The time has come to fold my last lifesaver t-shirt... my last surf hoodie... and my last “koala on a surfboard” towel... I’m leaving Between the Flags today! So, this blog comes to you direct from the store in the Rocks, - typed by a Celtic blonde looking slightly out of place in surf-wear given her milky white complexion, listening to Blondie's "Denis" (maaay have replaced the head office’s ipod). Anyway, I’ve gone and found a job that will allow me to afford to rent a room in the “pimped-up” properties my housemates and I have been looking at moving into (our house has been sold you see).
So over the last fortnight I’ve found myself answering the calls from a recruitment company I’d contacted a couple of months ago (yes, it’s taken them this long to get back to me...). After a quick briefing on how to charm potential Aussie employers, I pushed aside my neatly folded (you can take a girl out of retail...), Bondi beach tee and replaced it with a frilly blouse, an uber-corporate pencil skirt and killer heels (TOP TIP: Ladies, always wear heels at an interview- especially if the potential employer is male- if you’re taller than him you’ll immediately level the intimidation playing field). Off I tottered into the centre of Sydney, joining the city slickers and corporate commuters on their way to their high powered jobs.
After a 2 hour first interview I was called back for a further grilling, this time from the managing director of the company, together with the sales director who I’d met the day before. I confidently strode into the interview room; cool, calm and collected. And then it started. The weirdest interview of my life. Now I was expecting an interrogation about my experience, my sales training and my qualifications. What I was unprepared for however, was a grilling about why I wanted the salary and commission they were offering. “For the sense of achievement”, I replied, thinking this would portray a goal driven, ambitious young woman. “Too conceptual” snapped the brash American MD. “I wanna know what you’re gonna spend the money on”. So I answered. Giving the only answer that seemed natural at the time. “Shoes.” I said. “Lots of shoes”. But this wasn’t enough. “What about purses” (the yank meant handbags). “Well, it’s more shoes I’d be interested in really”. “Show me your purse” demanded the MD. I tentatively reached down and picked up my rather battered (but still beautiful) 3 year old Topshop shoulder bag. “Why are you carrying such a bad purse? Is it because you can’t sell enough?” he taunted. That was it. I lunged across the table like a lioness, pelting the brash American across the head with my handbag. Or at least that’s what I did in my head. Luckily (for the MD) I can control my temper. I smiled politely and replied, “I’m afraid the airline I flew here with doesn’t provide the baggage allowance for an entire collection of HANDBAGS.” And then faster than you could say “jimmy choo”, the interview came to a close. Two hours later my phone rings. It’s the recruitment company. They only went and offered me the bloody job. Observation: Brash businessmen inhabit both sides of the world. British or Australian, (or American), they’re all as weirdly cryptic to read as each other.
WHINGE of the week (since I’m in my mid twenties and all): Having some friends who were recently visiting Australia for a few weeks I have a certain bone of contention to deal with; this is a message to those people who go on an extended holiday and call it “travelling”: You were not building mud huts in Rwanda. You were not caring for Vietnamese orphans or de-worming endangered pandas in China. And I certainly don’t see evidence of dreadlocks or henna tattoos on your person. You visited a couple of zoos and a few beaches. Perspective, please.
Monday, 11 October 2010
Thursday, 23 September 2010
Week 9/10/11/12 Grumpy Old Woman
September means birthday month for me- normally an exciting time. This year however, I turned 24. Now don’t get me wrong- this is by no means “old”, or “passed it”. Though it does mean that I am no longer in my early twenties. I am officially a member of the “mid twenties” gang. A gang whose patrons have perhaps finished university and held down a grown up job for at least a year , or are perhaps travelling or even starting a family. Having chosen to travel to Australia this year I am amongst those who’ve reached their first adult crossroads- in terms of career choice, lifestyle and general life path. But a certain question has reared its head since my birthday celebrations; what makes you a fully fledged grown up? Is it the type of decisions you have to make regarding your own life? Or is it more your general outlook- the way you view others perhaps?
The northern beaches is a rather young area during the Aussie winter- dominated by teenagers and early twenty-something’s until the slightly older travellers arrive for the surf in the summer. As a result, the majority of people I come into contact with are just a smidgen younger than me. And it would seem, that since my birthday- the marking of my move from one social group to another, I fear I may have become a grumpy old woman, or, “GOW”, if you will.
For example... whilst observing the differences between British fashion and Australian “fashion” I’ve noticed a few key elements. To be deemed as trendy on the northern beaches, follow these few simple steps:
1.Pile hair on top of head in a “messy” bun (that is actually strategically placed with many a Kirby grip)
2.Throw on an oversized shirt that happens to casually fall off your shoulder
3.Team with a pair of teeny tiny denim cut off shorts
4.Complete the look with a pair of lace up boots
Normally I’d look on and think, well, each to their own. However, when a young girl walked onto the bus in the tiniest shorts ever (there was actual bum cheek on show) before I could stop myself I had...gasp... TUTTED. I didn’t mean to, it was an automatic response! Like a bitter old spinster. This, combined with the constant rolling of my eyes when there’s a bunch of rowdy teens sat behind me on public transport is damning evidence of my metamorphism from happy young honey to cantankerous old cow.
Before I get labelled as “ageist” though, I’d like to point out that I’m not just judging younger people with their inappropriate behaviour and taste in undersized clothes. I’d also like to whinge about older folk who should know better. Whilst sitting on Manly beach on my break the other day, soaking up some sun and minding my own business, a shadow was suddenly cast over me. Opening my eyes, I was shocked and appalled to be presented with the grotesque figure of a sweaty and rather rotund Mediterranean man in his 50s (at least) bending over in front of me in the tiniest swimmers ever made (possible tinier than the bum cheek shorts), carrying out what I can only describe as “stretches”. Was it really necessary to attempt to touch his toes within such a short distance of me?
Luckily after this brief “limbering up” session, I was finally left alone. Not for long, however. Whilst enjoying the climax at the end of ELO’s Mr Blue Sky, I was rudely interrupted by Gustav the waiter who decided that it was perfectly acceptable to sit down next to me and start a conversation. No, “Do you mind if I join you?” He just plonked himself down and started talking at me. He wasn’t even serving seaside cocktails.
I’ve asked myself a few times over the last month- am I being unreasonable and unfair? Does a lack of patience and tolerance go hand in hand with getting older? And am I really at that stage where I can empathise with grumpy old women?
I’m glad to report that, contrary to my recent tutting, sighing and moaning, I don’t think I’m quite ready to join that gang just yet. How can I be sure? Well, I too own a few pairs of particularly tiny shorts which I fully intend wearing during the summer months. And although I may have been turning 24, my birthday celebrations involved a toy rifle being used as a beer bong, multiple sambuca shots, and my housemate streaking through the club. All of which, pleased me greatly.
Tip of the week: Whilst having drinks at centre point in Sydney, i.e. at the revolving bar and restaurant- remember that when you visit the loo, your table will be in a different place when you exit... avoid that “oh my god how long was I in there” look by casually strolling in a circle until you’re re-acquainted with your party.
The northern beaches is a rather young area during the Aussie winter- dominated by teenagers and early twenty-something’s until the slightly older travellers arrive for the surf in the summer. As a result, the majority of people I come into contact with are just a smidgen younger than me. And it would seem, that since my birthday- the marking of my move from one social group to another, I fear I may have become a grumpy old woman, or, “GOW”, if you will.
For example... whilst observing the differences between British fashion and Australian “fashion” I’ve noticed a few key elements. To be deemed as trendy on the northern beaches, follow these few simple steps:
1.Pile hair on top of head in a “messy” bun (that is actually strategically placed with many a Kirby grip)
2.Throw on an oversized shirt that happens to casually fall off your shoulder
3.Team with a pair of teeny tiny denim cut off shorts
4.Complete the look with a pair of lace up boots
Normally I’d look on and think, well, each to their own. However, when a young girl walked onto the bus in the tiniest shorts ever (there was actual bum cheek on show) before I could stop myself I had...gasp... TUTTED. I didn’t mean to, it was an automatic response! Like a bitter old spinster. This, combined with the constant rolling of my eyes when there’s a bunch of rowdy teens sat behind me on public transport is damning evidence of my metamorphism from happy young honey to cantankerous old cow.
Before I get labelled as “ageist” though, I’d like to point out that I’m not just judging younger people with their inappropriate behaviour and taste in undersized clothes. I’d also like to whinge about older folk who should know better. Whilst sitting on Manly beach on my break the other day, soaking up some sun and minding my own business, a shadow was suddenly cast over me. Opening my eyes, I was shocked and appalled to be presented with the grotesque figure of a sweaty and rather rotund Mediterranean man in his 50s (at least) bending over in front of me in the tiniest swimmers ever made (possible tinier than the bum cheek shorts), carrying out what I can only describe as “stretches”. Was it really necessary to attempt to touch his toes within such a short distance of me?
Luckily after this brief “limbering up” session, I was finally left alone. Not for long, however. Whilst enjoying the climax at the end of ELO’s Mr Blue Sky, I was rudely interrupted by Gustav the waiter who decided that it was perfectly acceptable to sit down next to me and start a conversation. No, “Do you mind if I join you?” He just plonked himself down and started talking at me. He wasn’t even serving seaside cocktails.
I’ve asked myself a few times over the last month- am I being unreasonable and unfair? Does a lack of patience and tolerance go hand in hand with getting older? And am I really at that stage where I can empathise with grumpy old women?
I’m glad to report that, contrary to my recent tutting, sighing and moaning, I don’t think I’m quite ready to join that gang just yet. How can I be sure? Well, I too own a few pairs of particularly tiny shorts which I fully intend wearing during the summer months. And although I may have been turning 24, my birthday celebrations involved a toy rifle being used as a beer bong, multiple sambuca shots, and my housemate streaking through the club. All of which, pleased me greatly.
Tip of the week: Whilst having drinks at centre point in Sydney, i.e. at the revolving bar and restaurant- remember that when you visit the loo, your table will be in a different place when you exit... avoid that “oh my god how long was I in there” look by casually strolling in a circle until you’re re-acquainted with your party.
Monday, 23 August 2010
Week 7/8 Sydney Samaritans
Well I've been spoilt rotten the last fortnight- it's just been an endless round of freebies and favours! Observation: Sydney is as cosmopolitan as some British cities...yet there are stark differences in peoples attitudes when it comes to the treatment of their fellow men (or women...) For example;
Scenario 1: Waiting for my connecting bus. "Pre-pay only" vehicle approaches. Flustered and tired, I explain to bus driver that I'd happily pay for a ticket. "Pre-pay only" bus driver states. I bow my head and exit vehicle. "Where are you going?" shouts bus driver. "Newport?" I say hopefully. "Ah, jump on" replies bus driver. Woop! British version would probably go something like this; Girl gets on bus. Bus driver says "Pre- pay only". Girl explains she is only travelling to neighbouring suburb. Bus driver orders girl to get off bus.
Scenario 2: Struggling to get mascara off my fingers after applying "day-to-night" make-up whilst aboard the Manly ferry. Clearly an impossible feat to accomplish through scraping with nails alone (Rimmel- it's positively super-stay!) Kind Indian lady sat opposite offers me a baby wipe. I continue my journey with clean hands. British version: Girl on London tube applying mascara. Girl goes to rid her fingers of mascara. Girl is frowned at by fellow tube passengers for not having her own tissues and anti-bacterial gel with her... (hasn't girl heard of swine flu!)
Scenario 3: Power walking down my street, running late (as usual). Two retired gents in a landrover pull over offer me a lift down to the bus stop. I oblige. I arrive on time to work. British version: Girl walking to work. Car pulls over. Girl legs it and calls police. Girl arrives late to work after visiting police station and issuing a statement.
Scenario 4: Attempting to board bus and pay for my fare with a $10 note. Driver has no change. I get another free bus trip. Woop! British version: Girl gets on bus with a tenner note. Bus driver orders girl to get off bus.
Scenario 5: Paying for vegetarian dumplings at Japanese stall in the Rocks market. I issue a verbal disclaimer to market trader that I'm not, in fact, a vegetarian, but just prefer the taste. Market trader exclaims his joy and adds a variety of meaty treats, free of charge, to my plate. British version: Girl explains to waiter in Yo Sushi that she enjoys both vegetarian and meaty delicacies. Yo Sushi waiter explains that girl can choose from vegetarian and meaty delicacies, and pay for each dish according to the colour of the plate.
Scenario 6: Walking passed sweet shop in the Rocks Centre when kind sweet shop man hands me free, freshly cooked watermelon-flavoured goodies. British version: Girl gets arrested for "sampling" pick and mix before deciding to commit to purchase of pink shrimps (and for not using the scoop).
So in the least Tim Westwood (ie, dodgy dj) way, here's a big shout out to the good samaritans of Sydney- thanks for the lifts, sweets and dumplings; you know how to keep a Welsh bird happy...
In other news...
Random moment of the week; Being asked to have my picture taken with a Japanese customer in the surf store where I've recently started working- they wanted a picture with an "Aussie surfer chick". Ah, if only they knew that the closest I've ever come to surfing was almost drowning on a body board on Pendine sands...Still, being confused as Aussie is a refreshing change from Irish...
Tip of the week; When eating your sandwiches on Circular Quay, be sure to nibble in a covert fashion, hiding what you're doing from the glares of the opportunistic sea gulls. They WILL attack you. You WILL scream. It WILL be embarrassing.
Scenario 1: Waiting for my connecting bus. "Pre-pay only" vehicle approaches. Flustered and tired, I explain to bus driver that I'd happily pay for a ticket. "Pre-pay only" bus driver states. I bow my head and exit vehicle. "Where are you going?" shouts bus driver. "Newport?" I say hopefully. "Ah, jump on" replies bus driver. Woop! British version would probably go something like this; Girl gets on bus. Bus driver says "Pre- pay only". Girl explains she is only travelling to neighbouring suburb. Bus driver orders girl to get off bus.
Scenario 2: Struggling to get mascara off my fingers after applying "day-to-night" make-up whilst aboard the Manly ferry. Clearly an impossible feat to accomplish through scraping with nails alone (Rimmel- it's positively super-stay!) Kind Indian lady sat opposite offers me a baby wipe. I continue my journey with clean hands. British version: Girl on London tube applying mascara. Girl goes to rid her fingers of mascara. Girl is frowned at by fellow tube passengers for not having her own tissues and anti-bacterial gel with her... (hasn't girl heard of swine flu!)
Scenario 3: Power walking down my street, running late (as usual). Two retired gents in a landrover pull over offer me a lift down to the bus stop. I oblige. I arrive on time to work. British version: Girl walking to work. Car pulls over. Girl legs it and calls police. Girl arrives late to work after visiting police station and issuing a statement.
Scenario 4: Attempting to board bus and pay for my fare with a $10 note. Driver has no change. I get another free bus trip. Woop! British version: Girl gets on bus with a tenner note. Bus driver orders girl to get off bus.
Scenario 5: Paying for vegetarian dumplings at Japanese stall in the Rocks market. I issue a verbal disclaimer to market trader that I'm not, in fact, a vegetarian, but just prefer the taste. Market trader exclaims his joy and adds a variety of meaty treats, free of charge, to my plate. British version: Girl explains to waiter in Yo Sushi that she enjoys both vegetarian and meaty delicacies. Yo Sushi waiter explains that girl can choose from vegetarian and meaty delicacies, and pay for each dish according to the colour of the plate.
Scenario 6: Walking passed sweet shop in the Rocks Centre when kind sweet shop man hands me free, freshly cooked watermelon-flavoured goodies. British version: Girl gets arrested for "sampling" pick and mix before deciding to commit to purchase of pink shrimps (and for not using the scoop).
So in the least Tim Westwood (ie, dodgy dj) way, here's a big shout out to the good samaritans of Sydney- thanks for the lifts, sweets and dumplings; you know how to keep a Welsh bird happy...
In other news...
Random moment of the week; Being asked to have my picture taken with a Japanese customer in the surf store where I've recently started working- they wanted a picture with an "Aussie surfer chick". Ah, if only they knew that the closest I've ever come to surfing was almost drowning on a body board on Pendine sands...Still, being confused as Aussie is a refreshing change from Irish...
Tip of the week; When eating your sandwiches on Circular Quay, be sure to nibble in a covert fashion, hiding what you're doing from the glares of the opportunistic sea gulls. They WILL attack you. You WILL scream. It WILL be embarrassing.
Sunday, 8 August 2010
Week 5/6: Country over Cosmo? Never!
So this week I found the "adventurer within"- temporarily switching my stiletoes for hiking gear to trek into the Blue Mountains. Awake at 6am (first time since 1989), layered up to the extent that I resembled the lovechild of Michelle McManus and the Michelin Man, more sarnies than one person would ever need for one day packed- and I'm ready for my first non-city based Aussie experience.
I have visions of "Challenge Annika" as we descend into the Grand Canyon, setting off on a four hour trek, that is apparently classed as a "hard" walk (I know, what was I thinking right? And there was me imagining a "nature trail" style stroll, like the kind you get in Pembrey Country Park...) A river crossing, a crawl through a cove, and a short motivational humming of the Rocky theme tune whilst climbing many, many steps later, we reached Evans Lookout. Spectacular. Especially when accompanied by a cheese and pickle sandwich. Observation; a country walk in Wales is a timid stroll compared to an exhilarating Aussie bush trek.
Upon our return to the car, realising it was only 1.30pm (most productive morning ever!) we decided to take a trip to Katoomba. Now I already felt very Bear Grylls having faced the perils of the rainforest during the morning, but as we boarded the vertical railway to take us down the mountain and the theme tune from Indiana Jones started playing (honest!), I became Hannah Davies, "danger seeker"... (ie. Kate Adie crossed with Ellen MacArthur and Angelina Jolie as Tomb Raider).
It wasn't long until I was back in my more familiar habitat however- the Hollywood blockbuster (where I would star as a female Crocodile Dundee) would have to wait. A night out in Manly was in store with a couple friends from Wales. We found ourselves in Sugar Lounge, a lovely little bar on the seafront; drank wine, met a Frenchman whose idea of flirtation was winking numerous times (didn't know whether he was attempting to catch my attention or was merely nervous twitching), and danced to a live band playing Stevie Wonder classics. Aside from my friend managing to tumble, legs akimbo, into the band- landing in a heap at the feet of the lead singer, it was a pretty great night. Conclusion; stiletoes and dancing can be traded in for walking boots and bush adventures ONCE a month only- as awesome as the views are, one can only muster a certain amount of motivation from chanting "buns-of-steel" repeatedely whilst hiking up a mountain. Wiggling to "Signed, Sealed, Delivered" whilst sipping a glass of Chardonnay however, is a purely pleasureable experience (minus the twitchy Frenchman of course...)
Quote of the week; "Don't you find possums really camp- you know, how they just mince across the power lines". According to my Welsh friend, who has recently arrived in Sydney, the possum is the more homosexual of the nocturnal Australian creatures...
I have visions of "Challenge Annika" as we descend into the Grand Canyon, setting off on a four hour trek, that is apparently classed as a "hard" walk (I know, what was I thinking right? And there was me imagining a "nature trail" style stroll, like the kind you get in Pembrey Country Park...) A river crossing, a crawl through a cove, and a short motivational humming of the Rocky theme tune whilst climbing many, many steps later, we reached Evans Lookout. Spectacular. Especially when accompanied by a cheese and pickle sandwich. Observation; a country walk in Wales is a timid stroll compared to an exhilarating Aussie bush trek.
Upon our return to the car, realising it was only 1.30pm (most productive morning ever!) we decided to take a trip to Katoomba. Now I already felt very Bear Grylls having faced the perils of the rainforest during the morning, but as we boarded the vertical railway to take us down the mountain and the theme tune from Indiana Jones started playing (honest!), I became Hannah Davies, "danger seeker"... (ie. Kate Adie crossed with Ellen MacArthur and Angelina Jolie as Tomb Raider).
It wasn't long until I was back in my more familiar habitat however- the Hollywood blockbuster (where I would star as a female Crocodile Dundee) would have to wait. A night out in Manly was in store with a couple friends from Wales. We found ourselves in Sugar Lounge, a lovely little bar on the seafront; drank wine, met a Frenchman whose idea of flirtation was winking numerous times (didn't know whether he was attempting to catch my attention or was merely nervous twitching), and danced to a live band playing Stevie Wonder classics. Aside from my friend managing to tumble, legs akimbo, into the band- landing in a heap at the feet of the lead singer, it was a pretty great night. Conclusion; stiletoes and dancing can be traded in for walking boots and bush adventures ONCE a month only- as awesome as the views are, one can only muster a certain amount of motivation from chanting "buns-of-steel" repeatedely whilst hiking up a mountain. Wiggling to "Signed, Sealed, Delivered" whilst sipping a glass of Chardonnay however, is a purely pleasureable experience (minus the twitchy Frenchman of course...)
Quote of the week; "Don't you find possums really camp- you know, how they just mince across the power lines". According to my Welsh friend, who has recently arrived in Sydney, the possum is the more homosexual of the nocturnal Australian creatures...
Wednesday, 28 July 2010
Week 3/4 I'M NOT IRISH
A month in Sydney- and I still get butterflies everytime I'm on the L90 bus driving over the harbour bridge (not that I'm driving, although I was VERY close to staging a coup the other day; the driver seemed unfamiliar with 4th gear and narrowly missed numerous parked vehicles...) I seem however, to be spending the majority of my time on the L90, being an hour out of the city. So much time, it seems, that I've been recognised and approached, as a "regular user". My housemate and I have had a couple of weekends on the trot where we've trekked into the city on a Saturday evening, not been able to muster the patience to get back to the northern beaches in our merry state, and instead made our return journey the following day. Much to the amusement of one Aussie spectator who just moved to the area and spotted us two weeks running on both journeys; "Yeh, I recognised you guys, and remembered your Irish accent" (I'm not Irish) Now I don't know what's more worrying, the fact that my Sunday walks of shame have become a regular occurence, or that I have become aquainted with Bob the stalker (not really his name)
I've been making a few friends on my travels recently. Whilst bopping down to town last week, listening to Aretha Franklin's "Think" (the only tune that gets me up and down my local everest-stylee hill), bearded neighbour Jim started small talking about dogs, (or something?)... "Ah" he sighed, "What a lovely Cork accent you have". (no, I'm not Irish).
Last Saturday was the launch of Lion Pie Productions- a production company, founded by a friend of one of my housemates. Their flagship documentary "The Cameleers" is hysterical. In short- this guy won $12,000 on Deal or no Deal and announced that he was going to spend the money making a documentary (or, doco, in Aussie-speak) about trekking across Western Australia with camels. It's dry, sharp, and witty, and would quite frankly be a welcome addition to the Australian tv schedule. Observation; currently, "comedy" on Aussie tele is found in the form of the likes of "The Matty Johns Show" (terrible magazine show which includes Matty and co dressing up as corny characters, acting out utterly unfunny sketches), and "The Best of Paul Hogan" (yes, that is the guy off Crocodile Dundee). Give me a bit of Mock the Week/ QI/ Buzzcocks anyday. Anyway, was a nice little evening, good people, free beer and pies too- almost went without a hitch... "Hi guys, thanks for coming, can I interest you in a mini pie?" "Ooo," I replied, "What flavours do you have?" "Ahh man, that's a great Irish accent"... Let's just say he's lucky he still had beef and onion left...
Tip of the fortnight; always carry an ipod whilst on public transport- it allows you to block out the disturbing tones of "eccentrics" who spontaneously burst into song whilst sat next to you.. (true story, he wasn't even singing along to anything in particular, was vocally "jamming", if you will. Head mental.)
I've been making a few friends on my travels recently. Whilst bopping down to town last week, listening to Aretha Franklin's "Think" (the only tune that gets me up and down my local everest-stylee hill), bearded neighbour Jim started small talking about dogs, (or something?)... "Ah" he sighed, "What a lovely Cork accent you have". (no, I'm not Irish).
Last Saturday was the launch of Lion Pie Productions- a production company, founded by a friend of one of my housemates. Their flagship documentary "The Cameleers" is hysterical. In short- this guy won $12,000 on Deal or no Deal and announced that he was going to spend the money making a documentary (or, doco, in Aussie-speak) about trekking across Western Australia with camels. It's dry, sharp, and witty, and would quite frankly be a welcome addition to the Australian tv schedule. Observation; currently, "comedy" on Aussie tele is found in the form of the likes of "The Matty Johns Show" (terrible magazine show which includes Matty and co dressing up as corny characters, acting out utterly unfunny sketches), and "The Best of Paul Hogan" (yes, that is the guy off Crocodile Dundee). Give me a bit of Mock the Week/ QI/ Buzzcocks anyday. Anyway, was a nice little evening, good people, free beer and pies too- almost went without a hitch... "Hi guys, thanks for coming, can I interest you in a mini pie?" "Ooo," I replied, "What flavours do you have?" "Ahh man, that's a great Irish accent"... Let's just say he's lucky he still had beef and onion left...
Tip of the fortnight; always carry an ipod whilst on public transport- it allows you to block out the disturbing tones of "eccentrics" who spontaneously burst into song whilst sat next to you.. (true story, he wasn't even singing along to anything in particular, was vocally "jamming", if you will. Head mental.)
Thursday, 15 July 2010
Week 2: Buses and Beer
Bus drivers- turns out they're as unhelpful in this country as in Wales. I was jaunting into the city by bus two days ago for an interview with a recruitment company. Greeted with a grumpy frown I cheerfully asked the bus driver to be taken to Bridge St- one of the largest streets in Sydney. "Where?" the female bus driver spat. In my best "toned-down-think-I'm-doing-a-voice-over" accent accompanied with that wide grin I was telling you about that I've now perfected, I repeated "Bridge (pause) Street". "What suburb?" replied bus driver in a louder, "you're blatently a new, over-enthusiastic tourist and I don't have time for your stupidity" manner. "In the city?" "Right, the city", she huffed. And continued with the distribution of my fare. I felt her scowling eyes on my back as I trotted to a spare seat. Our brief, but loud conversation had attracted the attention of the rest of the bus-travelling population. None of whom were impressed at my holding up of the service, which, in my defence, was delayed anyway.
Observation; Public transport- as stressful as trying to convince Mel Gibson to chillax.
Happier times laid ahead with Jill and Julie from the recruitment company. Jill and Jules- a delightful combination of double act and married couple. Julie, tall, 80's throwback haircut, hoop earrings and red lippy; "I'm Julie, this is Jill- you'll probably get us confused- start the conversation with Julie, end it with Jill, everyone does it!" "Ha, yes, the two J's!" squawked Jill- shorter, tamer haircut, equally as fabulous in tailored corporate suit however. High pitched giggling ensued. Of course I joined in with their enthusiasm- they're getting me work after all.
Observation; British recruitment consultants = pushy, false, normally gurning or twitching after the night before's cocaine use. Aussie recruitment consulants = welcoming, helpful, only uncontrollable facial expression being a broad smile. Evidently for Jill and Jules, who needs class A drugs when a nice cup of Earl Grey does the trick quite nicely.
Tip of the week; avoid low carb beer at all costs- last night I experimented with "Chill- the low carb beer with natural lime". It tasted like urine.
Observation; Public transport- as stressful as trying to convince Mel Gibson to chillax.
Happier times laid ahead with Jill and Julie from the recruitment company. Jill and Jules- a delightful combination of double act and married couple. Julie, tall, 80's throwback haircut, hoop earrings and red lippy; "I'm Julie, this is Jill- you'll probably get us confused- start the conversation with Julie, end it with Jill, everyone does it!" "Ha, yes, the two J's!" squawked Jill- shorter, tamer haircut, equally as fabulous in tailored corporate suit however. High pitched giggling ensued. Of course I joined in with their enthusiasm- they're getting me work after all.
Observation; British recruitment consultants = pushy, false, normally gurning or twitching after the night before's cocaine use. Aussie recruitment consulants = welcoming, helpful, only uncontrollable facial expression being a broad smile. Evidently for Jill and Jules, who needs class A drugs when a nice cup of Earl Grey does the trick quite nicely.
Tip of the week; avoid low carb beer at all costs- last night I experimented with "Chill- the low carb beer with natural lime". It tasted like urine.
Wednesday, 7 July 2010
Week 1: Teeth and Trollop
So I’m a week down under and finally have tinternet access! A 22 hour flight complete with gorgeous Asian food, viewings of Valentines Day, There’s Something about Mary, and Invictus (well, half a viewing- bloody boring) and a short nap (kept doing that embarassing head nod thing where you land on the person next to you) later, and I’d landed in Sydney. Ready to start my research- how different from the “land of song” would it be to live in “the land down under”.
First observation- not very. It’s pissing it down. Apparently its the coldest and wettest winter here in 61 years. The joy. So its meant that rather than shimmying up and down the northern beaches in my newly bought summer wardrobe, courtesy of Topshop, scoping out the beautiful people from Home and Away who film up the road in Palm beach, I’ve spent my time dodging showers in (gag) a hoody. Daily routine- wake up (freezing), scoff bowl of Special K, leg it down humongous hill I live on top of, catch bus, acquire “essentials”, ie laptop, mobile, bedding, power walk (with many, many pauses to avoid heart attack) back up hill, then spend evening with housemates. An Englishman, an Aussie and a Kiwi. 3 men and a Welsh lady- (how early 90’s).
Initial conversation with my multi-national roomies suggest I’ll have a ball here. Whereas back in Wales, my accent is obviously much of muchness, out here it’s like a tool- a conversation starter, a bonding mechanism. I could be as insulting as I want, but say it in my strongest South-Walian (is that a word?) accent, accompanied with a large grin, and they’ll take it as a compliment! Theory put to test last Saturday night- first night clubbing in Sydney central. Went to club called Chinese Laundry, fabulous. First impression- girls clubbing dress sense= same as Wind St in Swansea on a Saturday night, ie, how much arse and boob can I show before I get arrested for being a street walker. To paraphrase a very good friend of mine – “knee deep in trollop”. Harsh, I know. But for the moment, I’m yet to see any evidence to the contrary. But as for communicating- once I’d slowed down from machine-gun speed so people could understand me, in the most part the accent was deemed as charming. I wonder how long it’ll take before friends I make run out of words to make me say and we’ll have to find proper stuff to talk about?
Sun’s just come out (thank god). So I’m off to Palm Beach (not to stalk hotties at all...).
Oh, ps- quote of the week: “I’m surprised you’re Welsh, with all those teeth.” Thank you, Aussie Simon; apparently all other Welsh folk he’s met have been significantly toothless. Charming.
First observation- not very. It’s pissing it down. Apparently its the coldest and wettest winter here in 61 years. The joy. So its meant that rather than shimmying up and down the northern beaches in my newly bought summer wardrobe, courtesy of Topshop, scoping out the beautiful people from Home and Away who film up the road in Palm beach, I’ve spent my time dodging showers in (gag) a hoody. Daily routine- wake up (freezing), scoff bowl of Special K, leg it down humongous hill I live on top of, catch bus, acquire “essentials”, ie laptop, mobile, bedding, power walk (with many, many pauses to avoid heart attack) back up hill, then spend evening with housemates. An Englishman, an Aussie and a Kiwi. 3 men and a Welsh lady- (how early 90’s).
Initial conversation with my multi-national roomies suggest I’ll have a ball here. Whereas back in Wales, my accent is obviously much of muchness, out here it’s like a tool- a conversation starter, a bonding mechanism. I could be as insulting as I want, but say it in my strongest South-Walian (is that a word?) accent, accompanied with a large grin, and they’ll take it as a compliment! Theory put to test last Saturday night- first night clubbing in Sydney central. Went to club called Chinese Laundry, fabulous. First impression- girls clubbing dress sense= same as Wind St in Swansea on a Saturday night, ie, how much arse and boob can I show before I get arrested for being a street walker. To paraphrase a very good friend of mine – “knee deep in trollop”. Harsh, I know. But for the moment, I’m yet to see any evidence to the contrary. But as for communicating- once I’d slowed down from machine-gun speed so people could understand me, in the most part the accent was deemed as charming. I wonder how long it’ll take before friends I make run out of words to make me say and we’ll have to find proper stuff to talk about?
Sun’s just come out (thank god). So I’m off to Palm Beach (not to stalk hotties at all...).
Oh, ps- quote of the week: “I’m surprised you’re Welsh, with all those teeth.” Thank you, Aussie Simon; apparently all other Welsh folk he’s met have been significantly toothless. Charming.
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