Ho Ho Ho

I thought I better try and write a Christmas blog or a synopsis to round out the year.

Wow 2014 was hectic, losing two grandparents, getting one sister married off, leaving my job, leaving my home and moving across the world and creating a new home and a new job with new friends. I’ve also travelled- I have been on so many planes this year I have lost count, although I know I went to seven counties!  It’s little wonder I’ve struggled of late. I don’t know how any of it could’ve been achieved without the support of my friends. They have been an overwhelming help. Knowing when to call, or send a card or even just the occasional text message or dinner has helped. Although I have felt myself writing myself off just for the sake of not having to deal with the dealings at present. Disastrously fragile of late I can cry at the most strange instances. Lately because it’s Christmas for instance, I’ll see a homeless person and cry or think of the G parents and lose it. I’ve been giving away most of my money with tips and I’ve bought about five of the same Big Issues because I don’t think anyone deserves to be homeless, particularly at Christmas.

Thankfully I have an awesome workplace and my friends have been exceptional as I’ve aforementioned. My boss was so supportive throughout and my secretary is like a goddess in times of need, not to mention the older Jesus like figure named Bri Baby that I sit next to who paid for my flight back to Australia in my time of need.

We had a great orphan Christmas in Notting Hill the other weekend together with the London family. I got to sit on naughty Santa’s knee and got a scarf from my secret Santa- Bianca, which I’m bringing to Egypt to cover some of my bits. Apparently the Egyptian men gawk so that should be fun. I’m usually pretty subtle so I probably won’t tell them where to go.

My aim for this trip is to tan, so nobody notices I’ve put on weight…. and not get arrested for indecent exposure. I’m still at that stage weight wise where everyone is like ‘don’t be silly, you’re skinny,’ but apart from the 3km run I did on Saturday when David Beckham almost ran over me, I haven’t actually done much other than the occasional spin class and my daily commute and I’m less excited about  being nude than usual. My new year’s resolution is to start back at the gym, and focus more on me, rather than work and alcohol, refocus the mind and body.

It was great again to have the main man Lee Renton in London town last Saturday where we celebrated Tosh’s 30^th birthday for the 30^th time. I lasted the night this time however without getting pissy at a work party prior and leaving before my main meal which was the precedent the previous Tosh’s 30^th Birthday celebration. We went to winter wonderland Bavarian tent and then toddled off to Soprano’s piano bar in Kensington where the man is so used to seeing me, I don’t even have to tip- I just threw my arm around him and said, plenty of Johnny Farnham and Daryl Braithwaite please and dedicate it to Tosh. Classic.

The next day I taught myself to eat again around dinner time, and prepared myself for two more days of work prior to the Egypt escape, which incidentally I only booked last Wednesday when I was at my work break-up. I decided I needed out. Unfortunately it meant not having Christmas with my main girl Amelie and Catarina, but it meant I got some much needed Simone time.  

I am proud of what I’ve achieved this year; moving countries, making a new career a new home and new friends... It was great to see Bianca and Andrew get married and gain a brother- I am still praying to God that I find what they have. I’ve had a revelation that all the good dudes are taken and I may have to wait for round two once they are divorced!! I won’t lie. This year has been hard to be alone. But my friends have barely made me feel alone. In fact they’ve smothered me so much (in a good way) that I had to take off for Christmas. Happy birthday Jesus, I’ll give it a crack to celebrate as if you were here buddy. Enjoy your new Angel- my Nonna is the best present I can give you- and limit Pa’s beers up there- he can be a know it all pest when he drinks too much- reminds me of me.  X

Nonna

I am sitting on the plane making a mercy dash home to say goodbye to my beloved Nonna. All I can think about is what if I don’t make it home in time to see her. Like Nonna, i've taken to God - begging him to let me get home in time to say goodbye and be at peace, just as he granted me the wish with Pa. Although like the mercy dash home to see Pa- this journey has been long and complex. Minus a bushfire, plus a long haul fight.

Half of me is disappointed I forgot my netbook so I can’t finish my graphic porn novel, anything to take my mind off the now would be desired. Every time I think, I cry, so since I’ve popped my sleeping pill, and its past midnight London time and i'm still wide awake and tear tired, I’ve decided to write.

My Nonna is the closest person to Mother Teresa you could find. I don’t think there are many people that go through life without anyone cursing them or talking behind their back, but Nonna has- apart from forgetting to say Thank-you to the deli ladies when demanding her meat be cut very thin, Nonna has been the kindest, closest person to a disciple to God I can think of. She treats everyone like equals and nurtures and nourishes her family, just as much as her vegie patch. When I was little she called me her little piccinina. And adopted a phrase from me- I would say to her when I was little- ‘Nonna, don’t worry, be happy.’  Now she says it often.  Her most famous phrase is ‘Pick a pung, or pung’ which translates to ‘Beg your pardon’ no one has ever had the heart to correct her as other than that her English is pretty accomplished.

My favourite story about Nonna is when I went to buy my car. I was looking at a Volkswagen Polo GTI; sexy, fast and two doors. I was on the phone to Nonna saying I had found a car as she was giving me money to put towards it. She was so pleased, but suggested I pay more for four doors. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that four doors were cheaper and just agreed. She is never wrong- did I mention that?

Her cooking was better than any Michelin restaurant. In fact, I still believe her stove was magic. It didn’t matter whether we had the recipe, it was never as good as Nonna’s and she could sew anything. Just recently I took my clothes to the poor people bin because they had holes and I couldn’t be bothered sewing them up. Nonna could sew and she could even make things back in the day, although it became more difficult as her eyesight got worse. She is very talented my Nonna.

Once I picked her up from the nursing home and took her out for lunch and I was wearing a dress which had a fine chicken print. Nonna pointed and mumbled something in Italian. I said Nonna they are chickens, thinking she couldn’t see what the print was of as she has one eye that points in the wrong direction since her stroke, and she goes, yeah I know, I was just saying, lots of chickens, lots of shit. It was a great joke, and honestly a rarity, one because Nonna never swore, and two because she told a joke and that hardly ever happened. She tried to swig the remaining wine from our day out and take it back to the nursing home; in fact I think I let her because I was like, what are they going to do to a 93 year old?

Sometimes when I’m down or questioning myself, I look around and see how many friends I have, how many truly close and wonderful friends I have and it makes me realise I’m a good person. Nonna has heaps of friends and people that call her Nonna. She always has visitors and stashes of chocolate to load off to me. One of her greatest traits is to roll up a couple of hundreds and hand it to me secretly, like she is going to get in trouble. Nonna you are 93 and survived a war- I’m sure it’s allowed.

At her 90^th birthday there was a large table of her closest friends and they were all having a ball. At one stage I asked them if they wanted anything. Beer they said. So I asked for two jugs of beer and the man at the bar said ‘heavy or light’ and I pondered the thought. Then I said ‘don’t think they have to drive anywhere, heavy is fine. ‘They polished them off too! I worry about her closest friends when she does pass. Alba is her best friend. They have both lost husbands many years ago and love each other like sisters do. Once when Nonna was ill, Alba even bathed Nonna, it didn’t worry her, that’s what sisters do, Alba said.     

I managed to steal 5 hours sleep and i’ve since woken, somewhat calm. I’m conscious to write everything in present tense. Every time I go to past, I wonder if she has passed as i’ve slept, I don’t think she will. Maybe its arrogance, but I almost think that as long as I get home to see Nonna, she will be at peace to let go. You see, her family is her all, Bianca and I are everything. Her every breath is for us, her every thought. She is like that with mum and dad too. The last two times i’ve spoken to Nonna she has said ‘you are too far away’, and it was like she was saying the end is nearing. I ended up in tears because I could tell something was wrong. I was upset last week, I worried Mum and dad were trying not to tell me everything so I rang Bianca in South America and ordered her to go back to Traralgon and report back. Bianca said ‘if you are coming to say goodbye, come now, as originally I thought – “I’m off with the girls this weekend, I’ll come home next weekend” Then I thought- I don’t really want to pay £800 for a funeral. I’d much rather pay and experience something priceless- the chance to say goodbye and be at peace. My colleague leant me his credit card this morning to pay for the ticket as I don’t get paid until Thursday. I booked a ticket at 1:30pm; my flight was at 10pm. I told him that he is like Jesus to me. And that I could never have imagined such generosity. I think I am lucky not only does he have a big heart; I think he thought if his children were in the same situation, he wanted the good karma in return. As soon as I told the girls, whom both have Nonna’s; that I wasn’t going away, they were both considerate and understood. Clearly, I’d much rather be at wineries with them than doing a mercy dash home. Then my friend Catarina dropped me at Heathrow and her daughter Amelie told me she was really going to miss me. It made something of my day that was so far disaster. Then my final goodwill gesture was at the airport. The French restaurant didn’t do affogatos. Then the lady serving me goes, hang on, I’ll get you an espresso and a scoop of vanilla ice cream, then I yelled out to her trail saying ‘oh and a shot of amaretto please’. I mixed it all together and had the most fabulous dessert. She also didn’t charge me for the ice-cream, but I think she got hers, with a nice gratuity.  

Nonna has remained fit throughout and has only in the last few weeks gone significantly downhill. I think she is frustrated her body fails her. Her mind is so stable. She enjoys long walks, which of late have ceased, and prior to leaving her beloved home, she often walked from her Home in Fairview Street to the nursing home to see my great Aunt Bett, even though Bett was one of the only people I ever heard Nonna say anything negative about, she still visited her. I think Bett once joked about Nonna being old before she married and it really offended her. Nonna was 28 when Nonno married her. She was older for those days because of the war. They were married the third time he laid eyes on her. Nonno's friend spoke of this beautiful lady that attended mass every Sunday. So Nonno, being wise himself, saw the opportunity, he hid in the bushes outside mass, peering through them to see Nonna. Yep, he liked what he saw, and because of the substantial geographic distance, on their third meeting they married.

Nonna had her first born Ugo, when Nonno was in Australia building a life for his new family. Nonno himself had been a prisoner of war, because of the Italian involvement in war, swapping sides presumably, his war camp was one of the last to be liberated. Once he was free it took him four years to walk home from Germany, his mate Bruno Pilot did the same walk. He was a prisoner under the Germans and the Russians, in total he lost nine years his life in prison at war. He spoke of walking through snow waist deep with only a blanket and spoon. He carved a violin in prison, and his proudest moment, was watching me play the violin. He sold the Violin for three bracelets of white gold. My mum wears them still. He loved my mum too. My Nonno was a good man; he once spoke of risking everything by cyphering the petrol for his motorbike so an opposition soldier could take his sick wife to hospital. Nonno was sponsored in 1950 to travel to Australia to start a new life from obliterated post war Italy. He boarded a ship, converted from cargo/ cattle, for passengers, he had a hard life.

Epping, Australia was called home, and once Nonno had enough money, he paid for Nonna and Ugo to travel to Australia to be with him. Nonna had a luxury ship, the Australia. Nonno would have nothing less.

Lino was born in 1953 and shortly the family moved to Traralgon. Here Nonna tended a home for grown men, for some reason 7 remains embedded in my mind. I think it was Nonno, Ugo, Dad, Attilio (her brother in law) and a couple of other Italian immigrant men. She fed them, clothed them, and looked after them. Uncle Attilio did Nonna's lawns up until recently, despite his own old age; he said nothing could ever repay Nonna for what she did for him. Nonna learnt English speaking to her neighbour. Her English is great, only slipping in to Italian when she is tired or sick. Its fine, I understand her.

My Nonno and Nonna lost Ugo when he was young. Dad was only 8 when Ugo died at 14. Nonno had yelled at Ugo in the morning and enroute to his workshop to see Nonno, he was hit off his bicycle and killed. The man who did it did not serve any time. Nonno regretted yelling at him until the end of his days. We lost Nonno at 72. I remember being told at primary school. I still remember him in his beloved vegie patch, the smell of his aftershave and a coffee being brewed for him, he used to yell at Nonna sometimes, which I never understood. Who could yell at someone like Nonna? She really is non- yell- at- able. But Nonna said that upon their meeting, Nonno informed her that since the war he had moments. And he said to leave him be if such a moment occurs. I couldn’t imagine.

It was when Nonno died that Nonna started wearing the most glorious aquamarine ring. I loved it, and she gave it to me. She said it was given to her by her first fiancé. I was quite intrigued and probed harder. She said, he went off to the war, and was sent home to Italy as all his brothers had died. Then one night he was in the garden at home in Italy with a cousin and a plane flew over and dropped bombs, he was hit by shrapnel and died.    

Yesterday marked 35 years of my parents being married. Some of my fav times have been spent with my grandparents. When I lost a tooth I would leave it out for the tooth fairy at home, get my $2 and take it round to Nonna’s to get $2 more. When I was sick I would ring Nonna ‘Nonna can I have some minestrone please?’ ‘Yes, Stella’. ‘Nonna I feel like gnocchi, I start work at 1, I’ll be there at 12,’ ‘no worries gioia’. And every Sunday we would have lunch at Nonna’s and she would ring in the morning to ask what shape pasta we wanted. Not to mention Nonna's take-away sugo service.  

My cousin had the unfortunate circumstance of burying his Nonno in close proximity to when we lost Pa, I told him I could never imagine and had no words to say. I suppose this is how it feels. I spent so long thinking how I would ever cope if anything happens to Nonna. Refusing to think that anything will. I know I will cope. Because she is at peace. All I want is to be granted that fairytale, the moment to say goodbye and tell her it’s ok to go, but don’t go far.

Every phone call Nonna goes to me ‘I think of you all the time.’ And then I go 'I know you do Nonna; I hope you are praying hard.' ’Nonna prays for you, Goia.’ And she sometimes says ‘I just wish you find a nice boy’ and I say ‘maybe pray harder.’ ‘Nonna, I love you’. And she replies with grit in her response as though she is saying it with all her heart- ‘I love you too Amore.’

 

Post script> I made it.

THE UNITED STATES OF AWESOME- PART 2) LIVIN' LAS VEGAS LOCA

I always have lyrics in my head for moments. I sing when I ride, I sing if someone says something that reminds me of a song. And this time I’ll take a song directly from my fav CD ‘Richard Mercers best of Love song Dedications’ that best describes my sister on her wedding day:

 

I’ve never seen you looking so lovely as you did tonight,
I've never seen you shine so bright, And when you turned to me and smiled, it took my breath away,
And I have never had such a feeling,
Such a feeling of complete and utter love, as I do tonight;

But I hardly know this beauty by my side;
I'll never forget the way you look tonight.

 

It's funny growing up with parents that are so ridiculously in love, that you couldn’t imagine them apart. I have always aspired to find it. Unfortunately for me I have only once been in that moment at the same time with someone and as usual he turned out to be a dick. I’ve been in that moment when they haven’t, or they’ve been in that moment when I haven’t, but only once has it been at the

same time- and when it is, it is magic. That’s how it is with Bianca and Andrew. Andrew is so good for her, he makes her tolerable when she is stressed, he looks after me like a big (in this case, Giraffe sized) brother and he makes her look even more beautiful (which is still not quite as beautiful as her younger sister.)

My arrival in Vegas was strange, I was almost nervous to see my family- a bizarre feeling really. I found Dad at the hotel first, and we soon caught up with the girls. I barely felt as though I’d arrived when I was reminded that tomorrow was the hen’s party. I thought id have time to rest!!! The first day was spent poolside, trying to compensate from my lack of vitamin D in London, I then went for a team buffet which basically was force feeding me different cuisines (my pet hate) to get my monies worth, followed by feeling instantly sick, turning green in colour, vomiting and leaving. I suppose my body will never get used to the food in America. I hate it. It doesn’t even taste good, usually fried or smothered in cheese- it’s the sort of food I crave hung over- even their salads are unhealthy and most things contain gluten- my fav enemy.

The hen’s party was a pool party at the MGM grand Wet republic. All us girls convened in my hotel from 10am and were in our Bungalow from 11:30- which was superb. The boys were at a tops optional pool party and we had some worried girls until Tatiana received a text from Dale around midday exclaiming that they were at a gay pool party. I’m unsure whether it was the truth or a strategic text to put their minds at ease. We danced to great tunes and lived off cocktails before leaving circa 6pm for Mexican dinner at 8pm.When we left for a seedy night club rather than head to Tao I decided to leave and walked back to the most isolated hotel in Las Vegas- the Trump.

 

After a crazy morning sorting out Greg & Katie’s room break-in at the Trump I went off and did my own train tour of the strip- starting at Mandalay and ending at Excalibur where I won back some of the money I owed the old man. I made it back to the hotel just in time to meet mum and dad and head to the 2810 Mansion. The mansion was exquisite- absolutely stunning, had a pool grotto, massive spa and to quote Anna Gallard:  
‘scary’ waterslide. I took custody of a pool lounge and settled in for the day, trying to avoid bridezilla who had taken over my sister’s body. Before we knew it, the wedding day was here- I woke up first, and commenced the set-up, setting up the decorations and making the beach guest seating. Pickup was at 2pm for photos so we were done up at noon and got to see Andrew and Dad’s reaction when they saw Bianca for the first time. Andrew had his fangs on show, his smile was so wide!

Just as we left the mansion to get the wedding photos done- we saw Chris Mead rolling in, looking battle worn, barefoot, shirt buttons torn open, looking as though he was straight from the hangover movie! (Maybe June next year we’ll be reconvening in Vegas welcoming all the children that were conceived that weekend).

 

The wedding was spot on. I woke up refreshed and surprisingly not hung over from the nights festivities prior, having been to the Irish pub to watch the world’s 2^nd most boring grand final ever- (second only to last years) I did what I did last year- went hard and went home… and passed out. After a brief encounter with Bridezilla in the morning, I managed to do a bit of decorating and organising before it was time to get ready.

 
The bride looked great, Lino had a sparkling eye when he first laid eyes on her and looked ridiculously sharp in his Hugo Boss suit. Lynny was sparkling in Blue. Tears welled when reminiscing about those that can’t be with us. I’m particularly missing my g- parents, those past and those present albeit not in attendance. Pa would’ve been so proud. The day before he died he was so out of it but so with it when we walked in- he saw Andrew and he goes ‘G’day Champ’ he loved talking footy with Andrew and even spilled his biggest regret to Andrew one night, having missed a goal in the dying minutes of a GF and his team lost by a point. As soon as I landed in Vegas and saw the machines I thought of Granny and even had a poke whilst waiting for my bags to come out. My grandparents travelled the world, a travel bug inherited through the generations. Mostly when I think about Nonna I remember the smell of food from her house- it will be weird not seeing her house when I go back. It’s weird because I don’t remember much about Nonno, but I can still smell his aftershave as if he were still here and his gold chains used to make a chink noise that I will never forget.

 The reception was even better, and first to get their gear off and jump in the spa was yours truly. After brief resurrection of Bridezilla (refusing alcohol on all the spa go-ers) order was quickly and sneakily restored when dear cousin Christian used his foresight to flog some vodka from the stash. A few drinks later and we all called it a night, resuming the following day for a BBQ and pool party.

Vegas was tame this time- only one big night of four- much different to my last appearance- where I had 44hours on with 4 hours sleep.. thankfully it was pre-blog and what happens in Vegas… stays in Vegas.

 

 

UNITED STATES OF AWESOME- PART 1) NEW YORK NEW YORK





I tried writing a novel before ‘He’s Just Not That in to You’ came out about girls, and how stupid they are- basically because I've spent so much of my life working with men I have some insight and have become somewhat of a man... anyway, somewhere between Heathrow and the United States of America my novel (which I started writing many years ago) became x rated; it was so steamy in fact I had to check over my shoulder to make sure that no one was watching what I was writing! So now my slowly getting there 5 pages long novel has become an x rated piece that is somewhere between triple x rated and the Christian Grey novel (that ironically, I hated). Once I complete it, perhaps I’ll name it ‘The United States of Awesome, by Zara Sunderland, my porn start pseudonym (which for those of you that remember from your school days is your first pet + first street name.)  So now that I’m firmly back on the British soil and whatever that virtual sexual cloud that was permeating my subconscious over the Indian Ocean was, has left, this blog will be a non x rated synopsis of my shenanigans in the United States of Awesome (PG).

So far my body has hated me since Budapest when I passed out, followed by my birthday which I spent so sick I wasn’t sure whether I would survive, so sick in fact I feared I would die at one stage, lonely in London... That was until the beautiful Catarina knocked at my door bearing gifts of rice and coconut water and I cried on her shoulder, haha. At one point Miss Sarah asked me what I wanted done with my body. I said cremated please- and I want two chair dedications- one in Holland Park and the other overlooking Bird Rock, Jan Juc- my favourite place in the world. Thankfully I was starting to come good, but that just meant I went out more, and unfortunately alcohol weakens the old immune system so between that and the obnoxiously bad food and coffee in the US of A, I now always feel sick, even now, having been home and eating well for the past week.

The night before my holiday I figured as I was only doing a half day at work the next day, so I may as well go out and party. That was probably up there with one of the worst decisions I made the whole trip, nearly up there with packing whilst drinking the night before which is never ideal (quote time I went to Torquay with no bathers, no pyjamas, just my steamer wet suit and my Portuguese poncho). Thursday night at the Rylston was huge, so huge we left, and went to the Durrell until that shut and we left and went to the Brown Cow. Somehow my alarm went off and I woke up starker’s with the taste of alcohol on my breath... Delicious. Work was a blithering blur, I had to be so ‘on’ though to get all the work I needed done, I was like girl on a mission when I got there- instantly sober, multi tasking the crap out of work and carefully handing over piles of my prepared work for my boss. I left work early on Friday and landed in New York late on a Friday evening, having spent the whole plane trip either writing my porno or trying to get the highest score on plane trivia. I kept getting second. But managed to fill almost the whole screen with my high scores... My ocd kept me awake through my sleeping tablet. So I decided again I should just drink. I only had about four vodka, fresh lime sodas (danke to the amazing air hostesses flogging me limes from first class), and was quite intoxicated on arrival. I met a Swedish lady named Ulla at immigration and we caught the train in to Manhattan enroute for the hostel I’d booked. When i arrived it was a disaster! It was fully booked so the owner (some guy that looked and acted exactly like Mr Chow from the hangover) said ‘great news for you, i've booked you in to a hotel’ which was another cab ride away and i'm sure was a brothel in the middle of China town (maybe a setting for my novel?), anyway I spent the whole night trying to book an Air Bnb for the next night, trying not to read the reviews about the place I was staying about people getting bed bugs, and trying my damn-est to sleep through all the banging going on!



With Steph

With The Brooklyn Bridge

Thankfully my saviour/ long loved wife Laura Salvatore’s replacement housemate Steph was in New York with her bro and sister in law. She felt awful and insisted I come over straight away for a shower (which I avoided in the brothel). I made it to her apartment in lower west side (which incidentally was on Perry Street/ Carrie from Sex in the City lived there) circa 9am and by this stage had spent in excess of 33 hours awake. A quick shower and we were off touring the sites of New York. After a typical American breakfast (i’m sure the place and staff were straight out of Seinfeld), and an awful, but massive cwofee, I was awake! So we walked miles.... across the Brooklyn Bridge, checking out the 9/11 memorial and some other sites around the meat packing district before making it home to her apartment mid afternoon, where she forced 2 hours of sleep on me (BEST chick EVER!). After waking from my massive sleep, we were at it again, trekking to Brooklyn for a night out on the town. A massive one that ended with her friend piking it for being ‘tired’ (yeah seriously?). We left Brooklyn for the main land and ended up getting a strip tease from the bar man after Steph tipped him $20. After convincing me to join tinder I was happy to have matched with one friend, an NBA player, Markel and not because I was interested, but because I thought ‘fuck it, he’ll be loaded.’

The following morning, enroute to breakfast I said to Steph how great I felt after 8 hours sleep. She said ‘when did you have 8 hours sleep?’ and I said, ‘last night, we got home around midnight.’ To which she responded with ‘we got home at 4am, the bar shut at 4am, and we left Brooklyn after midnight!!’ ....Whoops!! Time flies when you are clearly killing it. That day after breaky was not nearly as productive, I caved, and checked in to the air bnb with my hostess with the mostest Heather late arv. After the 6 flight walk up I had a good 30min relax before heading off again to catch up with one of the bestest, my mate Joshy Gill. Another night of drinking and great hospitality from his housemates, watching the San Fran Sea horses play some football I piked it at a relatively normal hour and headed back to the apartment. Finally I had a decent sleep and spent a full day watching the whole season of Real Housewives of Beverley Hills I was welcomed late afternoon by Heather asking me to come to Yoga with her. Did I mention hot Heather is a yoga teacher?

With Joshy Gill

The class was ran in a swanky New York studio and was nothing like the yoga experience I was used to. Instead of a flabby Indian teacher telling me to imagine my head is at one with the earth and to close my eyes and think of palm trees, this was a ripped guy, trying to explain the advanced yoga positions. I lost track when some of the class started balancing on their heads or manoeuvring their bodies in to unimaginable contortions. I spent a good 15 minutes trying not to fart or just admiring the hanging humans... you have no idea how hard an hour and a half of advanced yoga is after doing absolutely limited gym work for the last 5 months! Thankfully I survived and spent the remaining time in New York preparing for Vegas, trying to find a healthy meal that didn’t make me feel sick, or trying to find a decent coffee. After another massive final night this time with Conor from Lagos; it became clear I failed miserably at all of the tasks and boarded the plane early (giddy and seedy) for Vegas early the next morning. 

With Conor from Lagos



Buda Pests

I’m having some writing block issues so apologies for the blog delays and if this one is lacklustre.

Friday was my first full day in Budapest and I spent most of it in bed or with my head in a toilet- or at one stage bikini clad I actually vomited in the pot plant on the rooftop terrace- class. Hung to the over I was. It serves me right. Apparently I didn't take the hint I needed to take it easy when I blacked out on the plane on the way over, cos as soon as I felt better (thanks mostly to Magda the human beanstalk of a flight attendant) I took on the mission to get rowdy upon my arrival to Budapest and that is what happened…a somewhat classy dinner, turned to a boozy dinner, followed by shots at Alatraz, and ruin bars.

After the pot plant incident I realised I had exited the confines of my hotel room prematurely and sought a couple of hours more refuge in the hotel room. Sarah was great, providing me with coca cola which made me feel better and I settled in watching BBC on rotation. I learnt some interesting facts about apples- Poland are the worlds biggest exporters of apples (£490m industry), 90% of their exports went to Russia (20,000 apples in 80 trucks per day). Now with the trade between Poland and Russia ceasing- basically Poland are stuffed.  Also watching BBC I decided I’ve lost track of who is killing who, the Iraqis are killing themselves, ISIS are living in medieval times bringing back the beheading to anyone and everyone, and the Gaza strip is on fire- Egypt are even trying to broker deals... So much bloodshed at present, it has got me thinking the world has become really confused. (Trigger side tangent) I remember when I was little hearing the same about the wars in Eastern Europe thinking it would never end. I love the fact that now having travelled through Croatia, Bosnia and Slovenia and having a mix of Serbian and Croatian friends that live in peace how lucky I am and hope that one day that the same can happen here. Although I actually think there will be a tipping point at some stage in the UK and it will just cause more madness. Perhaps that’s why I took so much more in of my hangover time absorbing facts about apples…before donning my sunglasses and braving the world… in aid of a kebab which, thankfully like bars- are everywhere.

Budapest is an amazing city. Its beauty is matched only by its bars. They are scattered everywhere and remind me very much of eclectic Fitzroy that I miss so much. We had an early night and decided to take the delights of Budapest in the next morning. We woke up early, fresh as daisies and took to a walking tour. What a beautiful city, with a vast history of wars and battles (mostly lost). Having walked it, and discovered the history it all made so much more sense. Particularly the communist aspect- which I think becomes apparent by the lack of customer service. Its not that the Hungarians aren’t nice, its merely the fact the service tax is inclusive so they don’t need to try, so they just don’t, it reminded me, including the décor of Cuba actually! After the walking tour we cracked on at some of the bars, and I decided to bypass Alcatraz the bar that seemed to be where it all went wrong a couple of nights ago and revisit the place where all the fun occurred - actually, when I walked in I had butterflies not having remembered much except that I had a ripping time, support a large purple bruise on my thigh and then spent most of the next day vomiting. All began to come back to me when I went to the bar to be served by my favourite Hungarian Eminem look-a-like-but hotter barman ‘Zoltan’ and he started laughing along with the rest of the bar staff saying I kept coming up to him and saying ‘Tie me up’ in Hungarian , I apologised and asked him where he was from and when he replied with Central Nigeria, I realised I’d spent quite significant portions of my night referring to him as my Hungarian boyfriend and pointing him out to everyone and saying so much haha thankfully he was just as gorgeous as I remembered. A little bit drawn still from my messy first night, this time it was Sarah’s turn to get rowdy. To be fair most of it was my fault cos I didn’t want anymore shots so having ordered them, she had to drink both! After a great night out we called it a night and I carried her part of the way home. She was hilarious pointing out every Kebab shop on the way.

The next day I woke up early with the James Bond mission to find Sarah a Kebab. On Jesus’s day of rest she suggested perhaps Tesco may not be open and I said ‘I didn’t know Tesco was catholic’ haha dumb moment Mones!!! I managed to complete the mission arriving triumphantly back to the hotel with an American Hot dog and bottles of bubbly- water this time though! Both of us retreated back to our beds and watched some more BBC before I decided to have a sauna and attempt to remove some of those pesky toxins out of my body. I then treated myself to a thai massage which was so painful I was cringing. I was mentally trying to figure out whether it was pleasure or pain, and then I realised as I watched real-time bruises appearing on my legs, that pain was the answer but when I asked her to do it more softly she seemed to punish me more exclaiming that I was soft and should’ve got an aroma massage instead.. I have never felt so violated in my life, I looked like I’d been paint balling and everyone was having shots at me. We treated ourselves to a lunch kebab and headed out to watch the Grand Prix. It was ridiculously funny walking in to an English bar and telling them all there is no point going for Hamilton because Ricciardo was going to win. To my amusement having started 7^th on the grid he soon hit the lead and dominated the Belgian grand prix, the bucks party adjacent were rowdy and as I left Sarah there to head on yet another walking tour- (this time the communist Budapest walking tour) I said ‘Sarah i’m going, let me know when you are coming’ and the obnoxious fat English guy goes to me ‘I will make you come tonight’ to his dismay he scored a slap fair across his cheek. Budapest may be able to beat me but those obnoxious boys will not! I met 2 lovely young Australian (my favourite) boys on the walking tour who dove for every spot of shade and seating along the way so I soon realised they were suffering the repercussions of their début night out in Budapest- a severe near life ending hangover. After the tour we went to the Jewish markets and I bought some earrings and Sarah came and met me and we had a delicious Thai dinner and some quieter drinks. Again like deja vu we ventured to our fav bar, except this time my head held high and Sarah’s drooping lowly, my Hungarian boyfriend was not working. I was actually quite sad. All good, it was Sunday night, Jesus’s day of rest so it was a quiet almost end to our adventure. The next day was my fav. We spent the day sun baking on the roof, the Vitamin D being exactly what we both needed. Our Easyjet flight home was slightly less dramatic. No pass outs just a healthy sleep the whole flight home. Thanks Budapest we gave you a nudge and came off worse off but geez we had fun. 

Le Tour De Phallus... Oops, I mean Paris!

What better way to celebrate 3 months of living abroad than heading to Paris? I love Paris. It's my fourth visit there!

Those of you who don’t like it when I stereotype –look away now. First, I would like to split France in to 2: 1) French Parisians 2) All other France. The latter (and this is very general) are gorgeous, polite, humorous, and somewhat understanding to your broken French in an endearing way. The French Parisians are a bizarre species, mostly set in their ways, not helpful with your language barriers and not funny at all, although they could be, except they tell jokes then apologise after, rendering it not funny. Or just when you think they are breaking in to a ‘normal person’, they correct themselves and become all proper and boring again. I say this because I have travelled through various parts of France, experienced the warmth of the French, the great wine and amazing food. The duck, cooked to perfection, the service with a smile and the willingness to help. In Paris, it’s nothing like that. So if you can block them out, you are doing yourself a huge service.

It’s so amazing to have the ability to leave work at 4:30pm on a Friday and be in Paris for dinner. If you picture V-line, the train ride is nothing like that. It’s quick, direct and there are no bullshit junkies on the train. When you board its English, followed by French and as soon as youre in the tunnel, the voiceover flips and speaks French first. I checked in to my hostel and was greeted by my Brazilian roommate Christina, who knew at least 4 languages. She was my favourite instantly cos I could practice my German and Italian. Then I meandered to the far side of the room and peered out the window- the sparkling Eifel tower was looking right at me. I said ‘come on, let’s go’ so that’s exactly what we did. I must say although it was my fourth trip to the Eifel tower, it was the first at night, we got to the Eifel tower and it was still as mesmerising as the first time I saw it. I initially thought it wasn’t that special I must say. But I think I just made that up to try and be cool, ‘cos I was 15 and that’s what you do! You know that feeling you get when you really care about someone, and they feel the same way or you are just in that happy place and then literally fireworks start going off and it’s like they are meant for you? - that’s how you feel looking at the Eifel tower at night. I decided to take the advice of my good friend Bianca (or Byunca so as not  to confuse her with sister Bianca)- “treat yourself”. So I did. Gluten filled crepes; with Nutella and cream. The cream was stacked so high it was ironic that when I leant over to pick up my napkin as it began to fly away as I simultaneously had the thought ‘I will definitely spill this on me, I will need that napkin’ that the cream sunk fair on my crouch just as I grasped the napkin. Fair to say I looked as though I’d just climaxed at the Eifel tower- on the outside of my pants. Thankfully Christina also doubles as a legend and had a supply of napkins with her. I put the soda water I’d just purchased to good use and together with the warm weather, only 10 minutes later it was as though nothing had happened. We decided to walk and we walked up to the Arc de Triumphe and Champs Elycee before calling it a night at that point and heading back to the hostel exhausted.

I spent the following day taking in the sights, and tried out a restaurant a friend recommended. They only have one thing on the menu- Steak, chips and waldof salad, but its pretty amazing and just when you think you’re done, you get another serving! Incidentally it was also the only place in Paris I experienced great service for the weekend. I did a spot of shopping and picked up the bargain of the century- a £30 suit from Mango and walked the whole day seeing some sights I hadn’t been to before including the Luxembourg gardens. After a quick nap at the hostel I was surprised with a message from my oldest dearest friend Sarah telling me she had left London and caught the Eurostar to Paris to hang out with me. Bang!!! It was perfect timing for me as my mate from Croatia, Marija who is honest like me, but 10 times prettier, was also in Paris as her boyfriend is French so she had literally just moved to Paris that day. We were all together at Opera by 8pm, together with two frenchies; Sarah’s husband and his best friend Jean ‘something French’… i’m going with Jean ‘Francois’. We ordered some champers and nibbles, (which I scoffed most of!) and had a ridiculously fun night. Marija didn’t know anyone else but fit in like a trooper and we all hit it off over a bottle of Champers... followed by another bottle… and another.  Until the tipping point, when we got told off at dinner for being too loud by some boring old Parisian. The man’s poor wife was mortified. At the end of drinks and dinner Sarah’s husband got up and apologised to them in French by saying ‘I’m sorry they are from England’ as a joke. So I got up and said ‘I’m sorry he is French and boring’. The mortified lady, was now more mortified than before and her husband had a look on his face like he’d been poked by the stick he had shoved fair up his arse.

I don’t know what it is about the French, but they do themselves no favours on the humility world scale as they even correct your French when you try or can speak French or answer you back in English! It is so intimidating and rude. For instance, Sarah’s French is quite good- good enough to put on her CV, however she said that even her mother in law will tell her off or correct her in front of everyone, which she finds intimidating and makes her not want to speak it. It’s also bizarre because I feel like they have their own joke running on how to mock you. Which under usual circumstances wouldn’t bother me, but they do it in such an arrogant, non-humorous way and they when you give them back a piece of their own cake, they don’t know how to respond, so just stop talking to you. Some random guy called me a Yank in front of all his mates, I arked up and said no I’m not American. And he continued… ‘Where are you from then?’ so I said ‘Nigeria’, Central Nigeria. He couldn’t tell if I was telling the truth or not, so turned his back, started speaking French again and started mocking me. I was just glad to have shut him up!  

Central Nigeria

Parisians think they are right and stubborn in their ways, but are often wrong and do things the wrong way, i.e. why wouldn’t you have Sunday trading? Particularly when you have the world’s biggest cycling race in town!! Sarah’s husband was trying to tell me that French people are the way they are because of the revolution when they killed their monarchy or something. I think that is an excuse, because as I rightly pointed out- Marija had been through war and she wasn’t going around being rude to people. Basically the Parisian French aren’t good at much, they rely from the reputation of food and wine from the other regions, and the only beauty I can see is within their buildings and architecture… there is one exception to this; the Police. They probably have the sexiest police force in the world. They have this cute little beret and carry phallus batons. I will go as far as saying that I think there should maybe be another revolution, with the sexy Southerners (e.g. my mate Leo Terrando), that understands our humour (including laughing and not being mortified when I practice the only two phrases I know in French which translate to: “will you go to bed with me” and “tie me up”), in the French police uniform Vs the rude know it all Parisians!!  I must tell you that the next day when watching Le Tour on The Champs Elycess I spent 50% of my time looking at the batons instead of the bikes then making eye contact with the sexy police with the old ‘how you doing? (Joey off friends thing) in the back of my mind dreaming about our future together (Lee Renton: ‘Too far?’), shake my head, back to reality. Speaking of Le Tour, it was great to be back there for the finale and watch Nibale cruise to his maiden win. The excitement was lifting, the cyclists were excruciatingly fast and the ambience electrifying. (Nearly as orgasmic as the Eifel Tower experience.)  

The final morning was my favourite. I got up at 6;30am for my 7:15am train, and unbeknown to me I’d totally forgotten I’d booked business class. Best result ever. They even give you breakfast, which I was so happy to not have (croissants= gluten= not on a work day). It wasn’t long before all I could hear was English, followed by French. The way it should be. Maybe that’s why I hate the Olympics?

Well played Paris. And if you could export your Policeman as well as your wine, I’d be quite content.

  

Blog another day.

Oh my god at the pub and the bloody guy from the only way is Chelsea has just walked in. Alex is his name and I have no idea how I know cos I have only watched the show once at Kellie & Kev's, when I stayed at theirs and lived on trash TV. He is with some stick thin chicks though! Good thing I just ordered a glutinous Parma. Actually having just googled the above to make sure; i've now realised that the show is actually called ‘Made in Chelsea’ haha shows really how much I know!!! Ohhh shit he is looking right in my eyes. Short man, swimmingly blue eyes, awful jacket, but seriously, it’s 27 degrees, why the hell is he wearing a beanie? Do you think this now means that my Carlos Leon celebrity spot is now void?? I still feel like having Madonna’s child is more celebrity than some guy with high hair that is actually short. I am rewarding myself with some glutinous home tucker for doing a trial ride in to work today. It was quite exciting and exhausting. I'm not sure if my heavy sweating was due to the fact that it was hot or that I was so freaking scared at some stages, particularly Hyde Park corner; what a stressful mess. I attacked the gaps (sorry mum) there is no time to hesitate and I was patient when required, in the end I was actually quite confident. Although I got lost at Sloane square I made it to the bike shop next to work- Cloud 9- where my bike shop boyfriends Adam and Chris ‘the boss accent’ work. Actually I made friends with a guy as I was walking in and when he heard I had got lost, he offered to take me back to Fulham which was half enroute but completely past his Holland Park destination. Tommy the Hungarian was great, although I don’t believe he is Hungarian. I probably told him. He was quite an interesting chap though and it was great having company although I think I slowed him down considerably.

Last night was fun, and treacherous all wound up in one. I used Adam at the bike store as a sounding board/ Oprah. Again, i’m sure i'm in the right, and all you loser dudes are in the wrong. We went for Thai to celebrate Caterina’s birthday for the 2^nd week. I have since learnt her actual birthday is next Sunday so will undoubtedly keep celebrating. We made the mistake of heading across the road to the Durrell. I was having a ball, until I saw current friend there who proceeded to ignore me, then I saw Old mate from last blog that is definitely in the wrong but probably thinks I am. Typical male, he comes up, pretends like nothing is wrong and all is hunky dory, infuriated me. First, I had to continue to get drunk. But they both were still there, and I felt completely unwelcome or over welcome and the alcohol was not working. I had to leave, so abruptly did so, but probably not soon enough. When I received a jovial text message from Mr in the wrong I proceeded to drop some truth bombs. I’m not stupid, i'm nearly 29, i've read two books about relationships now, haha thanks Kate. (Had to drop that in.)

I’ve had an epic few weeks which will undoubtedly extend to next week when I head to Paris for the finale to Le Tour. So pumped, how much cooler will the train to Paris be than the V-line to Traralgon! Pumped. Have been celebrating my new friend Caterina’s birthday for a good few weeks- hilarious, I actually thought it was 2 weeks ago so we have been drinking every night since! On Wednesday it was particularly hilarious. Ye ol' bestie Rents was staying at mine, he was supposed to meet me around 7:30pm at the Rylston, so when he arrived at 10pm, id well and truly given it a nudge. It all started at 6pm when I arrived and found all my mates in the beer garden. I then found out that Manny from the pub had got his first grad job as a lawyer, so we had a bottle of champers to celebrate. Had some nachos that were semi layered- it seems they are improving after their tenth lecture from me. Still hungry I went home and grabbed my lasagne, heated it up and brought it to my friends at the pub. Again, we celebrated with another bottle of champagne. By 10pm we were hungry again, Caterina a couple of champers bottles ahead of me, was starving so doubled up her order of nachos and calamari, I ordered Lee a steak and finally he arrived. Was great to see my good mate Rents in town. I got to catch up East side last weekend and we went to this cool bar which had an outdoor stage and was outside called Forest or something. Had a few ciders in the sun with the troops which were lovely before returning to Fulham for some more birthday antics, to be fair I thought last Saturday was her actual birthday! I saw him Sunday again, it was the world cup final and again I went east to see the gang. We watched it at a bar in Shoreditch called Long Rock away or something. Basically blatantly obvious by this stage of my Blog that name's are not my forte!! The soccer again was great and Lee used his force over me when I was trying to leave early-ish to get home and convinced me to stay with some baby Guinness shots and vodka chasers. The next thing I remember is finding 2 other Fulham friends to share a cab home with and Lee throwing chicken wings at our cab as we were trying to drive off. Geez that kid is the best. Miss his Guts.

It could be a good time to tell you about the fact that i've actually started to try and get fit again. I’ve broken my 4 month gym cherry and followed it up with a km swim at Virgin Active. Tomorrow is Sunday and I am going to do a spin class, maybe have another swim, and may even try my cycle to work again. I’m also having my first Saturday night at home. I’m tired. My life is busy.