One of the Indie Girls

Lisboa's a Goer.

2015-07-05T10:24:00.003+10:00

Here are my 10 humble recommendations for Lisbon/Portugal:

1 Olá! is hello, Bom dia is good morning (a nice one to know), Obrigado is thankyou, Por favor is please/excuse me. These will make the locals very happy and they'll then teach you anything else you need to know.

2 Try and stay as close to the river end of Av de Liberdade as you can, on the Bairro Alto side. There are good hostels in Baixa/Chiado and Bairro Alto areas, and these are great for nightlife, but down near Av de Liberdade will be quieter (and still close).

3 Spend some afternoons at the little kiosk cafes up and down the middle of Av de Liberdade - there's six to choose from and they all have different vibes, live music, and play the football if it is on.

4 Get lost in Alfama for an afternoon. It's pretty easy to do. Don't even try to use a map, just use your 5 senses instead.

5 Pastéis de Belém is THE place to go for the Portugese tart (Pastel de nata - said pashta d'nada). You can get them everywhere, but this is the ultimate (and of course touristy) tick box for Lisbon, and the Portugese are very proud of it. So get on the train and go to Belém, and then afterwards you can walk it off back up the river to the city (you'll also go under the big bridge - good for photos). Stop at the Dock area under the bridge for dinner too - there are some really good restaurants there.

6 By far the best and least known lookout (when I was there) is Miradouro da Senhora do Monte. The most fun to try and find, but totally worth it when you get there. Allllll the Lisbon hotspots in one shot, and some nice leafy trees to sit under and cool down smile emoticon

7 A little bit out of Lisbon for half day trips - Sintra - you MUST visit the castles in Sintra. And Cascais is good for the beach and sweet little village to wander around and eat ice cream in.

8 Have an afternoon beer up at Jardim de S. Pedro de Alcântara for the opposite views of the city you'll get at Senhora do Monte. It's so nice up there!

9 The best free walking tour - if you're down for it - is this one (http://lisbonfreetour.blogspot.com.au/) and it goes every morning at 10:30. It's really good for learning some history and stories you might otherwise miss. You just tip them what you think it is worth at the end.

10 Order Bruschetta at the big yellow cafe in the corner of the big main square where the Palace is (Praça do Comércio). Best. Bruschetta. of. my. life.

I spent most of our week in Lisbon itself (I went with my dad), except for a day up in Espinho, but the South and North of Portugal are very different, and competitive (like Sydney vs Melbourne), so I hope you have the time to get out and see the rest of the country too.

Até mais (see you later)! BIG LOVE X

Shovel.

2015-04-12T13:26:00.000+10:00

Visuals by Timmy Green... the shiz.

Japan. Japow.

2015-04-05T23:34:00.002+10:00

Japan... blew my mind.

We'd talked about it before. Oh you know, it'd be cool to head for the pow, but I'm never too serious about booking my travel. I'm that girl who's all like... goddamn I don't got the caaaash... You know that girl - yeah well that's me. I'm that shit one.

Til all of sudden my mate Laus was like, you know what dickhead, you missed out and I want you to come. It's six weeks out so I pull my shit together, grab my gear and throw down that money.

You only live once. I think someone said that before... Oh yep. It was Laura.

6 March 14

Ketts and I are walking... outside the Melbourne International Airport terminal, searching for the smoking area. We find it - pleasant-ness left to be desired - whatever. Eight hours later we're sucking away in Singapore... before we grab a Boost juice. Smoking areas in airports suck; and at the same time throw an amazing insight into where you actually are when travelling. You wouldn't really walk outside otherwise, right? Stuffy and humid.

It's like, 7:30am. I don't even know. I didn't even look at flight times when I signed up for this shit. I pictured my best mates - Laus and Ketts and I - just in Japan in the snow. Suddenly we're looking for a bus, it's pretty fucking freezing, and we got one. We're taking pasty selfies on the way into a city we'd never comprehended before. It's basically just how I imagined, but better.

Tall buildings flash past, but not as tall as I'd pictured in my head. Due to the fact that Japan sits on the tectonic equivalent of a huge broken plate, the likelihood of earthquakes means that there are no buildings with floors in excess of thirty. Every fifth window has a little red triangle on it, to mark a clear rescue path. Our hotel is located virtually on top of Shibuya Crossing, smack bang amongst the action, and we're here for almost a week. It's a sunny crisp day, so we check in, drop our bags in the lobby and saunter out with only the blatantly touristy prerogative of discovering our first vending machine.

Shopping in Shibuya is sick. Before I even knew it, I was the owner of 5 new flat-brims and a tall Michael Jordan hoodie. I made friends with Max, an African-American from LA with a five story clothing boutique; and hit up a heap of retail assistants about where was good to go out, and when. Quite unexpectedly, by literally walking into an unmarked elevator and pressing buttons, we stumbled upon a sky high, dingy cafe, inside which one could smoke and gaze out through caramel, coffee coloured glass at what was now becoming an overcast day. Lo and behold, by the time we re-emerged, there were tiny snowflakes tumbling down around our ears, which is pretty rare for Tokyo city! Needless to say - a pleasing start to an end-of-season snow trip.

As far as areas and stops on the underground- Harajuku was my favourite. It just felt cosy and comfortable and like the kind of place I would have hoped existed, somewhere. The day we were there the sun was clear, frosty and bright, the walkways wide and set out with stone brocades and separators - and when I think of Harajuku in colours, it is brown, khaki and grey. Dignified, straight up. The shopping there is quality too - fresh, street-style designs, and beautiful vintage olds reworked into something quaint, quirky and new.

The rest of the week passed by too quickly in a flurry of nightclubs, boutiques, gyozas, spicy ramens, epileptic lights and new sights. We started each day with Starbucks from the station below our hotel and finished it with beers and cheap vodka from the vending machine in the laundry room- which we would literally clean out with our spare change. We visited Fuji and rode roller coasters, shopped our faces off, drank Grey Goose to Cafe Patron to hot chocolates from vending machines, shook Polaroids and laughed a lot. But by the end of the week, when it was time to head up to the mountains, the three of us were just chomping at the bit: we were ready to hit pow like it was going out of fashion.

^^*^*^^

The shuttle that picks us up from the airport is by no means a luxury coach, but I'm so tired I don't care. I pull a thick scarf out of my bag, roll it up against the dark, freezing glass and am asleep against the window before we've left the outskirts of Tokyo city. I wake again five hours later - thanking my lucky stars for the ability to literally sleep anywhere - just in time to see the lights of Hakuba struggling to twinkle through black, frosty air as we pull in at the lodge. Its 2am. Down come our ski bags, we sleepily collect our keys from check in and wind our way through passages like little rabbit warrens, finally passing out in tiny rooms of two under fluffy, down covers.

March in Hakuba means bluebird days, halfpipes, coke in big cups, lift passes, ramen, cigarettes and new friends.

Our first was spent at Happo One, the mountain directly above our lodge. Its serviced by the main gondola, which gets you fucking high, though on this day it was pretty heavy riding - it was sleeting and too slushy as they'd been waiting about a week for a good fall. I was also getting used to my new all mountain Armada TSTws, which were quite a bit wider than what I've generally ridden in the past [oh wow - by the end of the week though, these babies were like an extension of my legs, and it actually made me want to cry taking off my boots at the end of each day. Simon from Bumps is a god - thanks Simon!]. You know what though? After apres, dinner and an impressive bar hop session we must've all fallen asleep with our fingers crossed, because the dump we got overnight was exactly what the doctor ordered.

Day two morning hangovers were shrugged off, coffee was draaank and we met up with a couple of the boys from Perth to max Hakuba 47, a veritable playground. This mountain is SICK. So sick, in fact, that we end up back there again for day three to ensure that we've really smacked it properly, like a bad baby. H47 has a massive halfpipe with full park, fast lifts and short sharp runs that are super fun, peppered with sneaky little jumps and tree runs. We made like the mountain goats and couldn't spend enough time up there.

Our third and final summit of choice (not a fucking easy feat when there's nine, NINE MOUNTAINS, at your very beck and call), Iwatake, was F U N. You could literally ride almost every inch of this bad boy... snow everywhere. Like, you could actually jump off the chairlifts in some spots and be fine. A super rad park with some big kickers (there went half my day) and huge, sweeping mountain bowls leading down into tight valleys, fast runs with sharp turns and a bunch of really different terrains linked by a dogfight of chairlifts. Laus and I lost our shit and went on the grommets version of an eight hour acid trip - we were in. the. zone. and it was getting so warm that I stripped down to thermals and my tee. We didn't stop for lunch... we just shredded that mountain from top to tip as many times as we could. We finally met up with the others for the last two runs of the trip; and that's when I stacked it and twisted my knee. ~~Errrrrmmm~~ I copped an earful of snow, hard, and you know it was worth every bit.

Our last day was spent visiting the snow monkeys and recovering from the night before. The snow monkeys were a bit anti-climatic, and I would've much rather been back on skis trying to ward off the impending sense of gloom and doom that is synonymous with a return date... but it was good to get out into the country beyond the mountains and see some more of the rural aspects of Japanese culture. My love for Japan has a lot to do with the visual textures and colours of their foliage, architecture and landscapes... It's a truly different country, and a pocket of the world I am sure I'll wear by my heart for a long, long time.

The next day, as we piled back into the bus, I was devastated... I sat right up the back, leaning against Ketts with my beanie pulled down around my ears, my sunglasses on and my headphones in, crying. Yes, properly crying. I was very hungover, and halfway back I realised I'd left my favourite black ski jacket from Switzerland at the bar, but I was also inconsolable to the fact that we were leaving such a beautiful place with such rad people and incredible mountains. Visiting a traditional Samuri temple on the way back helped. But otherwise I was a mess.

So hopefully I will now be going back for two weeks in November of this year... too long between visits definitely, but in the meantime I'm going for ramen and gyoza every second day of the week, so I'm coping, clearly. If you're ever down for that delicious spicy soup, you let me know. You, me, Little Ramen Bar, Little Bourke St.

Love you Japan, you babe.

A Poem for Ezbon.

2015-03-26T14:11:00.001+10:00

If I were a boy, I'd be Alexander Wang
(And, for the purpose of this exercise, into ladies)
My reasoning? It revolves 'round his true elegance and style
Oh my -! Just imagine if we were to have babies

I mean, firstly - that hair. Lovely black, luscious locks
I suppose not dissimilar to your own...
Although it IS hard to tell, I've seen yours undone perhaps thrice
Even then, unlike Wang's, not prop'ly grown

I envy the way that he orders his day
24 hours on him writes an interesting read
There's more to him than one thinks, behind that black uniform
He's so shy, for the life that he leads

Things in common? He's driven, and a thinker who can sleep anywhere
He loves sneakers and the culture surrounding them
Unlike me though, he feels he can't pull crazy ones off
So today? You guessed - black ones again

Do you think, if we met, he'd appreciate me like you do?
Would we get along like a house that's on fire?
(Which occurred me then, is a silly expression
Because a house that's on fire is dire)

In any case, he's inspired me, and look at that - my first poem!
It's for you and I hope that you like it like emoticon
I feel on top of the world! What a song, who'da thought?
All this time, without knowing it, I was a poet!

Good Stuff.

2014-04-26T22:03:00.000+10:00

I found this in my drafts, unfinished. I remember reading back through it and hating how 'about me' it was, and that I felt selfish for writing it so I put it away. But now I think that its a really good indication of how I was living at that time and that I deserved that me time! And now it's helping me to get back on that level of looking after myself... as since I went to Japan as mentioned, I seem to have lost the art in the business of life...

'So I've been having really good thoughts lately.

I know this because they are about cool things and I've actually decided to take action instead of just thinking about them like I normally would. This is partly due to that fact that I've been doing very well for myself at work lately (which is no coincidence - it's an every day choice), which means that I now have a little bit more money to play with. In turn, this has also prompted me to be a lot more wise about the money I was already earning as well, in order to start rewarding myself when I do a good job. I've come to believe that this is more important than I realised.

I have been looking after my body on new levels. My cousin and I have been 'consciously food combining' - ensuring that we are only eating foods that agree with each other at any given time. For example, proteins should never be eaten with any kind of starchy foods, and starchies not with proteins - though eggs and dairy are more acceptable than flesh proteins. Fruit should be eaten on an empty stomach, on its own, and not less than 20 minutes before eating anything else. Sugar is kept to a minimum (although we never say no - if we have a craving we will eat little treats like 70% organic dark chocolate, or mum's smoked almonds, which are both perfectly fine, and even good for you), and dairy also. I look at the label of every single thing I put in my shopping basket now - to find out exactly what is in it and where it's from. I'm happy because I discovered that I've always bought quite good products anyway, but it wasn't until I read 'Make Peace with Your Plate' by Jess Ainscough that I learnt the extended benefits of organic, clean eating, and I feel like I've been given a gift that will last a lifetime. My main vice is portion sizing - I blame it on reading too many British children's classics when I was little - the kind where the children tumble in from a full day on the Moore to a generous mumma who piles their plate high with jolly, good food like buttery mashed potato and pork with apple sauce and three serves of pudding. But I've cut down, almost by half, and you know what - it is still enough! I'm getting to a point now where I dislike feeling full, and am learning to eat slowly so that I can stop in time.

This has gone on for two weeks now, and I'm feeling really good, much less bloated and visibly slimmer, which I'm happy with considering I now find it so easy to eat like this. I love the saying that goes, 'Most people on this planet have no idea just how good their body was designed to feel.'

We attended our first yoga class yesterday, which was very nice. I have wanted this for so, so long. We finally found out that a lovely gallery around the corner from our house has bi-weekly classes in a spacious, light-filled second-story room, and though I wouldn't be able to make it home from Collingwood in time for the Wednesday evening session, I can go every Sunday at 4:30 in the afternoon, which is quite a nice time to do yoga, I think.

Morning and/or afternoon walks with my cousin or Trusha-from-next-door respectively, running to be picked up from the corner of Chapel St for work, and Bronni times at the St Kilda Sea Baths (half an hour of assorted laps, ten minutes in the hot tub and five minutes in the steam room) round out my exercise for the week. And the odd BMX ride around the neighbourhood. Oh and Yann's said I can go sailing with him and his friends some weeknights at six. We were supposed to go tonight, but he had to work late.

But my rewards!

In two weeks I depart for my first proper overseas trip in around two years. I am a travel agent. A stupid one! To Japan I am steered, with two of my best friends from my company - Ketts and Laus. Five nights in Tokyo, then up we go to Hakuba in the mountains (about four hours from the city by transfer), for a week of that infamous Japanese pow which, at the mere mention, has everyone in the ski industry sighing and going glassy-eyed.'

Unfortunately this is when my article stopped, so I really can't remember what my other rewards were, but I'm quite sure they were along the lines of purchasing my very own set of skis, boots and everything - I finally have all my own ski gear! It has been a goal of mine for about 4 years now.

I'd say this was written around the 20th of Feb '14

2013-12-30T09:26:00.001+10:00

Last Week of 2013. Almost Half of 24th Year.

2013-12-29T23:00:00.003+10:00

eating / whatever i can get while my cousin/housemate is away for the festive season. usually pizza or takeaway.
drinking / fresh juiced apple, beetroot, carrot, orange and ginger... and gin and tonics.
learning / that there are lots of people out in the world with great, great ideas. and to listen to them.
practicing / the art of looking after myself... i have quite a long way to go.
mastering / sales. for one month anyway.
playing / progressive deep house. a lot.
finishing / a recent transitional phase... this one included cleaning out my cupboards to refine my personal style, and obtaining all new grown up bedding... charcoal and bright yellow.
reading / http://bleubirdvintage.typepad.com/blog
watching / TED videos.
walking / nowhere near enough. time to get my ass back into gear.
wearing / oh! summer singlets, black mid-rise skinny jeans and kicks. wish to be more girly though.
cooking / been a shithead. nothing.
working / hard.
traveling / out of my mind.

wanting / to be less lazy and more fit and healthy.

It's a Bit Late, But Churr For That.

2013-09-08T22:20:00.003+10:00

A mass thank you to my boy Teums for taking me to Fat Freddy's Drop on the first night of Spring, in honour of my birthday. Too good. That's the face of a day made!

I Love Those Nights When You Get Home...

2013-07-10T19:41:00.000+10:00

into your bedroom, late, and everything is cool.

And you're like - Yessss, base.

Sick On So Many Levels - on Tunes and the Flu.

2013-07-02T20:55:00.003+10:00

Everyone knows I love a few sick beats. Here are a couple I found today, as I stuffed around in my little house suffering a cold I managed to pick up over the weekend.

Such a productive day though. My CV is back in order and ready for action, my brain is overflowing with inspiration, new learnings, and ideas that'll promote more interesting writing.

In other news, yesterday I had Andy teach me the rules of cricket so I'm ready for the Boxing Day Test, and also the structures and gameplay of international Rugby ie. the Lions vs Wallabies Tour 2103. I learn so much from that boy... he's like the twin brother I never had. I always felt I should have been a twin - I like having people around too much.

Well we can't change the world

But we sure can change the way we live

We can't only take

Also got to learn to give

Bonobo, Bajka - Between the Lines

After the rain comes sun

After the sun comes rain again

After the rain comes sun

After the sun comes rain again...

This must be underwater love

The way I feel it slipping all over me

This must be underwater love

The way I feel it

Smoke City - Underwater Love

Astronautalis - Mr Blessington's Imperialist Plot

Easy Star All-Stars - Paranoid Android

Artichaut - Chinese Man

The Black Seeds - Come To Me

Hypnotic Brass Ensemble - Ballicki Bone

Electric Wire Hustle - They Don't Want

Rudimental - Free ft. Emeli Sandé

Anything by Psychemajik, Koan Sound, and Mr. Little Jeans.

... All, in my humble opinion, four to five star tunes. You can thank me later. Also, just on the off-chance that anyone would like to sponsor me in my quest for tomorrow's most stokey playlist addition, I would be happy to accept - in the form of payment of my increasingly devastating phone bills.

Lastly - I wanted to link to a blog that has really opened my mind in so many areas over the last couple of days. I would move to Texas just to be mentored by this woman. Got time? Head to And Baby Makes 6. Prepare to have your mind blown by a surf-gremlin mother of four, happily married for 20+ years to a rad surfer dude, and who's also crazy about triathlons, duathlons, every kind of push-yourself activity in between, and photography. Did I mention surfing? Yeah they live on the Gulf of Mexico. And she says stoke a LOT. Get on it and froth along to life with her - truly rad stuff.

St Kilda Living... Winter 'Thirteen.

2013-06-30T23:50:00.000+10:00

There's a definite sense of satisfaction posting raw, candid shots straight from my camera and other devices - good, bad and ugly - however the global rise of Instagram and it's appy friends is hard to ignore. So I won't... instead I'll show you some of my favourites from this weekend.

Happy birthday Roomie.

Man love.

De-facto File.

Then there are Sunday mornings here - my only guaranteed day off with Ez. We like to do nice things that involve fresh air, juice, exercise, sun, coffee, books, markets and food.

SLOU.

Pier.

Round robin.

St Kilda steeze.

x 2.

x 3.

Clean.

SLOU x 2.

Fitzroy palms.

¿Por qué no sólo tenemos tanto?

2013-06-13T23:54:00.002+10:00

So here I sit in my little house, in a very Mexican-like Vila located in the heart of St Kilda. The heater is slightly on, and wind rustles the trees outside my first story lounge-room window; it's gusty and overcast outside, but today alone it has turned progressively rainy and sunny about 5 times over........ I love Melbourne!

Last month marks the two year anniversary of my becoming a Melbournite. Two years is a long time! I have spent much of it fairly dashing about town (and even the rest of the world) doing amazing things... and therefore helping to complete, in real life, the picture I had in my head when I first hit my new lifestyle down here.

Recently...

'Doing the Great Ocean Road' in a beaten up old van with my honey cousin: took a Polaroid story (which now is now proudly displayed on our living room wall), ate porridge cooked on the gas burner at the back of the van, picked through coastal foliage and observed the lighthouse made famous in 'Round the Twist' (blast from the past!), drank wine and smoked cigarettes on camp stools before heading out for dinner in the evenings, learnt about the history of the coast and it's shipwrecks, all the while stopping for coffee and scones at the cute little teahouses peppered along the way.

'Just Popping over to Tasmania' the week before Easter to surprise Mumma Bear for her birthday: which of course didn't end up being a surprise due to my lack of discretion on Facebook. I was more particularly disturbed by the fact the incident occurred one week out from my intended arrival, when I had booked it at least a month in advance, and that one week prior to THAT had drunkenly decided (at an amazing house party) to quit Facebook entirely. Is your brain fried yet? Yep.

Tassie was lovely though... I spent time with Nan and Pa who picked me up from the airport late on Friday night (conversation in the car for that half an hour was surprisingly stimulating, taking into account my state when I left Melbourne), and went out to the farm early Saturday morning to jump on my mumma before she got up. Baby sister was left with dadda, not-so-baby-sister Fran met up with us and out we went for the day.

Devonport was lovely - the new home for my impending franchise of greatness. Did the mouth of the Tamar. Drove halfway to Hobart to meet my old friend Tyce-from-Thredders and paid a vist to the Cider House. Fran's haunt. Then spent an hour in the park to sober up. Nice one.

All in all fun. You wish you were me. I'm like a cheerleader for Life.

Some Steezy Vids.

2013-05-25T16:53:00.001+10:00

So it isn't summer by any means down here in St Kilda... but goddam' we just left behind one of the best to date. Anyway, summer's a great segway into some super steezy vids...

Berliner and Berliner

2013-01-23T19:19:00.001+10:00

This is fucking ridiculous. This time last year I was three days off boarding my flight HOME FROM Europe, and here I am a year later still trying to flog out my travel recaps. Just do it B - fuck's sake.

19 January '12

Travelling by train is so typically European... I love it and in winter it's an awesome way to get around. Both times I've hit up Europe I've been in possession of a Eurail Pass (this will save you so much cash, but you need to get your hands on it prior to your departure from Australia). My longest single train trip to date was from Amsterdam to Oslo on a 24hr sojourn by sleeper. That was when I was 10, and at the time I didn't realise how remarkable it is that the train gets onto a ferry electronically in order to cross the waters to Norway.

This time was different because I was travelling through Germany by myself and I had to change at a couple of smaller local stations to get the best travelling time. In Germany, they make much less of an effort to accomodate those who don't know the language... I really love this about anywhere I travel to, but I did wig out a little bit when I couldn't find platform 3 with two minutes remaining to change - those trains are immaculately to schedule at all times too. You become a master at sign language and sweet talking big German women - turns out platform 3 didn't exist.

I got to Berlin around 7pm and caught the bus to my hostel. I knew it was the right one because, when the driver couldn't comprehend whether my stop was on his line, I stood up the front and quite shamelessly pronounced the name of my junction very loudly - and with quite the impressive german accent I might add - hoping someone would notice and confirm that the bus was going to go there. One guy did, so job done. I'm not going to lie - I was proud to arrive again unscathed, without a phone or the time.

Hard stuff done! The hostel I had picked was called Circus and was the raddest hostel I've ever stayed in ever. The boy at the desk was a loveheart. And there was a LIFT. Always one to watch out for. Upon entering my dorm, I was pleased to meet two boy roomates - one my age from Sweden, and the other a bit older but from Brisbane. I renamed the Swedish guy Crackfox (affectionately of course), and the guy from Queensland... well, Brisbane (I tend to do this when overseas and with expats).

Two hours later I had accepted a challenge to try every cocktail featured on the menu in the bar downstairs, and together with Martina (London/Italy) and Nick (Utah, USA), we were well on our way to the kind of all-nighter oblivion I'm sure many of you have experienced in Berlin.

That night stays on the camera. You'd have to beat me with a stick to see those photos.

Anyway, the next day we did the obligatory walking tour. I cried twice. It was amazing and I collapsed into bed that night after what I still think was one of the most emotionally charging days of my life. The best things in life are free, right?

I don't know when the boys turned up - all I know is I had three really big nights - topped off by the infamous Berghain. I can't describe it anywhere near as well as this guy did. FUCKING RIDICULOUS.

All too soon it's time I left Berlin (and time YOU went there), on an overnight train bound for Switzerland this time... got on it with an oversized, red-haired Australian boy who was friends of a friend my boys met up with sometime, and who - out of sheer luck - was intending to at least make it to Basil on the same night. I hadn't been looking forward to paying 100 Euros for a private sleeper cabin, and in the end only had to split the bill. Cool how the world works!

Fuck Yes. Serious Froth Material.

2012-12-05T22:08:00.000+10:00

Superheroes of Stoke Trailer from MSP Films on Vimeo.

Weekend of the Sister

2012-09-04T10:33:00.000+10:00

Fran came over for a fun, goof ball weekend in May (?) and we had such a good time. This is months ago now - actually I was still living out at Ashburton when she came... now I live in St Kilda. This year is FLYING. A lot has changed and I've been very neglectful of my bloggie. I shall finish my Euro Trip series and be back into it again.

Things I Like About The Netherlands Include:

2012-03-15T22:22:00.000+10:00

1. Everybody is happy.

2. All the time.

3. You need to go somewhere: you ride your bike. Built like a truck, your Dutch bike will most likely outlive you and your dutch children. Also in Holland there are no hills, requiring minimum effort.

4. Weed. So obvious, it's number 4.

5. Supermarkets/Aldi - all food is ready to go. Typically you go to a supermarket to buy ingredients; here everything is already done. Over 50% of the supermarket is dedicated to pre-made salads, sandwiches and snac- did someone say munchies?

6. Hot Snack Vending Machine Shops. For all the same reasons. You don't know what you're eating - all you know is that it tastes queer and fabulous at the same time, and you want more.

17 Jan, 2012

In addition to severe and delayed jetlag, the fact that I was baked almost the whole time I was visiting Maastricht meant, by the time the clock struck 8:30pm, there was not a thing in this world that could keep me out of bed until approximately the same time the next morning. I am both proud and ashamed to say that, of the three nights I spent in the Netherlands, every one consisted of a solid, unbroken 12-14 hour sleep. Needless to say, like many others before me, I never stumbled upon the elusive and infamous Alah (mostly due to the fact that I didn't try, at all).

On the rare occasion that I wasn't sleeping, I made trips to Aldi in my pyjamas with Shaggy to buy instant coffee (I basically lived off bread, Nutella and Chocomel this entire time), struggled to make said coffee whilst mistaking the sugar carton for milk and vice versa, felt like an utter bimbo, and went on a free (predominately fictional) walking tour of the city - hosted by Brent.

By the end of the third day, I was like a gypsy with too much coin - I had to be on the move again, doing and seeing as much as my three short weeks would allow. As the boys were content to wait in Maastricht where accommodations were free, and a miscellany of drugs and amusements were at their very beck and call, I decided to embark on my own adventures whilst they lay in wait for Lyndon to catch up to us. So I booked my hostel in Berlin, acquired the help of my cousin in reading my train schedule all in Dutch, and got a swift, jolty ride to the station on the back of a bicycle in a shower of rain. This would be my first true travel across Europe on my own, and it wasn't without a glimmer of apprehension and uneasy that I hugged Brent goodbye and climbed onto my train to Germany.

London Calling, Off to Church Like Good Kids.

2012-02-19T22:50:00.003+10:00

Church is not something you should take lightly. I, personally, had no idea what all the fuss was about - but having listened to the boys fret and worry about not being able to source these particular 'animal onsies' from Primark for nearly three days, I was starting to feel apprehensive about what lay ahead. I knew it was inevitable, and I knew it would be a good time, but unfortunately I just wasn't feeling it, and I really had to force down the vodka and apple juice concoction Shaggy insisted that I partake of moments after we arrived back at the hostel with our loot.

I digress - halfway through that Pump bottle, I forgot to care. It was a good mix. And we rolled up to Clapham Junction on public transport none of us really knew how to utilise (me in my faithful jeans and leopard print sweater outfit, good for fun, and the boys dressed as priests - original). Then we lined up to The Grand with all the others, entering in an orderly fashion. We were informed that the cloakroom was upstairs, and were each solemnly handed a post card with a little boy sitting in a graveyard on the front, and the words 'We're in trouble...' written clearly across the top. On the reverse side of said postcard we were informed that, due to the presumed unruly behaviour of past patrons, Church was 'in danger of losing it's license', and could we please remember that it was 1) Sunday afternoon and mothers with babies must be able to use High Street without being disrupted, 2) the local bars (Slug and Lettuce, Windsor Castle and The Falcon) did not want Church customers on their premises and could we please respect their wishes, and 3) Clapham Junction Station is very busy so to please be considerate whilst on the platform and try not to fall in front of trains and the like.

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!

It was then that I knew we were really going to have a good time. Or wait - was it the moment we handed over one 10 pound note each, to receive 3 gigantic cans of apple cider in a plastic bag (which can be viewed in the photo below)...? I don't know. All I know is:

It's awfully easy to get wasted at this place.

There I am wasted.

I was wearing that Lion's head at one stage.

I allegedly macked that girl in the bikini. It was her birthday.

I got lost in a department store with the Yellow M n M, looking for a bathroom while the boys were at McDonalds. She was cool.

Aaand there we are wasted again. That boy's name was Pierre and I may have macked him also.
I don't know what's going on with his pants.

I also know that Lyndon and I ended up at an empty neon-lit pizza place later that night, hungry as anything and trying not to watch the weirdness of the band playing on the huge TV in the corner. It was led by a girl, and seriously, it was weird. I also remember the pepper shaker being a metre long and wooden, and the waitress struggling to lift it up onto our table. We didn't want pepper really, but we definitely wanted to see her have a go at operating that thing. Lyndon remembers, so I have back-up on this. I also sort of remember running around the bar of the hostel when we got back shouting 'Cracked pepper?! Cracked pepper?!' to every person on premise before taking myself upstairs and falling soundly asleep in my pyjamas until morning...

...wheeen I spewed 8 times before anyone woke up, paid 1 pound for breakfast and we got the train to Maastricht.

Ahh London. See you again in a couple of weeks.

Bristolisation.

2012-02-16T12:38:00.004+10:00

All of a sudden, I'm kneeling on the floor of the airport with all my bags strewn around me, desperately rummaging to find something cooler to wear than my great big leopard sweater and polar fleece tights. Settling on my now worn-in flanny and jeans, I venture tentatively out, into the boisterous arrivals hall and into the joyful arms of big brother Jase. Jayne's doing laps of the pickup area to avoid paying parking. I'm home in Australia, just as quick as that.

The drive into the city and through to Toorak is still one of my favourites... up over the bridge and down through the city with skyscrapers towering around, listening to the others chattering about all that happened whilst I was gone, and just embracing being home. I'm back in my city and it's a classic 36 degree summer's day - thanks Melbs, none of this 'easing back into it' business. I'm hot and happy.

***

11 Jan 12

Bristol, on the other hand, was chilly. Mike leapt into the back seat of the taxi as we pulled up - he'd been sitting out the front of the hostel, smoking cigarettes and speaking Spanish to his comrades, I imagine, as he waited for us to arrive. He was very happy to see us, and we likewise. The following days were sunny, friendly and fun.

My favourite memory of Bristol is difficult to differentiate, close competitions. I remember standing on the street in front of the hostel (which is one of the cosiest you've felt), and soaking in the sound of piano accordions carried down to me on crisp, dusky night air. Walking around Bristol during daylight hours, visiting original Banksies and staring at College Green in wonder. Family breakfast with Bernie and Luke, witnessing a late night street brawl with our noses pressed against the upper windows of the hostel, hot chips with cheese and gravy after deep nightly galavants, the Bear Pit, Katies and plane gazing. Pubs with names like The Bay Horse and White Hart. Drinking free Vodka Cranberries at Hush Hush, learning later that you should never watch The Nightmare Before Christmas whilst under the influence of Marijuana. And holding hands. And Seinfield in the cave and sleeping all day.

All good memories (except for that Tim Burton movie - that was a bit hectic).

We left Bristol for London on the 5 o'clock bus after three heady days of fun and recklessness. I slept some of the way, but I was very tired, very cranky and very hungry when we arrived at Victoria Street bus depot later that night. We spent our money on greasy McDonalds and a cab to our hostel/pub, which was nowhere near as cosy or pleasant as the Bristol, and I fell asleep with my head less than 2 feet from the roof - having copped the topmost of three bunk levels. I love my eye mask... over the next few weeks it helped me through much less desirable situations, so I could sleep cosily and in peace.

Lucky I got sleep. The next day, Sunday, Shaggy and I were up and about - first job on the cards being to try and find somewhere that sold cigarettes and booze at 9 am. Getting ready for Church...

Lost In The World

2012-01-18T02:24:00.002+10:00

I'd been out of the country a mere 7 hrs and 20 minutes before my iPhone abandoned my person, due to a not-so-rare act of carelessness on my behalf. Whats worse is the first seven of those hours I was sleeping like a little angel in the clouds, flying an unexpected Business Class Emirates upgrade across the Java Sea. My day started out great, but I wound up sobbing on a bench in the airport at Kuala Lumpur. Losing your shit half an hour in does not tend to make a 12 hour stopover in Malaysia as tolerable or pleasant as it might have been, and I fell asleep with a tear stained face, my bag tucked under my chin and my knees wrapped to make a little protective body bubble.

[So I just realized that I was lying when I bet Shaggy this morning that I was the only one who hadn't cried since they left Home. Bollocks.]

40 minutes later I woke in a much better mood, heightened by the fact that I now had much less to lose. I rang my mum from a payphone and told her I was all good, and to please find me the number to call to suspend my phone plan, and to lock my handset so the silly biddy who took my ~~life~~ handset couldn't access my Facebook account and write embarrassing things in Malaysian. Activities for the rest of the day included much walking of the quiet hallways, attempting to convert money (something I am absolutely awful at - no matter the currency), bumming cigarettes off the little man guarding the smokers lounge, making a friend, and drinking the coke from giant cups at Burger King. There was also huge glass cone containing a real bit of rainforest right in the centre of the terminal building, and you could walk through and breathe the hot, sticky outside air. When I flew out, it was in the midst of a big, booming tropical storm, and I felt lucky to have seen that in my time there.

Abu Dhabi was mentionable for it's Ferrari's and the fact that I bought a brill camera there. It's a Nikon and I love it. I'm too distracted in Europe to use it to the extent of it's capability probably, but I don't care. It takes video too, which is fun.

I landed in London after a full 30 hours of international commute, whereupon I still had to make my way through UK customs (notoriously jerk-like), and on into the city via the Heathrow Express. I got grilled by the meathead at customs because I told him I didn't have a contact address in the UK, and that I was meeting the boys at Piccadilly Square. Upon hearing this he told me I was a bad travel agent and I cursed my inability to say something rude back. Then he told me that he hoped he wouldn't see me next time he was doing the rounds. He was the meanest of customs men I've met.

I made my way to Piccadilly Circus by underground, whereupon I marched into the first Tesco I saw and purchased water, apples and cigarettes. All high priorities apparently, and I imagine minor jet lag, a clinging hangover from customary last drinks at La La Land prior to my departure from Australia and a surge of happy travelling adrenaline all had an impact on the decision making process there. I then proceeded to pick my way through little side streets to a darling coffee shop, to Skype my Muvver. She's pretty good, but we're in the non negligible position that, as the eldest, I am always the first to do grown up (not to mention idiotic) things: this worries her. No doubt she wishes it was Fran paving the way. Sorry Mum. I'll get your name tattooed in a big red heart on my arm as penance.

At 10 am I left the coffee shop and went to meet Shaggy. Shaggy was standing in the middle of Piccadilly Circus, eyes glazed and his mouth hanging open like a stunned clown toy. I thought his expression would change when he saw me, but it didn't, and he remained stoic in this uncomfortable leer until I all but lept into his arms shouting his name. He wasn't hungover - simply still inebriated from the night before, and I was unable to comprehend how he had even made the 15 minute tube journey to get me. It had taken him one hour. He was very happy to see me.

And so it was in this fashion that I entered England, and in an eager one we left London for Bristol later that afternoon, to meet up with Mike and spend some time where the wild kids from Skins go.

Carlosticus.

2011-12-23T00:27:00.000+10:00

This is the little brother I kicked out out of my house... because he was always at the skatepark instead of doing his dishes.

This is why.

Digs to Levi Turner for the sic videography

Sharing is Caring.

2011-12-19T22:22:00.001+10:00

It's already cut out to be the best summer yet... I'm in Melbs, the sun is out, tans are glowing and all my friends are pottering about doing what friends do best - sharing.

We've shared sunny brick walls with our backs pressed up and stockings off, seasons of Sons of Anarchy (my latest series vice), sunny afternoons on the deck and tobacco pouches, breakfasts in bed with baby, jolly conversations with strangers, crazy European adventure stories, an appreciation for arts and sculptures, kisses and visits to dirty hostels and the Vineyard in St Kilda, somewhat painful work related events turned good by a sense of fun and Captain Planet costumes, tattoo ideas and cherry breakfast doobies on days off, coffees and giggles, loose Sunday Fundays with bicycles, dim sims and silly friends pulling faces, laughs at workmates (not to be confused with 'with'), new workmates, creatively constructed messages using only emojiis, more sunny afternoons on the deck, cackles via Skype, a new barbeque, our beautiful city and BEERS. Thats a lot of caring!

Oh, and Canada and I discovered the Meaning of Life whilst walking from Hawkesburn to the Corner in Richmond very high on a Sunday Funday afternoon:

All you need is your little pouch and some sturdy shoes because, at the end of the day, we're really just walking around the world for free.

Tasman Rhapsody.

2011-11-03T23:01:00.000+10:00

My Tasmanian mini-stay was nice. It occurred about two months ago, but in a totally unrelated manner I seemed to branch off into a complete and utter careless state of mind soon after returning to my city...

But as I said Tassie was very nice. Nan and Pa were visited and much kissing and hugging ensued... the polaroid camera was pulled out and passed round... vintage secondhand stores were looted and breakfast houses were accommodating and fed us delicious things (Raspberry Farm pancakes - yes please). Mumma was so heavily pregnant and I felt lucky to witness her a week or so off D-day. It was also very nice to be mothered (talk about nesting mode) - I got my vans all muddy whilst trekking with my little brother and in the morning discovered them all cleaned and neat sitting by the front door. You don't take that sort of thing for granted after you've had to do it yourself so long!

As per the attached photographs, follow our doings: Much hiking of the country around Mum and Tom's little pocket of land with my brother (who may or may not know some of my deepest secrets as a result), markets, coffees, the exultant discovery of a beautiful vintage Olivetti portable typewriter in mint condition for a mere fifteen dollars, visits to Devonport and the Spirit (oh hello, The Spirit), absorbing the abuse of a six year old wench who wanted to use our playground equipment, blustery wind, sea spray and baby kicks.

Of Girls, Crumpets and Stalking Part II.

2011-08-21T23:29:00.001+10:00

Melbourne suburbs differ so greatly, and yet have this great wild feeling holding them together. I constantly have a love for this city gripping my heart tighter than skinny jeans shrunk in the wash. I can't help it. It doesn't matter if there's a crazy person on the city loop train pacing and yelling for no apparent reason, or that someone has yakked everywhere blocking the entrance to the Flinders Street Station toilets on a Saturday night... or that some dude is hanging his head in the door of my work on sunny Saturday, enquiring after a hot chick wearing headphones whilst making no sense whatsover - this city is mine and the people who reside here are generally included in my affections.

Well, all except a few: one of which is the aforementioned laundromat woman. Normally I love anything to do with laundromats... they remind me of freshly washed clothes and blankets, Twisties, magazines and the comfortable smell of warmth and washing powder. As if it would be possible not to have delightful memories of such a place! However, now I have to run past the one at the bottom of my hill (between my house and the station) in constant fear that I'm going to have a run in with this lady... and her bags. Or whatever.

I hadn't even thought about her for a couple of days. Sure, I told a boy at work and a couple of others - for a laugh, you know? I didn't mind, I felt she was harmless and that I wouldn't even have to see her again. Today however, having said goodbye to my kiwi friends in Brunswick, I set out up the street to cross the road and catch the tram into the city. Much to my horror, I looked up from my phone at the lights and there she was, less than three metres away with her bags set carefully around her on the pavement, just smiling at the general public and looking confidently put together.

My thoughts froze and I quickly looked the other way. I could feel her eyes burning into the back of my head and my brain scrambled to think how this would look to her, if she did indeed consider me a spy like the last time we met. Here I was, showing up less than a week later, in a completely different suburb at the same time as her, looking stupidly suspicious due to the fact that I couldn't run away and dial Ju fast enough.

'She's at the lights Ju, oh my goodness it's actually her! What am I going to do? - she really thinks I'm a corrupt police mole! Damn it I just missed my tram' - as my tram rumbles by - 'I'm so embarrassed right now! I almost said hello again! Shit!'

Thanks to Ju's level-headed directorship, I ran instead to the train station - not without a few apprehensive peeks back over my shoulder - and managed to get home without seeing her again. My mumma thought it was hilarious, and reminded me again that the suspected bugging of the woman's bags should keep me safe and sound, but it really took me the whole afternoon to relax and shrug it off. I get so jolly flustered when I feel that someone thinks badly of me... I really have no idea what to do. All I know is, she better not be in that laundromat tomorrow morning, or I'm taking a picture in case I'm ever in need of a restraining order (bless).

The rest of my weekend was lovely. I spent plenty of time relaxing and hanging out with my recently re-patriated friend from New Zealand, Ju. She is returned from her holidays home and I'm ever so happy. This means plenty more fun with the kiwi girls, and Nick (sorry Nick)! Friday evening was reserved for cheapies at La La Land, which was great.

Saturday after work (20 Aug) I shopped all up and down Chapel Street with Emma and wrapped it up with a Spanish feast at Basque. O. M. G. that was amazing. I scooped that day... think a black velvety, paisely patterned cocktail dress (even better than it sounds), and black Vivienne Westwood gel sandals with gold buckles - vintage. For twenty five dollars. F***. My gratitude must hereby be extended to my darling Miss Winter for the vintage spot of the century. Well work, Miss Winter. Sorry you're not a size forty! The remorse...

Saturday night was set aside for hitting the city with the NZ girls again - fun as per usual. And I spotted some Space man graffiti on Meyer's Lane above Loop Bar. I'm not sure if it's original, but cool if it is!

This morning we woke late, got breakfast from Green Cafe and trekked down to Princess Park for the longest sit in the sun, half undressed. It was amazing - such a beautiful day! Spring is here for certain, and don't Melbournians love it?

I do.

Carlton Football Club

Hot air balloons from my train the other morning. There were four, and my mouth was open for most of the train ride. I'm obsessed. I must do this soon.

Laneway Lovers.

2011-08-19T23:49:00.001+10:00

Trekking the laneways of Melbourne at 3:30am on a Wednesday morning, post-Eurotrash fever!