Song of the day: Ita

Today's song of the day is Cold Chisel's "Ita".

According to Wikipedia... Cold Chisel is a rock band that originated in Adelaide, Australia. It is one of the most acclaimed and revered Australian acts of all time, with a string of hits throughout the 1970s and 1980s and huge sales that continue to this day.

And according to Wikipedia... Ita Clare Buttrose AO OBE (born 17 January 1942) is an Australian journalist and businesswoman. She is probably best-remembered as the celebrity founding editor of Cleo, a high-circulation magazine aimed at young single women that was ground-breakingly frank about sexuality (and, in its infancy, featured nude male centrefolds), and later as the editor of the more sedate Australian Women's Weekly.

When you mention Cold Chisel most people think of Khe Sanh, Flame Trees, Standing on the Outside, Saturday Night, You Got Nothing I Want, Bow River, you know, their big singles. However, "Ita" was Amber's favourite and so it became mine. When we lived together at Spring Hill (one of the five or so times we have lived together), we used to frequent a dodgy bar called Spurs, which had $2.20 pots, $3.50 bacardi and cokes, a VB mural on one wall, old farming equipment hanging from the ceiling, some wonky pool tables, and an awesome jukebox. Whenever we went to Spurs Bar (fairly often) we'd put a few dollars in the jukebox and, without fail, Amber would always select Joy Division's "Love Will Tear Us Apart" and Cold Chisel's "Ita". Good times.

Ita's tongue never touches her lips, she could always be my godmother, and though the desk-top hides her hips, my imagination's strong, she's the sweetest thing I've ever seen, I'd like to take her out to dinner, but when I think about the places I've been, I'd probably hold my fork all wrong...

And now, the end is near

I can't believe that my time in London comes to an end today. Even as I'm writing this I am tearing up.

The past year has been the best year of my life. I have had some fantastic adventures, seen some great places, and made and strengthened some wonderful friendships.

Last night I had a farewell dinner in Covent Garden and was truly touched by the turnout, that so many people would come along to see me off.

Whilst saying goodbye to Matt, Mark, Emma and Laura wasn't too bad, knowing that I would see them again soon, saying goodbye to others was a little heartbreaking.

Bondy and Alli were the first friends that *I* made in London, and through them I became good friends with Kasia, Matt, Beavis, Matt (yeah, there were a lot of Matt's there last night), Sarah and Adam. I have had some hilariously fun times with these guys, from long orphan Christmas lunches to weekends away at the most unlikely of places. My time in London wouldn't have been the same without these guys.

The other people I shall dearly miss are my friends from The Government Agency, Georgina, Colm and Keef. After seeing you every day it was extremely difficult to say goodbye, and there was a stiffled sob at Waterloo train station last night. Colm, I know you are reading this, so please pass it on to Georgina as well. I shall miss you two dearly and promise to stay in touch. And my parents' beach house is available any time you decide to come to Australia! (That's okay isn't it mum?)

Now Amber, either you are going to have to move back to Australia or I am going to have to move back to London, okay? Amber was the one that convinced me to move overseas and I would not have had the brilliant time here without her. Amber is one of the most intelligent and funniest people I know, and quite often I am her little prophet, quoting her words of wisdom to others (Olly looks like he smells like dairy, jewellry is for Greeks and mistresses). I warn you Amby, that our goodbyes in Brisbane aren't going to be a dry affair.

And Angela, my little Model Mondays and Wild European Vacation partner in crime, what am I going to do without you? Part of me wants to stay here just so that I can share all of your London adventures with you. I hope your time in London is as happy as mine. Make the most of the opportunities you have here and just live it up.

After nearly two years in London I am going home with £500 in my pocket. I know, it's not much is it. But I have had so many holidays and nights out and trips to the theatre and a Chelsea football game and a glorious Marc Jacobs handbag and hundreds upon hundreds of photos of all the fun and mementos of my time here and a blog detailing my time here and a suitcase of cute dresses and some lifelong friends. So I would say that I have done pretty well.

Adieu London, see you soon.

PS. This blog is not going to end just because I am going home, not now that I have four readers (hi!)

I like a woman with spirit, I do, I do, I do*

Amber, Matt, Mark and I took a little trip to Belfast last weekend. Why Belfast you ask (as many of you have)? Because we got £15 return flights.

Just to put things in perspective, the very very very early morning cab to Stanstead Airport on Saturday cost us £58, or approximately £15 each. And the Stanstead Express train from the airport to Liverpool Street on Monday morning cost us £17. Apparently airplanes are cheaper to run than trains.

Belfast is an interesting city. The city centre has a brand spanking new shopping centre, complete with glass dome roof and viewing platform, and filled with higher end high street shops. However, the outer suburbs are run down, cement clad, and generally grey.

Saturday we started off with brunch at the local farmers markets, where we ate our way through olives, tapenade, sausage rolls, pig on a spit on a roll, lollies that looked like a cooked breakfast, and some oysters. Matt didn't realise that he had to shuck them himself, which he tried to do with Amber's contraband nail file, before admitting defeat and sheepishly going back to the vendor to open them for him.

From there we made our way to the aforementioned shopping centre so that I could purchase some new boots, as mine were falling apart and about two hours away from an Angela-at-Oktoberfest-esque gaffa tape fix. We went to every store in the centre without any luck, and as a last resort I went to the Puma shop, where I fell in love with some black leather biker boots. Of course I bought them, and proceeded to sing an amended version of a Calvin Harris song for the rest of the time: "oooh, I've got new shoes and I'm ready for the weekend!"

As international lovers of the Hoponhopoff Bus Tour, we decided to do a big bus tour around the city. We saw the dry dock where the Titanic was built, lots of murals commemorating the Troubles, Falls Road (dubbed whores road by Amber) where the Catholics live, Shankhill Road (dubbed skanksville road by Amber) where the Protestants live, an abandoned courthouse, a converted prison, and learnt a little more about the history of Belfast. We also froze our freakin arses off. We were sitting on the open top of the bus and the wind chill factor brought the temperature down to about zero we reckon. Matty and I snuggled together in a feeble attempt to maintain core body temperature.

After the tour we decided to warm ourselves up in a nice pub down a random alley way with some wine for the ladies and Guinness for the gents, and some Wallabies rugby union action for everyone. The drinks and the early morning meant that we all required a little nap (two hours) before dolling ourselves up and heading out to experience Belfast's nightlife.

The cab driver that took us from the airport to the hotel had suggested we go to a bar called Kelly's, which we found and quickly walked past. After a fantastic dinner at an Argentinean restaurant we sought out a couple of bars that Mark's friend had suggested. It was at this point that we decided not to listen to anyone else's suggestions. The bars were packed to the rafters with middle aged women wearing sequin minidresses on hens parties and deeply unattractive men over the age of 40. We didn't even finish our drinks before high tailing it out of there and heading to a younger part of town ("somewhere that doesn't have a median age of 55 please cab driver!") and found ourselves at a bar called the Spaniard, which reminded me a lot of Ric's (my favourite bar in Brisbane). While we were wedged between Amber's new best dreadlocked friend and freakin couple's make out corner, we had a few drinks and laughs. Around midnight I decided to leave the others to it and head home, after which they hit the vodka redbulls and then went to some underground club that didn't serve alcohol but actually did serve alcohol. I recall Amber stumbling in around 4am, animatedly telling me about the club, and declaring that possibly she had had too many redbulls.

Unfortunately Amber wasn't so animated on the Sunday, so we left her in the room to watch television and order clam chowder from room service, and the boys and I went out to find some brunch. We then realised it was nearly 1pm, so turned our attentions to lunch, and boy did we find it. The only place we could find that was open had a three-course Sunday pub lunch on, which we enjoyed whilst reading the papers and listening to Matt's stories about his hilarious and embarrassing childhood.

With the afternoon to fill we decided to do a black cab tour, which was promised to be more informative and personal than the Hoponhopoff tour that we had done the previous day. It would have been if the driver hadn't spent so much time slagging off the bus tour and telling us that he wouldn't be telling us this or that because we didn't have time. It was still interesting as he took us to different parts of the town, though Mark and I didn't like it when he made us get out of the cab to look at a mural because there were some nasty looking women with tattoos staring us down. Fortunately though, we survived to make it up to Belfast Castle with it's beautiful views over the port.

Back at the hotel we rustled up Amber and headed out for dinner. A local information computer kiosk thing in the reception listed a modern Irish restaurant called Tony Roma's about 0.4miles from the hotel, which we thought would be perfect. Tony Roma's turned out to be an American restaurant about 2 miles from the hotel. Whatever, we still ate there and were reminded of why American's have the highest rate of obesity - the servings were unnecessarily huge. After dinner we went back to the hotel to watch X Factor (go Jedward), pack, and prepare for our early morning departure.

It was really interesting to spend a weekend in a rather non-destination city, and find out a bit more about it's turbulent history. I can't say I would go back again, but I definitely enjoyed it.

"Oooh, I put on my shoes and I'm ready for the weekend"
Calvin Harris

* Amber's catchphrase for the weekend, from Monty Python if I am correct

Catch up

It's been a busy last couple of weeks, and while I have lots to share I also have lots of work to do. Damn career getting in the way of my personal life.

Last Wednesday Angela and I went to see Phoenix at Brixton Academy. It was all a bit Three Stooges getting there, as we completely missed the stop, were laughed at by some 13 year old girls, and then had to make our way back. However it was all worth it as Phoenix were AWESOME! I have to admit that I wasn't the biggest fan of Phoenix, having only heard their old album thanks to Nathy putting it on my iPod, but agreed to go and keep Angela company. But the venue was fantastic, the sound and lighting were amazing, and Phoenix just bloody rocked it. To top off the night Angela saw a drug deal on street as we were waiting for a bus!

Last Friday we went to Wimbledon dogs for Matty's 35th birthday. Happy birthday Matt! And apologies to dad for waking you up super early Saturday morning to get your advice for race seven. I was drawn to #3 Barney's Giggle, but then saw #1 - Graham's Gooch. So I called dad, was given a quick lesson in reading the form guide (never go for the dog that has consistantly run 2nd as they don't want to win, instead go for the dog that has had a 1st recently). While everyone else went for Barney's Giggle I backed Graham's Gooch, who romped it in and won me a nice little purse! I bet on seven races, won three, lost four, and managed to come out £1 up overall. After the races Amber and Stuart and I went to the local pub - The Corner Pub - for a nightcap, while Charlotte and Jack retired for the evening, and the mo's went to a mo club in Clapham. Well, didn't they miss out! At the Corner Pub there was a 50th birthday party complete with a table of nasty cold party food (garlic chicken balls, mini sausages, stale chips) and karaoke. We enjoyed the atmosphere and cheap drinks before making our way to the station and catching the train home.

Saturday I was planning on going to Camden markets, but only made it as far as Clapham Junction with Angela. This was okay though, as we found the most delicious markets and enjoyed some cheese and ham and potato tapas goodness.

Saturday night was Hallowe'en, and Amber and I were excited about the opportunity to dress up like idiots. Amber was a nun and I was death by mirrorball, with (British teen favourite) dark eye makeup, bits of mirrorball scattered across my face, and a bleeding wound on my forehead. After X Factor we made our way to a party being held by my old manager at The Government Agency, Keef. There were costumes and spider webs and Bundy Rum and monkeys and carved pumpkins and Monster Munch chips, and it was honestly one of the best house parties we'd ever been to.

And this week is another big one, with Model Mondays last night, movies tomorrow night, Bonfire night (my third favourite night of the year!) on Thursday, and then packing Friday night because this weekend I am going to Belfast with Amber, Matt, and Mark!

I think I need a nap...

Music festivals are what you make them

Get Loaded was the worst music festival I have ever been to.

The sound was awful, the only way to know who was playing when was to buy the schedule for £5, the timetable didn't allow enough time for the acts (Peaches was on for 30 minutes), the line at the toilets resembled a scene from Mad Max, and the drink queues didn't abate at all throughout the day. The only thing you could do was to get drunk, sit in the dirt outside a tent, hope to hear a snippet of music, and wait for it all to be over.

In saying that, Amber and Angela and I still had a fun time.

While Angela danced Amber and I sat back and laughed at all the festival characters - the 45 year old men high on drugs, the mutton dressed as lamb in a dirty white sundress and broken arm who fell over beside us, the tramp who pushed in line at the bar claiming sorry sorry sorry sorry and who can expect a whole lotta bad karma coming her way soon, the Scotsman who declined my offer of a bite of my cheese and tomato roll but then tried to steal a kiss anyway, the carnies who spun our carriage on the Waltzer ride (perhaps because they heard us refer to them as carnies), and the girl who picked up the ugg boot that Amber found in the portaloo and threw it into the crowd upon my joking request. There was also some celebrity-lookalike spotting - Thom Yorke, Robert Pattinson, Fatty Vautin, and Benicio del Toro.

Our day ended at Revolution, with enough vodka shots and cocktails to make my mother cringe. Sorry mum.

Liar liar

Edit: okay, so Amber's not so much a liar as I am gullible. Perhaps the title of this blog should be Gullible gullible. But it just doesn't have the same ring to it. And to be honest, each of these three stories really made me laugh, and still make me chuckle when I think about them!

This is a warning to people not to get sucked in to the untruths that Amber tells.

Firstly, we have the incident where we were at Charlotte’s birthday with all of her French friends, and Amber told them in French to excuse my behaviour because I was raised by wolves, or “large dogs”.

Then we have the numerous stories of Amber’s sister’s extremely cheeky and talented dog Scampy. Amber told me stories of how she would go swimming and he would trot up and down the side of the pool with her, or how he would put his front paws up on a ball and push it along (something that Amber does a great re-enactment of). And then the truth came out – Scampy is not a he, Scampy is a SHE! When I asked Amber about it, she claimed that she sort of thought of Scampy as a boy, so she just used to refer to him as a “he”.

But the biggest disappointment that I have suffered with Amber is the Cheese of the Week. Since I moved to London in April 2008 Amber would come home from shopping displaying her Cheese of the Week from Marks & Spencer. One week it might be a regional blue cheese, the next a seasoned halloumi. When Angela arrived I was showing her all my favourite shops, including Marks and Spencer, and went to point out the selection of cheeses and show her the Cheese of the Week but alas, we could not find it. When I told Amber this she admitted that there wasn’t an actual Cheese of the Week, it was just that she bought a different cheese each week and called it her Cheese of the Week.

These things have absolutely addled me, but Amber just finds them funny.

I'm Love(box)ing it

My claim that Lovebox is the best music festival ever was upheld with the event over the weekend!

However, a two day festival really does take it out of you, and I am a shell of a woman today. So rather than my standard descriptive narrative of my adventures you get subheadings and semi-coherent ramblings.

The Crew
On Saturday we had quite a crew – me, Angela, Amber, Stewart and Laura. We also met up with my old manager and his friend, and tried to catch up with Beavis, but it is rather difficult to co-ordinate such a large group. On Sunday it was just Angela and I, though we made friends with the crazy old festival dancing men (two old guys dressed in suits, wigs and Elvis sunglasses that Amber and I saw last year, and that Matt and Mark saw at Notting Hill Carnival, they must go to every festival) and anyone who happened to be standing around us at the time.

The Music
What we saw of Temper Trap was good, Florence from Florence & the Machine has got a fantastic voice, Friendly Fires played a great set at dusk, Ladyhawke was good once she had warmed up a little, and N*E*R*D were good but would have been better if the sound was turned up. There were two highlights for me, both from the Sunday lineup. The Correspondents were an absolute surprise, which we stumbled across as we came out of the vintage fashion fair because I was looking for a cardigan to keep me warm (but instead bought a super cute little dress). They were playing their style of 1930’s hip hop from a colourful bandstand in front of a massive two-story wooden tree house, under a tree hanging with oversized apples and pears. Fronted by a skinny man in black tights, white business shirt, black vest, teal satin tie, glasses and a comb over despite having plenty of hair, the Correspondents had the entire crowd dancing and cheering. The other highlight was Groove Armada, of course. They are the ultimate showmen and really now how to get the crowd worked up, starting off with Funk You Too, songs belted out by their new female vocalist Saint Saviour, moving into a mash up of Song for Mutya and Madder, followed by a magical performance of Down by the River. Unfortunately, as I had the most slamming headache and had to work the next day, we left early at this point, but heard Super Stylin on the way out.

The Stages
Lovebox truly out do themselves when it comes to staging and theming, which just adds to the fantastic atmosphere of the festival. The Gaymers stage had the aforementioned treehouse and bandstand, a helter skelter, a ferris wheel, and inflatable apples floating throughout the crowd. The All Star Bowling Alley was a hidden gem that we discovered on Sunday, where you could drink delicious cocktails and dance to retro tunes on a checkerboard dance floor. The Jose Cuervo was our home base on Saturday, as we sipped our tequila cocktails, listened to the various South American musicians, tipped our free cowboy hats, and snacked on corn chips with salsa. There were other areas that we unfortunately didn’t get around too, simply because we were having such a good time at the other ones!

The Drinks
Lovebox was all about the tequila, as far as Angela and I were concerned. Because it’s bad to mix drinks you know. So, we sipped margarita-like cocktails on Saturday, and tequila punch on Sunday. Mmmm, tequila…

The Food
A couple of years ago, Scott and Nathan and I went to the Toowoomba Food, Wine, Flowers and Cow festival, where I ate myself stupid on all of the glorious market food available. The selection at Lovebox was even better. You could have had hog roast, tacos, chorizo rolls, Japanese noodles, quinoa salads, burgers, sausages, waffles, bakery treats, fairy floss, fresh coconut milk, jerk chicken, and more. With such a wide and delicious selection on offer, I of course ate the same thing on both Saturday and Sunday – empenadas, aka espadrilles as I liked to call them. Little half-moon pastries filled with argentinian beef or spinach and cheese, that were just too good. And on the Saturday I couldn’t go past the churro stand for some doughy, sugary goodness, though I made everyone else eat them too so I didn’t feel so bad.

The Weather
Typically English. It rained on the Saturday, actually, no, it pelted down. We didn’t bring anything for such weather, so Angela and I made for the shelter of the treehouse but managed to get some free ponchos on the way. I stylised mine with a belt, so as to stand out from the other big white plastic blobs in the crowd. Sunday it was supposed to pour down, but the weather held out and was actually rather pleasant.

The Verdict
I freakin love Lovebox, and hereby declare it the best music festival I have ever been to and the best music festival I will ever go to!

Update 2

While I have actually been getting out and doing stuff, there has been a lapse in blogging again. So I shall summarise the goings on of my life in bullet points, because I like bullet points and this is my blog and I can use them.

• I ventured back to the Walkabout at Temple to watch the first State of Origin game the other week, after managing to avoid any updates on the score throughout the day by getting a colleague to screen all of my text messages. Honestly though, you need to be drunk to be able to handle that place and as it was a Wednesday night I was not in a position to have a great time. Amber and Nicole did though!
  
  
• Jodie has returned from Australia but is yet to find employment, which leaves her free to hunt around on the internet for cheap theatre tickets – yay! We went to La Clique the other week and it was fantastic! The venue was really cosy and set up sort of like a circus, with strings of lights, and the stage in the middle. And the acts were great – a man who squeezed his body through a tennis racquet and made me laugh so hard I cried, a couple that did amazing spinning tricks on roller skates, a massive black man dressed in drag singing, a little guy dressed as Freddie Mercury that did juggling tricks and jokes, and crazy acts.
  
  
• This week we got £10 dress circle tickets to La Cage Aux Folles (aka the Birdcage) which was pretty good. The highlight were the five extremely fit, male chorus dancers, who were extremely entertaining from the stalls, but I don’t think I would have liked it as much if I was in the front row tables!
  
  
• Last weekend we did a day trip to Brighton which was really fun. The weather was unexpectedly gorgeous, and we all ended up getting a little sunburnt. We went down to the water, played games on the pier, went on our favourite ride – the Crazy Mouse, had fish for lunch (actually I had salad), did some shopping in the Lanes, and then whiled away the afternoon at the beachfront bar, le sigh…
  
  
• PowerPlate is either going to be my body-firming saviour, or the death of me. I’ve started doing PowerPlate classes at the gym, as I got a few sessions free with my membership. The idea is that you do exercises on a platform that vibrates, so a 30 minute session is equal to a 90 minute session on standard equipment. And at the end of it you feel like you’ve done a 90 minute session. The good thing is that the last couple of minutes you lie on the ground with your legs on the machine and get a muscle-stretching and cellulite-busting massage.
  
  
• I have been invited to the wedding of a colleague friend of mine in September, which is very exciting. When I asked what the dress code she was rather vague, though stipulated that most women would be wearing hats or headpieces. Crap. So the search starts now in the hope that I will find something appropriate in the next two and a half months.
  
  
• Just to fuel the fire that Jackie started at Christmas lunch, I bought a pair of Birkenstocks on the weekend. I had quite the internal fight prior to the purchase – extreme comfort and purple patent leather vs blatantly looking like a lesbian. Comfort won out. Though I won’t be wearing them with my new green skirt from Joy, as I saw an actual real life lesbian wearing the same skirt a few months ago.

PS. Mum, I am not a lesbian.

Random thoughts

Redheads (or gingers or rangas or whatever you want to call them) look better with longer hair. It's like the more hair they have, the less red it looks.

Graham's Law (hi dad!) states that gases flow from areas of higher pressure to areas of lower pressure. I think that people in elevators need to apply this theory and disperse themselves evenly rather than all cramming in to my lift.

A friend of mine at work who is deaf taught me how to say champagne in sign language and it is awesome. You pretend to pop the cork and then do fizzy hands. I am now hoping to encounter a deaf bar tender so that I can pull this one out. Is that politically incorrect?

I saw a train going through the automatic wash today, which was pretty cool.

There is a lady at work who's surname is the same as a processed meat. It makes me laugh everytime I see it.

Yeah, it's been a pretty quiet week, but...

This weekend I am going to Stockholm, and the weekend after that I am going to Bath, and then at Easter I am going to Disneyland Paris. Yay! Plus, Amber has had her Visa approved so should be back in London soon to stir up some trouble!

Approval process

Dad, is it okay if I buy a laptop? I really really want, nay, NEED one.

I used Amby’s ‘putie all the time when we lived together, and since moving out I realise how much I rely on having interweb access.

Reasons why I need a laptop:

• I can’t email as often because I am so busy at work
• I can’t blog as often
• I can’t Skype
• I can’t access Facebook (restricted at work)
• I can’t access the Transport for London website to see if there are delays or track closures
• I can’t do my regular weather stalk each morning so I know if I need an umbrella or my heavy coat
• I can’t use Google Maps to find out where I am going
• I can’t charge my iPod
• I can't download episodes of the US series of The Office
  

So is it okay if I get a really cute, slim, lightweight, good brand with a warranty, fully loaded laptop for only £300?

Please…

So much fun, so little time

I have never been as excited about a trip as I was about our little sojourn to Copenhagen. Maybe it was because it was free, maybe it was because it was on the Continent, maybe because it was to go and see cheesy Danish pop. Whatever it was, I barely slept on Thursday night because I was so excited.

Amber and I got up super early on Friday morning, hauled ass out to Heathrow, and embarked on 24 hours of power. Copenhagen isn’t a huge city; probably about the size of Brisbane I guess. But Amber and I were determined to fit it all in.

We arrived in Copenhagen around midday, caught the metro into the city centre, withdrew some kroners from a cash machine, and immediately enjoyed the wares of a local hotdog vendor. Man, the Danes love their sausages. Fortunately, so do Amber and I. The next port of call was the House of Amber, where Amber bought herself a pretty little ring. With at least half a dozen HOA’s in Copenhagen, the Danes also love their amber. Then we checked in to the hotel and put on extra layers of clothing before hitting the city for some kitsch tourist action.

So, we braved the cold (about 14 degrees or so, but with a biting wind) and hit the main shopping precinct. Amber bought some new makeup (she abandoned all of hers at Heathrow customs for some reason) and we enjoyed our first decent coffee since Paris. There was just enough time for Amber and I to purchase a Viking and Danish puffing troll hanging mobile respectively, before we boarded the Hop On Hop Off bus tour. I love a good bus tour. And it would seem that the Danes love a good statue, as I have never seen so many in a city before. One of the highlights was the Little Mermaid statue, despite the rude and thoughtless crowds.

Back in the city centre after the bus tour, Amber and I thought we would check out the venue for the Alphabeat gig and pick up our tickets – our names were on the door you know. I thought that the gig was going to be in a club, but it turned out to be at the Tivoli Gardens, a huge amusement park in the middle of Copenhagen. Supa fun! Amber and I went on a chair-o-plane that was 80m high, and one of the scariest things I have ever been on. Just ask Amber, she still has marks on her arm from my fingernails when I thought my safety belt was undone. After that, we went on a much tamer triple loop rollercoaster to calm my nerves. A couple of amusement games later, I walked out with a stuffed hippo toy and Amber with an ugly rubber light-up alien bouncy thing. Honestly, I don’t know what it was.

We had a quick power nap before donning our party outfits, complete with our new black wool tights that cost us 135 kroner each. Or about £13 each. Or about $AUS30 each. Ouch! But damn were they warm, and we both agreed that they were worth every kroner! A quick tuk-tuk ride back into town (Amber and I’s favourite mode of transport), a pre-gig drink at a local bar, and then we made it to the Tivoli just in time for Alphabeat. Despite a crowd of thousands, we scored ourselves a fantastic spot really close off to the side of the stage. I think the reason we got such a good spot was because no one wanted to stand near the cranky old crab of a woman behind us. I stepped back to let someone through and she started yelling at me in Danish, despite my apologies. I felt rather bad, until she let loose with the same abuse to anyone who dared walk near her. Amber and I dubbed her "Crazy Mum" and tried to direct the moving crowds toward her for the rest of the night.

But Alphabeat were AWESOME! Seriously, so much fun! The male lead singer (who incidentally looked like Rick Astley) was absolutely crazy and totally entertaining. And for a pop group, they sounded really good, as good as on their album. Amber and I danced our little butts off, but were pretty much the only ones. Apparently the Danes don’t really love to dance.

After the relatively short gig (they have only released one album) Amber and I tried to suss out where the after party was, to no avail. So instead we found ourselves at a cosy little bar with a live band. Their white wine went down easily and Hoegaarden was served in a glass as big as your head, literally, so we decided to stay. Over a course of several hours we befriended some brewers from Sheffield and Italy, a middle aged man and his tango partner, and a kid that sort of looked like Perez Hilton. As anyone who has met us can attest, Amber and I know when to call it a night, so we hailed another tuk-tuk driver who tucked us in with a blanket and whisked us home.

However, there was a rather enticing little bar at the end of the street where we were staying, so Amber and I decided to have a nightcap. The hostess asked if we where on the list, and Amber tried to convince her that I was. I think she liked our cheeky attempts, because she let us in and encouraged us to spend big at the bar. Which we did, although it was only on one glass of champagne. Amber and I put on a show for the punters by doing shadow puppets and dancing behind a back-lit curtain, before stumbling down the street and into our hotel.

We awoke early in the morning to the most horrid of hangovers that god has ever cast upon a drinker. It was truly awful. We showered and packed before heading down for a life-saving buffet breakfast. Oh, there was cereal and fruit and cold meats and several cheeses and pate and bread and frittata and eggs and delicious crispy bacon. We left for the airport feeling much better.

There was the obligatory duty free shopping, before boarding a plane back to London at midday.

Best. 24-hour holiday. Ever!

But now I have Post Alphabeat Depression. Sigh…

I won!

I won, I won, I won!

Despite the disappointment last time I entered a London Paper competition, I went back online and entered others.

And I won one!

They called me to let me know that I had won tickets to see the band Alphabeat.

That's pretty cool!

IN COPENHAGEN, DENMARK!

That's pretty effing awesome!

They are covering the tickets, air fares and accommodation!

So Amber and I are jetting over to Copenhagen Friday morning, returning Saturday afternoon so I can spend the rest of the weeekend with my parents.

I am predicting another Best. Weekend. Ever!

PS. Apologies for the excessive exclamation points, but I am really really excited.

Lovebox, exciting and new…

I loved Lovebox!

I’ve never been to a multi-day music festival before, so really had to pace myself. Amber and I got to Victoria Park around 3pm on Saturday and headed straight to the chair-o-plane. Once that was out of the way, we grabbed ourselves some cider and fronted up to see The Black Seeds who were awesome! I can’t believe they are from New Zealand… We mooched around a couple of other stages, befriended some Aussie girls who were attacked in a free merchandise scramble, and somehow managed to miss the Midnight Juggernauts. Instead, Amber and I wheedled our way to the front for Groove Armada, who again put on a fabulous performance. It was the showmanship that really made the set. There were fireworks and confetti and ping pong balls and super-sized balloons – all my favourite things! After Grove Armada we met up with the Barley Mow crew, who had scammed themselves backstage wristbands for the day. Ever the gracious hosts, they took turns in slipping their bands off and letting Amber and I have a look at how the VIPs do it. Laura took me to the back of the stage for Manu Chao, hiding behind the curtains and looking out over the audience. Loved it!

I sensibly packed myself up and trundled home at 11pm, wanting to get a good night’s sleep for day two. Whereas Amber went hell for leather and partied all the way through until the next morning, therefore piking on Sunday’s festivities. Piker Amber!

Sunday I met up with the Barley Mow crew and headed in with them early in the afternoon. I was totally rocking it out in my boots, skinny black jeans, leopard print top, and cardigan – “granny rock” I dubbed it. Sunday was super fun, as I played Eddie’s wingwoman, mislead rock magazine marketing peeps, rode the chair-o-plane again (without hands!), played a lot of leg guitar, and performed some utterly elegant dance routines. Goldfrapp were gorgeous, the Flaming Lips were a lot of fun, Pnau were pumping, and the Dandy Warhols sucked because every schedule had them on at a different time so we missed them. Pthbbbbb! I ignored Greg’s argument to call in sick on Monday, and instead took myself to bed at the rather reasonable hour of midnight.

It was very difficult getting up Monday morning to go to work, but totally worth it.

I love you Lovebox!

Gay Paris

Where to start?

Well, our weekend in Paris was brilliant! Four girls, three nights, too much wine, in one fabulous city…

Jennifer, our delightful little Parisian host for the weekend, met Amber and I at the Eurostar terminal on Friday night and took us out for mojitos while we waited for Charlotte. Then we all went to Chez Papa’s for dinner – I had an omelette (the beginning of my egg filled weekend), and the three girls had gizzard salad. Yum. Jennifer performed the most amazing reverse parallel park that I have ever witnessed, perfectly in line with the kerb and with less than half a foot between her and the car behind and in front. Amber was so impressed she took a photo, while Jennifer nonchalantly told us that that’s just how you park in Paris!

Knowing that we had a big day ahead of us, we started Saturday with a French brunch. Best. Brunch. Ever. We had croissants, granola with yoghurt, hard boiled eggs (that’s my 4th egg so far), crusty bread, ham, prosciutto, cheese, salad, and an espresso. Jennifer and I nearly had food babies afterwards, but it was worth it. Then we hit the shops, before climbing to the top of Montemartre. We barely had enough time to get home and change before heading out for dinner with Charlotte’s brother and cousin. Dinner was at a restaurant that specialised in wine, cheese, and processed meats – all the good stuff. However, I was still rather full from brunch, so just went with a salad (including my 5th egg of the trip). While the food was great, the amenities left a lot to be desired. The French refer to it as a Turkish Toilet, to Amber and I it was dubbed the worst toilet in Paris – a hole in the floor that you sort of squatted over and tried not to splash your shoes. Awful. We barely made it on to the last train of the night, with Charlotte fighting with a vending machine on the platform while Jennifer and I forcibly held the train doors open. I thought I slept pretty well on Saturday night, though apparently my teeth grinding and sleep talking woke Amber up several times.

On Sunday Amber, Charlotte and I caught the train to Versailles, where Charlotte grew up. Charlotte gave me a brief history lesson while we had brunch at a terrace café, where I had my second omelette for the trip, bringing my egg total to seven (for those of you playing at home). Then we skipped over to the castle where Marie Antoinette once lived. There was a massive line up to get in, and an even longer one for the toilet, so Amber walked the perimeter of the castle trying to find a fence to jump, but alas they were all too high. Needing sustenance to get us back to Paris, we found ourselves a little café that served nutella crepes, and I managed to order a cup of tea in French. After a quick (two hour) nap back at Jennifer’s, we got all dolled up ready for a big night on the town. The girls and I had dinner at Tokyorama, complete with a complimentary round of sake shots. Nice one! By the time we met up with the rest of our French friends and made our way to the Firemen’s Ball (the highlight of the trip) the line was all the way around the block – I had never seen so many people! Instead of waiting on the street, we had a few drinks at Coolin’. Ironically the air-conditioning at Coolin’ wasn’t working, so it was stinking hot. But the champagne was chilled, the music was fun, and the glow sticks were flying, so we stayed for a few hours. Finally, we made it to the Firemen’s Ball around 1am, but only after some devious line-cutting by Amber. It was wrong, but it had to be done. The Firemen’s Ball was actually just a massive open-air party in the courtyard of a block of buildings, and was packed with thousands of people. Within minutes of arriving, the group was separated and lost in the crowds. However Amber had the ingenious idea of standing/dancing on one of the bars, so we regrouped. Charlotte and Jennifer tried to set me up with one of the fire station’s captains, but given that he didn’t speak English and I didn’t speak French it was never going to work out… After a hilariously fun time drinking and dancing and making friends, the girls and I stumbled home just as the sun was starting to come up.

Jennifer had plans on Monday, so dropped Charlotte, Amber, I and our luggage off at the Jardin des Tuileries, a huge park in the middle of Paris. We spent the afternoon lying in the sun, drinking sparkling mineral water, sneaking into the Louvre to use the loo, and rehashing our adventures from the weekend. At 5pm we boarded the Eurostar and headed back underseas to London, marking the end of our trip with a bottle of red on the train home.

I can’t wait to go back!

OCD, me me me

It would seem that I have a mild case of OCD. Amber raised the issue with me a while ago and I laughed it off, but it’s true.

In my notebook at work, I have to have red margins on every page. One afternoon I sat down with a new notebook and ruled red margins on every single page. I also have to have the date written at the top of the page in red pen, and underlined. Not so bad, you’re thinking. Except that each day I have to alternate between blue and black pen.

When stepping off the escalator I have to lead with my right foot. I’ve never thought about it or done it intentionally, but realised this the other day. And sometimes I will do this funny little dance of tiny steps so that I get the timing right.

I always shave/dry/moisturise my right leg first.

Walking along the footpath I sometimes have to dodge cracks. Because if I step on too many cracks with one foot then it feels heavy, so I have to purposely step on cracks with my other foot to even it up. And then Mark went and put the idea in my head that I can't step on cracks or gum. Do you know how hard that is over here? There is a serious gum problem - Amber went to a seminar about it. Apparently it costs £2 to remove each piece of gum from the pavement. Did you know that?

A promise is a promise

Okay, so I said that I would try and do some more exciting things in an attempt to stop blogging about tubes and trivia. Well, I’ve come through with the goods. A little recap of the last week and a bit…

Friday
After a long week at work there is nothing better than a couple of drinks. And when drinking with work colleagues there is nothing better than knowing your limit and going home before you get stupid. And when going home there is nothing better than stopping in at the Atlas to have a nightcap with your roommates. Just don’t try and steal the glasses, okay? The night ended with Amber, Matt, Spark and I having Wii dance-off in the loungeroom. I’m pretty sure I didn’t win.

Saturday
As a rule of thumb, Saturday’s are for sleeping in, cleaning, washing, and shopping, and this Saturday was no exception. I also got my fringe trimmed - anyone who knows me understands what a process this is. Saturday night Amber, Matt, Spark and I got all dolled up and went to the Sugar Hut for a couple of drinks. The boys kept to those plans, but Amber and I stayed out to the early hours of the morning dancing (moi) and fighting off Irish men (Amber).

Sunday
I was surprised that we managed to get out of the house at all on Sunday. However, Amber and I made our way down to the Spanish restaurant for some late afternoon sangria. The sangria agreed with Amber, not so much with me. The rest of my afternoon was spent napping on the couch, while Amber and the boys returned to the Sugar Hut. I admire their commitment.

Monday
A nothing day, not worthy of more than this sentence.

Tuesday
Another sad loss for the Facthunt team. I’m not quite sure where we are going wrong, though dad is convinced Amber must be having a flat couple of weeks as he thinks she is the only one that answers any questions.

Wednesday
On Wednesday night I went out for some drinks with a boy. We did a pub crawl of Camden Town , Shoreditch, and Nottinghill, via Liverpool Street to check out these cool lights.

Thursday
A truly horrid day. Work was crap, I was crap, Thursday was crap. The only highlight was Katie Price and Peter Andre’s reality television show on Sky. They are my friends on Facebook, did you know that?

Friday
Remember the time that we went to the Bon Jovi concert?! Amby scored some free tickets from a girl at her work, so we organised a girls night out with Charlotte and Mel. I had the gurgly wurglies, but pushed on for the sake of this blog. We got a little lost on our way to Twickenham, so missed the first two-thirds of the gig. Amber kept reminding us – it’s the journey, not the destination! Mel and I stayed on to hear ‘Bad Medicine’, ‘Have a Nice Day’, and ‘Keep the Faith’ before we hightailed it out of there in an attempt to miss the crowds. A great night was capped off with the purchase of a cowboy hat, and the Best. Kebab. Ever. on the way home. Amber and Charlotte’s trip home was a lot more eventful, with missed trains, numerous night buses, near stabbings, and another visit to the Sugar Hut.

Saturday
We had a quiet morning at home before heading out for drinks at Embankment with the boys, and Dom and Jodie. Everyone was on the Queen Mary, a rickety old boat moored on the Thames that has been converted into a bar/restaurant. The sun was warm and the Magners were cool, though the rocking boat gave me a nasty case of vertigo. We were lucky enough to be surrounded by not only a hen’s party, but by a stag do. The groom-to-be cut a dashing figure in denim jeans with a Borat mankini underneath. Some of the guys that we were with were mocking his hairy chest, so Amber felt the need to stick up for this macho specimen. Then Dom’s boyfriend, Amit, layed an offer on the table that couldn’t be refused – if the groom took off the jeans then Amber would lick his chest. Amber, a woman of her word, carried through on the offer – absolutely hilarious! I’ve never been more proud of her. There was a little bit of mischief on the way home, as we were the only one’s on the train carriage, but I don’t think we need to go into detail as my nephews are reading this. The obligatory hamburger on the way home, before we all retired to bed at a rather respectable hour.

Sunday
I woke up early on Sunday morning to phone the fams in Townsville. Oh, and Jackie, I’m still waiting for those photos! Amber and I decided to venture out of South West London, so headed North East to Brick Lane . We had an awesome curry taster plate at The Spice Brick Lane, contender for Best. Curry. Ever! Fuelled up, we hit the Spitalfields indoor markets and had an hour of power shopping. So many bargains, so little time. I bought a scarf, some earrings, a kimono skirt, a beaded bolero jacket, a star shirt, an animal print jumper, a top for Jaala, and the most hideous dress you could ever imagine. Phew! We were in the general vicinity of Shoreditch, so decided to drop by our favourite non-local pub, the Barley Mow, and visit the gang. After a couple of extremely well priced Magners Amber and I made our way back to West Brompton . And as a bit of a pat on the back for getting out and about on a Sunday, we decided to have a jug of sangria on the way home. Such a lovely way to end the weekend really!

Monday
And that brings us to today. A day when I normally make grandioso promises about joining the gym and eating better and going to bed earlier. HA HA HA HA HA!

Longest. Blog. Ever.

Tube stories

The past couple of weeks have been quiet, hence the lack of blog material. Though in the past fortnight I have collected enough silly tube stories for a post.

Most people, myself included, would find it very hard to believe that I catch public transport. Once dubbed Evie, the environmental vandal, I have since changed my ways. A change that was forced upon me, but that I have rather quickly adapted to.

Over the past two weeks, these funny things have happened while I was on the tube…

On a rather packed Picadilly line train to Covent Garden one Saturday night I saw a young woman dressed ready for a night on the town. Except she was carrying a car spoiler.

On a District line train home one afternoon I offered my seat up to a (rather hot) young man on crutches, only to have him declare that he was fine and refuse my hospitality. “You are on crutches!” I argued. Me thinks the crutches were a sneaky ploy to summon sympathy and attract young women. Can’t believe I fell for that old trick.

On a District line train to visit the Barley Mow gang in Shoreditch one night a rather large, hairy, tattooed and inebriated young man commented “nice hair!” to Amber as we alighted the train. See, I told you it was a good haircut woman!

On a District line train home from Putney Bridge last Saturday night, I just made it onto a carriage as the train was about to pull away. Yay, I thought. Until the train was held between stations and I realised that there was a homeless man with two dirty dogs. BoJo (Boris Johnson, Mayor of London) has recently banned alcohol on public transport; maybe he needs to think about banning stinkin mutts as well.

On the District line train pretty much every morning there is a different couple sucking face in my carriage. The jolting train ride is enough to unsettle one’s stomach, so your smooching noises really make me feel nauseas. And it’s not just because I am single that this offends me, I don’t think any of the middle-age suits are too impressed by your display.

At Westminster Station one Monday morning I found the “Tube Character of the Week”. A 70 year old man that looked like Albert Einstein dressed in a three-piece pinstripe suit, carrying a brief case and umbrella, and wearing a bowler hat. Brilliant!

On a Circle line train one afternoon a man dressed as a pirate was going around collecting money to feed the homeless. I gave him £2 and said “that’s just for your hat, love it!”

Snaps!

Snaps to Facthunt, for our SIXTH consecutive trivia win!

Snaps to Tesco Direct, for delivering my new mattress! Sayonara crappy old mattress with the springs that nearly dislocated my shoulder, oh, you shall not be missed.

Snaps to the Barley Mow, our new favourite (non local) pub! It was well worth the three-tube hour-long trip to Shoreditch just to enjoy the generous hospitality of Eddie, Laura and Greg. Magners for £2, unlimited credits on the jukebox, free run of the place after 11pm, hilarious foreign accents, and ridiculous card tricks – you know I’ll be going back.

Snaps to me for getting a new job! A 10-week contract with a great company and the title of ‘Marketing & Events Executive’. Best part is that I don’t have to do another Birmingham conference with my current job. I am fabulous in London, Birmingham not so much.

Snaps to Marks & Spencer! I will never tire of their chicken laksa noodle salad. I’ve had it at least a dozen times since I’ve been here, and it just keeps getting better. M&S, you don’t put a foot wrong.

Snaps to The People’s Post Office! You may make me wait half an hour in the queue, but it only cost me £6.45 to send a large package to Australia.

Snaps to Mark and Matt for giving us a Wii console! The dance mat is super fun, even if Amber is mega competitive and won’t tell me how to use the hand controls so she can be the best at ‘Rhythm is a Dancer’.

Sunny Sunday in South West Londy

So, it was my 25B (I refuse to say I’m 26) birthday on the weekend. We went out in Soho on Saturday night and had a bit of fun. There was French champagne, my faithful partner in crime, old school friends, new gay husbands, jugs of cosmopolitans, dancing with bathroom attendants, aviator sunglasses, stacks on, long stemmed roses, posed photos, Jazzify street performances, cold samosas, a sea captains hat, and a fry up when we got home. And that’s all I am going to say about that.

I'm not a huge fan of birthdays, but this one was pretty good despite being so far away from my family. I loved all of my cards and flowers and presents, thank you all so much!

As for what we did on my actual birthday, I'm going to let Amber tell that story. So how about a warm round of applause for our guest blogger, Amby!

London days begin early in May - sun rises at around 5 am and doesn't set until nearly 10 pm. An unseasonable week of fantastic weather sets the scene for last Sunday which was a long day full of observations of life in the capital Britain.

AM
After returning home rather late the previous evening (nudged Cinderella out of the way as I made my way through the door), Amanda, Matt, Mark and I ventured down to 'The Slug' to watch a much anticipated Brisbane Broncos vs. Manly Sea Eagles match. As we were all feeling the effects of the previous night (Mandy's 25Bth birthday) we kicked off the morning with some grease (big burger with lots of lard) and a pinch of the hair of the dog (in my case a pint of Magner's Irish cider). The weather was absolutely glorious (27 degrees and sunny), so not surprisingly, all of the pasty locals and their mangy dogs had also ventured out - the fact that there was a Chelsea vs. Bolton football (soccer) semi also added to the colourful delights that filled the streets of Fulham. As the Brisbane Broncos descended into a fiery ball of failure, the 'Slug' slowly filled itself with rowdy soccer yobs either dressed in non-flattering costumes, too tight jerseys or, worst of all, the teams' 'away' jersey (featuring bare chest, beer belly and hairy sponsorship). As the game wound down I had the good fortune to comment to a middle-aged Bobby about my preference for rugby league over the wussy round ball sport. He agreed and we launched into a great conversation about Wigan and the glory days of Ellery Hanley - he asked me if I was going to be back at the pub 'tonight' - he was concerned about my safety I think. So I assured him I would be staying out of the way of any riots, chanting or police violence - he looked disappointed.

EARLY PM
Mandy and I left the Slug (the crowd had become suffocating and Matt and Mark had already deserted us in favour of Sunday lounging at home). As we made our way down the street we were greeted by more and more 'away jerseys'. Disgusted by the lack of dignity of these football fans, Mandy reported her concerns to some young cops keeping an eye on proceedings. "Is that legal in this country?" Mandy asked pointing at a particularly large white specimen whose chafing could not only be seen but heard. One of the cops looked at his fellow countryman with a wry grin before replying "Yes ... but it shouldn't be!". The freak show didn't stop there. Between Farm Lane and Brompton Park Crescent is a small green space - good for exercising dogs or having a snooze or a read on nice days (it's just a shortcut to me). As we entered the green space a man (in a Chelsea jersey of course) walked past us with his young son and wife and other child trailing. As he passed he suddenly jerked his head to the side, placed one finger over his nostril and blew as hard as he could. Yes folks - he pulled out the bushman's hankie!!! On the ground. In front of his family. In front of us. My stomach lurched and I looked at his wife wondering how she ever mustered the courage to produce those two children with that man.

PM
Probably should have stayed in after the morning of atrocities but it's rare that the weather is that good so M&A&M&A headed out the park adjoining our estate. We spread out some sheets as a makeshift picnic blanket and celebrated Mandy's birthday with some Marks and Spencer salad, Mumm champagne and some games of Uno. Luckily I had finished eating when three fat and rather white flamed-haired teenage girls entered the arena accompanied by a skinny little turd of a boy kicking a soccer ball. Two of the 'rangas' were holding hands and I thought it lucky that biology will prevent them from producing a child with both of their genes. The foursome began to kick a soccer ball around the park (even though it was clearly signed that ball games are not allowed!) and every time one of the ten-tonne trio 'scored' she would put the shirt over her head and run about like seismic occurrence. Needless to say this was just gross and like a car crash we all just couldn't stop looking. Eventually the sideshow had to end and the feral foursome walked towards the exit of the park. Two rangas holding hands again, third ranga third wheeling but then things got just that bit worse. The turdy kid walks over the ranga lesbians and proceeds to put his hands down the back of one of their pants. I think this was in a wedgie attempt but instead he just pulled this unfortunate girl's shorts down far enough for most of the park's inhabitants to dry-retch.

LATER PM
Meanwhile, a 'gentleman' entered the park wearing jeans, a button up shirt and carrying his lunch and a newspaper. He sat down approx ten metres from our party and proceeded to eat his lunch. Lunch eaten - check. He then took his shirt off. Shirt off - check. He then proceeded to read his newspaper. Newspaper read - check. He then lay down for a nap. Nap - check. He then not very subtly took off his jeans to expose a pair of non-elasticised Primark jockey shorts and flashed all of equipment in our direction. Who does that????????????? Lucky for us Mandy took a photo.

Time to leave the park and indeed the day behind. After an obligatory evening of delivered oriental food and Sex and City, the sun set on the longest Sunday in South-West Londy.....

Tube characters

There are some funny people on the tube, such as....

The four year old girl who shmushed her banana and then peeled it and licked it like an ice-cream.

The young man who hadn't removed all of his face paint and was singing to himself.

The fabulously dressed young woman who thought it was okay to wear tan coloured stockings with strappy sandals.

The guy dressed in acid wash jeans. With matching jacket.

The attractive young man with a bottle of vodka and two bottles of coke, enjoying a few drinks on the way into the city.

The 65 year old woman in leather pants.

Amber's Grumpy Hot Tube Boy who begrudgingly gives up the fight for an empty seat - "Just take it!"

The many midgets in London. Sorry, I mean 'little people'.