Monthly Archives: December 2010

Road to nowhere

I have been lucky (touch wood), to have had little need to get acquainted with the medical system or the notion of convalescence. In fact, I remember driving back from a friend’s baby shower, discussing with friends who had never given birth what kind of pain we had endured which might rival that experience. One woman said she ate a lot of blue cheese once and had had a terrible stomach ache (how we laughed about this later, after she had experienced giving birth). I remember saying that the worst pain I’d experienced was getting bitten by a bull ant. Once, as a child, I stepped on broken glass and was taken to hospital for sutures but I think my mother’s over-enthusiasm out-classed the severity of the injury. Other than that, I’ve had nothing that couldn’t be cured by a boiled egg and toast soldiers, or in my adult life, by a Panadol and a Bloody Mary. So it came as some surprise, as the sun set on Christmas Day to find my legs pinned between two cars, and on being freed, to see blood seeping from my tights, to realize that my sturdy legs were wobbly as a newborn foal’s, and that they were feeling…incapacitated. How did a lovely Christmas of food and friends which began with me making a ‘planes, trains and wandering stars’ travel-themed CD end with me hobbling and confined to my house? Well it went something like this… Continue reading

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Man on plane, I am sorry

To the man I sat next to on the plane from Sydney, I am sorry. I am filled with regret about our interaction.  Normally, when confronted with a tricky social scenario I would ask myself ‘What would Audrey Hepburn do?’ I suspect Audrey would never have allowed herself to get into some kind of weird conversational stand-off ending with her looking out the window pretending to be entranced by the clouds and the sunset (granted, they were stunning) and then putting on her headphones to flick through Foxtel channels, also stunning, if only to demonstrate how low the television medium can stoop in 24 different ways. Really, if I look into my heart, I’m mostly sorry that I started talking to you in the first place. Continue reading

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Postcard to Melbourne

Dear Melbourne, there’s something I need to tell you. I think I’m falling in love with Sydney. I didn’t mean to but it just kind of happened. I was sitting with a friend at a café in Clovelly – the one that overlooks the cute little bay and the path that winds around the cliffs to Bondi. It was a sunny day and as my friend talked, her face was framed by Sydney’s broad blue sky and banksias and beachiness…I couldn’t help but get a little breathless. I’m sorry. I felt guilty about it but you have to admit you’ve been a bit erratic lately. Well frankly, you’ve been quite Old Testament, with your bizarre storms and threats of plagues of locusts. Continue reading

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I hear you but what am I listening to?

My most memorable experience of meeting a boyfriend’s parents ended with them prostrate on the carpet, drunk as lords, their heads wedged against a speaker, air-conducting a song by Glen Campbell…or was it Meatloaf? Either way, I wanted to swap my parents. They were taking it in turns to stumble to the stereo and play their favourite songs by the artists who would never fail to take them to the heavens. For me, that would be Fela Kuti.  Call me old-fashioned but there’s just something about a blasting horn section, jazzy piano and enough band members for a small village working it in a polygamous (most of them were Fela’s wives) and polyrhythmic cacophony solidly bound by the hypnotic Afrobeat. Continue reading

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