Does This Bus Stop at 82nd Street?

Monday nights are always the same aren't they? You return from work, frazzled, collapse on the sofa and try to figure out how it's not Friday already. Then you give up trying to figure it out, sigh and get on with life.

For me, getting on with life usually starts with busting out ye olde laptop to see what's going on in the world. A quick glance at Facebook, Twitter, my RSS reading list and the news. But this Monday I didn't make it past Facebook. On opening my news feed page, I was greeted by the artwork from Bruce Springsteen's Born to Run album cover. It had been shared between two of my Sydney friends, with a note: "2 days to go!!!"

Whaaaaaa?

My memory flicked back to several months earlier when I'd received an email telling me Bruce was going to be in town - but I had no money at the time and it'd totally slipped my mind. Crap. I've always loved Bruce, and since watching the BBC coverage of him heading Glastonbury back in 2009, he's been on my 'People To See Live Before They/I Die' list.

So I checked Ticketek. There were tickets left. Good seats as well. For $180. Ouch.

Anyone who knows me will tell you: my favourite type of music is "dad music" - i.e. if your dad likes it, then I probably will to. Eric Clapton, The Who, Paul Weller... *coughs* Duran Duran. Bruce absolutely falls into this category and so in this situation I was like a moth to a flame.

20 minutes later, after a few texts to one of the friends on Facebook and a quick chat with myself about not needing to eat for the next 2 weeks, I'd booked it. I'd just spent my entire food budget on Bruce.

Two days later, Sydney Olympic Park beckoned. I met my friends for a quick pre-gig drink, then we dashed off to the stadium to find out seats.

Exactly 27 songs, 3 hours and 12 mins later, I was in love. I'd just witnessed a 63-year-old Bruce crowd-surf, dance his way through the masses, and knee-slide across the stage - all while singing some of my favourite songs. I'd never seen anyone command a crowd so magically before.

Love. True love.

On return home, my first task was Google tickets to Hyde Park Calling for this June. It's only £70 for the day and would happily coincide with Wimbledon. Totally worth the airfare, non?

Return to Oz

Here’s a post I never thought I’d write…

When booking my flights home for Christmas, my initial worry was “will 4 weeks be too long?” Well, here I am having returned from those 4 weeks at home in England and feeling like I've been unwillingly torn away.

Strolling home from my last day at work before heading back to England, I recall walking along the harbour path as the sun began to set, the water gently lapped at the sand and rocks, and a kookaburra laughed somewhere up above in the trees. How could I leave paradise for 4 weeks during the summer?

The morning I flew home I went for a swim in the pristine waters of the tidal sea pool at the end of my apartment block. The weather was 27 degrees and clear skies. The thought of landing in ice cold London filled me with dread. In fact, at that point, if someone had said to me “you don’t have to go home now, you can wait until the British summer” I would've seriously considered it.

Fast forward those 4 weeks and something in my brain has completely switched.

Waking up on my last Friday at home in the UK, I was overwhelmed with an ominous feeling – the only way I can describe it is that feeling you get when you have an exam coming up which you know you’re not prepared for. You pray for time to slow down and hope it just magically disappears overnight. But it doesn't. I had just under 48 hours left of being part of a family and having a group of ready-made friends.

That night I went for a final drink with a few of my besties. Our chat ranged from the usual nonsense to the year ahead, my next visit home and talk of people coming to visit me. I felt truly grateful for every second I spent with them all. We said our goodbyes – and I was genuinely surprised at how sad some of them were at me leaving. In fact, it hadn't hit me until I returned home just how much people had missed me, and worse, just how much I hadn't been there for.

Stupid Australia with its not-as-great-as-the-ads-make-out-weather. Stupid ridiculously high salaries. Stupid booming economy.

Less than 24 hours later I was speeding down one of Heathrow’s runways. The plane felt heavy. (It was probably my extra bag of luggage - made up purely of Cadbury chocolate and Boots goodies.) That day I had barely been able to speak without feeling a lump up in the back of my throat. And now, on this runway, it felt like I was being ripped away from where I wanted to be. The polar opposite of the freedom I’d felt when I left of Sydney 16 months earlier.

As the plane lifted up, I focused on the lights down below – Windsor Castle dipped out of my view as we banked to the left (to the left) and I closed by blind, unable to take any more of the torment.

Maybe there would be an electrical malfunction and we’d have to land again. Just one extra day? But no such luck. The cheery pilot was soon chatting away about the smooth flight ahead of us and how Hong Kong was going to be warm and balmy when we arrived. Stupid Hong Kong.

The next several hours were spent staring at the screen in front of me trying not to completely lose the plot (I've no idea what I watched) and before I knew it I was back in my least favourite airport in the entire world. Hong Kong.

Before I knew it I was back on the plane and landing in Sydney. My heart sank as we disembarked from the plane. As the cheery hostesses welcomed us to Sydney and all I wanted to do was punch them in the face.

And here I am. Two days later, back at work, and feeling the most unsettled and weird I've ever felt in my entire life.

Sculpture by the Sea 2012 – Pics, Tips and Lowdown

The Bondi to Coogee coastal walk is (what I would consider to be) one of the most beautiful walks in the world. Even on bad weather days, the views are breath-taking and I would encourage anyone visiting Sydney to experience it. And if you’re in town from mid-October to September, then you’re in luck as this is when the Sculpture by the Sea event takes place.

There’s not much explanation needed, it is exactly as it sounds – lots of random sculptures nestled into the coastline for all to gaze at and interact with.

Here are some highlights from this year’s event:

Fancy visiting in 2013? Here are my...

Top 2 tips for surviving Sculpture by the Sea

1. If you can, start at Bondi and walk to Bronte – or even all the way to Coogee. The scuptures stop at Tamarama but this way you’ll avoid the crowds (and bumped up prices) when looking for a post-walk meal and drinks.
2. Take a camera – the weird and wonderful sculptures range from fun to inspiring. Plus the event takes place during whale migration season so you never know, you may be lucky and spot some humpbacks passing by!
3. Don’t like crowds? Head down before 10am or after 5pm and if possible choose a weekday. It can get pretty manic!

A Very Soggy Apia International

As the new year starts, most people spiral into a pit of depression in the UK. There are the bleak winter months to get through, we've all just binged our way through the festive season, and on top of that we're all in the process of setting ourselves up with unrealistic New Year resolutions which we know we're ultimately going to fail at.

But not in Australia, oh no! In the southern hemisphere it’s the height of summer, which means long hot days followed by warm blissful evenings and weeks on end of glorious sunshine in picture perfect settings… right? WRONG!

I've literally never experienced rainfall like that of the Australian summer. And I’m British - I know my rain! Gone are the days of camping trips in the beautiful English countryside, sheltering and shivering inside your tent and mumbling something along the lines of "I wish we lived in Australia where it’s all sunshine and beaches". Now I know it’s all a massive con. All these years I've thought us Brits had it bad - how misled we were! Rain here is apocalyptic. It’s either nice weather or it’s the end of the world. The streets turn to rivers and wind becomes your umbrella's worst nightmare.

Anyway, January in Australia is where the tennis year kicks off – which means not only is it the month of the Australian Open, but it's also a month packed with smaller warm-up ATP and WTA tournaments. So as a treat to myself, a friend and I booked tickets to the men's final of the APIA International in Sydney, and were both pretty chuffed that we could, a – afford the tickets in the first place, and b – were actually attending a final! Dream come true! Right? WRONG!

On the day of the finals the weather report showed showers.But that was okay, we are British after all. We know how to handle rain delays. But for the past few weeks, the weather had been what we Brits like to refer to as 'changeable'. Showers were forecast pretty much every day but actually experiencing them was hit-and-miss.

We arrived at the grounds early – where everything was already soggy from the earlier showers – and the rain pretty much kicked in straight away. Heavy drizzle. Fantastic! For anyone who has ever attended a tennis event, you’ll know that there is nowhere to shelter from the elements. Rain or shine, it's either the overhanging stands of a show court (flashback to Wimbledon) or the on-site shop (flashback to Wimbledon again) that provide protection.

An hour of sheltering went by before an announcement came: play had been suspended due to the rain but they were hoping to start the match within than half hour. So we filled the gap by getting something to eat. But that half an hour turned into an hour. Then an hour and a half. Then the rain stopped! Eagerly taking our seats in the stadium, we settled ourselves in and… then I witnessed one of the most bizarre rituals I've ever come across at a tennis event.

Now, I have only ever attended grass-court or indoor tournaments prior to this, so maybe this isn’t odd at all, but I can’t help but think there must be a better way to dry a court…

Step 1: Give the ball boys/girls a towel each

Step 2: Line them up

Step 3: Get them to drag their towel across the length of the court 2 or 3 times

Step 4: Enlist the help of the linesmen and arm them with leaf-blowing machines

Step 5: Get them to wonder around to court drying out remaining puddles

Strange, non? Would covers of some form not be easier? I realise this clearly isn’t the case – my faith is in the hundreds of tennis professionals that work at these tournaments and venues – it just all seemed a little bit time-consuming considering the situation.

Anyway - so the court was dry. The players were about to come out… and then there was another heavy downpour. After which, the drying process was repeated. And again. And again. Life became a bit like groundhog day. Rain. Bizarre drying ritual. Rain. Bizarre drying ritual. Rain. Bizarre drying ritual. I witnessed it happen 4 times. And then play was cancelled for the day. BRILLIANT!

I had moved to the other side of the world, where the Tourism Australia ads PROMISED year-round sunshine, only to find that it’s actually just as rainy (if not more) than England, And tennis events here not only get suspended due to rain, they also get fully cancelled.

So off we trudged – getting soaked by the rain (neither of us had an umbrella) and piling into a freezing bus (air-con was up full whack as it’s summer – there appears to be a rule that during summer, no matter how hot or cold it is, air con is always on!) that would take us back to the station. Game over.

Fortunately we were given the option of returning the next day. Neither of us could attend so we opted for a refund instead. And what was the first thing I did when I got home? Google the dates for next year's tournament of course! I will not be defeated...

New Year in Sydney

When you've moved from London to Sydney and New Year Eve rolls around, there’s only really one way you’re going to spend your evening isn't there? Sydney has one of the most famous New Year firework displays in the world and, having grown up watching TV coverage of the display every year, there was no way I was going to miss out on experiencing it in person.

Fortunately for me, my office is based in Milsons Point and sits just above Luna Park. There is a massive double balcony, complete with BBQ, which looks out across Lavender Bay, towards Darling Harbour and (most importantly) at the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

Waking up on New Year’s Eve to the warm weather was a good omen. I kicked off the day the polar opposite to how I would at home – which would probably include sleeping in, spending the day prepping myself for the evening ahead and travelling to wherever I was celebrating, Instead, I was up early and my first port of call was a swim here:

Not a bad way to end 2011, huh?

That evening, I met up with a few friends and we made our way to the office. Battling through the hundreds of people making their way down to the harbour’s edge reinforced just how fortunate I was to have landed myself a job with such an amazing location.

Settling in for the evening at the office, the drinks flowed, music played and we all hung out on the balcony awaiting one of the greatest shows in the world. Although arriving early to avoid the crowds on public transport, there was plenty to keep us occupied - including an impromptu visit to the sausage sizzle across the street whilst try to locate the bottle shop with the shortest queue, one of my friends getting locked out of building for a considerable amount of time without anyone noticing, plus the usual drunken antics.

What they don’t tell you on TV is that the main display at midnight is not the only one of the evening. At 9pm them is a warm-up firework display, meaning that families with young kids or long distances to travel can still join in the fun. Then, on the hour every hour, there are short bursts of fireworks which act as a ‘countdown’. It’s basically fireworks galore. And if there is one thing the Australians can do amazingly well (apart from coffee, drinking and brunch) it’s fireworks. The photos don't do it justice, but here's a snippet of what we saw:

And to make things a little bit more magical, after travelling back to the office on New Year’s Day to help clean up, I spent my afternoon drinking champagne at Opera Bar with this as my view:

Happy 2012 everyone!

You Know We Belong Together….

…You and I forever and eveerrrrrr! Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Anyone from the UK and Australia knows the Home & Away theme. And I bet you know all the words, don't you?

I used to watch it years ago when I was growing up but have lost track over the past few years. Still, when a friend mentioned that the infamous Summer Bay was just a short bus journey north of Sydney I jumped at the chance to visit.

Getting up at ridiculous o’clock and trekking into the city at 6am wasn’t too fun, but after grabbing a coffee and a Danish pastry balance was soon restored. Much to my amazement, a return ticket from Central station – which is an hour and a half each way - was only $8. Another reason I love Australia. An hour and a half journey in England would be more like £80! And it would be horrible. You'd probably have to stand the whole way. Anyway, we boarded our bus and were on our way!

The bus journey, although over an hour, was awesome. Bus journeys at home are generally quite grey and dull. I’m particularly thinking of a bus route in London I used to take which went through Elephant and Castle and past a load of council estates where people regularly got stabbed. (Yay for London!) This journey, however, followed the coastal road, winding its way up past all the little bays and brilliant ocean vistas to our final destination of Palm Beach, the last of Sydney’s northern beaches. And to make things even better, the sky was blue, the sun was shining and there wasn't a cloud in sight. Bliss!

Palm Beach itself is stunning. The deep golden sands and massive surf are exactly as they are on the TV, so you can see why it was chosen as the filming location! Our first stop was what can only be described as a photoshoot fest at various points of the beach, outside the surf club, in the surf, walking onto the beach, sitting on the fence at the top of the beach… here in Summer Bay I had no shame about how many photo’s I forced my friends to take of me posing. In fact, if I’d seen Alf Stewat I would’ve high fived him and asked him for a photo. But alas, this did not happen.

What did happen though, was a walk along the beach, lunch at The Boat House and a brilliant afternoon beach nap (one of my favourite things to do in Australia). On this day I was most certainly winning and I cannot wait to go back!

Summer Bay / Palm Beach

The infamous walkway 

The infamous fence :)

B.E.A.UTIFUL

Surf Club!

A Life Changing Fit of Rage

It’s been a couple of months now since I decided it was a good idea to move to the other side of the world where I know no one, have no job and nowhere to live. Ever since, I’ve been Google-ing everything, saving money and booking things like there’s no tomorrow, and for the moment I’m at a point where everything is sorted. So now that I’ve got all the necessaries out of the way, I’ve had time to kick back and think about what all this actually entails… leaving me somewhere between excitement and good old blind panic. 

At New Year, I remember saying to a friend that I had absolutely no idea what 2011 would bring me. I had no actual plans past the end of my pending hangover and the year ahead all felt a little bit bleak and uninspiring. Little did I know that only a few weeks later I would be making a decision that could potentially change the direction of my life forever. Here’s how it happened…

Back on Valentine’s Day, having had a less than perfect day at work (non-valentines related), I got home, posted my ranting national rail blog and in the midst of my work-related frustration and upset I figured that now - RIGHT NOW - was the opportune moment to set some life-changing cogs into motion. This is what I refer to as “hitting the wall”: the point where you drop to your knees, scream “I can’t take this annnnyyyymmmoooorrreeeee” and cry. Then decide to do something about whatever it is you’re screaming about, and then cry again because you’ve finally realised that you have the power to change your fate. 

A few weeks prior to that, a week or so before my 25^th birthday, a relative in Australia mentioned the job climate in her neck of the woods (she also mentioned the glorious weather she’d experienced during her weekend at the beach – not what you want to hear when you’re wrapped up in a blanket and can only see grey when you look outside) and how she always has travellers (of the non-gypsy variety!) working short-term at her company. Back then the notion of heading down under was instantly written off with a “ha! I WISH!” but nevertheless, she’d planted the thought in my mind and there it was - hanging in the vast spaces of my brain and rattled around my skull with every step I took towards my office.

As my birthday approached and the quarter century crisis kicked in, I realised that I was at a point where it was either sink, swim or hire a jet-ski to get the hell out of there. I remembered the previous year I promised myself that I would celebrate my 25^th having taken a positive step in my career, be renting my own home and have my own car. Or failing that, I’d be sat in the Rod Laver Arena watching Andy Murray loose another Australian Open. But instead here I was, one week away from that target and finding nothing had changed. My goals were still exactly the same. I had not moved. Then, exactly like in the cartoons, a light bulb appeared above my head and it all clicked. I knew exactly what I wanted and I started doing my research.

Flash back to Valentines Day and my fit of rage… I grabbed my passport, flung open my laptop and began filling out an application for an Australian Working Holiday Visa. Ten minutes later and I was done - finger poised over the submit button and ready to click. But then up popped the mini sensible version of myself on my left shoulder… “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s not logical to simply up and move to the other side of the world. What if something terrible happens? There are sharks. BIG sharks. And they will… eat you.” But then BANG - on my right shoulder appeared the smiley, spontaneous and awesome version of myself who told Miss Snooze Stations over on the left where to go. So I took this photo…

A memento of the moment that could have possibly changed my life for the worse / better. Aaaaaaaaaand… CLICK. Done.

The next morning I received my confirmation email granting me a one year Visa and since that point everything has changed. I now have hope, something to work towards and the excitement and satisfaction of knowing I’m going to live out a life-long ambition. 

I’ve done ridiculous amounts of research, made lists, thrown lists away and spent hours figuring out how I could spend the year. I now have a vague idea of how I want things to pan out, but to be honest, I know that as soon as I land I’ll ditch my plans and simply go with the flow. Yay for adventure!

So instead of a plan, I’ve put together a bucket list of 25 things I want to do / accomplish while I’m there:

1. Be accepted for Visa

2. Get on the plane (alone) without panicking / crying

3. Find somewhere to live

4. Open a bank account 

5. Get a tax file number

6. Find a job

7. Sort out a mobile phone

8. Make some friends

9. Watch the sunrise over said new city

10. Learn a new sport / activity

11. Get a surf lesson from a local surfer

12. Sydney harbour bridge climb

13. Visit the Hunter Valley

14. Take a hot air balloon ride over the outback

15. Hike in the Blue Mountains

16. Go to the Australian Open

17. Visit Victor Harbour (family friends)

18. Visit the street in Melbourne where my parents used to live

19. Visit Tasmania (to meet a newly found family member)

20. Go whale watching

21. Learn to dive

22. Celebrate Australia Day / my birthday doing something typically Aussie

23. Go to Ayres Rock

24. Visit Canberra

25. Go kayaking with the dolphins

Number 1 can be ticked off and I’m sure there’s plenty more I’ll add over the coming months, but it’s not paramount that I do everything - I know I won’t be able to do all of them. Most importantly though, and if all goes to plan, the week I turn 26 I’m not going to be sitting at home, eating a whole birthday cake to myself and watching Andy Murray lose another Australian Open final. I’m going to be there. And on my birthday, Australia Day, I’ll be in the sunshine, eating a whole birthday cake to myself with a surf board under one arm and an inflatable Kangaroo under the other. Because that it my happy place.

Fits of rage – they’re underrated!

Doing the Possimpible*

[*Where the possible and impossible meet. When you go beyond the possible and beyond the impossible.]

A few weeks ago I mused over the concept of everyone being headed towards a metaphorical boulder which would eventually cross your path and metaphorically squish you against a wall meaning you metaphorically had to cut your own arm off in order to survive. Basically the idea was that we’re all heading for something and, even if it’s bad, the process of encountering it and coping with its consequences will allow us to gain some form of clarity.

In my case I think this ‘boulder’, the thing that has squashed me and rendered me unable to move, has been my stalling career. In a similar (and yet completely different) way to Aron Ralston getting pinned against a canyon wall, I have found myself stuck and being creatively suffocated by the career path fate or whatever has dealt me.

Over the last two years or so, the majority of my spare time has been taken up with searching and applying for jobs. With the majority of things I’ve gone for, my experience has paled into insignificance against rival candidates. That’s the trouble with a recession – you simply can’t compete with people who have however many years of experience on top of yours. With others I’ve either made it through to the last two only to lose out at the final hurdle or, the most soul destroying of the bunch, I’ve been rejected for being “too experienced”. Needless to say, I’m sick of it. I’ve become accustomed to taking rejection with a pinch of salt and you can call me crazy but this is not living the dream. I am at Frustration Central with a one-way, non-refundable ticket to Nowhereville.

But on a brighter note, I reckon this whole process has been a blessing in disguise. I’ve been able to base myself in London, living with two of my best friends and, even though I’m not well paid, last summer I managed to save enough money to skedaddle off to the States for a few weeks of indulging myself in the wonders of Utah, Arizona, Nevada and California. Most significantly though, during this time I’ve been able to figure out what is and isn’t working for me, what I actually want from life and what things I truly value.

For example, I now know that living to work means far more to me than working to live. I know some people are perfectly happy doing a job they don’t particularly enjoy and living for the weekend, but it just isn’t something that works for me. It doesn’t make me happy and going on like this for the rest of my working life will slowly drain my soul. Apparently I need more than a pay check - I need to follow my goals and dreams.

For most people it seems that life goals and dreams are simply that: out of reach notions saved for fantasising over when drunkenly staring at the bottom of an empty glass or discussing what we’ll do when our lottery numbers finally come up. In all honesty that’s what they’ve always been to me, only I’m not really sure why. Surely the whole point of having a dream is to motivate you and give you something to work towards?

I’ve come to the conclusion that even if I follow the widely-accepted route of having a career, getting married and having two kids by the time I’m 35, I know I’m still going to have unfulfilled ambitions, and at this point it’ll be too late to follow them. The last thing I want is to resent my kids, have a mid-life crisis and be one of those bitter people who harps on about how they wish they’d done this, that and the other when they had the chance.

Anyway, the fact of the matter is that I am and have been unsettled since I graduated. I’m not content being where I am in life and I’m certainly not ok with not achieving anything I deem to be of worth. So I've decided to actually follow one of my dreams. It’s something I’d originally planned to do when I was older, had more money to play with and possibly had some kind of boyfriendy-slash-husbandy-type-thing to share it with. But having fallen quite comfortably into my Quarter Century Crisis I figure I don’t need anyone else to be able to do it, I can save up and there’s no time like the present!

I’ve got my visa, I’ve booked my flight and in August I’m moving to Sydney where I intend to spend a year. After that, the world is my oyster. BOOM!

Me in Sydney circa 2005