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Showing posts from 2020

On the existential crisis of the weekend

Weekends used to be what life was for. Two days of freedom and relief from the weekday routine, from the grind of office life, from waking up with an alarm. The sweet, giddy euphoria of a Friday night was made all the more intoxicating if you had plans to socialise, go to a gig, watch a film, eat at your local Italian. Not only did you get your socialising/culture/food fix in, but you then had two more days of doing the very same thing. The weekend also offered endless pottering-around-the-house hours since usually it was a space you saw scarcely during the week. A Saturday started with a little light cleaning was one sure way to make you feel as if you were ahead in the productivity stakes, and made the Netflix binge that followed feel earned.Friday night was balanced out by the cold sweats of Sunday evening but still, the weekend was always worth it, regardless of whether you didn’t move from the couch after Friday night work drinks, or because you packed so much into those two prec…

On my first trip abroad

I took my first overseas trip when I was in year eleven. It was to Nouméa, New Caledonia and it almost didn’t happen. The trip’s purpose was to improve the French language skills of those of us insistent on studying French during our last two years of school, believing the subject a necessity for our futures when we would most certainly be in Paris living our best French lives being all Parisian and speaking fluent French and just being all chic in our Frenchness and you get the picture.

The first step on this road to being so Frenchy so chic, was a week’s trip to this South Pacific island wherein we would live with the locals, have 3-hour French lessons each day and immerse ourselves in the otherworldness that comes with visiting a place far removed from that in which you live. But whether it was the 3-hour lessons or the 3-hour flight, not enough of my classmates put their hands up to make this trip a reality. Cue teenage woe-is-me angst, the shedding of many tears, threats of life b…

On (isolated) shared living

You know what would be fun? Living in a cool terrace house in Tokyo complete with pool, games room, modern kitchen, and two cars in the garage (one being a mustang, naturally). You know what would be more fun? Living with six Japanese people who use their time to work hard, achieve their goals, make new friends and awkwardly fall in love.
You know what’s not so fun? Living in a house in Melbourne with your husband of six months… and your parents. You know what’s less fun? Not being able to get out of the house (that doesn’t have a pool or a mustang) except to visit the supermarket or to exercise, namely going for a walk, which should increase morale but ends up making you feel worse since walking around the block just highlights the complete lack of freedom we have right now. (Not that I’m complaining because staying home + washing hands = saving lives blah blah blah yes, yes we get it but my god does anyone feel like they’re hovering outside their bodies, looking at the state of the…

On learning a new skill

So how many new skills have you mastered during this Covid-19? Are you fluent in Latin? French? Turkish? Is your personal brand lighting up Twitter/Instagram/Facebook as you sell the wellness candles you cooked up in the kitchen after you created an online festival but before finishing a new dress made from scraps around the house you can wear when you next meet a friend for ‘exercise’ with a keep cup full of ‘coffee’?

Thought so.
But guess what. It seems that if you haven’t managed to generally improve yourself, and a substantial number of people online, during this dire time of unprecedented crappness, then apparently you’re doing it wrong. (Bonus points if said improvement was expressed in a language other than that with which you were born).
Having missed this chance at enlightenment earlier in the Covid-19 mayhem, this week I decided to give it a go. To change up lockdown life for the better. I vowed that no longer would I spend my time lolling around in sweatpants and a twenty-yea…

On Madonna’s True Blue

Like the rest of the virus-ridden world, my life adventures have become very, very small and very, very specific. Who knew there would be a time when we would simultaneously carry smartphones in our pockets that allowed us access to the world and to perform actions that seemed impossible only a few short decades ago, AND count down the minutes until it was time to visit the mail box. Yes, the humble mail box. (Junk mail now arrives into our home to delirious applause and whoops of joy.)
Gone are those heady London days of riding on the top deck of a double-decker bus, or spending the day at Ascot or popping over to Bath. Gone is London completely. I made it back into Australia before the doors closed and still feel ambivalent about my relocation home. But then I look at the news and compare virus figures between the UK and Australia and have to admit that being here rather than there gives a sense of extreme comfort.
To distract myself from the apocalypse, I have eschewed the 1000-piec…