Juxtaposed Antipode

If ever there could be a defining moment of me as a bipolar, it would be now. Not only do I feel like I have two lives across the other side of the world, I am so toey and on edge about things, bored and underwhelmed and somewhat overwhelmed also. I can’t work out if its because I’ve been a bit sick lately, or if the lack of salt water and sun has finally torn me down, but this lack of vitamin D and this pale white at mid-summer is definitely not agreeing with me, I can’t stop thinking about my perfect place- somewhere between Torquay, Melbourne and London. And I can’t work out if I’m as happy as Rolf Harris in the 70’s or as sad as Mitch Clarke, whether I’m a Yaris (a cheap hybrid) or a Tesla. Maybe it is just the weather thing, but at the moment I just feel so detached. I feel like I’m on the new earth that’s just been discovered. Am I ok and everyone else isn’t, or vice versa?

There are so many poignant moments in my life and I wonder as I approach 30 (or as Girthy likes to refer; Dirty 30) if I have suddenly become a reflective person, or I am just being melodramatic, but i can't help but wonder that when I had the choose your own adventure option, I just chose the wrong way. What about dudes... Have I been too picky, or are they all just dicks? Have I focused too much on experiences that I forgot I was getting older and have left all that life stuff too late? Or instead of ‘seizing the moment’ have I just been running from it? Whatever it is, I have hit the age where I can’t tell anymore whether people are generally interested or just taking the piss… after all we all know how entertaining I can be or maybe i'm just taking the piss! Conversely, I am a self-proclaimed opportunist- the first to give 100%, or jump on board some spontaneous idea  – anyone keen for a short flight and some sun tanning action this weekend??  

I’m in this transient state with two lives across opposite sides of the globe. Even when I made a phone call the other day I was using a hybrid of the English phonetic language and the Aussie ‘Wheel of fortune based phonetic alphabet;’  ‘B is for Boris, O is for Orange, R for Romeo, T is for Tango. I was relieved when I called Australia and the lady on the receiving end said ‘S for Sugar.’ People have started to notice me in my transient state, which when I’m depressed doesn’t happen until I’ve got drunk and made an absolute dick of myself. Telling my mate his step dad has hairy shoulders, or me overindulging in Berlin, waking up with a ‘100 year hangover’ and vomiting in a recycling bin- although are quite low points in my life, however do not qualify as I’m mostly happy. I’m just either too happy or in a bad mood. Actually a colleague rang me last night and said (although jokingly) that he doesn’t think he will be able to cope if my bad mood continues. And a colleague just now, I tore his head off once he enquired how I was, literally forgetting that that’s what all English people do ‘ya right?’ ‘you ok?’ gahhhh, most annoying question!!! “I’M FINE here on my newly discovered Earth planet!”  

 http://www.express.co.uk/news/science/594133/Kepler-452b-How-long-take-humans-reach-Earth-2-could-we-live-there

Le Tour De Amstwerpen

Oh its been hot. So so hot. It's been awesome. I love the heat. I love sleeping nude. And whilst most Brits are looking for a deep dark hole to hide from the heat, I have been savouring it. In fact, the other day it was 35 degrees and during the height of the day heat I decided to go for a long walk to get an ice cream, it was so calm as most people were in doors, I strolled around and lined up in the sun for a good 20 minutes, listening to everyone complain.

 

The heat is my better place. I even took it a step further and went out all night, drinking cocktails and eating dirty Chinese with my old flat mate Chidda's (one of the criminal barristers- not Tony the owner of murderous Cat Dog). In fact, it was the perfect day and night.  London is awesome in summer. It’s light outside until quite late, which encourages you to stay out and savour every moment. This often goes hand in hand with drinking, so it has been encouraging that I have finally got off my arse and bought a gym membership to coincide with summer. I signed up for a free trial and completed 9 classes in two weeks, got an instant four pack, which gave me the inspiration to continue, in the hope it will grow to a sixer. I may soon compete at the Serena Williams gun show.  

Last weekend I took off after work to catch a plane to Amsterdam to watch Le Tour for a couple of nights. After a brief anxiety stint due to my inability to project manage my own life, I required a short rapid sprint from the Stansted express that takes 40 minutes to make it to my plane on time, so understandably I was exhausted on arrival in Amsterdam, eating a late dinner and calling it a night, half high on the 2nd hand weed that filled the air. 

 

I woke up in the morning and took off for the time trial in Utrecht. I was pretty annoyed with the fact I couldn’t see much, so walked in to town to get a good spot. I managed to find a spot about five-abreast on the river bank, but again, it was hard work to see anything and my tippy toe calf stretch was rapidly making my patience wear thin. I noticed not many people were lined up over the other side of the road. So I did a reconnaissance which involved a massive trek down a river bank and a stroll over a bridge and popped up over the other side, lodged myself up on the fence just in time to see the riders speed past for the time trial. It was sweltering.. my fav. So after watching a hundred odd riders, I was quite exhausted so decided to catch the train back to Amsterdam town to my hostel, which was a traditional ‘coffee shop’ on the canal on the edge of the Red Light district. The next day I travelled to  Antwerp. I sat myself next to another guy without a reservation and he had a ripping bike, so we started talking Le Tour, with his sexy French accent. He was well impressed and checked out my LeTour photos, I had an awesome one of a Giant Alpecin team member I shot at the time trial but couldn’t identify who it was. He was like ‘that’s awesome, that’s my best mate Warren’ haha so hash tagged him in and have my first famous follower on Instagram. After being asked to move a couple of times, I became quite aware that I’d in avertedly got on the fast train instead of the regular one that took double the time and cost half the price. My plan was to play dumb to the instructor. I had almost got away with it when he came around to check tickets, about 15 mins before the arrival in Antwerp. He told me to take my earphones out when I showed him my ticket… and proceeded to tear shreds through me. I told him that there was literally no one at the train station to assist, and I had asked one person which train was to Antwerp and he pointed at the train I boarded. I failed to tell him that just as he pointed, it left the platform, so I waited 17 minutes for the next one, and boarded it. Anyhow after the lecture that apparently they tell you in four languages, he told me I should pay 69 euro. I told him it was ridiculous and I genuinely had no idea. Considering it wasn’t a lie, and the next stop was Antwerp (my stop) he let me go. Phew!

 

Belgium… highest populous of ISIS members- FACT… although I’d not have known so in Antwerp. I found it quite hip and edgy, albeit it lacked some night life, it was a happening daytime mecca. They had some really cool fashion shops and design shops, edgy cafes. The hostel was like a semi luxury hotel. And my room was huge. That night however I got back to the hostel and noticed there were small shoes in the room- child shoes. I thought how ridiculous, surely not? But sure enough my fears were confirmed when a lady came in with her child- a little dude. I had some heated words with management about the fact that it was inappropriate for a child, let alone a boy child to be in a female dorm, I said it wouldn’t be allowed in a dudes dorm, cos I could be Cliff Richards (too soon?). Regardless I got over the fact, spent as much time as possible out of the room, which also meant I was lining up for waffles at 9pm with the Hockeyroos drowning their sorrows in indulgent waffles having experienced the trauma of finishing third- so after having some sweets with my new found friends, and second famous social media followers, I went to the hostel for some shut eye. Unfortunately a menacing mosquito thought nothing of the thought, the mosquito buzz, killing my night more than an overtired sleeping child. I woke up tired, with an itchy left arm covered in bites. Grrrrr.   

It was an early-ish rise to watch the depart from Anterpen. Again, I found myself buried in the crowds of people, again chancing it for a better position after becoming fed up and finding a spot on the fence at the race start after being told to get out of the way by none other than Quintana, who came up behind me to join the race. After brushing shoulders with some famous superstars it was
time to route to Brussels for a final night prior to my train to work the next morning. It was here that I had the delight of yet another reason to never stay in a hostel. A nasally Chinese lady who snored louder than a large man. I proceeded to wake her explaining that she snorted like a pig and telling her to roll over. When the snoring continued and 3am beckoned, I went down to reception and asked them to do something. I switched rooms, to a quiet new one, where everyone was sound asleep. I nestled in for a good snooze, but was awoken again, by obnoxious roomies who set their alarm for 5am and were still getting ready quite loudly at 7am. Naturally I told them off. One retorted ‘is it my fault I’m getting up early?’ I said, ‘No I usually wouldn’t mind, except I have to go to work, I haven't had any sleep because I switched rooms as an overgrown woman was snoring and YOU'VE taken two hours to get ready, you have been so fucking loud- you obnoxious selfish bitch'. I survived without getting my head kicked in and have since decided to implement a ‘no dorm room after 30’ policy, prior to remembering I have one booked in Ios for a 2009 reunion at Francesco's. (At least there I’ll have partied and passed out and won't need to go to work the next day, so I’m less likely to find the lack of sleep frustrating.)

I made it to work via my first 2^nd Class Eurostar experience by lunch.. Again, something I don't love having experienced the luxury of first class. Maybe I am starting to grow up. Ha.

 

 

Morrokin to Manchester

I survived lent- 40 days with no alcohol at all. It was 3am on the way to the airport and I was craving alcohol and thirsty, oh so thirsty, so was stoked when upon arrival at Stansted Duty Free there were samples of flavoured vodka. The man was so excited I had given up alcohol for Jesus he gave me one shot of caramel and one of chocolate.

Instantaneous to landing in North Africa I had obtained a nice deep cough. Sunny Africa was beckoning and straight away we had bartered for a large transfer in to town, except when simple Robbie said 200 after we’d agreed 150 for our large vehicle, which turned out to be a Mercedes sedan that usually seated 5 and not 7. After Tosh briefly blew his massive lid we agreed for a 150 cab fare in our small large vehicle and cramped six weary travellers: B, Tosh, Nev, Robbie and Stace and I were enroute to the Riad Hostel Equity Point in the Marrakesh Medina. Thinking my cough would subside we went for a walk to check out Marrakesh and had found a bar that sold alcohol within a couple of hours- Kosy bar. Enjoying my post lent beverages I was disappointed it was Good Friday and I couldn’t accompany my new found taste for alcohol with some juicy meat.

Urgh not again Africa! This cough had worsened to the point of an inability to breathe and a banging headache. After a brief cry on Nev’s shoulder my awesome crew in the London fam looked after me/left me be whilst they headed out for some opening night shenanigans. I was spontaneously woken by a man running through our private room in to the shower- thinking I was dreaming!! Wide awake now and pounding on the door for this dude to get out, he finally ran out of the room in his towel. You have my attention Sir! As i was awake and thinking it was wasteful to spend a night in (massive FOMO setting in), as my headache had temporarily subsided I decided to venture to the rooftop bar for a mingle. There I met a man whose looks instantly captivated me, when he invited me to sit with him I thought all my Christmas’s (or Easter’s) had come at once! At one point I interrupted him and said ‘sorry, I am not listening, I’m too busy thinking that if your eyes were blue you would look exactly like Brad Pitt.’ Haha smoothe Mones. Mr Norway Brad Pitt loved it and as Jesus would have- offered me some of his wine.

Day 2 was spent exploring the Medina more. After a brief hide and seek starring B and I from a drunken man that somehow always found us to annoy us, we found some cones of salt and pepper squid and indulged. B, Tosh and I decided to get a traditional massage to relax. This massage took B and my relationship up a notch when we were asked to strip nude and enter the Hamman. Whilst some nude women rubbed out boobies I started to wonder what the hell was going on but was a massive fan of the nipple scrub. The lady speaking to us in French ordered us in to the sauna room then put the tap on max, setting the room temperature higher than any sauna I’d ever been in. I didn’t want to be a wuss, but it was freaking hot, and B and I weren’t sure whether we stayed in until we were unconscious and they stole all our money and sold us as sex slaves (a la the movie Taken) or we had to head out when we were over it. Suspecting the latter, I found the exit, and again was forced to endure another delightful nipple rub by the nude chick. When she ushered us in for round two in the Hamman steam room, we decided we would try hard to stick it out longer. This time, B caved and we headed up for our (clothed) massage. Upstairs in the 'Taken' chamber I was given a gorgeous masseuse. (B’s not so good). There were times I wondered if she was accidently touching my vagina. Not sure whether it was part of it or not, I waited until the lady said ‘just relax for a minute' and left the room, I made a couple of strategic coughs to see if B knew what was going on I finally said ‘B, what’s going on?’ and she goes ‘I dunno, she said just sit and relax for a minute, ten minutes ago and now I’m over it’ then I go ‘I felt like they touched my vagina a couple of times’ and B said ‘yes, I definitely got my vagina touched a couple of times’ to which we both started laughing awkwardly until we were reunited with our masseuses and told to get changed. We spent the next few minutes speculating how Tosh would have felt if his bean was flicked by a male masseuse and not semi nude hot ladies as our V-jay-jays had. Prompt hysterical laughing! We closed out the night with a nice family dinner at a cool belly dancing club place and B and I shared a few bottles of wine...

Feeling hungover / sick/ fragile, the next day we took off for the coast – Essaouira At least we thought we were, until our driver stopped half way, and said he was going to turn back to Marrakech cos we hadn’t paid. Basically Fat head had spent the whole night prior to on the phone trying to get us a bargain transfer even though we had already confirmed one, and incidentally double booked (mind you at least he had booked it cos us clowns would’ve struggled to do anything!), so we were picked up that morning by the bargain one, and not the one we had paid for. After a good half hour of comical ‘hello’ phone calls which is kind of a ‘have to be there joke’ we were back on our way with our none the wiser driver to the coast. Thankfully as I was not coping. The rest of the trip was almost uneventful until the driver goes 'look' to which we did and saw goats in a tree. He sped past, leaving us all convinced we had gone mad and B insisting it was the goats eating the Argan seeds. We decided to confirm on wiki as B was not having the best track record for the day adamant that it was not uncommon for Stace to have three names, and taking at least 10 minutes realise we meant three first names.

I took awhile to perk up and soon we were downtown indulging in some amazing seafood for less than 10 euro each, I was coughing so hard I was almost vomiting the food as I ate it. Gross. We had some drinks (I absconded from alcohol almost fearfully) and a late dinner followed. What a great town, much more relaxing. 

                                                                         

Our final day in Essourara was poolside, a little girls retreat (which is a little joke as Stace is a boy) whilst the boys played golf. A few G&Ts and a highlights or lowlights streaming of the Cats thrashing by the Hawks followed by another nice dinner and up the next morning to head back to Marrakech. The next hotel was in the new town which didn’t really have much going for it by the looks of things, but Stace and I took off in search of some food. We had a great little explore/ lunch until my overcooked chicken on one side was raw on the other side, but apparently that’s all a part of the service here and you have to pay for food you could possibly die from. I didn’t feel sick instantly so my fingers were crossed and met the others before heading back in to the Medina for our final dinner as a family and tucked in to the Moroccan equivalent of a Hungi- lamb or beef cooked in terracotta underground. Although it was rich and oily it was super tasty and considered the calorie use indulgent yet necessary. We followed dinner with some cocktails and sheesha at what would become my fav place in Marrakech- La Salame and were joined by my Egypt met Kiwi Londoners, Angie and Ben.  

  

 Up early the following day I said goodbye to the London troops and head in to town to tag in Angie and Ben. I spent the day with them on rooftops savouring the sun in my long leggings and shoulder covering t-shirt prior to deciding to take some clothes off and meet them at their Riad- Riad Layla only 400m from my hostel. Complacent without the boys as my shields, I forgot I was on my own in a Muslim country and soon found out the 400m walk in denim shorts to their hostel was equivalent to one of the worst most vulnerable dashes of my life. Seriously, actually, after Egypt, I will say that yes I think it’s a cultural/ religious thing, and yes, I think although I shouldn’t think like this, I do, I need a break from lazy, fat leery (I know this does not reflect the wider community but yes, generally Muslim) men. At one stage I had a man yell out to me “hello” and I said “hi and kept walking... he said “are you scared of me lady?” I said, “No Why?” and his response was; “cos I am Muslim, because I am a terrorist”. I kept walking and shaking, astounded and feeling like a tall white girl in shorts in a marketplace. Trying desperately to ignore it and find my friends riad I asked a lady for directions, she put me in touch with a young man, who started leading the way up a dark lane, winking at his friend who was following. Uneasy I stopped. I actually felt like crying. Thankfully he took

me to the Riad, and then demanded I give him money. Considering I’d made it 9/10ths of the way without him I yelled at him to leave me alone and offered him 1 dirham, all I had on me. (Rack off people, stop trying to make money from what should be being nice.) Thankfully I was united with Ben and Angie and their awesome Riad Manager, an Italian lady who was so glorious in their picturesque sanctuary of a Riad, Riad Layla.

The afternoon was again used to obtain some sun rays and a snooze, finally the doxicycline I’d bought over the counter had kicked in and my cough had started to dissipate. Rooftop Riad cards and G&Ts were followed by a night again at La Salame for Ben and I as Angie caved, however we were good and only had two cocktails.

Waking up feeling a little hungover was strange, as I’d only had two apricot mojitos, but ignoring that fact I spent the day at my new hostel with a James Bondesqe dude Gav and a West Londoner I’d describe as Ali G (although he could kill me if he knew I said that), named Rams, finally ending the night at La Salame again for some sheesh and apricot cocktails. This time, they recognised me, and gave a shot of another cocktail and because I was so excited I danced up the stairs falling up them and spilling half of it to my embarrassment.

Again I was surprised to wake up feeling like death. And wondered if the lack of sleep had finally caught up to me. Feeling nauseas, I ignored it as a hangover and made my way to the airport.  Arriving at Marrakech airport to head home, I was relieved. Don’t get me wrong, I had the best time, but I was so sick and my mouth was so dehydrated. I noticed the familiar taxi pulled up behind me, the large Mercedes and the round driver, déjà to end my holiday with the same dude that I first saw upon arrival. Even though I was weak I managed a private chuckle to myself. I was lining up at the airport to buy goods and I only had 10 dirham’s left and they wouldn’t accept my card. I had to ask a lady at the airport if she could buy me a water because I only had 10 dirham’s left. I almost kissed her when she obliged, but I was so weak, by this stage I was vomiting and the vomiting just wasn’t letting up, and my stomach was sore. Finally we were boarding the plane. I couldn’t wait to get onboard and purchase a massive bottle of water and a feed on the plane and then try and sleep through the banging headache and pass time/ forget the fact I felt awful. I was sitting next to some concerned Aussies who had spent two months surfing in Morocco; they fed me some ibuprofen and some mineral salts and tried to make me feel comfortable knowing I was struggling with life. The attendant let me go to the toilet before the seat belt sign had been removed, so I did and sat back down dying for water to see the trolley next to me as though my prayer had been answered. Then the worst news I had ever heard. Ryan air Flight FR3557 had no water on board. They had forgotten to load water on a 3.5hour flight!! Never again Ryan air.  

After what was close to the worst 3.5 hours of my life, I boarded the train to Manchester feeling and looking like shit and contemplating ending my life to relieve my pain dreading the two change 3+ hour train ride ahead of me. In fact by this point, barely able to move my legs and turning a deep green colour the train inspector let me sit down, told me to go to sleep and he would wake me when I needed to change trains. It was such a relief to be home and have the English customer service. Although the service was better in Marrakesh than Egypt, it is far from world class. I don’t know if it’s a northern African thing or a religious thing but the majority of the men are crass pigs most of the time, always trying to deceit you and the women seem to lack confidence to do anything without having the input of a dude. All I know is I need a break from Africa for a bit, and I quite frankly need a break from a Muslim country. I don’t like treading eggshells all the time, or feeling vulnerable wearing shorts 400m to visit friends.

Manchester was great. It felt like I was home as soon as I landed in the UK

and had the awesome train instructor be nice without demanding coin- so you can only realise how excited I was to discover Manchester had trams! I treated myself to a delish dinner of Malaysian and put myself to bed, still tired and run down from the awful plane. I woke up the next day and explored. I was staying in the Northern corner which suited me as it was edgy and had lots of cool coffee places. I acquainted myself with a place called Sparrow and fig and went there three times in two days. Sarah arrived later on and we head out for a dinner, three bottles of wine and some cocktails at a trendy VIP place for important visitors to Manchester. Like Posh spice, Becks, and Simone and Sarah. I admitted to the barman I had no idea what anyone was saying to me and he said ‘I’m from Ohio can I have your number?’ Realising first he was a baby, and secondly he was blonde so failed one of two criterion I decided to give in, what the heck- I’m 29 and apparently at my sexual peak, so what’s a phone number here and there, plus I need to get a boyfriend soon as dad is even quizzing me now! He didn’t call. This is a good thing cos I didn’t understand him anyway.

The next day was so exciting; it was just a massive build up. I had brunch with Sarah at Fig and Sparrow then headed to the game as we had an executive suite awaiting us with hot pies and alcohol. Steering clear this day of alcohol so I could take it all in I waited nervously waiting for the game to start and watching the QPR Chelsea game- and I couldn’t believe my eyes- Harry Redknapp has turned black! QPR were really challenging Chelsea but I was confident Chelsea would score a cheeky one just to fuck it up for the rest of us. Which is what happened…shit times, and relegation potentially for my equal second fav team QPR. We left the bar and walked in to the ground.

The buzz of old Trafford was outstanding. I was so far in my element that I was shaking and smiling at the same time, enjoying every moment. It was so loud in the ground the roar when the player’s names were called out. The piercing noise for kickoff and the catchy kitschy tunes! I thought we would get smashed Man City had an impressive team sheet so it didn’t surprise me, though it upset me when their first goal went through. Gahhh Man Shitty are so much like Chelsea they always get the easy goal after all the hard work the opposite way! But then whack elation, we scored, and it was a brilliant goal, the crowd lifted feeling every goal which was awesome cos we managed to slot through another couple. We played amazing. I was so proud to be there at that moment and have witnessed such an awesome game…. If only QPR got up. 

My mould was made at plaster fun house!

As its circa International women’s day I’ve decided to write an opinion piece on what its like to be a woman that is loud, outspoken, opinionated (and mostly always right)/ ME.

At Uni us girls accounted for 5% of course participants. At my first job outside of uni, women made up 0.0065% - there was Amy Pitchford and I, the site secretary Mary, one plumber called Sharon, and 800 men onsite daily. I was the first point of call at 7am inducting guys onsite which was generally a shock to their system. I was told early on that I had to choose family or a career…  I would like to have both, so I just need to earn enough money to afford a nanny (or manny) if I choose to one day have a family. I won’t compromise. My career has helped me form a thick skin. I have been belittled and treated so badly it has made me question myself, and my ability. One project manager once told me at a site BBQ my job was to stand at the bread and make sure the boys didn’t take too many bread rolls. I told him I hadn’t done 4 years at uni to stand guard at a bread stand and proceeded to be first in line, grabbed two bread rolls and my sausage first.

My biggest regret was crying in front of my dictator boss when asking for my pay to be looked at, I haven’t asked for a pay review since. The reason I find it difficult to be a chick, is the hormones that come with it- it makes me feel like I am losing control and for a control freak, that is often too much to handle. I’ve suffered from panic attacks and anxiety since my uni days. Its generally hormonal, combined with stress and some other trigger points- sometimes illness or death. Most of the time it creeps up on me, and I only notice when I I become withdrawn, sad, and begin to hit the bottle. Thankfully, I have learnt to identify it and usually only get one good alcohol fuelled performance before I reign it in. I am quite strong willed, and luckiliy not an addictive person, so I give up booze for a period until I’m healthy again. I also go and get a tuning every now and then at the psychologist, try and eat healthier, and exercise more, I have also found that watching a film like ‘Hotel Rwanda’, visiting sick people in hospital or volunteering at homeless or refugee centres helps put me in perspective. It is important for me to realise at times like that how lucky I am and that my problems are minute comparatively.The industry suits me down to a tee, I think I am a weak person, and feel it strengthens me. It makes me hold my own, not only managing men, but being managed by men. I’ve never been directly managed by a woman. So it is with great strength and certainty that I can conclude that often, men aren’t very good at management. They generally aren’t intuitive. Like tonight, a dude i work with thought I would be able to read his mind and know what he wanted and then completely re- wrote something I’d submitted- even though I thought I hadn’t done a bad job. I knew when I was enroute home I would have an email from him when I got home- and I did (thankfully they are also stupidly predictable). I have a very confident exterior so it may surprise you that I second guess myself often. This year is a big one for me – dirty thirty!! I couldn’t feel so much more accomplished, and so much underachieved at the same time. I have spent the last 10 or so years applying so much pressure on myself I have never had nails, when I am really stressed I get IBS and a twitchy eye. I know it sounds gross but I don’t think people usually talk about those sorts of things. I feel guilty and mull over most things, thinking I am stupid if there is a mistake (a la tonight)....  Funnily enough- most people are too embroiled in their own lives to notice when I’m mental. I also suffer from ­(self diagnosed) imposter syndrome. I have my house in Torquay, but I would’ve liked to have two. I have travelled nearly 40 countries and so many more planned, but feel like I should’ve seen more. I’m living my bucket list… and still struggle to convince myself I have done enough for my age. I could happily give or take my career, which I still think I have fluked.

My most poignant upload is the picture of Princess Di sticking her finger up with the phrase ‘Well behaved women rarely make history.’ In fact this represents some of the women I admire most; Including the late Princess Di herself, Emily Roebling - who taught herself engineering and finished the Brooklyn Bridge, my old housemate Carolyn Tan who designed the flappy wing bits on Boeing 787’s whilst raising her young family, even though I don’t rate them, Iron Lady Margaret Thatcher and Old Jilly Gilly (who although I rarely agreed with), I admire that they held their own in a male dominated, egotistical position and had more balls than most men.

I’ve never lived my life conforming or with compliance. I was at secondary school listening to a motivational speech by the late Jim Stynes. It was the furtherest thing from motivational I have ever witnessed. Everyone was banging on about all their problems and it was just making everyone sad. Not many people know this, but I watched a good friend slowly be taken by cancer at a very young age. Her motto was “Live for today, learn from yesterday, and dream of tomorrow.” She died just before her 21^st birthday, having fought so couragesly for 10 years. I struggled sitting there listening to private school kids whinging about their parents making them become lawyers or similar first world problems, so  I put my hand and asked to be excused.  when he asked why I wanted to leave I said “I am lucky, I have grown up free, I go to a private school, If I died today, I would say I have had a good life.’ He said he had never heard that from someone of my age, so let me leave.

Behavioural studies, self awareness courses, a palm reading, tarot cards and head readings, the odd self help book on occasion (the problem I have is most of the time they just reiterate what I already know!) all just add to the confusion. In fact, if you read about me, you’ll realise what I’ve known for quite some time. I am not normal. In fact, my mould is unique. When god created me with my long legs, short torso and toe thumbs, he broke the mould.

I am prolifically honest to my own detriment. That line that people mostly draw, is shifted outward for me. In fact one new years resolution I decided to try and be nicer to people, and I ended up making a man cry circa mid Jan. The problem I have is that there is no ‘know when to lie’ filter. I just say how it is, or at least how I think it is. That line I draw, that shifts for me, has been there creeping forward for nearly thirty years. I get encouraged by shock treatment and have always done so. Some of my fondest memories are of mum grabbing my leg under the table prompting me to shut up; it would only encourage me more. Most recently I wrote a generic Facebook post, that someone thought was specific to them, and I got battered in a status back, saying if I didn’t like what I saw then I should unfollow or delete them. The irony was if I wasn’t tagged in the rhetorical status, I wouldn’t have seen it as I had already unfollowed them. Not because I don’t like them, but because everyone has different interests and mine is not babies…and hers is not seeing me with my “manly face” in a bikini apparently. Just yesterday I told a colleague at work that I liked that he had cut his beard as he was starting to look like a jihadi…. back handed complements are my speciality.

It wasn’t until 2009 travelling the world that I realised I didn’t need much, all I had was in my backpack. My 13kg of belongings, I could take them anywhere, travel the world, surround my self with my friends, still call and speak with loved ones, but be a recluse when I wanted.  Rarely people identify me as someone who likes spending time on my own.

I’m not certain what lies in the future. I stopped dreaming about the future when I was very little. I thought id be married with kids at 27 at the latest. 27 came and went. I have new goals, mostly ‘what country will I travel to next?’ Rather than find someone and settle down, I would like to find someone that can keep up!!! I am great when I am in love. The other day I was so happy to be in London I was literally skipping down the road and I’m not even in love at the moment, so imagine how awesome my mood is when I am! It takes me so long to realise though, by the time I have, the dude is completely over it, has moved on and I end up heartbroken and having to move countries just to avoid them (2:1).

I think constantly, even in my sleep. I joke about marrying well and retiring, but know if I do I would be awesome- chairing all the charity boards, and volunteering my spare time to things I enjoy and won’t actually do nothing. I’m too socially ambitious. My friends are my personal measure of success.  I’ve accidentally built my own little independent empire. Although I could easily live without a dude, I don’t want to. I think it’s taken me until now to realise that I may not live out my days as per the norm- get married, have kids, live happily ever after. I don’t see the point of wearing a white dress and saying I want to spend the rest of my life with someone- what if I get bored?  I might wear a coloured dress (my mother wore blue!) and have a party. Or I may want to spend it with someone, or many someone’s (polygamy= I doubt, but hey- it’s an option), I might live out my end of days with my best mate Laura and our adopted greyhounds or with my mate Catarina as I often joke out in the country with a thatched cottage (her daughter Amelie recently drew a picture of her house, mummy’s house, dad’s house and Simone’s!), I might have children with a gay friend (wow that came out loud). I might move to Germany, stay here, or move back to Australia. Who knows? …. I may even wear a white dress.  

Fast Facts:

-            Virgo/ Ox: Independent, Loyal, straight talking, hardworking.'Being dictatorial or opinionated are the two only real weaknesses in the Virgo Ox personality. Virgo presents a calm and collected exterior but on the inside, nervous uncontrolled intensity in the mind, trying to figure things out, how to improve everything, analyzing and thinking. Virgo has a constant drive to improve and perfect, this can lead to extreme pickiness and finickiest. They are pure, their motives are honest never malicious and they want to accomplish something.”

-            Extrovert, Strong Activist

-            My name means ‘She Who Listens’

-            I use both my Left and Right side of my brain equally however am not ambidextrous

-            IQ = 136

-            I rarely talk about work and detest talking about work, unless you have an awesome job and I am in awe of how smart you are (like Geoffrey Rush, Kevin McLeod) and request that you talk about work i.e. immunologist, pilot or my French housemate that studies brains etc.

-            I love cranes, planes, screw piling rigs and bicycles.

-            My favourite band is Metallica.

-            I had three jobs at 15 and used to wag school every Wednesday because I had Math and English and found it easy, so took driving lessons and worked instead.

-            I wanted to be a nun when I was little (because I watched Sister Act and liked their outfits), and still love Jesus more than most people. Except my family and friends who are my utmost.

-          My friends nicknamed me Simonia because I have had pneumonia three times, equalled only by salmonella and I’m an asthmatic and allergic to penicillin (don’t forget, cos I always do!)

-            I could run, swim and ride forever, except I get bored, so choose to never do more than spurts of 6kms, 1km and 10kms respectively.

-            I talk to my bike. And think he has a soul.

Happy International Woman’s day ladies, we’ve come a long way- and we still have a long way to go. #beheard.

London... I'm Cheating on you!

Not long until I’m back in Aus and i cannot freaking wait! It has been so cold and miserable here the last couple of weeks but I haven’t let it get to me except for this week! I’m dying to come home and looking forward to my cousins wedding, although its bittersweet as I wont be seeing Nonna or Pa… but that’s something I don’t think I will ever get used to. Next week it will be a year since we lost Pa. I thought the old bugger would always be here.

The other day the most ridiculously funny thing happened. I was expecting my mate Melissa (the Qatarian princess) to pick me up from mine enroute to brunch so when I got a knock at the door I just assumed it was her. I answered the door swiftly, as though I was waiting right behind it, (which I may have been) and excitedly said Hi to two strangers with Jesus pamphlets. Me, noticing this goes ‘Hi, (you’re not Melissa in my head), have you come to talk about Jesus’ and these two shocked ladies go “people aren’t usually that happy to see us.” And I said, (straight out of a scene from Blackbooks) “I love Jesus, its fine, but I’m catholic and no I’m not swapping religion.” The lovely ladies gave me a Jesus bookmark, and a pamphlet about Jehovah if ever I changed my mind.

Bipolar. Usually I’m all about :London I love the fact my cycle every day takes me past some great landmarks, Harrods, Hyde Park, Piccadilly Circus, Prince Albert Hall and the Natural History museum. I love the fact that there is so much history. But this last week, ive just wanted to leave. Everything has been pissing me off- the cold, the horse shit everywhere in Hyde Park and on the road- seriously, why don’t they have to clean it up?  It is literally work and sleep, it is just literally taking over and there isn’t any Simone time to balance it out. That, coupled with the fact that I’ve been sick hasn’t helped. In all honesty I have been on and off sick since October. Grrrrr or Brrrr should I say!

Then this euphoria yesterday morning- I left the house with two sets of thermals, jumped on my bike looked at my snapchat weather gauge and it said -2 degrees then I looked up at the sky, wow, it was so glorious- all heavy pink and blue swirls and the sun was beaming. It was like the sky decided to be the most beautiful canvas I had ever seen! It was about half past 7, maybe a touch earlier and it was literally the most glorious thing I had ever seen. In fact it was later on when I was cruising up towards Green Park when I had a bus fair up my backside and there was a foot deep pot hole I struggled to avoid in front, i was slightly wobbly and my heart went through my chest. But I stayed upright. I rocked up to work after spending the weekend anxious about all the work I had to do, and I was instantly in a good mood. I walked in to the work kitchen, and I said 'wow (Lydia RHOM accent) what a glorious morning'. And everyone just looked at me wondering what drugs I was on. Its all good folks, I think the pinky sky was Nonna. She is like my own perfect miracle watching out for me.

This morning was also a break from the norm, waking up after a nice long warm sleep in my flannelette sheets (having spent the last £19 in my account last week on sheets and surviving a week until pay day on £3.78) and opening my skylight to snow! What a glorious surprise. Last night just as I was going to bed I was hoping for the icon. I have been rather snow grinchy, however I did want to see it, I just didn't want it to disrupt me… or the tube! You see in London it is far from ground hog day. It doesn't take much for the love affair to re-establish, (however I should probably post this prior to the precarious ride in!!) Two more work days and two more  sleeps! I bet when I’m on the plane I’ll be singing in my head the whole way ‘I still call Australia home’. It would also be nice if someone who is watching over me could get me an upgrade… I’ll put it towards the miracles for saint hood. And if anyone is free circa 10pm on Friday night- this sister needs a pick up (I know in your head you are saying ‘just get an uber’  haha.) Peace out and see you soon Australia, I cannot wait to give Granny a hug, see my drunk sisters bung eye, sleep nude again and have salty salty water hair and shower in the ocean!     

Fair go Pharaohs, its not funny tell King Tut I want my mummy!!

And so my tour began. I was literally walking out the airport and jumped on the Travel talk bus and started talking to the two girls who were sitting behind me on the plane and found out one of them lives in my street in Fulham! Our first group dinner was a dinner cruise on the Nile which we all labelled 'the booze cruise' but boy were we wrong! There was an Arab singer whose ability matched that of a bad karaoke singer, a fat belly dancer, some bad bad booze and some spinny man with long greasy hair that called me up on stage and popped me under his blanket and told me to lie down- I told him I was very scared!!

We have seen sights that are thousands of years old and thousands of years older than Jesus. It is amazing to think that Cleopatra is closer to my age than she is to the time the pyramids were built. The pyramids are breathtaking These remnants remain from an era that was so surreal, full mythology, incest and certainly fertility- with one king Rasmusus having over a hundred children. There is one illegitimate queen- Hatshepsut who married her brother to continue the royal blood and then spent her life posing as a man to lead her country for 22 years as women were not recognised as leaders. I suppose not much has changed. Much like the Turks or the Greeks, the Egyptians believe they invented everything. I think they probably did so 4000 years ago and have done absolutely nothing since the AD’s as the place is backward, service is shocking, houses are incomplete and restoration is not a word that has been invented in Egypt yet. In fact most of the works that have been completed since the AD’s have been because of foreign help and support, including moving Abu Simbel due to the new dam in the 1970s and restoration of Canuck.  

Although the men here are obnoxious and perve constantly, I am claiming it when they smile with their round bellies and yellow teeth and tell me I am beautiful. Last week at Tosh’s birthday I got a glimpse of how annoying it is to be recognised as a star, when my mates little brother was stopped for photos constantly. I could hardly believe it when grown women on the table adjacent requested at least four photos with him. Having been the recipient of late of such attention, I can only begin to imagine how annoying it is. I’m trying to enjoy my holiday, and every second person wants a photo with me. They call me Shakira which I personally find bizarre, with my fatty pumbah arse at the moment I feel more like Chloe Kardash, and ironically have the same stats as Chloe. I don’t particularly mind stopping for photos with kids, but draw the line when their creepy dads want photos. In a few of my photos I gave the peace sign, then ten minutes later I had what seemed like hundreds of kids chasing after the bus with their peace signs, one child was begging me to get off for another photo. Ridiculous!

My new Saffa friend Carrie and I rode Camels at the Giza pyramids. I had a ball, but felt rather

sorry for them when they kneel down to pick you up- cant be comfortable for the Camels especially with the extra weight of the chick in front of me, poor fella. I requested the most glorious camel and this podgy Egyptian man with a wide yellow smile and miscellaneously placed teeth said ‘I get good camel for you’ and introduced me to my camel Michael Douglas. I’m so glad I rode a camel- it was so much fun and I was surprisingly good at it, as I am catholic I swear it had nothing to do with the phallic wooden knob I had to grip on to! I’m hoping to ride a donkey next. The other night I saw a man riding a donkey down the highway with a cart full of grass. I thought how much my wife would find him perfect if only he had blue eyes!

I haven’t been on a tour since my teens, so I’m struggling with the concept of tours, and schedules. I know Pa used to make Granny do them all the time so you got to see everything but sometimes I’d rather see less and have time to take it all in and relax. Saturday we took the local road to Aswan and had our own police guide on board for safety, the local road is two hours quicker than the tourist road so we were grateful when our legendary leader Sam said we could take it but had to hide from the police during the road block and close our curtains, we got busted just as we were coming in to Aswan, but made it so that was a massive result. Friday I got stuck sitting next to the Omanian- Moses, he always tries to sit next to me, and I think he loves me. He tells me I am too beautiful to be single (story of my life) and told me to go to Oman and he would open a restaurant for me to teach them all to cook in. I told him I would cook Pork Belly and he assures me I would get kicked out of the country, guess I’m uninvited then? He is a quite good looking sultan with a missing tooth, bad fashion sense and greasy hair. I get anxious not to brush up against him as I’m sure he will go to Islam hell – so me a.k.a. Miss Preymantus who usually has my legs sprawled out and over everything was sitting as restricted trying not to touch shoulders which is hard to do for a five and a half hour drive with bus seats built for ancient Egyptian sized people. Wednesday morning I hid in a back seat when I saw him approach. I wasn’t having a bar of it when he told me to move over and gestured for him to sit elsewhere so I had my own seat and as I’ve been quite sick lately and didn’t fancy sharing. I slept quite well which was great. It was like having my mum on tour cos whenever I coughed he told me to have tea and something warm for my chest and he pointed at my footwear and told me that I should’ve worn more appropriate footwear. I told him trainers didn’t go with the look I was trying to achieve, and how bad his crocs were. One day I was particularly frustrated so told him he would look way hotter with less gel in his hair, I even did a poll on the bus to prove my point and the next day he had no gel haha.

I learnt some Arabic also. Clearly not something I will ever repeat around the locals as I found out that ‘neknee’ means ‘fuck me’ and considering the Egyptians are a literal race (with yellow teeth) I am most careful not to accidently learn it and repeat it as I do the French with Attaché moi. On Monday we sailed on a Felucca and got beached on a sandbank. I said ‘how do you say ‘Fuck’ in Arabic, and we all knew ‘nek’. It was also then that I gained another Arab admirer, the captain of the boat. As we hit land and I retreated to the bank, he grabbed my hand and said ‘come back later’ with his toothy grin. I ran to wash my hands and ordered another drink that took an hour and a half to get. That night when I escorted Carrie to get money out of the machine out the front of the hotel the boat boyfriend was out the front, saying ‘hello Australia felucca’. Lord. Have. Mercy!

We spent nearly the whole next day on the bus back to Cairo. We stopped once at a servo and as I got off to buy some nuts and a loo break I was greeted by five men at the cash machine and had to bag my own goods, I cracked it and told them that surely with five Arabs, one could bag my goods. Nope lets just watch and stare... story of my life.

The food I am not only sick of, but I’m sick from. It’s all food I would eat as a happy hour or hungover- like dips and bread and rice with barbequed meat kebabs, but its nowhere near as tasty when you can’t buy any grog to down it with. There’s also many of my least favourite buffets, which I hate, as I hate mixing cuisines and never get my monies worth, plus they always, always make me sick, as I always try to, but don’t have the same success as my wife when it comes to eating.

New Years Eve was hilarious. They put on a buffet (my fav) at the hotel, had some awful local singers, some lycra clad rotund women singing, overpriced alcohol and wedding chairs. Thankfully the worlds greatest tour guide Sam, organised a litre of vodka to be smuggled in, so we went back to our room, played the drinking pyramid game and got fully loaded before we returned for the release of the balloons on the dance floor and some dancing. I called it a night just after midnight and one proposal later. I had just put my head to pillow when Carrie was banging down my door to let her in as she was locked out of her room. It turns out Melissa isn’t as scared about going to Islamic hell haha and we are all invited to Oman for her wedding next year (just joking on that part)!. I had to wake up at 5am on New Year’s Day for my flight back home to London which wasn’t much fun for anyone. As I walked out of the hotel I half expected to crash in to the Omanian on his way to 5:30am prayers to get his sins from the previous night erased, but sadly I didn't. The bus trip and airport stay was a couple of hours close to the worst of my life, I went to the toilet at least 15 times, and was most glad they didn't charge a pound at the airport for loo visits. That’s it from me and my bowels – hope your 2015 is amaze and there is plenty of travel on the cards.    

   

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