eve due to excitement and stifling heat. It means ripping paper off gifts while sunshine streams in through the window, bathing your shortie-pyjama-clad siblings in a warm glow. It means lollies at breakfast, and fizzy drink in wine glasses. It means leaving the back door open all morning because the oven is heating up the house while the lunchtime feast is cooking, and then closing it in the afternoon because the outside temperature has surpassed that of the kitchen. It means giving and receiving outdoorsy gifts, like skates and cricket bats and bubble wands, and being able to use them immediately in the yard. It means swimming in the neighbour's pool after dinner as the sun sinks slowly behind the hills. It means beach trips and fishing and family Scrabble games and wine. Christmas means the year is over, everyone is on holidays and in a good mood. School is out for at least five more weeks, and the APS is down to a skeleton staff.

I have made a conscious effort to avoid winter themes in my Christmas craft and cards for many years now. As a teenager, i was quite patriotic (believe it or not... but this was back in the Keating years, pre 9-11 and pre-Cronulla Riots, before violent nationalism became an admirable quality in a true-blue Australian), and I was determined to celebrate Christmas in a way that reflected the reality of the holiday for me. I spent a long time searching for Christmas cards that didn't display wintery images on the front (this is nigh on impossible - so i started making my own). I scoffed at the tools who decorated their houses and yards with fake snow, or made Christmas craft involving snowflakes or holly.  I lost what little interest i had in watching Christmas movies or tv episodes. I examined so-called Christmas carols to expose those which didn't actually mention Christmas, only winter and wintery imagery (Jingle Bells, Winter Wonderland and Let It Snow, to name but three). But in the end, one has to allow some of these things to remain, because otherwise what's left?

I think that because i gave up on wintery Christmas imagery many years ago, the very thought of celebrating it this way seemed.... childish. Last year was my first Christmas in a Northern (and Christian) country, and i was completely taken aback by the scale of the Christmas shenanigans in this city. I've shared this theory with other people here, and they agree that it is - but because it's a celebration for children, anyway. See, i don't think that's it. Christmas has it's appeal to children, of course, but i've never felt so very excluded from the event as i do here. But perhaps that's because i'm an outsider anyway - not only an adult looking in on a children's celebration, but also as a foreigner looking in on strange rituals that i'd only read about in books or seen on tv.

I am glad I get another go at Christmas in a Northern country. But i am sorely missing a summer Christmas. It feels like a cosy little secret shared by Southern colonies that the rest of the world doesn't know about... And boy, do they not know about it. Here is a smattering of the questions i've been asked about Christmas in Australia:

"But what do you eat? You can't possibly have turkey." (My family's had turkey, among other delicious dishes including ham and prawns, at Christmas for as long as i can remember.)

"I suppose you just have a barbeque on the beach?" (I have never had a barbeque on a beach in my life. Who wants sand in their snags?!?!)

"But the best thing about Christmas is snuggling up by the heater with mulled wine!" (Replace "snuggling" with "relaxing", replace "heater" with "pool" and "mulled wine" with "chilled shiraz" and there's very little difference, is there? Really?)

"So when it's actually winter, what do you celebrate?" (Really. Someone asked me this.)

I think what i am trying to say is that in Australia, we grow up with the doublethink. We grow up accepting these two opposing truths about Christmas, and it's not that difficult to get our heads around. Which is why i am so surprised by my adult English friends and their reaction of shock and awe to my Christmas reality. I pity them a little for getting this far into their lives having never tried to stretch their imaginations far enough to consider Christmas without winter - and due to the fact that they're not bombarded with summertime Christmas imagery, they probably never will. Oh well. Poor them. We Southerners will continue to keep our glorious little secret. Everything's better in summertime anyway.

Autumn is over... Update

These past few months have been busy. I am not sure quite what's been achieved, but i feel like i've always been busy.

These past few months have been filled with ups and downs, moments of homesickness and sadness, moments of joy and security, times when i've been moments away from saying "sod it, who can sell me the cheapest ticket back to Straya?", times when i've idly pondered in which area i would prefer to buy a house in London, and which university i would like to attend here.

My grandmother, Margery, died in September after a short illness. The last time i saw her, before i left Straya last year, she hugged me and told me she probably wouldn't be around when i came home. I said "Oh Grandma, don't be silly, of course you will, and i will hug you again then." She believed in god and in heaven, so i am sure she is someplace cosy now, with my grandfather, being taken care of. This is of some comfort to me, but i still feel sad when i think of her, and that i won't need to send her a Christmas card this year, and that the last time i wrote to her was several months earlier and i wished i'd told her more about my adventures, and i wish i'd been able to introduce her to Gav so i could say to her "Look Grandma, you were right. I did meet a good one."

Gav and i went to New York City for a week for my birthday, and in a word - it was AMAZEBALLS. Literally the best week of my life. We did everything we wanted to do, we saw everything we planned to see. And yet, we can't wait to return. Maybe one day. We spent some time with my parents, which was wonderful - particularly as they'd also missed Grandma's death and funeral, so we were able to take a little comfort from each other. I love them. And they loved Gav.

My closest friend in London, Lauren, finished up her time here and she and her boyfriend Matt went home to Canada a few weeks ago. We had a lot of fun times together while they were here, and i already miss her most sorely. But, on the upside, i now have an excellent excuse to visit Canada. Probably next year, on my way home.

The days grow shorter and colder. It's much colder than last year - everyone agrees that last winter was quite mild. And last year, i spent a lot more time inside my house - i didn't work every day, and i didn't have much reason to go out very often (or much money to go out very often), so i didn't really get out in the cold much. I am a lot busier now, i am a lot more social, and of course i leave the house every day to go to work. My latest shopping obsession is hats and scarves (in summer it was dresses, but i hardly got to wear them because it was only warm for about ten non-consecutive days). But i find myself becoming a little bit Christmassy.... It's honestly hard not to.

I attended the wedding of the year (Bryn and Kristie), long distance, via the magic of Facebook, Viber and Skype. I didn't even need to buy a dress. (Jackie and i attended from the comfort of Gav's couch, under the doona, in our pyjamas.) And of course, i missed my friends like crazy. And of course, i wished i was there in real life. And of course, i cried and fretted. But i was glad that Jackie was there - and of course, Gav was wonderful and supportive. We had a lovely day after that - visited the Museum of London and took a little turn around the city.

I am a terrible blogger. I daydream on the bus and in my mind i write interesting  blog entries. But i am never able to recreate them when i am at home in front of my lappy. I am sure i will regret this one day, when i want to look back on my London adventures. I guess i am just too busy living...

The weeks roll by...

My exciting affair

London beckons to me when i am not there. Whether i am in E&C or Bromley, i yearn for the embrace of the city. She has become a special lady-friend - an intriguing older woman with worldly experience, and beauty and ugliness in equal measures. For every crowded, smelly tube ride there is a sunny stroll down a peaceful avenue, nestled between tall trees and taller Victorian apartments. For every jostling stranger on the pavement on Bishopsgate, there is a quiet seat at the front of a bus with a view of the whole street, making me feel happy and far away from the crowds. For every filthy 1960s office block with cement rendering and low ceilings, there's a redbrick monstrosity from the 1860s with huge windows and tall chimneys.

She offers me treasures and amazing experiences with a blasé shrug, as if to say "Spanish DJs performing on the back of a truck in Exhibition Road? Oh, that's just a regular weekend", or "Say, how about coming to see the latest Yoko Ono art exhibition this afternoon? If you want" or "Nobody else wanted this beautiful red vintage mac - i think you'll like it though." She teases me as i stare open-mouthed at the sights she offers me every day, every week - the street performers and exhibitions, the free samples handed out for no reason, the arts and handcrafts in shops and markets. She laughs at my wonderment and shrugs "Hey, that's what i do."

Cannon Street, preparing for the Olympics road cycle race
(St Pauls in the background)

She is so expansive and far-reaching, yet she seems small and accessible. She is both friendly and aloof. I want to get to know her more, I want to spend more time with her. Every time i feel like i know her a little better, she surprises me again, shows me a new part of her personality, and i feel she is a stranger again. I feel so at home at times, and such an outsider at others. It is an exhausting relationship, but the best ones often are.

I couldn't spend my life with London. But the impression she has left on me will be something i carry with me forever. I intend to get to know her even better in the months we have left together. And who knows, i may come back to visit one day.

Half a year with an amazing man.

Six months ago this week, i met someone. A special man, ever-so-slightly taller than me, with pale green eyes and a subtle little smile. He was so easy to talk to, he made me laugh and he seemed interested in every boring story i had to tell. He had stories too, and he answered every question i asked. Our afternoon-tea date turned into dinner, and we barely noticed. I thought he was so lovely and friendly, but to be honest, i wasn't sure if i was really ready for a relationship, and i wasn't even certain there had been any physical chemistry. But i did enjoy spending time with him, and i could do worse than a friend with local knowledge who could make me laugh. So when he invited me out again for New Years' Eve a few days later, i thought "why not?" Up till that point, my New Years plans involved playing Minecraft and going to bed early, and while i would've still enjoyed doing that, i thought that getting out of the house was probably good too.

New Years was a hoot! We watched a cool cover band at one of his local pubs and laughed at the really drunk people early in the evening. And at midnight, he kissed me. Such an amazing kiss. And suddenly i wondered if we could be more than friends.

So it's been six months since then. Six months of adventures in the city and outside of it. Six months of photography and appreciation of his local area. Six months of lazy days wandering in the sunshine and evenings at the Barrel and the Club. Six months of seeing shows, meeting friends and browsing markets. Six months of sleep-ins and morning coffees and sharing our favourite You Tube videos. Six months of spending every single weekend together and talking, talking, talking.

I love you Gav, and i can't wait to see what our next six months brings.

A quiet day at home...

I hate being sick, but i seem to have chosen an excellent day for it. It's pouring with rain - or at least it was earlier. Now the sun's out. Such is the crazy Spring weather that is wreaking havoc on London, that i have been told is perfectly normal for this time of year. I was lulled into a false sense of Spring in late March, when we were blessed with four or five days' worth of glorious 23 degree weather. For the first time in nearly twelve months, i was out and about with nary a jacket nor jumper in sight. The daffodils were still plentiful and the tulips had just begun to appear.

There was some sort of festival going on,  and Bromley was bustling with people. There was the usual high street market stalls that pop up every weekend, the tent selling yummy Cumberland sausages, the jewellry place and the guy who paints pictures of Daleks,   but there was also an art installation - a "balloon forest", rows and rows of giant coloured balloons that glowed in the sunlight.

I was stoked! It was beautiful. I competed with the squealing children to weave my way through the balloons. There was a band playing, which we watched for a little while, and looked at an exhibit of all the planned developments for Bromley. It's going to be a very trendy place to be in coming years. Sometimes it feels like it's so far out of London, but really, it's not even as far as from Canberra City to Tuggeranong. But it doesn't have a London postcode, and it feels like it takes me hours to get there or get home from there whenever i go... But anyway, this entry is not supposed to be a whinge about Bromley. I love Bromley. I just wish it was around the corner from the Elephant.


So that was a few weeks ago, when the weather fooled me into believing that Spring had arrived and would be warm and wonderful. Since then, however, the very cold weather has returned and has hung around for a couple of weeks. Plus the rain. Oh, the rain. England doesn't do "drought" very well, and all my friends at home laugh when i tell them we're in a drought. Even English people don't seem to be taking it seriously. I guess "drought" is subjective, and depends on how much rain a place normally gets. Everything is so green here. The only thing that gives away the drought is the fact that i've been here nigh on six months and this is the first time it's rained more than one day at a time.

Yes, six months. Next week will be six full months since i left Canberra. I'm not sure what i'll do to observe the event, but i will be thinking of it. It's a milestone. I'll be a quarter of the way through my England adventure. Only eighteen months to go.

Things i am loving this week...

- Inky fingers from the Evening Standard on the bus

- The way the guy on the stand yells out "Free Standard!" over and over near the eastern entrance to Liverpool Street Station while i wait for the bus

- The guy who sells The Big Issue who says good morning to me (and everyone else) on the corner of Middlesex Street

- Resonant singing and my lifted face

- Making plans to go to the coast

- Cadbury Mini-Rolls

- Duncan's appearance on Adam Hills 

- Being asked to train the new girl at work (cos i've been there a whole three weeks and i pretty much know everything)

- Tiny indulgent purchases on eBay (even though i have no money... but hey, the cash in my Paypal account isn't going anywhere else, is it!?!!)

- Porridge

- Vegemite and cheese on crumpets

- Getting to know members of my new chorus

- Being coached by an International Gold Medal winning master director and having lots of laughs

- Finding time to see my gentleman friend

- Bourbon Cream biscuits.

I don't know where we're going, and i don't care where we've been.

So... I'm not the sort of person who'd post blog entries in which i gush about my feelings for a particular person (am i? maybe i was at one point, but it no longer seems like my style). So i'll keep it short and simple and go easy on the saccharine, but i just wanted to say a few things:

• I'm feeling pretty lucky right now
• I might have finally grown some good in The Cold Acre which resides within my chest... 

Fully Sick, braaah.

***Disclaimer - I have been struck down with a filthy cold, so anything i write will be tainted by the fact that i feel like i'm trying to access my brain and all my senses from behind a wall of cotton-wool.****


I FEEL LIKE I'VE BEEN HIT BY A TRUCK. And not a friendly truck. A mean truck. And the driver got out and beat me mercilessly with a pool noodle as i lay on the metaphorical road in a pool of mucus. Bleerrgghh. Tissues please.

But no matter. I have been blessed with a week in which to recover before starting my new job, so i intend to take advantage of this time off by being lazy and indoors and consuming lots of tea and soup. I also have kindly housemates who offer up their stashes of echinacea and Sudafed, and check on me occasionally but mostly leave me alone to rest.

I am listening to Art Of Fighting and  i just finished an enormous cup of hot, homemade cold-buster (fresh lemon juice, chopped garlic, grated ginger and a spoonful of honey in hot water). Mmmm delicious and gross.

Have been reading online articles on marriage and divorce, as well as catching up on favourite blogs CakeWrecks  and STFU Parents. I read a little of J's blog, which made me homesick, because it always has photos of friends and fun, familiar things on it. It's her first Vamlumtimes day alone in many years, but she seems to be doing ok. I scrolled back to see photos of last weekend's Multicultural Festival. I saw them briefly on the weekend, too - when i first saw them, on the weekend while at G's house, i had a tiny little tear in my eye - damn homesickness. I don't know why. The Multicultural Festival, or Meat On A Stick day as it's known to Canberrans, has always been a fun thing to visit but i don't go every year. Missing Floriade will hurt. But maybe by September i'll be less homesick. I wrote little homesick messages to J and to A. They'll probably think i was drunk. No i wasn't, just a little sad and sick. (Although maybe a bottle of wine will help me feel better. Hmm...)

I have moments when i miss my friends more than i can bear, and i write stupid sentences about worrying that they'll forget about me and move on while i'm away. But even as i'm writing them i feel silly. Of course they'll move on, of course things will change. Of course friendships will change, new people will come into our friendship group and others will leave. But that's the nature of friendships, and particularly in the group of friends i have. It's made up of so many interlocking circles of friends, people come and go, some people fall out of favour and others become closer. Sure, my broad group will be different when i return. But my close friends will (i hope) remain so, and thanks to Facebook and the occasional emails and letters i receive, i don't feel completely left out. I just miss the spontaneity, the last-minute trips to chocolate or to late-night shopping or to an impromptu party or pub crawl. Sigh. I'm really ok. I'm just sick.

Life is great

How good is this...

- Asking a boy the following question, with absolutely no expectation of a positive answer, but just out of curiosity: "Would you like to go see the Oscar Wilde play, The Importance of Being Earnest?" and receiving an enthusiastic "Yes!"
- Taking said boy to said play and having him enjoy it, rather than simply tolerating it.
- Meeting friends of said boy and finding them to be lovely, and finding myself to be pleasantly sociable and not too boring, drunk or sour
- Getting a NEW JOB that i expect will be awesome (when i start next week)
- Booking a day trip to the Cotswolds for the weekend, where i will be touristy and awesome on a bus.
- Seeing a band i loved when i was eighteen and not being disappointed in the slightest - they still rock as hard as they did back then - and striking up conversations with Americans in the audience who are about the same age as me and have enjoyed Reel Big Fish as long as i have. And having above-mentioned boy get almost as excited as me and dancing almost as hard. And walking out of the show on an incredible high - and into a fresh flurry of London snow.

Getting fired up in the shower.

Thinking through the important things in the shower. It's a time when i can't silence my brain with tv or distract it with music. It's a time when my thoughts used to drift into dangerous waters, no pun intended, particularly concerning certain people who used to torment my mind. But that doesn't happen anymore. I can honestly say i don't think of him anymore. And even when i do, it's fleeting, and is not accompanied by that sickening feeling of loss and regret. Finally.

But anyway. I had a thought. Perhaps my inability to commit to a career or a man or a place to live is related to my refusal to accept stereotypes and assumptions about people, places, life in general. I hate broad statements about men, women, children, families, homes, jobs, etc, etc, etc, because for me most of them ring false. I can always think of examples from my own life or those close to me that disprove myths about the normal/regular/acceptable way to do things, so i frown and say "No. There must be another way."

Stereotypes are the lazy brain's filler material. People have one or two (or possibly more) experiences in life that are somehow connected, and stereotypes and assumptions fill in the gaps for them. Dated two boys from Tuggeranong who lived with their parents? "God, Tuggers men are so lame and unemployable." Had a black guy steal from you when you were in the army forty years ago? "All black people are thieving bastards." Heard on the news about a bunch of Lebanese boys who gang-raped a white girl?  "Fucking Leb cunts, all they want to do is steal our women while they keep their own locked up at home wearing hijabs." (All of this shit is stuff i've heard coming out of the mouths of people i know, or used to know.)

I refuse to accept any of this. I hate to comment on anything until i've experienced it for myself. So i keep flitting from man to man, from house to house, from job to job, in search of different experiences. I have secret disdain for people i know who presume to discuss with me what "men" are like, or what "children" are like in any way. Really. From someone who married their first or second boyfriend, and proceeded to have two children. What the fuck do you know about "men" in general, or "children" in general. You know YOUR man, and you know YOUR children. Hedge your opinions with this little disclaimer, and i will be much more willing to listen. Tell me what YOUR man is like in certain situation, but don't presume all men are like that. God. Same for when you're bitching about your boss, Person Who's Had Two Jobs In Their Life. "Bosses" aren't all the same.

I don't know why this fires me up so much. I can't say what's prompted this rant, but here it is. It's my blog, i'll rant if i want to.

Snow in London

London has turned a delightful shade of white. I absolutely adore it. I love the snow. When it snows, the cold doesn't seem so bad. I no longer feel the biting wind, and my frosty toes and fingers barely register on my radar.

Snow reminds me of when i was a child, and our trips to the Snowy Mountains. These trips are some of my most glorious memories, throughout childhood and into adolescence. I never outgrew my child-like fascination with snow - its texture, its appearance, the way it seems to silence and soften a landscape. I was also fortunate enough to have parents who loved the mountains all year round, so we had several summertime trips too - enabling me to compare the appearance of the region with and without snow. And the two or three times that Orange was dusted with snow during the decade that i lived there was even more exciting - to have snow falling on scenes i saw every day, and adding a sense of wonderment to mundane things like the clothesline or streetsigns. It was only ever a tiny sprinkle of snow, but it was exciting nonetheless.

The Royal Albert Hall

So having this much snow AT MY HOUSE is far too exciting for me. It started snowing before Cirque du Soleil began, but after i'd already started working at the Royal Albert Hall. I watched excitedly as the snow fell,  through the windows of the Hall. Many of my work friends and associates complained bitterly about the inconvenience of snow, but this did not dampen my enthusiasm. I tried to explain to them why i was so excited, why this was such a novelty - that in Straya it doesn't just snow, you have to go to the snow, you have to have the means to travel to see snow, and very few people live in places where it snows regularly (and more than just a light dusting). Once i'd finished my shift i ventured out, barely able to contain my excitement. I walked slowly as i'd been warned it could be slippery, but my lovely work shoes served me well and i kept my balance all the way to the tube. I took several photos along the way with my phone, and arrived at South Kensington tube station encrusted in a thick layer of the still-falling snow.

Me - very excited about all  the snow in my face

Exhibition Road, next to the Science Museum

Once i'd arrived home, i didn't even take off my coat and hat - i grabbed my camera and took more photos around my house and street.

Front wall and bins

Greer's pot plants on her windowsill

A group of Carribean guys were shouting and laughing a short way down the street as i photographed the snowy scenes. One of them seemed to be shouting at me as they approached - "Hey! Hello!" - but i was oblivious at first. He drew closer, and he was holding a giant snowball the size of a pumpkin, grinning and motioning the snowball towards me (and my camera). "No... No no no no no no.... Please don't..." i protested nervously. He crossed the street and lobbed the snowball gently at me - it exploded on my chest and i burst out laughing. He did too, and high-fived me, before returning to his group of friends to walk across the park. I chuckled and went back into my house to dry off and warm up, and to share my evening with my internet friends.

Looking across the carpark

The Crown - the old (non-trading) pub across the road

Bicycle - with snow.

Late-night musical moments

I tend to do a lot of micro-blogging in other places. A couple of sentences as a status update, a hundred and fifty-six characters on Twitter, an SMS to a friend. All very good ways to share a small experience, a tiny part of my day. I did some micro-blogging late last night (well, in the early hours of this morning) in the form of some text messages to friends at home (because it was afternoon there!), and one of my friends reminded me that i actually have a blog, and i should use it and share the small things that make me smile. So i shall!

A very long shift at work yesterday, made much easier to deal with by the fact that we only really "worked" for about five hours, and during all the other hours we were on the clock we varied our activity between dozing on a bus, eating one of several meals they put on for us, and standing around chatting over coffee in a renovated 18th-century stable. On our way home from Chester (closer to Ecclestone, actually), i tried to nap but it proved difficult - my neck was sore and although the bus driver swore the heating was on, even after three hours of travel we were all still freezing. As the open roads surrounded by darkness fell away and we drew closer to Hammersmith, the lights of London were too bright and i decided it was pointless to try to attempt further sleep. The bus was silent and i became aware of tinny music nearby. The boy seated next to me was dozing and had earphones in, and although his music was not loud i could hear it quite distinctly. At first i could only hear rhythmic cymbals and other high-frequency sounds, but i soon became aware that it was Billy Joel singing "She's Always A Woman". I smiled... Billy Joel always reminds me of my very early childhood, because it was a choice of my father's that was popular with the rest of us, so it got a lot of air time on car trips and on the stereo. I lay back and watched the tall buildings roll past as we hurtled along the flyover.

After a few minutes and another unrecognisable tune, i heard something else that made me smile. It was "Don't Panic" by Coldplay. My smile was tinged by a moment of sadness as i thought of D - Coldplay always makes me think of my best friend, even though i was listening to them for years before i even met him - and i missed him. But in this hyper-connected world, nobody's really far away. So i wrote him a text message, just to let him know i was thinking of him, as my bus-mate's track ended and the distinctive "Everything's Not Lost" began.

We arrived at the Hammersmith Apollo at about 3.45am. Some people were going to organise taxis, and although we are able to be reimbursed by work, we still have to come up with the cash at the time and i do not have spare cash, so i walked to the bus stop. I was joined by a new friend Lori, and we found we were taking the same bus to Trafalgar Square. We chatted all the way and then walked to the next bus stop once we reached the Square, where he left me and went off in search of his bus to Hackney. As i waited in the cold at the busy bus stop (busy even at 4.30am, but hey, this is London on a Saturday night!), a group of six drunk and happy teenagers who were talking loudly to each other started to sing. They started with a few lines from "Oh Happy Day", and dissolved into giggles. Then one of them belted out "Well, sometimes i go out by myself, and i look across the water..." The others joined in, and they weren't the usual drunken chorus of young people, they were actually not too bad as they brightened the bus stop with their loud and fervent rendition of "Valerie" by Amy Winehouse. I couldn't help smiling, and i laughed out loud as a couple of their group even busted out trumpet solos in the chorus - "bap, ba-da bap!" I knew someone who would appreciate this magical moment, so i texted K, my best lady. As i did, they kids kept singing and worked their way through a few lines from several songs, before slowing it down with "Someone Like You" by Adele. This prompted swaying and crooning, in which they were engrossed, and did not see a man from the far end of the bus stop approach them - and toss a 50p coin at their feet and give them a thumbs-up. The minstrels broke into fits of laughter and cheers, which were joyful and contagious. So i shared that with K as well. They couldn't decide which of them should keep the 50p so they gave it to a nearby stranger, and started an impressive rendition of the uncensored version of Cee-Lo's "Forget You".

The 176 arrived and i boarded, smiling, and felt warm and happy all the way home.

Musings on emotional music.

Music does terrible things to me. It's a major contributor to my emotional self-harm, a terrible habit i've been trying to break in the last year or so (but one which i have been a slave to for, oh, twenty years). I love music, i form deep emotional bonds with it, but i tie it to events and people in my life so strongly that even if i hear a song years after i have created this bond, it can still bring a tear to my tired, ridiculous eyes if the feelings are negative - and they almost always are. Because even songs that are tied to good memories become miserable when i think about those good times which once were and will never be again. Cry, cry, cry.

But anyway. I don't do that shit anymore. I let go of sentimentality, of whingeyness, and put away all my Augie March and Damien Rice albums. I still adore those artists, and i miss their music (because they do make truly beautiful music), but i simply can't listen to them anymore because of the misery they conjure up. Regina Spektor? Sorry, i have to leave the room in tears. Speedstar? I know YOU've never heard of them, but they make me cry. Sugarcult's "Memory" and the Scrubs theme? I'll get a sad, faraway look in my eye and become really boring while i remember stuff. Machine Translations? Sigh, that reminds me of...  Fuck that shit. I'm tired of it.

But this week i accidentally allowed myself to listen to Augie March for the first time in a year or so. Damn, they make gorgeous music. But one of my favourites came on (or one of the worst ones, depending how you look at it) - "The Night Is A Blackbird", from Strange Bird. Whilst in the depths of my depression over the past few years, the lyrics of this song tortured me - these in particular:

There's a question to be asked if you're drinking alone
It's "What horse were you thrown from which riderless goes on"?

I feel a lump in my throat just typing those words. I hear Glenn's voice in my head. (My relationship with Augie March is longer than any real relationship i've had - i've loved them since i was eighteen, when i first heard "Asleep in Perfection". I know them very well. I miss them.) But back to my point.

God damn you, Augie March. I thought these words were so insightful, but perhaps they were doing more harm than good. You see, that's the way i saw my life. That it had continued without me. I went off course, fell down, and it left me behind. That all the things i'd planned were lost, that i'd never catch up, that i'd lost everything without hope of recovery. And i heard Glenn sing those words, and my heart wailed in despair. "It's true!" i cried. "It's gone, it's all gone. I'm a failure, i've lost everything."

When i heard those lyrics the other day, i stopped. And i thought, "How could you, Glenn? How could you articulate despair so beautifully that it fitted in exactly with my pain and made me believe its scale was so large?" What a destructive thought, that my life was over at twenty-nine, that there was no point continuing because there was no salvaging the life i'd lost. That all my plans were so closely tied to the person that left my life that without him, i was nothing. That he probably continued with life exactly as we'd planned it - but without me.

I still feel the sadness that Augie March conjures up. But a lot of the self-loathing has gone. I see now that my life isn't over, that although i was thrown from one horse, i can leap astride another and ride on. It just took me a while to find another figurative horse. And for the first time in years, i am galloping with the wind in my hair.

A collection of random thoughts

*  I do not understand fingerless gloves. My fingers are the coldest part of me!! Why would i want to keep them outside the warm layers i swaddle myself in before stepping out the front door?!!

*  The types of canned soup that i find in supermarkets (hehe, i nearly wrote soupermarkets!) here are quite vexing. I see Chicken, i see Tomato... i see Mulligatawny?! I see Scotch Broth?! I see weird flavours that i've never heard of and am a little afraid to try. At least i'm keen on chicken and tomato. And i did find a packet soup that's Thai spicey flavour, nom nom nom.

*  There are so many different charity shops here!! And some of them actually offer you rewards if you shop there a lot, or if you make lots of donations. Seems like a really good incentive to donate quality goods, and to continue to buy second-hand. I read an article this morning from home about problems with lazy fuckers who dump their old shit on the ground next to charity bins because they're too tight to pay tip fees or to drive out to the tip (it's not a long journey in Canberra!!). Charities are having to pay to clean up all this crap, most of which is broken and rained on before it can be collected anyway, so they're basically just a garbage removal service. It's not hard to get the Salvos to come and pick up your old stuff (not your broken shit that's no good to anyone, but your old, reusable possessions that are able to be sold again), and they do that for free.  Or wait for hard rubbish night. Fuck it burns me up.

*  I tried Jaffa Cakes. They're alright. I also found a biscuit that looks almost exactly like a Tim Tam, but tastes a little bit lamer. It's called a Penguin, which i think is hilarious. I also went into hysterics (almost) last week when i saw Smarties in a tube. A tube!! With a little lid on the end! Like a thing you put rolled-up posters in before you put them in the post. Except tiny. Anyway, i thought it was cute. Gav thought i was mental.

*  For some reason, after four years of using Facebook, i've discovered "poking". It's the stupidest thing in the world, but i can't stop doing it. I'm in the middle of about ten ongoing poke-wars with various silly friends. The major down-side to this is that it bumps up my notifications, so i get excited thinking loads of stuff is happening on Facey - but it's just idiots poking me. So i poke them back, and the madness continues.

*  I visited the Sherlock Holmes museum yesterday, and it was delightful!! Lots of old junk and nick-nacks from the 1800s in a gorgeous, creaky old lodging house on Baker Street in the city. I should read some more Sherlock novels. Gav's been reading some, and he's really getting into them, so he suggested we check it out, and it was an excellent idea. 

*  Finally having some proper wintery weather. It's about three degrees today. Chilly!!!