A Letter to my Cat

Dear Mr Bigglesworth,

Tis not long to go now old man (you were but a young playful kitty when I left).

Oh how I’ve missed you and the time we spent together. I’ve missed playing chasey in the backyard with you, dressing you up as Tom Sawyer, showering you with the garden hose on 42 degree days and teaching you how to beg on your hind legs like a dog. I’ve missed looking over at you, giving you that special nod, then watching you jump up and struggle to make yourself comfortable on my lap because you are truly fat. 

You are such a ’special’ cat. I knew early on that you’d grow into your bung eyes. That they were in fact just a bit to big for your head… and that you weren’t disabled as everyone cruelly teased. I’m still sorry about that trip to the vet also…You lost you’re meow that day…I thought it would come back eventually but instead you’ve been content with just squeaking at life. 

Thanks for looking after Mum all these years. She’s always insisted it was the other way round…but you and I know the truth. Alas I will soon return to shower you with unhealthy amounts of attention and chicken meat- your favorite. 

See you soon fat-cat.

Love Em xxx

Summer Box of Love

I remember last Summer (08)– thinking to myself ….”That was it. That was ‘The’ Summer”. It was an explosive 4 months of people, places, laughter, late-nights, and the discovery of true independence. It was a very special Summer indeed. Special for a whole myriad of reasons I could go on for hours explaining…but won’t.

I must say 09 got off to a slow start- but my oh my how it’s picked up speed. I’ve been such an absent blogger lately that alot of stupidly splendifirous nights have gone undocumented. I aim to bring this old rag up to speed…So thought I’d start with the night Jes Nicks and I bought a childs wicker chair off a homeless man for £2.10 one evening on route home. That evening Ladies and Gentlemen…Was Lovebox.

Jes Nicks has been a bit of a legend (sometimes also LEG-END) thus far this year. Free tickets to Lovebox, Get Loaded and Bestival…not a bad effort. Queen blag I say. So many ridiculous tales to tell, it’s probably easier if I just bullet point list them. Top 9 Lovebox moments. 

1. Looking for ‘the guy with the ginger hair’ at the inferno stage and instead making do with a bald fat guy wearing sunglasses.

2. High Fiving each other with our feet

3. The Australian Boys.

4. The “Jackie….Yeah Jackie” thing.

5. Being too wasted to remove me from an aggressively suffocating poncho…and instead wearing it as a cape. 

5. Going on the dodgem cars and abusing a very inebriated director of ours on the sidelines

6. Spotting a flag with ‘Yeasty Clunge’ written on it. 

7. Buying a wicker chair off a homeless man for £2.10

8. Meeting a strange woman on route home who sang us all a song called ‘Flaps/Curtains’ with choregraphed moves.

9. Getting the night bus home, whilst still sitting on the now broken wicker chair.

You know the most impressive thing about that weekend? I got up at 8am Sunday morning and did a 5k race before heading back to the festival for more party truck banging. Friendly Fires were amazing…and we certainly were not watching Durrrrran Durrrrrran. We loved our box. And our box certainly loved us. It was a box-fest all round. Bring on the rest of the Summer festivals. 

Morocco

I’d wanted to visit Morocco from the moment I landed almost 4 years ago. Why…Some of you may ask? I naively put it down to the complete faith and belief I have in that anything my Aunt Nene likes…so will I. So off we (Me and the All Singing All Dancing Von Trapp Family) went.

What did I think? I was blown away- but I’m not sure whether I loved it or hated it. This might sound completely ridiculous…But I just thought Marrakech was completely ridiculous in itself. It was both beautiful…and ugly at the same time. Through one eye you see an enchanting & exotic foreign world full of colors, tastes, sounds and textures. Through the other… a dirty, dangerous and oppressive culture. It was very confusing… 

Don’t even get me started on the animals. We (the tourist MUGS) paid to go and see a big spectacular live show in the dessert. Traditional Morocco- they marketed it as. Most of the evening involved horses- and at  one point in the show I actually had to turn away and couldn’t watch any longer. It broke my heart. Horses so poorly kept they’re foaming at the mouth, unable to support their own weight, carrying untrained dickhead’s around shooting rifles. It made me sick. It still makes me sick. I didn’t like that bit. 

What bits did I like then you ask? I liked the simplicity of life there. I loved wandering around the Souks…but loathed the hassling. I loved the erratic mess and mazes…but didn’t like not feeling safe. I liked being far away from Western civilization and it’s technology, which is hugely contradictory as I’m an uber-techno-geek. I liked the quiet in my head- despite the constant noise of a crazy, bizzare city around me. I liked eating nothing but bread…and drinking nothing but bottled water (and the French red wine we brought with us). It was all just simple…and nice. 

I barely had time to scratch the surface there- but I know it’s a country I want to go back to some day and explore some more. Maybe along the coast…Casablanca. Thank-you Nene for the tip of a visit- it’s certainly one of the most unforgettable and inspiring places I’ve visited.

Em and Paul

Not Another Insightful Blog Post…

Full circle.

It’s occurred to me that alot of the big lessons you learn in life require a ‘full-circle experience’. Sometimes you don’t realize all the knowledge you’ve gained from life until you find yourself back in a similar place to where you began. This has been the case for me recently.

I’ve made the decision to move back to Australia at the end of the year. December 20th to finger a precise date. That’s just short of 9 months. And suddenly here I am filled with all the same emotions I was almost 4 years ago now when I first made the decision to move away from home. Excitement, Anticipation, Nervousness, Hope, but more importantly than anything else- I’m filled with positivity once more. It’s quite a spin-out to be encountering such an emotional sense of déjà vu. But this time round…I’m loaded with a suitcase worth of lessons to take back.

1. Don’t EVER EVER EVER dye your blonde hair black. It’s unattractive, un-economical, and a fucking pain in the arse to get out.

2. Good friends are the greatest treasure in life. They are soul-food.

3. White wine and beer tastes 200% better when you order 3 ice-cubes also.

4. You choose the positive/negative energies you surround yourself with. If something does the opposite of enrich your life- be done with it.

5. Going to sleep with a piece of chewing gum in your mouth keeps hangovers at bay.

6. Every place has it’s merits/disadvantages. Enjoy what’s in front of you right now because you inevitably always miss it when it’s gone.

7. Beeping your car-horn does not always have to be aggressive. There IS such thing as a friendly toot.

8. Life is short and there’s no way of forecasting fate. Make the most of it. Opportunity doesn’t often knock twice.

9. People kick the bucket. There’s no avoiding it. Make sure the people you love absolutely know it.

10. More importantly than anything else- be happy, love, laugh, and live.

 

Bright skies ahead people. I feel like I’m back   xxxxx

The Hat

I’d just like to announce to everyone…that very soon the hat will be removed. Yes that’s right- I will actually take it off my head. I will re-emerge from the land of hidden scalp in approximately 7 days. It will be the Blonde Ambition Tour 2009.

 

When I say ‘Ambition’, I really do mean it in every sense of the word. Next Thursday, I am trotting on down to the local salon in an attempt to right the wrong I inflicted upon myself nearly 3 months ago. That’s right…I’m attempting a Re-Blonde.

 

I’ve prepared myself for the worst. That it will probably cost about £150.00 ($340.00). That it’s highly likely I’ll come out looking more orangey/yellow than blonde. That all my hair might burn and snap off in chunks. That I might come out in a rage of hateful tears. It might even be the case that I come out and put the hat right back on.

 

Below are a few photos taken of me and the hat. They capture all we’ve been through. The good times. The bad times. The tired times. The broke times. So many wonderful memories the hat and I have had. I will be sad to see it go…..

 

 

 

 

When you’ve got nothing to say…

For sometime now I’ve had nothing to write on this blog. Don’t get me wrong…it’s not like life hasn’t been happening. In a way though…it just doesn’t feel like I’ve known where to find it. When I consider the reasons why- it’s mainly because nothing of sizeable proportion has been occurring. Nothing has felt like it’s worth the words, which is completely ridiculous considering I want to be a writer. Words are my offering. Words are what I do.

 

I suppose I could reflect on the year in retrospect. It was after-all the biggest year of my short life thus far… But I don’t fancy it right now. Some things are best kept in my green book and it’s nice to save certain stuff for yourself.  

 

Something occurred to me whilst walking home from work last night. That is that life’s beauties are in the fine print, the small details you never take time to acknowledge or appreciate. It’s the splendour of city lights reflected on a river at night. It’s the hilarity of someone falling arse-over-tit in public. The inspiration and escape you find in a good song. Seeing a live band and dancing like a crazy person. It’s simple conversations, shared smiles and stolen kisses.

 

I’m going to pay attention to the smaller things for a while…because really…that’s where life is at.

Spare Change

Tonight whilst on my way home from the gym, I was approached by a homeless man on the tube. He didn’t speak directly to me- it was more a general speech in the direction of us commuters. He asked if anyone could spare some change, that it was a cold and wet night- and he wanted shelter and food.

2 months ago I would have given him the same response a majority of commuters did. This ‘response’ is in actual fact no response at all. It involves simply and rudely ignoring his polite attempt at collecting a few stray pennies. It involves judgement- that you’re a better person than him… That he is a drug-addicted-good-for-nothing-loser, and that you are above even acknowledging his presence. I could practically see the cogs of condemnation ticking over in all their minds…”He’ll just buy smack, or booze” they justified their behaviours with. You often hear people say “If I had a sandwich- I’d give him that instead…at least then I’d know I was REALLY helping him”. The funny thing is that nobody every really has a sandwich…and you know what? Even if they did I doubt very much anyone would give even half of it up. This brings me to the conclusion that people are selfish. This is a selfish city, in a selfish world. Nobody wants to admit it- ‘judgment’ is far easier.

What is 1 pound to a person? 1 pound is the money you loose at the bottom of your bag after a night out. It’s the unnecessary feeding of a poker machine. It’s the 1/8^th of a pint you DON’T need to finish on a Saturday evening. It’s that afternoon chocolate bar you don’t need or even particularly want. If we’re to be honest- 1 pound is nothing to most of us. For someone desperate enough to ride a subway accosting strangers- 1 pound is everything. I don’t fucking care what this person spends that pound on. They might buy drugs, they might buy alcohol, who knows? All I know is that for a person to live their life in such squalor and desperation- is truly devastating sadness. Probably the saddest kind of sadness anyone will ever know. A sadness most of us will NEVER know. So who are we to judge?

I gave the guy a pound, and wished him a good night. He thanked me and gave the warmest smile I’ve genuinely seen on a person’s face in a very long time. It was appreciation- pure and simple. Whether he finds a safe bed somewhere for the evening, or ends up on cloud 9 in an alleyway- I helped make his night. That small smile of gratitude made mine.

 

A Few of my Favorite Things

This morning…the house got a jolly good polishing. And you know what? A therapeutic spot of spring-cleaning can be such a wholesome task. Being a true Virgo- I’m known for taking pleasure in orderly and menial activities. Things like cleaning a desk drawer out, or sorting my earring collection by colour, design and material.

I sat back on my dust-free sofa, kicked my legs up on the shiny as shine-ola coffee table, and thought about how nice it was. It got me thinking about the things we do for ourselves- JUST for ourselves. As I sat there revelling in my random mental trajectory, the Julie Andrews number “A Few of my Favourite Things” sprung to mind.

So readers—here are a few of mine.

1. Writing. Getting in that rare zone where the creativity is over-spilling onto every inch of page available. The kind of writing where there’s no self-editing as I go. Though I write on a daily basis- it feels like work. I love it…when it doesn’t. I’d like to write something longer than a fucking shopping list right now.
2. Playing/Writing/Performing Music. It’s something I haven’t done in such a long time. I’ve had names for all the instruments I’ve ever owned. There was Miles the blue acoustic. Kristoff the white fender strat. Bartholomew the black Les Paul. Declan the dodgy drum-kit. Oh and some shitty old bass I never really got that attached to. I miss being in a band.
3. Going Mental. There’s lots of different phrases for it I guess. Mashed, Smashed, Fucked, Wasted, Blinded, Wankered, Wrecked, Off your guts, Off your head, and my personal favourite…Obliterated. There’s no denying I love a good night out talking useless shite to a plethora of people. I like to loose control sometimes…Maybe because normally I’m such a together person?
4. Baths. Yes that’s right. I love a good bath. In fact when I was a child I used to take my portable television into the bathroom with me and sit in it for hours. Sometimes…I’d make Mum bring my dinner into the bath for me. Maybe that was just one of those weird demanding only child things…. But I still thoroughly enjoy a good bath with a face-mask, book, and glass of wine. FUCK do I need a glass of wine for everything?
5. Conversational Coffee Feasts. I love people. I love to talk. I love coffee. The great thing about this activity- is you can do it whenever/wherever. You aren’t restricted by weather or location….If it’s a hot day I’ll make it a light-iced-mocha-frappucino in the Whitfield St Gardens. And if the weather is crap I’ll find somewhere warm and cosy with a comfortable couch and a….take a deep breath…. sugar-free vanilla, skimmed milk, double shot latte, extra hot- in a take away cup PuLLLLLLEASE. Coffee Barista’s hate me. So do environmentalists re: the take-away cup issue. Don’t know why…it just always taste better in a take-away cup. I only have this problem at Starbucks though.

So those were a few of my favourite things. I hope I’ve entertained you all once more. I’m going to have a bath, polish my laptop keyboard, neck a little vino, and finish this entry. Heaven hey?

Signing off- Emily G.

If life was perfect…

If life was perfect you’d go out for mojitos every Monday night after work.

If life was perfect you’d have someone to cook you breakfast on a Tuesday morning, and someone to cook dinner for on a Tuesday night.

If life was perfect you’d catch a spot of theatre on Wednesdays, a dirty rock band on Thursdays, and a bit of disco biscuit stomping fun on Fridays.

You’d always have time for friends and family. In fact family would be friends- and friends dear like family.

You wouldn’t feel fat or insecure and you’d never have bad hair days. Your clothes would look good and feel fabulous, and you’d always have that healthy post-sex glow.

If life was perfect you’d be able to snap biscuits in half so the calories would fall out and you’d avoid the ‘biscuit guilt’.

If life was perfect you wouldn’t have to watch the clock in order to get your last half-price happy hour cocktail in. Every hour would be happy-hour. Every evening would be Friday and every day would be a weekend.

You wouldn’t suffer email panic, public transport stress, or mobile phone seperation anxiety. You’d be chilled out. You wouldn’t need to drink just to realx.

If life was perfect you wouldn’t suffer the fear of hereditary IBS, nor would you ever humiliate yourself by weeing in front of a crowd.

People wouldn’t notice your 10 month long eye twitch as anything unusual…they would merely recognize it as a cute ‘wink’ to that select special few.

People would know and understand the eclective assortment of complexities that contribute to your character. They would appreciate.

If life was perfect ‘popping home’ wouldn’t involve a £1400/30-hour-round trip. Ideally…there would be some quick vortex type hole one could simply jump into.

Life isn’t perfect. Life is never perfect. But all these things do or have co-existed at some point throughout life. It would be greedy to want them all at once. xxxxxx

London VS Melbourne

Written Saturday 18th

I’m sitting with a coffee in town- just people and world watching. Looking at the faces, the buildings, the roads, the bodies, everything. It’s got me thinking about home- and exactly where home is for me now?

The whole time I was back home in Australia- I missed London and the people there. And now that I’m back home in London- I miss Australia and everyone there. It seems I’m impossible to please- that I always want what I can’t have. Maybe that’s just my nature?

I love how grimy London is. The cities actual appearance is one of grey colourlessness. What offsets that dull shade though is the people. The people of London are colourful. In London you can feel this undercurrent battle between tradition, innovation, open-mindedness and politeness. For a city so rich in history- it’s maintains its reputation as a thriving melting pot for all things contemporary.

The other thing I love about London is its attitude. People here are tough. This is a tough city to live in and I think you either have to adapt quickly- or leave. It sure took me a while. I think about the July 7^th bombings and recall how newspapers around the world remarked on Londoners strength- the way people were back on those tubes the very next day. In London there’s no time to fuck about- you just have to get on with things.

The things I love about Melbourne are interestingly enough the polar opposites of why I love London. Melbourne is such a colourful city. It’s pumping with design, individuality and charming flair. It’s a city I fell desperately head over heels for- a very long time ago. I know in my heart it’s where I’ll return to settle some day. I guess what I realise is that it’s just not my time to be in Melbourne right now. I have too much to accomplish for the moment.

Both two fantastically different cities. Both with amazing collections of people- friends and family- who make each city feel like home. Really I’m kinda lucky- 2 homes- endless opportunities to live, laugh, learn and love.

Peace Out. xxx