I said, well well well? What do you have to say for yourself?

'One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. Ten.'

2011-06-02T05:20:00.000-07:00

1. Never let no-one know how much dough you hold, 'cause you know the cheddar breed jealousy.
2. Never let 'em know your next move. Don't you know bad boys move in silence or violence.
3. Never trust nobody.
4. Never get high on your own supply.
5. Never sell no crack where you rest at.
6. That goddamn credit, dead it. You think a crackhead payin' you back, shit forget it.
7. This rule is so underrated, keep your family and business completely separated.
8. Never keep no weight on you. Them cats that squeeze your guns can hold jobs too.
9. If you ain't getting bags stay the fuck from police.
10. A strong word called consignment, strictly for live men, not for freshmen. If you ain't got the clientele say hell no, 'cause they gon' want they money rain, sleet, hail, snow.

A headline, one that quickly got pushed down the list of most "important" stories for today I'd like to point out, on the BBC website today: 'Global war on drugs 'has failed' say former leaders'. Three words, and excuse my French: No fucking shit.

I think the 'War on Drugs' probably grinds my gears more than the 'War on Terror', and that bad boy gets more than a grimace when brought up in conversation. In fact, all 'wars' that are waged against a concept or social or cultural problem get me agitated. As once quoted by my beloved Wire:

'You can't even call this shit a war.'
'Why not?'
'Wars end.'

And therein lies a fundamental problem, no? How on earth do you wage war against a global problem that nobody really knows how to fight. Or if people do have possible solutions, current governing bodies wholly disagree and choose instead to fund a 'war' that, as many have pointed out, is based more upon the idea of prohibition and imprisonment that true rehabilitation or getting to the heart and soul of an issue. My big, big problem with the 'War on Terror' and the majority of Western attitudes to fundamentalism in general, lie in the extreme lack of understanding. If you're not prepared to educate and understand why this happens; why people turn to extremism, how fundamentalists manipulate the Qur'an and for what purpose, how will you ever be able to defeat the values that are the true heart of what 'terror' really is. Instead, governments throw money at shock and awe tactics, on violence and well, terror. Although obviously a slightly different scenario, the 'War on Drugs' lies on the same principles - most notably, lack of understanding.

This is all just my two cents on the matter of course. I do not truly think I know more about what's best for the whole wide world when it comes to drugs. I'm no nun and definitely no saint. But hey, life'd be boring if we all didn't have an opinion and I guess I'm just more of an opinionated fuck than most. As it turns out, there are quite a few former world leaders who also had a bit of an opinion on the matter, and their report has concluded that the war on drugs 'has not, and cannot, be won'. Probably the most interesting solutions they propose are:

End the criminalisation, marginalisation and stigmitisation of people who use drugs but who do no harm to others.
Encourage experimenation by governments with models of legal regulation of drugs, especially cannabis, to undermine the power of organised crime and safeguard the health and security of their citizens.
Offer a wide and easily accessible range of options for treatment and care for drug dependence, including substitution and heroin-assisted treatment, with special attention to those most at risk, inc. those in prisons and other custodial settings.
Countries that continue to invest mostly in a law enforcement approach, despite the evidence, should focus their repressive actions on violent organised crime and drug traffickers in order to reduce the harms associated with the illicit drug market.

Yikes, radical. I'm sure that will shake a few feathers in the global community. And, of course, the White House has already basically said that the report is a crock of shit, cleverly disguised by the word 'misguided'. And then come the figures, and the back and forth, and the blah blah blah. I think we can probably all safely say that drug production, use and supply is pretty out of control. Even if most of us don't know facts or figures, the evidence is all around us. Most have tried them, and if they haven't, they'll know shitloads who have. Most will know somebody who sells drugs, and if they don't, they'll sure as hell know a friend of a friend who does. The rule gets slightly iffy when it comes to production itself, but drugs are undoubtedly immersed in our culture. And then there's the media, the film industry, the music industry. Today, we watched The Departed - a movie centred on a violent organised crime boss who does what? Produces and supplies drugs. There are constant drug-related news items; drug mules, drug-fuelled crimes, drug arrests, drug crackdowns.. you get the picture. And then, of course, hip hop. I don't want to be a dick that generalises because, of course, it's not always the way, but this is a genre where a lot of kids have come from an environment that lives and breathes drugs; they come from the corners and they turn to music. They write about what they know, and what they know is a shitload about drugs. People think it's all egotistical bullshit about fucking bitches, popping gats or whatever and doing mountains of cocaine off some chick's tits, but listen to some of the lyrics and really listen. Put on some Nas, Notorious, Wu-Tang, 2pac, Jay-Z, even Lupe and Mos Def and they come from a real place where this shit really happens, where 12-year-olds are slinging drugs on street corners and there really aren't a whole lot of options. Not a place you'd particularly want to be.

And then comes The Wire (c'mon, you knew it was coming.. it's pretty much the fictional love of my life). These are a group of people who get it. They see the effect drug has on communities, on families, on cities and on a whole class of people. David Simon, the creator of The Wire, is pretty much a pioneer of trying to tell the world of how the drugs industry facilities the erosion of American cities. His take on the 'War on Drugs'?

"[The US government's war on drugs is] nothing more or less than a war on our underclass, succeeding only in transforming our democracy into the jailingest nation on the planet."

Man doesn't beat about the bush. According to DrugSense (they get their stats from crime reports and the FBI, but a pinch of salt, as with anything please) arrests for drug law violations in the US in 2011 will be more than the 1,663,582 people arrested in 2009, and somebody is arrested for drug-related matters every 19 second. And apparently, the U.S. government spent $500 a second on the 'War on Drugs' in 2010, equating to about $15billion for the year alone. If that's the case, think about how much money has been spent fighting a concept-war since Richard goddamn Nixon first coined the phrase in 1971. Scary shit.

So, what do you do? In Season 3 of The Wire, a very brave Major decides to see what would happen if he were to legalise drugs. All under the table of course, he sets up a zone where drug dealers and addicts can freely do their business with no police interference. It works like a charm, the crime stats drop, the violence rates decrease and everybody seems pretty happy. Everybody, that is, apart from his bosses who consequently fire his ass when they find out. It might not exactly sound like Utopia, but see where the writers are coming from and they may have a point. Perhaps not to the extent where legalising smack, crack and cocaine would be the best idea ever, but relaxing the rules and taking a less oppressive approach to drugs may not be all bad. When I read Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets (it's non-fiction, it's set in the 80s, it's brutal and it's absolutely amazing), I was genuinely shocked. There is a class of people that live in the underbelly of American society as a direct result of drugs. And the worst part seems to be that there's very little help out of the hole. As I said before, I always feel like the best way to be able to fight something is to understand it fully. Understand the drug industry; where it comes from, why it sells, where it sells and who to, who foots the bills, who makes the money, why cities are crumbling to it and what makes an addict an addict, add it all together, do the maths and figure it the fuck out. Because whatever the global community is doing right now to fight drugs clearly isn't working. And if Kofi Annan knows it, surely the rest of us can't be that far behind.

Declare this an emergency, spread a sense of urgency, and pull us through..

2011-03-12T04:00:00.000-08:00

I don't think I have ever been in a point in my life where I have been so acutely aware of what is going on around me. That was an unbelivably vague opening line, well done. By that I mean all the batshit crazy events that seem to be unfolding at quickpace around the world; Japan being the most recent natural disaster to top the list of 'holy fuck!' moments.

Being in New Zealand is a completely different kettle of fish to being back in the UK for these sorts of things. Over here, especially since the last two earthquakes in a shaken-to-shit Christchurch, you begin to pay more and more attention to them. I felt the September 4th earthquake, my very first as a thankful natural disaster virgin. It was teensy, like a lorry grumbling past your window at some sleepy hour in the morning, but there it was none the less. I was sleeping off a horrendous hangover for the last one, but there it was.. a nasty little surprise that nobody really saw coming apart from some whacked out moon man with his theories of tide and time and earth movement. Perhaps calling him 'whacked out' is slightly hurtful, he's just a guy with some ideas, and I'll give him his kudos. If his next prediction turns out to be true, we could be getting slapped with another nice gift from Mother Nature, a 9.0+ earthquake that's supposed to be arriving sometime next weekend. Though I'm more of a skeptic than a sponge, it'll be at the back of my mind as I spend the 3-day window in an open field, near no copious amounts of water (back off, Lake Wakitapu) or unsturdy looking buildings with suspicious looking balconies.

Here, your awareness is different. When Christchurch Strike #2 kicked off, the whole country was skitsed out. You never really realise, thousands of miles away, in your nice earthquakeless country, how huge the rammifications of these things are. Of course, you are aware, and you understand, but when out of the line of fire, perspectives change. I wasn't in Christchurch, I didn't lose my house, my work, time, money, sleep, my friends or my family. But 300km away, people did. We still live here, on a lovely little faultline that likes to awake from its slumber every now and again and stir up some epic shit, in a country where the six degrees of separation rule probably isn't too far off.

If you consult the image above, of the omnious sounding 'Pacific Ring of Fire', you will notice that New Zealand sits smack bang in the middle of a nice little orange line that is supposed to represent where two plates meet. The UK sits out of view, somewhere to the top right of that picture, with no blobby orange lines to speak of. At home, your attention falls to different kinds of worries: an undeniably wellspoken public schoolboy running our country, economic shitstorms, Prince Andrew being pals with a sex offender. You know, the usual. I can think of only once that I ever remember the earth moving back home. I think a couple pictures fell off walls and people went apeshit. Over the last few weeks, conversations along the lines of 'What would you do if there was an earthquake here??' have been aplenty, followed by hypothesising over countless scenarios (the lake turning into a tsunami being Big Concern Number One) if it did hit big. Moonman's March 19th-21st prediction for Otago has been a hot topic, overtaking the usual stories of who slept/banged/vommed in which toilet in which bar.

One of the big ways I notice the difference in how NZ and the UK react to these things is Facebook. That sounds shit, as if it's the gateway into people's innermost thoughts and feelings or something, but check out those statuses and there'll be a big difference. I have not seen one single status update about Christchurch or Japan come from the UK, whereas there's been an inundation from people I know in NZ. Maybe my friends back home all just have hearts made of steel. Or maybe it's that level of proximity thing.. because an event just seems so unreal, you can't identify. Fuck, I can't identify either, but whether people think about it briefly just once, or it keeps popping up in your mind, it's out there - it could happen here. It did, 5 hours

away and that was close enough (take note, Mother Nature).

I'm not really sure where I'm going with this. Guess it's just one of those things I like to have a little ponder about. Any more than that and I'd end up scaring myself shitless and probably would never come out of hibernation from underneath a reinforced desk or sturdy wooden doorframe. I have a horrible fascination with natural disasters, which makes me sound like a weird, morbid freak, but there's something so interesting about what nature can do. I don't think the amount of National Geographics and David Attenborough documentaries floating about at home helps matters. Today I learnt that a whale's penis can be up to 12ft, and one of its balls can weigh up to a ton. Although still centered around genitals, it makes a nice change to the usual conversation that takes place. As I type this, in the Google search bar at the top right of the page, is 'tubgirl'. Google it, I dare ya. But you have been warned.

(P.S. These links are pretty interesting. I've included Moonman's theories because, like I said, he be a hot topic right now. Decide for yourself, and party hard 'til 2012!

Just incase.)

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/programmes/from_our_own_correspondent/9422281.stm

http://www.predictweather.com/ArticleShow.aspx?ID=339&type=home

http://dotearth.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/03/11/ocean-spanning-power-of-japans-great-quake-on-display/

http://www.nytimes.com/2004/12/31/international/worldspecial4/31wave.html?_r=2&pagewanted=all&position=

http://www.heraldsun.com.au/news/special-reports/days-that-broke-hearts/story-fn7zkbgs-1226020466834 )

It's 6 million ways to die, from the seven deadly thrills, eight year olds getting found with 9mills..

2010-10-01T06:46:00.000-07:00

I always struggle with knowing exactly how to start these posts. Considering I leave about six months between each one, there's about six million thoughts of incomprehensible length and variety to choose from.

Today, I'm shooting with The Big Picture.

The last two weeks have been interesting. I have successfully managed to be the moodiest, negi, uber-bitch in probably the whole of the southern hemisphere. There has been this niggling feeling of dissatisfaction that has been looming over me and for some reason I just couldn't shake it off. I won't lie, it's pretty difficult to try and write it down because I'm so used to stuttering over my own words, going off on a million different tangents as I try and explain to everyone and anyone what exactly is going on in my head. My head, it turns out, is lacking stimulation, and doesn't like it all that much. I'll let you in on a well-known secret about Queenstown: it's small. Very small. Which means that a lot of people here suffer from Small-Town Syndrome.

Let us explore Small-Town Syndrome a little bit. STS (not to be confused with STIs, thank you) is a terrible condition which affects people inhabiting an area that extends roughly around four blocks. Under the influence of STS, people tend to have an unflinching desire to know each other's business, enter into frequent bouts of pointless gossiping and perhaps also over-politicise situations so that even the most mundane event becomes an 'ohmigod!' scenario. I'd like to point out that STS does not affect everybody, but a fair few people fall victim to the entrapments of Small-Town Syndrome, and undoubtedly, the effects can be tragic.

This, in turn, puts me off Queenstown a fair bit. I've been here for four months. Four months of cold (nb., Mother Nature, not helping), retarded gossip, more than one or two nights that have become lost to me because of severe intoxication and well, not really having a stable job. I just have two relatively unstable jobs instead. So, this sounds like I'm having a fucking awful time right, and I bet whoever is reading this is just sat pondering why I don't just pack up my trusty Berghaus and fuck right off. Well, the thought has tempted me many a time before. A lot, actually, over the last few weeks. But now, all has become clear. The clouds have parted and I have had my brilliant, shining, halo-ridden epiphany. Queenstown has its pros (beautiful scenery, some of the most terrific people you'll ever meet, and the fact you know everybody means you'll never go hungry for a shot of vodka), and moving onto a new place for a while is problematic for many reasons. The biggest one being, I think my Grand Plan For 2011 is do-able. I didn't think it before, but of course, that is because I never sat down and took the time to work it all out. I have now done this. And this is what is going to happen.

In February 2011 I will depart New Zealand for Sydney. To see my staunchettes and finally go to that fucking Chinese Friendship Garden and do that bloody Botanical Gardens walk and all the shit I never did when I actually lived there (fuck, I'm such a procrastinator). Then, leave Sydney for Singapore. Once I find myself thrust into Asia, I will somehow find a nice route that incorporates Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam and Thailand and lands me in Bangkok at the end of a six to eight week stint. I will then fly from Bangkok to Mumbai and do exactly the same in India, finding myself in Dehli to catch a flight back to London in May/June.

That, ladies and gents, is The Grand Plan. Shit me, if it happens, I will be probably the most proud person in the world. I've done digging through Expedia for the flights, I can definitely afford them. It's just the rest. I don't want to go into boring budgeting details on here, but I am feeling fucking positive about the whole affair. I know I can do it, I saved in Sydney and my life there consisted of rounds upon rounds of Jager shots, Thai dinners and shopping. If I can save in Sydney, I can save in Queenstown.

And then, well, this is the hazy part. Home has been like a broken record on my mind lately. Everything keeps spinning right back to it. I know it's because Queenstown is so transient that it becomes impossible NOT to think about home. Jesus, everybody here is leaving right now. Shoulder season has well and truly set in, and everybody is departing for greener pastures. For a lot of people, the green is home. So, when the shoulder season blues sink in, home becomes a natural little thing ticking away in the back of your mind like a really irritating timebomb. I don't know if a timebomb can really be irritating but in this case it is. For me, it's practicality. I can't stay over here forever, and truth be told, I see no life for myself in New Zealand or Australia. They are amazing, beautiful places, but fuck me, I could never spend the rest of my life here. It's too slow, and backwards, and there is no opportunity in all reality. Plus, the chocolate is shit. And I never want to spend 40 bucks on a tub of foundation ever again. In fact, I think I might write an angry worded letter about that last point. Dear Mr Cosmetics, Please decrease your prices in the Australasia region, I can no longer afford to pay my weekly wage to ensure I don't scare children in the street. Kind Regards, Scary-Faced Frankie.

So. It's like, where next? I can't work in Asia, or India. And truthfully, I do see myself going back to the UK at some point. I inevitably know I will get the blues, or perhaps even full-blown clinical depression, but I don't intend it to be forever. It is merely a stop-gap to raise money for the next chapter of travelling. The issue now is what to do when I get there. I still want to do my PGCE, and ideally a TEFL on top of it, and so it's just deciding whether to apply for it not. I figure, might as well, not a lot to lose really. I don't HAVE to go. The Education Grim Reaper isn't going to come bounding after me with his little axe thing if I choose to sack it off. But I HAVE to do it soon if I want to go back into education for next September, I'm sort of running out of time with that one. I know now that Brighton is where I want to be for a bit, just a year or so. Hang out, see a new city, live somewhere else that's most definitely not Hampshire, and somewhere that very much isn't Welsh. Yowza, home. It's still a weird notion for me to get my head around.

Fuck, this post is boring, isn't it?

Maybe I should delete it all and tell you instead about the incredibly hilarious situations I've been in recently, which perhaps in retrospect I should just keep to myself. Imagine me drunker than I have ever been in my life and you're about a tenth of the way there.

The Big Picture is a fucking nuisance. But now I'm closer to figuring it all out, I feel so much better. The negativity is fading, the bitch in me is going back to under her rock and the moodiness has been replaced with something that I think resembles a big grin. I want now to just book the flights, have a set date, and get fucking excited. Seriously, this trip has been something I've wanted to do for over six months now, and getting closer to actually doing it is epic. Massively, massively epic. If I can pull it off, get the money together, see myself through it alive and without losing an eye, a limb or a passport, I'll be pretty motherfucking stoked.

And then, just maybe, I'll be seeing my bestests in June. And what a day that one'll be :)

I will beg my way into your garden, I will break my way out when it rains..

2010-06-01T02:34:00.002-07:00

This is just a quick update of what's going on in my life as it turns out I am the laziest person probably known to mankind. Aside from that obtusely fat man who had to get craned out of his house. I think he was on Jerry Springer. I don't intend to go down that route, but I do promise to try and update this more frequently. Facebook sucks and I'm not sure why I have this passionate relationship with it when all it is is boring status updates such as "Tony is pissed off it's raining"; "Mandy is in the bath :) <3";>

Fuck you, I don't care. The only ones I do care about are my chums, and people who are travelling because I guarantee it's 110% more interesting that 99.9% of people on social networking sites. Speaking of travellers, bring back news feed photos! Man, I miss it.

In one week, I leave for New Zealand. I've been massively jumping the gun and looking up flights to SE Asia and India and Africa and everywhere else ever in the world. I probably won't get to any of those places past Asia (although whoaa flights to Mumbai are pretty cheap if you look in pounds, I'm mega tempted! Anyone in?) but it's fun to look. I am so, super ready to get out of Australia. It's been a blast but I'm getting itchy feet to get moving again. Leaving The Argyle was like the greatest thing ever, a lot like leaving Lloyd but this time it was almost more sad. Eeee landscapes and mountains and SNOW. My oh my, get me outta here already. For some reason I've been thinking about what life would be like going home and ARGH, DON'T MAKE ME GO! I can't imagine it in any way, really. I have this horrible mental image of landing in Heathrow and being nostalgic for oh, all of five minutes and then doing the horrible drive back to Hampshire and slowly realising where exactly in the world I am. Jesus, it makes me feel totally gross just thinking about it. That said, I need some mental stimulation so I need to buy some more books in NZ and I'm definitely going to try and learn Spanish: boca! Es una chiste! Tranquilo! It's such a fun language and thanks to Soo I really do want to learn. I'm not going to talk about him on here 'cos that's massively gay, but that is really the one reason I'm sad to leave.

Anyway, I want to travel everywhere ever with no money (I really need some dollar, this will be my downfall and the reason I end up on this doom-ridden journey from Heathrow to Hampshire) so if anybody fancies it, let's fucking do it! INDIA! VIETNAM! CAMBODIA! LAOS! Let's, let's, let's!!

I bid you adieu Sydney (just got back from a weekend in Melbourne which is probably the coolest Australian city, it's so 'sick!!1!'), pumped for Queenstown.

Nothing here's real and everyone's alike, 'cos everyone dreams of the millionaire's life

2010-04-12T06:37:00.000-07:00

Hello, wish list.
*nb: the picture of Leighton Meester, though she is adorable, is me longing for brown hair.

I never sleep, because sleep is the cousin of death

2010-04-12T05:27:00.000-07:00

"A life, Jimmy, you know what that is? It's the shit that happens while you're waiting for moments that never come."

I tried to write what I feel about The Wire after I finally finished it, and tried to sum up how I don't even need to watch any other hyped shows because I've already seen the best piece of television I will ever see, but words don't really do it justice. If you haven't seen it, see it right away. If you're not interested, get interested. If you've tried and failed, it's probably way above your intelligence level. If the subject matter is not your thing, look again. Either way you're a loser: watch it and every TV show you watch after will be sub par; don't and be blissfully unaware, but be warned: you are being deprived.

Dense, novelistic, painful, funny, real and transformative all at once. "The Wire" is the best television series ever made. Period.

The greatness of The Wire comes from a combination of themes - the life of a city seen through characters allowed to breathe and expand, through plots which unfold in deadly waves of doomed human motive, blind circumstance and economic force, and in luxurious amounts of time.

In The Wire's view, the world is not divided cop-vs.-robber or black-vs.-white so much as machine-vs.-individual; officer, teacher, drug soldier or pol, people are screwed by institutions that discard them when they're used up and reward inertia over innovation...Occasionally, it even offers a glimpse of something like hope, which is all the sweeter for being harder earned.

BAM!

"There go a life that had to be snatched, Avon." So intense. How their relationship starts to deteoriate is just.. fuck, too good.

"It makes me sick, motherfucker, how far we done fell." Oh Bunk, what a guy.

I wouldn't recommend you watch any of these if you've never seen The Wire before. They are moments to enjoy along the way and some of my favourite ones.

After my long-winded praise before, this is probably the last time I'll do it in a while (until I rewatch Season 4, that is) but I miss it terribly and felt the need to share. So fuck you, go watch it and then tell me I'm a massive nerd. I am :)

Back to school and I hate it there, I hate it there...

2010-03-07T00:20:00.000-08:00

It's difficult to find the time, the patience or the right words sometimes. I worry that with a blog you can come across like a) illiterate or b) boring as fuck. When you're writing stuff for people that you haven't seen in 9 months, these kind of worries are completely rational.

So this is my excuse for delaying updates. That, and I always think hearing what people are doing while they're travelling and you're not must be the most dire fucking thing to read. It's one of my pet peeves when I log on Facebook, have a notification, squeal in obvious delight only to find it's from one of my friends from home (love you, guys) saying "Hey! How's Australia?!". And that's it. What exactly are you supposed to say here? Are you supposed to go "Oh, fine thanks! How's the UK?" and ignite the obvious small-talk that will ensue when neither of you give a shit, or launch into a tirade about where you are, what you've been doing, who you've met in the small hope that they care about any of it or that you don't come across like a really fucking irritating bragger. "Hey, so I'm having the BEST TIME EVER doing things that you're not in REALLY BEAUTIFUL places in REALLY AMAZING SUNSHINE". Ohmigod, vom. So that is generally why I leave it a while to reply to such Facebook comments, and hence why I rarely update this little blog of mine.

I've nearly been in Australia for 9 months, and I gotta be honest, it feels it. I have successfully travelled by combination of bus, car and plane from Cairns down the east coast, across the south coast and deserts to the west coast, up to Perth. There is nothing else I want to do here. I don't want to visit the rock (expensive, and let's be honest - it's a rock) and the only other thing I'd quite like to see (the Kimberley, thanks for asking) is an absolute mission to get to. Instead I will embark on a nice trashy trip back to the Gold Coast and save up all my cash to fuck off and head to Bali and Fiji before New Zealand. At least, that is the master plan. Every Wednesday, this horrible thing happens where I get fucked out of mind and spend money that is quite clearly screaming "NO, don't do it! You have flights to pay for! You have places to go.. don't wast- ah, she just swapped me in for Jager. Too little, too late." It happens to the best for us, but if I don't pull my act together soon I will not leave before June and that is not what I want. It's been pretty fucking rad over here but I don't want to overstay and end up resenting somewhere I've loved. I'm back at the Argyle to save up the cash and with hosp you just fall into this silly little trap that's so desperately hard to get out of: go to work, get paid, get shitfaced, sleep. It's too much fun to resist. I am working 6 days this week to try and not do the above, to avoid temptation, and to work my arse off to continue the extended holiday I never want to end.

I've been thinking a lot about what I'm gonna do, the 'Big Picture' if you will and I swear as you get older, you get even more indecisive. I don't want to go home. I miss it...well, maybe not it, but the comfort of it, and the people of course. But it's like, what am I going home to? I realise that the UK is probably where I'll settle first off, where I'll try and forge a path in an actual career and what not. Alas, I am not ready. Still. I am bored and I need to be stimulated, don't get me wrong, but I still don't know what to do. I am contemplating doing a PGCE in London and doing some work in underpriviledged schools for a bit before turning my full attention to film, like I know one day I will. The thought of teaching actually really appeals to me. To reiterate the cheesy spiel I've been giving everyone I've spoken to about it: if you can help one kid, one kid who suffers from abuse at home, comes from a disadvantaged background, one kid who is wrapped up in drugs and gangs and violence, if you can inspire them and try and show them another side, then you've done a whole world of good. I know it'll be one of the most difficult things to try and do - I remember the fucknuts I used to go to school with, but I dunno, it seems like a way to try and do something good for them. They are, after all, our retarded making, and therefore, our retarded future. Which is comforting.

So, a little itinerary.. stay in Australia long enough to save up cash, maybe another 6-8 weeks at absolute MAX. Then, off for a month holiday, 2 weeks in Fiji, 2 weeks in Bali. Then off to New Zealand in May time to go back to my beloved barwork for a ski season. And I WILL attempt to ski and I WILL attempt to snowboard. I am actually looking forward to some cold weather, but don't tell any Australians because I'll get beat up. Fo' real. Then I might do SE Asia on my way home. Might. Probably. Why not. I'm trying to come up with a nice end date to appease my Mother's poor mind.. perhaps home for this Christmas, and probably definitely home for S/S 2010. Hoo-fucking-ray. I wonder how it'll be going home. I always wonder that if you're gone for so long, do people just forget? Out of sight and all that. I go on Facebook sometimes and my Newsfeed alights with all these statuses about moving, new jobs, relationship statuses changing and you feel like you've been gone a million years and nobody even notices. Except I know that's not true because nobody can live without the staunch really, though they might pretend otherwise. S'ok, I miss you guys too.

This has been a bit deep hasn't it. I promise the next one will be more fun and jolly and I will recount instances where I've done fucked up things while fucked up.
Next installment: the time I returned from my trip, met Sylvia and consequently got kicked out of the bar I work in. I will also tell about my new love for hip-hop that's wildly escalating out of control and how I finally finished The Wire and my life changed.

Until then, nerdlingers..

Been training vipers to come for you in your sleep

2010-01-07T22:11:00.000-08:00

I don't have time to update this with words of wisdom for two reasons:

1) I don't have much credit left
2) I am very sleepy so my words would probably be lacking in the wise-factor.

But just know this, I am alive and safe and somewhere in Melbourne's CBD. Over the last six days we have crossed 3 state borders, seen 4 gorgeous beaches and drove hundreds of kilometres (I cannot be bothered to count, so eff off). And camped. With flies and giant cockroaches that could eat babies and bonafide Ozzie blokes and shark fishers and screaming children. Today I got up at 8am when the sun made it too painful for me to stay in my tent of hot air any longer. This time last week I was working at the Argyle, making mojitos, moaning, worrying about packing and generally being staunch.

How times have changed.

I'm still staunch, so I am still the Francesca everybody knows and loves.

I know one thing though: I'm debating just 5 weeks of travelling, not 6. Because if I'm being truthful with myself, I ain't no fucking camper.

Check Facebook for the photos, they are swish. Off for cocktails.

(No Jager for over a week. I miss thee, cruel mistress.)

The game's out there, and it's play or get played (a love letter.. )

2009-12-16T09:37:00.000-08:00

Dear The Wire,

I realise we haven't known each other for long, probably a good 6-10 months at best, and I know this may be slightly premature, but I just wanted to put it out there and tell you something that may come as a surprise. It may be foolish, especially as our relationship still has about ten hours to go before we reach our natural end, but I feel the time is right. I have seen enough and know enough about you to reach a forgone conclusion: I love you. A serious statement I know, and one I have mulled over continously on bus rides, over Lupe Fiasco playlists and while having conversations about the state of society, American culture, drugs, gun violence and lots of bad things that happen in the world (granted, the last thing doesn't happen too often these days but I'm almost positive that if I could speak in an intellectual manner while drunk on Jager that these are the subjects I would broach).

And I think that I really mean it.

It is so difficult these days to find somebody like you: somebody that is so thought-provoking, intelligent and somebody that doesn't dumb down for an audience and most importantly, doesn't talk down to us. Somebody that always has something to say, but isn't arrogant or too sure of themselves, too caught up in their own hype and the overbearing compliments that go hand-in-hand with being so totally brilliant. I realised this today, as the thought of us parting becomes so unbearable. I don't even know how long we have left together, 9-10 hours at best. And then it is finished. All that will be left is memories rehashed, old quotes and scenarios that may get played over in my mind. I want to reach the end more than anything, I want to see if you live up to expectations and the overblown compliments you receive. If it truly is this great ending everybody says it is, if everything can duly be wrapped up (if it ever could be, which I know it can't..) if the ending is satisfing enough to know there will be no more. I won't lie to you, I worry.

It is types like you that make me wish I could do something as big of as an achievement as your creation. If I could write scripts and stories, and if I had the adequate resources to go and do painstaking research, I would want to be like yours. If I could characterise so perfectly the flaws and paradoxes of human nature, I would endeavour to be like you. If I could sum up the fragmentation of a broken and corrupt society and the lost fight that people face everyday in a world of drugs and guns and violence, I sure would want to do it like you. If right now I owned you on DVD and could play out the remaining ten hours we have left and then go straight to work and work all night knowing we were all done, all over, I would do it. I can't, but know I would if I could.

Truth is, I've had feelings like this before. Albeit not on the same scale, but I have had a few lustful and longing trysts. Lost will always have a very special place in my heart, one that has been going for years and we still have unfinished business. But don't be jealous, you are on very different scales and you will always trump. Rest assured.

Today, I indulged in some 5.02 with you and you brought me the return of Avon, just for a few precious minutes. I could feel how close we are to the end; you are destroying boundaries and rules: Avon and Marlowe, Bunk and McNulty, the FBI (!)... and I can barely tear my eyes away. In all seriousness, I don't think I have the spunk or the ferocity to go off and try and help in a situation I think is completely redundant. The problems that you highlight in American culture and society are ones I find really fascinating and are ones that I'm sure make other people think I'm a massive sad act and grade A dork. It's why I always wanted to travel North America first: there's something about it that makes my ears prick up and take an interest and that is no mean feat.

I don't know where the rest of our road together will take us, but know this: at this moment in time, in my eyes at least, you are about as flawless as a TV programme can ever be.

Always,
Francesca.

P.S. The pictures are for pretty-purposes only, and to draw attention to two of the most KICK-ASS moments in the game so far.. dare you to disagree.

Anything to declare? Yeah. Don't go to England.

2009-12-01T07:06:00.000-08:00

Boy, do I know how to neglect a blog. It has been approximately 49 days since I last posted something that I like to think was intelligible but possibly nondescript writing and I think it is high time I rectified my quite frankly shocking attempt at updating you home folk on what the fuck is going on in my life.

1. My name has informally been changed to Frankie. It wasn't my choice, it just happened. I remember one sunny day in Cardiff (I may be exaggerating for dramatic purposes) Guy told me I was going to be like one of those Tourism Australia adverts: "She left Fran. She came back Francesca." That has happened. Just my name sounds more like a pet, small child or yappy boxer.

2. I quit work experience. To cut a long story short to spare you, I had been working my arse off in two jobs for two months and I was beginning to blame something I love for how tired I had become. I looked in the mirror and I couldn't even see that I looked like a haggard bitch because I had hollows where my eyes used to be. It was a blessing in diguise, all the more time for Jagermeister.

3. Jagermeister. My new frenemy. This thing happens when I drink it that can only be described as common sense blackouts.

4. I moved house. It's a sweet fucking deal.

5. I have a camera. That's exciting. Except all I do is take photos of us blind drunk instead of photos of the pretty city I live in. Every so often I get a big excitable splurge of energy (one such splurge happened tonight while I was flicking through an Australia book - "Ohmigod, what even is a Chinese Friendship Garden? Wait a second, I haven't even been to the Botanic Gardens yet...hey, you can do a walk from Hyde Park to Circular Quay through them... I am so totally doing that! Next week on my day off, definitely!") where I think I am going to go on fun day trips. I am almost certain this will happen some time soon, when I am not nursing a disgusting hangover of epic proportions and can barely go outside for fear of vomiting over strangers.

6. HEAT. HEAT. HEAT. Christ almighty, I nearly had a heart attack on Melbourne Cup day. Melbourne Cup is the like Grand National, except all the Australians go fucking bonkers and get fucked up. It's dubbed 'The Race that Stops the Nation'. Give me a break. Anyway, I had to start work at 10am and as I am notoriously bad at getting up I set about 1,053,490 alarms. I woke up at some point, panic stricken because it was so hot it felt like it was about 1pm. I consequently flew out of bed in a mad, sleepy haze, scrambling to get ready. I then decided to check the clock. It was 7.30. AM. And it was boiling. And I wasn't impressed. I spent the rest of the day sweating profusely and complaining about the fact my hair was sticking to my head in an unflattering fashion and my face decided to melt off. Since this day, we have had a few days of 41 degree heat. Sometimes I forget this and go out in jumpers and leggings. Needless to say, there is room for adjustment.

7. I am actually genuinely starting to like bartending. There is not even a hint of irony or sarcasm in that statement. It's true. Go figure.

8. I leave Sydney in one month for Perth. It is going to be an approximately 5,442km trip. We have a car and a new buddy joining us. It's actually getting real. I'm still shitting bricks I won't be able to afford it and I'll have to cut it short, but I am prepared to be at one with nature, sleep under the stars and slaughter kangaroos to stay on the road because I can't fucking wait.

9. I think I'm going to come back to Sydney when the six weeks are up. Originally I was going to carry on up WA but I definitely will be out of funds by this point. Which means, new job, new living arrangements, new pals, and another transition period. Not sure I want to do all that again when I quite bum Sydney already. I figure New Zealand will be another big transition so as long as I get to see everywhere I want to see while I'm in Australia then I am all good to come back. It's quite a nice feeling.

10. I've been gone 5 and a half months. 6 and a half in Australia to go. It feels like forever but like two weeks at the same time. I got excited today when we went to Cris' new house because there was a British pound on the floor. That is how removed I feel from the UK. When I spoke to my Mum a few weeks back I said about two words to her and she instantly went "What's happened to your accent?". I have since been extremely self-concious and try and sound more British than normal to over-compensate. I will never say things like 'heaps', and I'm trying not to say 'no worries' or 'pash'. If I come back with even a twinge of an accent, I give somebody, not fussy who, permission to backhand me. Hard.

11. I applied for my NZ visa eligibility and I'm all good to apply. Whey-o. Still figuring I'm going to head over for a ski season when my Australian visa runs out in June. Because, by this point, I should get all my tax back and be rich beyond my wildest dreams. Know why? Because Australia is taxing the absolute SHIT out of me. When I begin to complain I have to remind myself that I GET IT ALL BACK. EVERY CENT. IN YOUR FACE TAXATION OFFICE.

12. Is it wrong that I fancy Matt Damon a little bit?

13. I dyed my hair again. As luck would have it, as soon as I did it I started pining for my light brown, sun-has-made-it-go-retarded locks. As more luck would have it, Australia is pretty fucking sunny about now so I think it's already fading. Way to go, 41 degree heat. I knew you'd be good for something.

14. As the months go by and I realise I've been gone for longer, the more I realise that I can't imagine life at home anymore. And I've come to accept that life goes on for everybody back there, and, as much as I hate to admit it, I've gotten over the fact that it's gotten to the point where nobody even notices you're gone anymore. I've been getting pretty pissy with some people back home who, no matter how hard I try to keep in contact with, just aren't reciprocating. It was, and still is, a bit difficult when people you care about so much are being shithouse. It kinda pangs in the heart a wee bit, know what I'm saying? But I am slowly getting over the hard, cold fact that the world does not revolve around me. And according to Google, I am 10,666 miles away from home. Pretty omnious, hey. Anyway, I suppose what I'm getting at is that (this is as deep as this blog will get, promise) you begin to learn what and who is important while you're gone. I will continue being mad about the lack of effort until one day that anger and frustration will simply no longer exist, and that will be the precise moment I stop giving a shit. I look forward to it. More the fool you.

15. I STILL haven't changed my flight back to London. My current flight leaves on 31st December 2009. Which is about 18 months too early. Whoopsie. Must get on it. I really, really, really don't want to go home. You can't make me BA, I will go kicking and screaming. I can be quite fierce when I set my mind to it so don't test my limits. I reckon I'd have the ability to make a 23hour flight a living hell for everyone on board. Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Bart Simpson, you are my idol.
I realise my fighting talk is somewhat to be desired.

16. There are other things I would love to discuss to provoke lively debate but I am too scared to because I know my Mum reads this blog and although she may be 10,666 miles away, she still managed to evoke fear (Hi, Mum!).

17. I don't have a fucking clue why I did this in numbers. Must be my penchant for lists.

Not a whole lot happening to tell you about travel wise, but that will all change come January 2nd and we hit the Great Ocean Road for our mammoth road trip across SA. Then I will have photos that aren't documenting a night of common sense blackouts and me hanging out with my ex-friend Jager. We actually all managed to do semi-sober dinner and drinks last night, maybe we're all growing up. On second thought, maybe not.

Meet Me on your Best Behaviour, Meet Me at your Worst...

2009-10-11T09:36:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to update this for ages.

Annoyingly enough, I haven't really had anything to put? I'll give you a bit of a play by play to highlight how my week usually pans out:

Monday: Work.
Tuesday: Work Experience.
Wednesday: Work Experience.
Thursday: Work Experience/Work.
Friday: Work.
Saturday: Work.
Sunday: Work.

In my free time I usually do one of three things: eat, sleep or watch films. Everybody keeps asking me for fun stories of my adventures, but in truth, my adventures have been put on hold while I try and save up some cash to fund them. It's easier than it looks. Living in Sydney and trying not to save money is an absurd notion. The other day I was walking to work and came to the corner of George and Market where I stumbled upon a homeless man while I was waiting to cross the road. I gave him some change. Very nice, I thought. A good deed. As I was strolling along George I came across a second homeless man by the Apple store. Again, I managed to fumble around and find some more change. Again, I thought to myself, I outdo myself with my generosity. I carried on walking along George, trying to avoid the onslaught of suits so I wouldn't collide with one of them and find myself on the wrong side of a briefcase wielding monster. As I came to Wynard station, by Bar 333, there sat a third homeless man outside the 7/11. By this time, I had well and truly been raped of loose change and had nothing to offer. I felt horrible. I felt like I had been favouritist with who I had chosen to donate to. What if I had chosen the wrong ones? What if this third man needed my 50 cents more than the others? By this point, there was only one thing left to do: keep walking and avoid eye contact. I'm not fucking made of money.

And that is why it's impossible to save in Sydney.

There's the resident on the corner of George opposite Supre that I really want to buy some socks for. I saw him on my way home from work the other night and he had no socks on. He had a sleeping bag and a big cardboard sign and a jacket and even a little makeshift seat. But no socks. In this weather, I struggle with my shoes on let alone barefoot. I am still contemplating whether it's patronising to buy a stranger socks. What if he thinks I'm a condescending moron and throws them back in my face? His corner is pretty busy, it would most definitely cause a scene. I may have to bite the bullet and put his poor feet first. Screw my own dignity, socks are a must. When I have come to a decision, I will let you know.

Aside from the various array of men in my life, there is another prominent reason why I find myself short on funds. It is the same reason I ended up with a 70 pound library fine at university and it is the reason I should never be allowed to borrow things with a time limit on them. On Tuesday I rented eight DVDs. Rachel Getting Married was due back Friday and it is now Monday morning. I've managed to watch a grand total of 10 minutes. I have watched two out of eight DVDs. Last week one of my housemates took Hunger back for me because he is kind and I am lazy. If he hadn't taken it back, I don't doubt it'd still be sat in the pile of unwatched gems under the TV and my fine would be verging on beating my record.

I met Krista in Bondi last week and we had a chat about January and our fun travel plans. She wants to start looking at cars next month. Oh yes, because the homeless population will have surely been housed by then, and my DVD shop will most definitely have closed down. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to save with all of these lurking problems. There is always a setback: a week of rain that makes it impossible for me to walk to work. I MUST get a taxi. What's that? Umbrella? Unreliable. Bus? Unpredictable. Or maybe there is my inability to time manage. I'll get up at 1, sit down for a minute, then hey presto! It's 4.30 and I'm due at work in an hour and a half. Whoever said there aren't enough hours in the day was dead on. I will be indebted forever to the person who can conjure up a real life version of Bernard's Watch. Yes, that is a challenge. I propose you, Carlton Cuse and Damon Lindelof.

In other news, I've nearly finished Atonement. I manage to cram a few precious pages in a day on the way into Bondi for work experience. I hate it. I made such a fatal error by watching the film first because it's ruined the ending. I did a terrible thing when I first started reading. I actually want to punch myself in the face for it. I flicked to the back and read the end. I figured, hey, I know it anyway, it's not really cheating. But now I know what happens and it's like when you scream at some really dogshit horror film in spite of yourself.. "What is she doing?...what are you doing? Why are you going into the derelict abandoned house alone...Well now the power's gone out...Run. Go back. For fuck's sake! Run! RUN!!! Oh, now you're dead. WHAT DID I FUCKING TELL YOU." Except in this instance it's more like "No Robbie, don't go looking for the twins alone. Go with Cecilia and Leon. No. Don't. No Robbie, don't go alone! Briony, you didn't see him, please don't say you did...you KNOW you didn't!! Oh, for fuck's sake. There goes the fucking happy ending." You know it's going to happen, it's fate, written in the stars. But that doesn't stop you willing it not to. Therefore Atonement, as beautifully written as it is, has been a horribly unpleasant experience and I almost want to do a Joey from Friends and put it in the freezer and forget about it forever.

I heard Meet Me on the Equinox and I have forgiven Death Cab for putting it on the Twilight soundtrack AND having every gossip rag in the world's new favourite awkward couple in the video. I forgive them because it's really fucking good. I forgive them because I went back and listened to Narrow Stairs after and it was like my ears had a holy epiphany.

I wrote a half post about all that music piracy shit Lily Allen started spouting off about at home but now she's decided to back the fuck off, it kinda seems a little redundant. I might finish it anyway, I felt fairly articulate. I want to do one about film journalism too. Unfortunately my mind isn't in a very clever state so I fear my blogs will get consistently less witty, more trivial and far more boring. I have succeeded with this one, I know, I know. Hush.

We watched Election today. It was good.

And also, if you haven't seen this, it's fascinating. Promise.

Targets for next post:
- Be more coherent.
- Allow less brain farts.
- At least try and be interesting.
- Up the wit.

I am going to go to some of Crave and maybe I'll buy a camera and take photos of all the cool shit going on in the city next month. Or I won't and will just post a really boring blog about some film I've seen instead. I'm also going to do a blog about things that grip my shit as a bartender. Number one is going to be when people put their crappy change ON the bar rather than IN my hand which is RIGHT THERE. Number two will be lousy tippers. Number three will be everybody else. Over an' out.

Yes We Can!

2009-09-17T23:02:00.000-07:00

So the other day I was on Facebook (be still my beating heart), talking to a friend back home. It would seem that there is one thing on everybody's minds if they have recently graduated, and that would be: so, what the hell do I do now? Every conversation I have is geared around this subject - jobs, places to live, money-woes, etc etc - and every time the conversation seems to end the same: the person on their computer at the other end eventually resigns themselves to the fact that the job market sucks, money makes the world go round and chasing dreams is harder than they originally anticipated.

I'll be one of the first to agree. The job market does suck, money does make the world go round and chasing dreams is hard. But, when I was talking to my friend, I kind of got the impression that what was really missing was the attitude. Obviously not everybody gets the good graces of being extremely fortunate and having a job/pretty partner/nice flat (delete where applicable) land in their lap, but doesn't it all sort of boil down to how far you are prepared to go in order to get what you want? Sitting on a computer applying for jobs does - and I want to stress this - NOT count as 'trying really hard'. If you are slaving away day after day, handing in applications, emailing countless companies, knocking on doors, calling people up and you STILL come away with nothing months later, then yes, fate perhaps is not on your side. Fate may even be trying to tell you something. But until you try that hard, you will never know. The 'I can't' attitude that a lot of people seem to have is truly uninspiring.

Let's have a look at some case studies to highlight my point, shall we?

Internships & Work Experience. Yes, a sad fact about a lot of industries is that they employ a Catch-22 type mantra. 'We can't employ you unless you have experience'. Oh, is that so? Well how the fuck am I supposed to get experience when nobody will hire me? Cue shrug of the shoulders from said employer. Oh well, how helpful. Working for free is never anybody's idea of success, but it is one of the easiest things to score. I know a fair few people whose experience has proved invaluable. When I met with the editor of Time Out Sydney (who, at best guess, it around 31. The Art Director is 26 and used to have his own studio. So there) about my work experience, he told me he had done the same thing when he travelled and that, no matter what people tell you, it really and truly does help. Sometimes I find myself sitting in that office, writing up another press release in a manner that is probably a touch too overenthusiastic in nature, and think 'What the hell am I doing?'. My eyes are turning into Mac-shaped hollows and I feel like a twat anytime I attempt at writing upbeat stories about upbeat events like World Guinness Day or the World's Funniest Island. Such is life, and such is work experience.

Saving up cash. Ah yes, that old chestnut. It's never easy. Ever. When I was selling my soul to a devil that went by the name of Lloyd, I tried to tell myself it was all worth it - the 6am finishes, coming home smelling like stale alcohol and a mood that meant I had a constant expression that read 'Fuck Off'. In capitals. I know that everybody would like to save money fast and doing something that actually isn't all that bad. Whether it's saving to move out or to buy something you really really want or to travel or whatever it is, we all want to do it quick and easy. Right now, I am trying so hard to save money for Western Australia. But this really bizarre thing keeps happening. My money comes in the bank and then, as if by magic, it seems to disappear straight out again. As if there is some mean wizard living inside St George that zaps my money clean away as soon as I get it. Saving money means that life isn't as fun as you want: you can't buy stuff, you can't go out and get fucked on cocktails in Kings Cross every night, and you can't spend money without thinking 'Shit, my weekly budget' or something equally as shit. But! If you want to save money, there is a quick and easy solution: DON'T BUY STUFF. Don't go out as much, do do shitty jobs even if you hate them. The next four, five, even six, months may be shit, but think about the long-term. Think about how amazingly worth it it will be in the end, when you have that shiny new posession in your hand; when you're sitting in a place called home that isn't owned by Mum and Dad, when you're sat on a long-haul flight to fuck knows where. I did it, I hated every second of saving, but it was so, so, so worth it.

I realise I'm probably coming off like a jerk. Like, 'oh, listen to her, sat in Australia, preaching about how easy it all is'. No, not really. It isn't easy and I do get it. After every time someone doesn't call you back or after every time you check your bank balance, the heart does that weird thing where it falls to the pit of your stomach and refuses to nudge. Been there. I was there precisely yesterday, in fact, when I paid my rent and realised my saving plan isn't going so well. But I know what needs to be done. There's only one person who can get off their arse and solve the problem and that person begins with a capital M and ends in a lower case e. I have been maxed out and crawled my way out of student-finance hell to save enough to go to Australia. That is probably one of the things I am most proud of about being over here. That I did it. Yay. Woo, Hurrah.

And I will always look back and think, it was because I knew I could. It's cheesy and rubbish and lame, but whatever happened to a can-do attitude? Whatever happened to being positive, even in the face of adversity? Even when it seems like the sky is raining pure dogshit on you, whatever happened to brushing yourself off and trying again? When the conversation between me and my friend was wrapping up, he said 'Well, I admire your can-do attitude' with his countering 'can-not' attitude more than obvious, even 17,000km away, on the other side of the world, penetrating through time zones and the world wide web. I came off the computer furious. Don't admire it, adopt it. And thank me with money and gifts later down the line, when it will undoubtedly pay off.

A Short History of Nearly Everything (Sort of)

2009-09-10T08:34:00.001-07:00

So I decided that maybe it was time for a blog.

I always half wanted to do it when I was travelling, but I think the cliches of it probably stopped me. "Hey yeah, look at me, TRAVELLING. Look at all the places I am and what I'm doing that you couldn't give two shits about! How fantastic and self-indulgent! Did I mention that I'm TRAVELLING?".

But seeing as now I'm not really travelling and have set down in one place for a bit, it seems all the more acceptable. So let's bring you up to speed.

I left June 13th, hungover from the Summer Ball and shattered from the 2 hours of sleep that I got thanks to Pete and his bright ideas. When I look back on it now that morning is unbelievably comedic. I snotted all over my old house, my friends and Amy's car. All the funnier was Vicky, who was worse than me, and she was only going for 2 and a half months. Girls, pfff.

Anyway, I'll cut out all the boring, insignificant details of the journey - Singapore, very humid, nice airport, we looked like shit - and skip to the actual destination: Sydney. Woo. I'll never forget getting outside that airport at 6am, thinking I was going to catch pneumonia while we waited in stupid anticipation of that stupid bloody bus. One of us waiting with the bags while the other one went to go and ask person after person where we could catch it. Vicky wearing my ski socks as gloves. Me looking like I was embarking on a hike through the Snowy Mountains. I have never been so grateful to be in a hot shower in all my life.

The next four days I barely remember. I know we did the Opera House and the Harbour Bridge: there are photos so it must be true. We looked like shit, I know that much. I looked homeless and Vic looked like a paedo. A good start. What I do know is, there was lots of rain. So much rain that we immediately decided to fuck off and get to some sunshine. Which meant a ridiculously early flight to Townsville. Townsville. Hah, it lived up to its name.

This is what followed:
Townsville - Magnetic Island - Cairns - Kuranda - Airlie Beach - Whitsundays - 1770 - Hervey Bay - Fraser Island - Noosa - Brisbane - Surfers Paradise - Byron Bay - Sydney

I'm not going to take you through every minute, insignificant detail but instead wrap it up at best I can. If you've made it this far.

Favourite Places:
Yes, I'm a ginormous cliched travller, but there's a reason that every person who does the East Coast goes to Fraser and the Whitsundays. It's because, funnily enough, they are stunning. Look:

If I could handle the constant rocking of boat-life, equipped with a goon hangover (which I can't, by the way), I would've packed it all in and fled the good life for a penniless existence as a deckhand. I'm wildly exaggerating - they're not penniless - but it was that beautiful that it would all seem worth it. Turns out, I'm just not the boating type. What a shock.

And Fraser. Ah, Fraser. I had to camp. And not Reading Festival 'oh, what a lark' type camping. Like camping camping. On a sand island. Which is inhabited by dingoes. You know, the rabid dog that bites you and eats your shit. I actually thought the dingoes were adorable. My favourite was a little wonky one that couldn't walk properly. Anyway, Fraser and it's beauty:

See, beautiful.

Aside from these two tourist hot-spots, I had a bit of a thing for Byron Bay. It was overrun with festival-goers when we were there, they'd all come in for Splendour and it was how I realised black was back in fashion, but the atmosphere was fucking brilliant and I loved how laid-back it was.

Worst Places:

Surfer's Paradise is a shithole. I'm not even going to apologise for saying it. I hated it. I hated every second I was there, apart from bowling with Julian. That bit was fun. Because I was inside and could imagine I was anywhere else. I'm not going to elaborate. It was just shit.

Brisbane is overrated. Not much to do aside from South Bank which is alright. I had my fake graduation there where I went around and annoyed people until they gave me their hats which I could then doff like a gigantic pleb. It was fun. That was the highlight of Brisbane.

Highlights:

- Meeting the equivalent of Brady Bunch on Airlie Beach and spontaneously deciding to spend two nights sleeping in their closet instead of leaving for 1770.

- The Frenchies, the first two solid gold people we met on our trip. Plus Dutchie and Israeli.

- The night of the American Navy: two jerks, two girls, one massive argument. On another note, there were so many men that me and Vic didn't know where to look.

- Every hungover day in Cairns. It was all worth it for that bed, the balcony, those drinking games and the stories. Campervan, anyone?

- Walking up Whitehaven Beach on the Whitsundays. I listened to Deadmau5 and it was one of those incredibly pretentious, wanky holiday-music moments. I loved it.

- Noahs. I couldn't hack it anymore in the end, but it felt like a dirty, scabbier version of home.

- 1770: HamMocks, good films and that gorgeous beach.

Things I've read:

- The Rules of Attraction

- Desert Flower

- Gangs

- One million trashy magazines

Currently reading:

- A Short History of Nearly Everything

- 1984

- The Corner

- Atonement

I'm very indecisive.

Films I wish I'd never seen:

- The Proposal

- My Sister's Keeper

- Never Back Down

- Goal! The Movie

- Harry Potter. The flirting was great, mind.

Expanding my film education has been a fucking blast while I've been here in Sydney. I saw some brilliant stuff; Control, Volver, Almost Famous, Magnolia, The Life Aquatic, Inglorious Basterds, Into the Wild, The Squid and the Whale, This is England, The Wrestler, Vicky Cristina Barcelona, Vivre Sa Vie, it's been sweet.

And now, the current plan of attack. Still in Sydney, lived in Bondi for about five, six weeks before I moved to an apartment in Pyrmont, which is just behind Darling Harbour. There's this walk I do every day over the Pyrmont Bridge which, when I get a camera, I can't wait to get a good snap of. Lots of big buildings, some water, a monorail. Very picturesque, hey. I do work experience at Time Out Sydney (a challenge but fun), and work at a bar called The Argyle in The Rocks (actually wicked fun. Harks back to my sleeping pattern at Lloyds but it's dosh. I have to learn cocktails. So far, so sucky). On the way to work I go past the Opera House and Harbour Bridge. Every single time, I'm like 'oh yeah, I'm in Australia', and I get excited like a massive doofus. I swear I'm a walking talking cliche.

Got more work experience in October for a film magazine, save up until (hopefully!) January when me and Krista Klump want to get a car and drive down to Melbourne, Adelaide, and do the West coast. I cannot fucking wait. I love being on the move. It's tiring and your mood swings can be fucking badass (just ask Vicky), but there's nothing like seeing new places every single week, meeting new people and all that shit that makes travellers want to do it forever.

Then, New Zealand. If I can. I dunno when, but that's the goal. I don't want to waste the opportunity while I'm over this side of the world.

It's a long bloody flight home.