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 Most of the time it creeps up on me, and I only notice when I I become withdrawn, sad, and begin to hit the bottle.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

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