Rosie's Travels

Inspiration for a cloudy Friday

2008-06-13T21:34:00.007+09:30

Here are some inspiring stories I've come across today.

Local communities are taking direct action to protect asylum seekers

A New York apartment turns out to be a giant puzzle box, thanks to an ingenious architect

Engagement 101 have invited various community moderators from Reed Business Information to try a "chogging" (chat/liveblogging) experiment today - you can head on over and ask them a question, or share a picture of a tractor or a pilot's moustache, here.

Tim Ferriss, he of the infamous Four-Hour Work Week, has thoughtfully provided an insider's guide to Tokyo on the cheap (Part 1 and Part 2) - some day I'll get there and it will be AWESOME.

And that link came courtesy of the fabulous Gala Darling, an inspiring writer on her own creative journey from NZ to Melbourne to NYC and beyond. Now that I'm planting myself in UK soil, I love following other people's travels.

Migratory Books and Art in a Carton

2008-06-13T01:01:00.005+09:30

I'm delighted to be taking part in a couple of exciting creative projects.

For one, I will receive a Migratory Book to study, following which I'll answer a question about the connections between us (and perhaps create some related artwork), before sending it on to someone else. It's rather like BookCrossing, except with artists' books.

The other project, Art in a Carton, is a pay-it-forward concept which, perhaps because it originates with Susan, who lives in Germany, reminds me of a German Friendship Cake.

These cakes generally work when you receive a cup of starter mixture (which I think includes live yeast) and a copy of the recipe. You make up a big bowl of cake mix but before putting it in the oven, scoop out a couple more cupfuls of raw batter to share with other people. I clearly remember us doing this a couple of times when I was younger, but as I type this now I'm wondering whether, in our health and safety conscious modern world, people are quite so trusting of bacterial cultures.

Back to Art in a Carton - I'll receive a reused, decorated fruit juice carton filled with art materials and interesting bits and bobs. I will then make up other cartons to post to other people. This is a great opportunity to share some of the ATCs, postcards, beads and buttons and cardstock scraps I've been holding on to for too long!

When I met up with friends for a lindy-hop class this week, I got to chatting with another mate who, seeking more creativity in her life, has begun volunteering at a local museum and art gallery. In one of those serendipitous moments where your minds turn out to be in perfect harmony, we've decided to establish our own art group. It will take place along the lines of a book group, meeting once a month in a different person's house each time. Hopefully, everyone coming together with paints and paper will get us producing more artwork - even if it's just making sets of greetings cards and attempting to capture some still lifes, it should give us a reason to get together and catch up with wine and cupcakes.

Perez Hilton to boycott Xtina?

2008-04-13T20:45:00.004+09:30

One of my guilty pleasures is checking out gossip sites for celebrity tittle-tattle - Perez Hilton, Holy Moly, Popbitch and Go Fug Yourself. Although they get a lot of readers, how much influence do these sites have on the big corporations? We may find out soon, as Perez has declared he will no longer support any of Sony BMG's artists on his site.

We KNOW that our support can help their artists, some of our favorites,
immensely. We hope alienating us was worth it for Sony BMG!

Every other
label out there wants to have us as a friend. It really makes us question the
business practices of Sony BMG that they would rather have Perez as an enemy.

Their loss!

And, though we may never write about Leona again, we
still love her. Always will. Same for Xtina. And J Lo. And Adele. And Ditto.

Our heart is sad.

My question is, will Sony even notice this? Will it get picked up by the blogosphere, or will it just be quietly forgotten?

As Joanna Lumley sensibly pointed out in her very wise Guardian interview yesterday, we survived perfectly well without these sites and magazines before they became so prominent, and we certainly can do again!

Finally, I'd like to share my soundtrack for this week: Robyn's "Who's That Girl?"

Being Human 101

2008-03-30T11:57:00.007+10:30

A quote that moves me because it seems to sum up everything I've been through so far:

"Being Human 101: Make Mistake, Apologize, Fix Mistake, Learn From Mistake, Live a Bit, (repeat)."

From Megan Wallent, whose site describes her male-to-female transition in a way that is elegant, throughtful, and calm.

I just seem to make more mistakes, more frequently, than most. Ho hum.

Light dawns even at the lowest points, though, as I put my intentions out into the world and gradually, from unexpected corners, people respond.

I've been corresponding with a sympathetic writer who emailed me after I left a comment on her blog. Another friend has sent me a link for a job she thinks I'd be perfect at. Finally, out of all the CVs I've been sending, I have one definite and one possible interview for next week. And I've volunteered to help out at a couple of things ... more details to come if I'm accepted ...

And Project Snapshot 2007, for which I interviewed 3 Australian writers here on this very blog, has won the Ditmar Award it was nominated for. I am, officially, award-winning - a fact I have already added to my CV, and a certificate is on the way. I may have to take a photo of it. I have never been award-winning before, except when I was part of a winning pub quiz team and marched proudly home, bearing in triumph a tin of amaretti biscuits that no-one else fancied.

Congratulations to everyone else involved, and particularly to my fellow artiste, and to Alisa, the guiding genius behind Asif! Twelfth Planet Press, and so much else. Meeting such interesting people is inspirational. I don't know quite where the energy for all their projects (reading every Australian specfic short story published during the entire year, anyone?) comes from. There are some people, though, whose influence spreads wider than they realise, and who put good things into the world that didn't exist before they thought of them - and I'm grateful to know them.

Reading Patry Francis' words also puts me into a frame of mind that is at once thoughtful and grateful for the things I take for granted.

I think my advice for anyone going through a period of self-doubt would be to find somebody to say yes to you. About anything. When you feel helpless and as if your skills are not valued ... make an offer, whether it's lending a book or making a cake, and see how much more energised you feel when someone accepts it. No-one is going to call you up and request that you do them the honour of writing for them. You have to keep making those moves, and maybe one in ten or twenty or seventy-eight will say yes.

Experimental baking is making me happy ... as is granting wishes.

Pancake Day in St Albans

2008-02-06T08:38:00.000+10:30

I took my bemused Australian cousin to a strange local event, the annual St Albans Pancake Day race. Four teams can do the relay at once - there were groups from local businesses, the Abbey (you can see the Abbey's bell tower at the back of this photo) and various Council departments, all taking time out from their lunch breaks to race up and down tossing pancakes.

Some people could watch from comfort, indoors.

Hertfordshire's Fourth Estate were out in force.

The Planning Department team were victorious and the Deputy Mayor (the verbose chap on the right who looks like a football manager) presented them with the Frying Pan of Glory.

The phalanx of photographers insisted on decorating the conquering heroes with clammy pancakes to mark their triumph.

I was delighted to capture this dramatic semi-final heat on video: this is the first time I've uploaded anything to YouTube. You can hear me squawk "Oooh, the vicar's down!" as if I'm watching a wrestling match. Which I suppose this is, in a way: a clash of the veritable titans of the pancake-entertainment world.

The sprinting vicars remind me of Bishop Brennan's magnificent fury in a certain Father Ted episode. Dad commented that they remind him more of the Spanish Inquisition. There's just something inherently comical about people sprinting in robes.

Fired Up, Ready to Go - another music video about Obama!

2008-02-05T13:31:00.001+10:30

To follow on from yesterday's post, I discovered another Obama fan-club song. I've always found gospel music emotionally stirring, even though it's a long way from the restrained British hymns I grew up with.

What an exciting time to be in the US! Best of luck for Super Tuesday, everyone!

It's politics, Jim, but not as we know it - Barack Obama's "Yes We Can"

2008-02-05T12:22:00.000+10:30

I came across this video today. It's a rousing, inspirational clip setting a speech by Barack Obama to music. All those celebrities, actors and musicians are very fervently, earnestly, reciting a political speech. Obama's delivery has definite echoes of preaching (notice I say preaching, rather than the British equivalent, giving a sermon.) This is a uniquely American artifact: no other country would make this without sending it up somehow (I have no doubt that some YouTubers are creating parody versions as I write...)

I have to admit, my reactions are mixed. On the one hand he's discussing an epic narrative, a nation's journey, and it is stirring stuff emotionally. On the other hand ... this is a politician, people! Not the President or Prime Minister, just someone currently in Opposition. Can you imagine this reaction to one of David Cameron's speeches? Or indeed, to any speech by a British politician?

We Brits are perhaps too cynical. I admit that parts of the video are slightly toe-curling (well, anyone who closes their eyes as they warble, shaking their head and staring off into the middle distance has me narrowing my eyes and retreating to a safe distance) but isn't this a fascinating outpouring?

I'm reminded of my reactionary A-Level History teacher, who for two years endeavoured to get us to think analytically about the history of the United States. We looked at the idealistic plans of the white settlers, the twists and turns of the colonies gradually becoming a country, and the way the language of idealism and manifest destiny would be used to justify horrific policies. What would the Founding Fathers think? We discussed Bill Clinton's potential impeachment desultorily, with detached interest: for most of us, I think, America was an exciting place we hoped to visit some day.

During uni I went to live in America on an academic exchange programme. I graduated. I travelled, living in many different places. I came to realise that the news I read and watched and heard was overwhelmingly influenced by the decisions of the US government. After these interminable Bush years - like the Howard era in Australia, or the endless corrupt Tories here in England - anything would be an improvement.

I'm dedicating this post to Mr Davies, wherever he is now. I didn't understand all the points he made at the time, but I've often thought back to our debates. It has to be uniquely American to create something like this - about politics!

Patry Francis - The Liar's Diary

2008-01-30T10:06:00.000+10:30

This is a special post in honour of a new writer, Patry Francis. She's just published a book, The Liar's Diary.

Her story is here, while this is the LitPark post I came across via Neil Gaiman's blog, explaining how the online community established this carnival in her honour.

I haven't read her book yet. I don't know the woman personally. But I'm deeply touched by her 25 years of waitressing while dreaming of this book, writing in her spare time, and believing that she had more to offer than just the day job she happened to do. So many times when I've been working one of my random things-I've-done-merely-to-make-money positions - all of which I try to do as well as I can - I've been typing away, or building walls, or trimming fish, or stuffing envelopes, or picking grapes but in my imagination I've been stringing together sentences, crafting turns of phrase, imagining paint and fabric and drawing and collage coming together, mentally stepping through a dance routine, thinking about what spices I might add to the next batch of biscuits, plotting the next leg of my journey, knowing that I am more than just what my hands are doing at this moment.

We all have imagination, and dreams, and grand plans. I even had to create a blog tag for "grand plans", they seem to come up so often. Patry Francis followed her dream, and although she's going through a personal time of great trouble, I salute her courage and her determination. Best wishes to her, and to everyone involved in the Carnival!

Canoe polo, marmalade and lindy hop - my disjointed life

2008-01-30T09:41:00.000+10:30

It's been an interesting few days.

On Saturday, Mum, Dad and I drove up to Coventry to see my sister competing in a Ladies Division 1 canoe polo tournament. She's been playing for over 10 years, captaining the GB Ladies Under 21s, and even getting into the GB Ladies squad. However, she'll be away in Botswana for two years, so this was really our last chance to see her play. It was pretty hot sitting up in the viewing gallery of that huge pool, but great to get a view of the action from above the pitch. As with all sports, from above you see the tactics in play - how certain players try different attacks, or work together to set up defences. She got one scorching goal and made some great saves, but the standard was very high overall. Things have come on a lot since I watched her and her friends training by sprinting up and down the cold muddy waters of the canal, before I went travelling!

On Sunday, we made marmalade. We're in the three-week season of Seville oranges, too tart and ugly to eat but perfect for marmalade. It's a long process: boiling the whole fruit until soft; scraping the pips into one saucepan to be boiled up for their pectin, the natural setting agent; scraping the mushy fruit into the liquid-filled main vat; scraping out the pith and stringy bits; chopping the hot, moist peel into fine shreds; adding sugar, lemon juice and chopped fresh ginger and keeping this vast concoction at a rolling boil for hours until it reduces by a third. We made 16 large jars full: that's a lot. Today I delivered a jar each to our neighbours - those on one side will reciprocate with mincemeat for mince pies at Christmas, while those on the other side will share the illicit Limoncello they made from an Italian recipe. This is another great thing about being back at home - being part of such a great community!

Last night I went into London to meet up with friends: the travel companion I journeyed through Romania with, now a scientist and celebrated dancer; a girl I knew a long time ago from a drama group who now has a job so exciting I still can't quite believe it; my wonderful cousin Anna, always up for fun in the big city; and some new acquaintances who were keen to have a go at something a bit different. We arrived at the celebrated 100 Club thinking a little dubiously, "Is this it?" There's a modern skyscraper built on top of an ancient basement jazz club. Once through the cream and brown foyer your clamber down a dark staircase and into a sweaty, red-painted slice of authentic Old London Town.

There were well over 100 people there - a few more women than men, as should be expected. What I hadn't appreciated was that so many would be in costume! High-waisted baggy trousers held up with braces seemed to be the norm, along with two-toned shoes and debonair hats and hairclips. We started with a casual class, learning individual Charleston routines and then putting together a sequence with a partner. As the band, King Groovy and the Horn Stars, took to the stage, we began attempting to do these routines ... to the music.

The - frequently - rather fast music.

To covers of Glenn Miller, the Andrews Sisters and other 1940s classics, we had to take a partner and endeavour to sashay across the crowded dancefloor, in time, without treading on each others' feet or twisting ankles while doing the Suzy Q. This, for me, was easier while looking down at my feet and counting under my breath, occasionally sharing an anxious glance with an equally timid new partner. Of course, when you look down at your feet, you're much more likely to crash into other dancers. Well, it's a good way to meet people! You tend to learn best when dancing with people who are slightly better than you, and there were certainly a lot of experts around. The ages ranged from teenagers to spry old dapper chaps in their 70s and 80s, one of whom wiped his perspiring face with one towel and mopped his armpits with another as a courtesy before escorting me to the dancefloor.

A great time was had by all, and if I were living in London, rather than out in St Albans, I'd love to go regularly.

Sometimes you read an article that's so inspirational, such a breath of fresh air, that you sit back in your seat thinking "Wow! That's what the world should be like." That was my reaction to this: we need this guy to come and run the British trains!

As part of my getting-ahead-with-Web 2.0 mission, I have signed up for Google Reader and am adding RSS feeds from the various blogs I like to catch up with. It was amazingly easy: all my questions were answered by this video, Common Craft's Guide to RSS.

Postcards from the edge

2008-01-21T12:59:00.002+10:30

These guys did a journey of the sort I'd definitely be interested in doing - exploring the UK slowly, in depth, taking their time and having chance encounters with archaeological celebrities. Who should they encounter while recharging their milk float (definition added for the benefit of confused readers who buy their milk in shops) but an archaeological luminary,

none other than Phil Harding from Time Team, who was soon regaling us with
stories of the only other person he'd ever come across who owned a milk float -
our unofficial patron saint, Keith Moon.

In other news, a huge box of postcards kept by Mollie have turned up. Most of them are from the 1950s onwards, from family holidays, featuring comments about the weather. However, there is also a treasured packet dating from around 1900 - 1910. The few that were posted are dated between 1904 and 1906. Excitingly, they feature theatrical stars such as Ellaline Terriss (not the same person as Ellen Terry - although there are a few of her as well), Edna May, Seymour Hicks, Henry Irving, Wilson Barrett, Maud Jeffries and various other intensely glamorous characters.

There are several featuring Mr C. Hayden Coffin giving us his dandy highwayman pose, his American newspaperman impersonation, and demonstrating many other ardent stances in a manner that seems to me the epitome of high camp. I promise to scan some!

It's as if people sent postcards several times a day - I suppose there were several postal deliveries, and no telephones. Some are rather peremptory, like this one (with an image of Mr Seymour Hicks as "Dickie" and Miss Ellaline Terriss as "Blue Bell"), which could have been penned by Lord Peter Wimsey's mother:

Dear G,

I sent the goloshes off this afternoon by maid. I don't think they are much
good.
Hope you are well. With love - Mother.

Goloshes! Maids! I am charmed. I imagine these read in the perfectly clipped tones of a dowager duchess.

There is also a very repressed, suitably inhibited one-sided British love story, tantalisingly played out ... if only I knew how it ended! More to follow soon.

In memory of Mollie

2008-01-20T12:02:00.000+10:30

My great aunt Mollie has died. She had lived with Alzheimer's for many years, and spent the last eight years in a nursing home. A former nurse herself, she looked after the other residents, reassured them if they had to go to hospital, and was a firm favourite among the staff for her sunny nature. Apparently she used to believe she was living in a serviced hotel! It was always a pleasure to see her, her face wreathed in smiles, happy to have a visitor even if she wasn't certain who we were.

Nursing homes get a lot of bad press, but I won't hear a word against this one. One carer even came in on her day off to sit with Mollie's head in her lap, even though she was on morphine and not necessarily aware of her surroundings. It's an image that touches me profoundly. When Mollie passed away, all the staff were there with her.

Dad and I took Grandpa up to see her one last time, and I'm very glad we did, reconnecting with one of Dad's cousins who I haven't seen for years. But as I write this, we're trying to find out what kind of a person Mollie was. No-one is sure where she was born. We don't know quite which hospitals she worked at and when. Our memories are uncertain, half-remembered scraps of fact filled out with supposition. What we remember of her is her welcoming smile, the polite way she wouldn't smoke in your house, and her genial good humour. I remembered the last, triumphant line of Larkin's poem, "What will survive of us is love" - and despite his tentativedoubt in the penultimate line, it's that conclusion that stays with me. I suppose our family are "the endless, altered people," looking back, rather than reading her past. But her "remaining attitude" is the "final blazon" - it's love that survives.

So, in tribute to Mollie, a lovely person I never knew as well as I'd have liked to, I give you "An Arundel Tomb."

An Arundel Tomb

Side by side, their faces blurred,
The earl and countess lie in stone,
Their proper habits vaguely shown
As jointed armour, stiffened pleat,
And that faint hint of the absurd -
The little dogs under their feet.

Such plainness of the pre-baroque
Hardly involves the eye, until
It meets his left-hand gauntlet, still
Clasped empty in the other; and
One sees, with a sharp tender shock,
His hand withdrawn, holding her hand.

They would not think to lie so long.
Such faithfulness in effigy
Was just a detail friends would see:
A sculptor's sweet commissioned grace
Thrown off in helping to prolong
The Latin names around the base.

They would no guess how early in
Their supine stationary voyage
The air would change to soundless damage,
Turn the old tenantry away;
How soon succeeding eyes begin
To look, not read. Rigidly they

Persisted, linked, through lengths and breadths
Of time. Snow fell, undated. Light
Each summer thronged the grass. A bright
Litter of birdcalls strewed the same
Bone-littered ground. And up the paths
The endless altered people came,

Washing at their identity.
Now, helpless in the hollow of
An unarmorial age, a trough
Of smoke in slow suspended skeins
Above their scrap of history,
Only an attitude remains:

Time has transfigured them into
Untruth. The stone fidelity
They hardly meant has come to be
Their final blazon, and to prove
Our almost-instinct almost true:
What will survive of us is love.

- Philip Larkin

Cousinly love

2008-01-17T08:50:00.000+10:30

I'd encourage any travellers, real or armchair, to check out my cousin Jane's regularly updated blog (she puts me to shame!) where she shares stories of her gap year journey through Asia.

Anna is staying with us! My lovely cousin has always been an inspiration. I'm taking much more of an interest in the family's meals: she's a veggie, and whereas this may seem a daunting prospect to some, I'm enjoying the challenge of creating meals under that limitation which we all enjoy, without wondering where the meat is. I took her on a mini-tour of St Albans, appreciating various historical landmarks but also doing some basic shopping. After India, she was amazed at how simple and easy it was to:

a) withdraw money
b) send postcards (queue up, buy stamps, stick them on and drop the cards in the letterbox outside - a 10 minute transaction here that in India would involve queueing at multiple counters)
c) buy a UK SIM card for a mobile - no registration required, we were in and out of the shop with her new number set up in less than 5 minutes.

We've been discussing social differences between Australia, where I lived for the last 2 years; England, where I'm from and she was born; and India, where she's spent several months. We were thinking about schools, and teaching, and changes in society - and I was surprised to come across this article - not from a source I'd normally read, but still an interesting topic from a teacher. My Mum is very well informed about the social changes in London, due to her working at one of the London hospitals.

How we use and create media sources is changing rapidly: I came across this post discussing the importance of social networking, a good summary of many trends I've observed.

The year in newsbreaks, from the New Yorker:
Without Comment.

Great name changes of English eccentrics:
Toasted T Cake, Daddy Fantastic, Jellyfish Mc-Saveloy and Mouth Who Wants to Know O'Mighty.

And finally, because we could all do with some sweetness and light:

This is the Tower of Ecthelion. If a candy tower could be measured in units
of pimpness, this candy tower would be off the f***ing charts. And if that
wasn’t pimp enough, in front you can clearly see the White Tree of Gondor,
which I made out of white chocolate pretzels. Give me my Nobel Prize now,
thankyouverymuch.

This is a quote describing a startling Christmas holiday project - the creation of the Battle of Pelennor Fields through the medium of sweets. This is from Lord of the Rings fans who last year brought you the Battle of Helm's Deep, also in candy (that's lollies, for any Australian readers.)

Durian and divination: a tour of Penang

2007-12-05T01:23:00.000+10:30

I'm all templed out! I joined a tour (well, a brisk Hokkien guide and a Thai mother and daughter) to see the awkwardly-located sights of Penang. We began by riding the earliest funicular train very slowly up 700m to the top of Penang Hill. The view at 9am across the city and harbour to the mainland was breathtaking, the vast expanse of water twinkling with shining morning tranquillity.

At the top I was able to get a cup of kopi, the exceedingly strong local coffee served with evaporated milk. It's so thick and rich you savour the mouthfeel of it, even though it's joltingly intense. For breakfast, I asked for nasi lemak, which normally comes as a tiny pyramid the size of a tennis ball, parcelled up in banana leaf. However, it arrived on a plate and for the first time I had to stare the little fishes in the eye ... For those not acquainted with this Malaysian delicacy, it's rice cooked in coconut milk, chili paste, boiled or fried egg, slices of cucumber ... and tiny, crispy, salty morsels with the taste of Scampi Fries and the texture of crispy bacon. Staring at them exposed on the plate for the first time, I realised these were the tiny dried whitebait I'd been shrinking away from in snack shops because ... you know ... they've still got eyes in. They are tasty, but only if their shrivelled faces are hidden within a forkful of rice. Sorry.

On the way down, a grandmotherly lady chattering in one of the Chinese dialects found herself next to a baby boy, whose family looked Indian. She chucked him under the chin and cooed away to him, but his solemn dark eyes remained fixed on her. No smiling, no chuckling, just a serious assessment of her. He seemed an old soul.

We visited the nearby Chinese temple, a colossal, exuberantly coloured complex from 1891, aligned with the sea for good feng shui with the wind and water. The guide explained that worshippers offer piles of 4 of 5 fruits, burn joss sticks, and light candles in front of the aspect of Buddha they choose. There were 6 or 7 different Buddhas in this temple alone, each dealing with a different area such as health, business and education. The shape and colour of the candle depends on which Buddhist culture you come from - Thai and Burmese worshippers take pink lotus-shaped ones, writing their names on them before settting them alight; while the Chinese faithful use yellow pineapple-shaped ones.

Next, we went to the Botanical Gardens, where in accordance with the Lonely Planet we ensured that we carried no food, and that should a monkey challenge us we would not look it in the eye: an ineffective-sounding solution akin to the dingo safety advice on Fraser Island ("Cross your arms across your chest and don't go to the toilet alone.") Walking through the gates I honestly expected a screeching primate attack at any moment. After cautiously peering up into the trees, I realised the truth - there were no monkeys. No, wait - five or six on a far-off lawn saw our movement and scampered away. Perhaps the Lonely Planet writer had provoked them unwisely, taunting them with bananas or something. The gardens, though, were nothing spectacular - all the Houses (of cacti, orchids, bromeliads etc) were padlocked closed, much to the dismay of the Thai girl's mum who was a retired horticulturalist.

After lunch, featuring sliced jackfruit (another first for me, tasting rather like a mango but with smooth, non-fibrous flesh), we headed out again to visit two more Buddhist temples opposite each other. The Burmese one was serenely beautiful, with light golden roofs; ponds and water features outside (with the cryptic instruction not to put turtles in the pools); and sentimental paintings of scenes from the life of Buddha, reminding me irresistibly of the sentimental paintings of scenes from the life of Jesus found in Christian churches.

Over the road was the Temple of the Reclining Buddha, apparently the third largest of its kind in the world. It's 33m long. There's not much more to be said about it - I didn't find the figure that attractive visually, although of course there's the challenge of trying to take a photo with the whole thing in it. Why build a Buddha longer than a swimming pool? It's too much to take in. The temple was built by the Thai community, but with Chinese influences. There were separate Buddhas for each day of the week, and each animal in the Chinese zodiac. You could buy squares of gold leaf to smear onto your favourite statue: the popular ones looked as if their faces were crumbling and disintegrating into metallic fragments with each gust of wind.

We made some commercial stops, at a pewter factory where we weren't allowed to photograph the rapid creation of a tankard handle, the liquid metal setting in around 5 seconds. Then we saw an expensive batik factory, where fast-talking women placed one wax stamp on a sample sheet of fabric for our benefit, then funnelled us into the shop. The White Coffee factory had some tasty samples, but again sold their coffee at vastly inflated tourist prices. I sampled a durian-flavoured boiled sweet. This is the infamous fruit you are not permitted to slice open in hotels, stations and various public places because of its indescribable smell. Well, this small sweet tasted like sweaty feet smeared with antiseptic; like biting a tart onion but with the acrid reek of garlic breath; like Parisian sewers; warm clotted cream left out in the sun; Amoxyl (was that the name? The artificial banana-flavoured medicine for children with a sour aftertaste.) Well, I bought a packet, along with nutmeg and sweetcorn flavours, to challenge my cousins with at Christmas.

Reunited last night with a couple of friends from Tanah Rata, who had described Penang by day as "a s***hole," I'd heard their accounts of getting ripped off, taking all day to get out to see the sights, and finally discovering with delight a Tesco where they spent 4 hours frolicking in the air-con. I walked through the streets by myself this afternoon. Maybe my taste in cities is different. Maybe I'm more accustomed to the heat and dust. But I see such beauty in the peeling pastel shutters, the crumbling tiled pavements, the surprising patterns and elegant carvings here. Most of the buildings are no higher than two stories. Many are over 200 years old. But the architecture is so different, so far outside my experience, that I'm as charmed by Georgetown's elegant decay as I am by Venice's.

Just a few doors up from my hostel is an incredibly ornate Chinese temple. I chatted to a man there for divination purposes, and watched, fascinated, as he stood behind the high altar at the feet of the huge Buddha statue, shaking a tin full of carved sticks. When one dropped out onto the floor, he cast two painted stones down, examined how the three lay together, then selected a corresponding slip of paper with advice on it. He explained the significance of the artificial pink plum-blossom tree in the open courtyard: on Chinese New Year, people tie tags with their prayers and wishes onto its branches.

I stepped back out into the street with a new appreciation of this religious culture. On the way back I noticed just how many houses have the little red shrines outside.

In other news, I was able to tell Felicia how interesting I find her blog . She's one of the many people online that I check in with occasionally for inspiration, and I was delighted to find that despite her new book deal and associated excitement, she found the time to write back! When I figure out how to add a page of links to this blog, I'll do it.

Howard out! Satay in!

2007-11-25T04:25:00.000+10:30

There's been discussion of the Australian elections in the UK papers I read online as well, in many cases providing clearer overviews of the issues more than you see in the (Murdoch-owned) Australian newspapers. Marieke Hardy's mum had a novel way of campaigning.

The level of political debate Down Under is just as "abrasive"/"robust"/misogynistic as ever: John Howard will hopefully be knocked out of his local seat by his leading rival, TV star Maxine McKew.

When Ms McKew appeared on giant screens around the Wentworth Hotel ballroom,
filmed being feted by the Labor faithful at her Bennelong function, loud boos
rang out. Some Young Liberals abused the Labor candidate, one yelling "get a
facelift, you slag".

Good on her for sticking it out and rising above it - the same with Julia Gillard, the shadow Deputy PM who was abused as being "deliberately barren" for not having had children. Firstly, there's no call for that kind of prurient leering. It may be deeply sad for her - you don't know what suffering people might have gone through if they want a child and can't have one. Whatever the reason, it's a private matter and not remotely in the public interest. Finally, I'm just pointing out that there is no way anybody would say that to a male politician without kids.

One of the most interesting people I've met is Dario, an Italian radio presenter travelling around the world without ever flying. You don't meet many Italian travellers, especially not compared to Brits and Germans - it seems to be a real cultural difference - but this modern day Marco Polo keeps a blog (in Italian) discussing the joys of travel, and sharing some amazing photography, with his former listeners back home. I never imagined visiting Uzbekistan until he showed me some of the pictures he'd taken there.

Apart from the excitement of chatting with fellow travellers, I've been enjoying the Chinatown markets, with their rumbling trolleys of goods charging through, hopefuls gurning optimistically from racks off knock-off watches, wallets, sunglasses and suitcases "Chip-chip sir, chip-chip madam, for you very good price!"

This evening I brought a Dutch guy and a fellow English girl to try a locals-only satay stand that I'd walked past earlier (I didn't want to be the only Westerner in the entire place). They have plates full of kebabs, five or six unidentifiable lumps of foodstuff on a skewer. You select the ones you'd like, and they're dunked into boiling broth for a couple of minutes, then doused with a dark brown sauce. It contained a few crushed peanuts, a little chilli and perhaps even an edge of ginger, but basically it was just a rich gravy. Poor Jaap, on the other hand, was given a fiery hot chilli oil on top of his sauce - maybe as a kind of macho challenge? I definitely got the milder end of deal. We enjoyed their iced tea - very cold, milky and sweet, possibly with condensed milk. It was 1.50 ringgit a cup - that's about 20p in UK money, or 50 cents in Australian.

2007 Snapshot Interview: Kate Eltham

2007-08-19T16:21:00.000+09:30

As CEO of the Queensland Writers' Centre, Kate Eltham runs writing and publishing workshops across the state. She's involved with Clarion South, Fantastic Queensland, and helps organise the Aurealis Awards. Her commentary and reviews appear in the Courier Mail, and her short fiction has been published in numerous magazines.

Q1. You're CEO of the Queensland Writers' Centre, which seems to be going from strength to strength, one of the organisers of the Clarion South writing program, a convenor of Fantastic Queensland and you help to organise the Aurealis Awards. Firstly, how do you juggle all these responsibilities? What are the biggest challenges you face, and what achievements are you most proud of?

With the volunteer-run projects like Clarion South, FQ and the awards, sometimes I think the best metaphor is one of those circus performerswho spins dinner plates on wobbling stalks, because I tend to cycle through projects. Each of them have their own schedule and become a bigger priority at different times. And I'm not even a particularly talented dinner plate-spinner because there are plenty of times when I get overwhelmed, or tired, and and things slip by me. My energy for these projects comes in waves - there are times when I'm really firing and excited about them. Then there are times when the last thing I want to do is write that grant application, or fill in the BAS statement. It's at these times that I eat ice cream and watch a lot of episodes ofThe West Wing.

As for the QWC gig, that's my day job. But frankly, I've never actually had a job before that I get so much satisfaction from doing and sometimes have to pinch myself when I remember that they pay me to do it. My biggest challenge is my impatience - there are a ton of projects I want to do at QWC and I want to do them all right now, damnit. But we can't afford to do them all at once, either in terms of cash or human resources, so I have to pace myself and do the things we can afford now and plan to do the rest over time. The same goes for Clarion South and Fantastic Queensland, where the main crunch is volunteer fatigue.

As for achievements, I'm proud as punch to have helped establish Clarion South. It can be really exciting finding talented new writers and each time we run the workshop I'm astounded all over again at the powerful impact it has on the students, teachers and, well, us.

Q2. You've had various short stories published yourself. Are you working on anything longer, or is the short story the form that you naturally use?

I'm a big fan of the short story form. I think it's incredibly difficult to do well and I have huge admiration for those that can. Generally, most of the ideas I get seem to lend themselves to short fiction, and it's what I most enjoy writing. However, I'm taking a crack at my first novel at the moment. It's going very slowly! I hit a psychological barrier at about the 8,000 word mark, perhaps because I'd never written any fiction longer than that before, but now things are cranking again. It has had a good impact on my writing habits, too, because I've had to develop a more regular writing routine just to keep the manuscript moving forward.

Q3. Where do you want to be - both as a writer and as an educator - in five years, and how do you plan to get there? Would you like to be able to devote your time solely to writing, or are the other aspects of your work equally helpful to you?

I've actually thought about this quite a bit. I don't think I would enjoy being a full-time writer. I'm not really wired for it. I have diverse interests and like to be doing lots of different things. But at the same time, I think about writing constantly - characters, plots, ideas. I do get a bit depressed when I can't find the time to do any writing. So I guess the ideal set-up for me would be to keep going in a job I love but to not be so overloaded that all time for writing is crowded out. That's happened in the last 3-4 years because I couldn't get the balance right, but I feel like I'm getting closer to the ideal lately.

In five years, for myself, I'd like to be keeping up with writing daily, finishing a couple of short stories each year and submitting them to markets, and if it turns out I enjoy writing novels, I'd like to have finished one or two more of those. (However, I write at a glacial pace so these are pretty lofty goals).

I'd also like Clarion South to be more financially secure in five years. I don't really think of myself as an educator, but for QWC, in five years I'd like to see an established ms development program of Varuna-calibre that has practical connections with publishers and literary agents, and an affordable (or even free!) peer-based mentoring program.

Q4. Do you read much from the Australian spec fic scene? What are the best things you've read this year?

In terms of fiction, I used to read almost exclusively spec fic, and most of that was Australian short fiction. I'll seek out just about anything by Margo Lanagan, Trent Jamieson or Terry Dowling. From international authors, I look for new stuff from Kelly Link, Jeff Ford, Ted Chiang or Carol Emshwiller. In the last year or two, though, I've been reading more widely, partly to stay professionally informed, and have been delving into more Australian literary fiction and contemporary poetry.

I also enjoy a reasonable amount of "popular non-fiction" - The Undercover Economist, The Tipping Point, that kind of thing. I've always loved YA and continue to read a lot of it. The SF book I enjoyed reading most this year was Air by Geoff Ryman. I also just finished William Gibson's Spook Country and loved it, although not as much as Pattern Recognition. The best YA I've read this year has been by Meg Rosoff. Both her books - How I Live Now and Just In Case - are fantastic.

Q5. And most importantly, if you had the chance to get it on with the fictional character you fancy most, who would it be and why?

It's a complete geek grrl thing I know, but I go a bit gooey in the chest cavity over Tim Bisley (Simon Pegg) from the tv show Spaced. He's a science fiction-loving graphic artist AND he makes axe-wielding robots. What's not to like?

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This interview was conducted as part of the 2007 Snapshot of Australian Speculative Fiction. We'll be blogging interviews from Monday 13 August to Sunday 19 August and archiving them at ASif!: Australian SpecFic in Focus.

You can read interviews at:

http://random-alex.livejournal.com/
http://girliejones.livejournal.com/
http://benpayne.livejournal.com/
http://kaaronwarren.livejournal.com/
http://cassiphone.livejournal.com/
http://kathrynlinge.livejournal.com/
http://rosies-travels.blogspot.com/

If you're involved in the Scene and have something to plug, then send us an email and we'll see what we can do!

2007 Snapshot Interview: Brett McBean

2007-08-18T23:47:00.000+09:30

Melbourne horror writer Brett McBean is a member of the Australian Horror Writers Association. His published work includes the novels The Mother and The Last Motel, the novelettes The Familiar Stranger and A Question of Belief, and short stories published in a variety of magazines and anthologies. His website is www.brettmcbean.com.

Q1. You're currently working on a zombie novel that you first started in 2001. What made you return to it? Have the intervening years, during which you've published some very different work, changed your approach to the story?

It’s not so much a question of why I returned to the story, but why I stopped writing it in the first place. I wrote about two thirds (around 110,000 words) before I decided to stop work on the story – for the time being. I knew I would return to it one day, but at the time, the story was getting too big for me. Part of it was set in Haiti, the other in America, and I knew I needed to do a lot more research before I could finish the story. Also, the novel was only the third I had ever attempted, so I think the scope was too big for me at the time. The six-year gap has been immeasurable in terms of developing my writing to a point where I can tackle the subject matter and story with the proper maturity and knowledge. Reading over the first draft after all those years made me realise that I simply wasn’t ready in 2001 to develop the story to its fullest potential. I’m having a blast revisiting the characters and finally completing the story.

Q2. You've been nominated for the Ditmars and the Ned Kelly Crime Fiction Awards. How significant has this been in terms of raising your profile and reaching new readers? Is there anything that you wish you'd known, starting out as a writer?

I don’t think being nominated has had a dramatic effect in terms of attracting a great number of new readers – those people who are aware of such genre awards most probably would have heard of some of my work anyway. But being nominated certainly does look nice on the resume.I wish I had known that writing is a life-long learning process, that it takes years to develop your voice, and that success doesn’t happen overnight. Patience certainly is a virtue.

Q3. Where do you want to be as a writer in five years, and how do you plan to get there?

In five years, I guess I’d like to be writing full time, still loving the creative process, still pumping out the kinds of stories I enjoy writing and reading. How do I plan to get there? One day at a time. And by making sure I sit my arse in that chair and write every day.

Q4. Do you read much from the Australian spec fic scene? What are the best things you've read this year? Following on from your essay "On Research, Dead Trees and Horror in Australia," are there any pieces of writing that you feel really take advantage of the Australian landscape to create atmosphere?

I haven’t read a lot of Aussie spec fic this year (shame on me!). Most of my reading has been geared towards the coming-of-age and ‘last man on earth’ genres – research for the two stories I’m currently working on (the zombie novel and a novella). But as for which stories use the Aussie landscape to create atmosphere, you can’t go past the classic ‘Picnic at Hanging Rock’.

Q5. If you had the chance to get it on with the fictional character you fancy most, who would it be and why?

Well, there’s a particularly saucy temptress called Zoe, from the Steve Gerlach books ‘Love Lies Dying’ and ‘Hunting Zoe’ – she’s a sexy, feisty woman who could really give you a night to remember. Also, I wouldn’t say no to being stranded in the woods with the five gals from Richard Laymon’s ‘Blood Games’ (or any Laymon girl, for that matter).

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This interview was conducted as part of the 2007 Snapshot of Australian Speculative Fiction. We'll be blogging interviews from Monday 13 August to Sunday 19 August and archiving them at ASif!: Australian SpecFic in Focus.

You can read interviews at:

http://random-alex.livejournal.com/
http://girliejones.livejournal.com/
http://benpayne.livejournal.com/
http://kaaronwarren.livejournal.com/
http://cassiphone.livejournal.com/
http://kathrynlinge.livejournal.com/
http://rosies-travels.blogspot.com/

If you're involved in the Scene and have something to plug, then send us an email and we'll see what we can do!

2007 Snapshot Interview: Shane Jiraiya Cummings

2007-08-17T09:25:00.000+09:30

Shane Jiraiya Cummings is a Ditmar award-winning writer and editor. He co-founded Brimstone Press and the Shadowed Realms online magazine, has compiled anthologies, is the Managing Editor of HorrorScope, and is currently a judge for the Aurealis and Australian Shadows Awards. His dark fiction short stories have appeared in numerous magazines, and he has two forthcoming collections of short stories. His website is www.jiraiya.com.au and he blogs at http://jiraiyanews.blogspot.com.

Q1. When you first established Horrorscope, did you imagine it taking off as successfully as it has? How do you see it developing in the future?

HorrorScope has exceeded my wildest expectations. I had high hopes of a Boing Boing style horror publishing web log doing well but had no idea that the zine would attract such a diverse and high quality group of editors/reviewers, each with their own strengths. With HorrorScope's merger with the Australian Horror Writers Association news service and the addition of news editor Talie Helene - and now roving reviewer Rob Hood - to the team, I couldn't ask for more. The number of readers has really picked up this year, and I think HorrorScope is cementing its international reputation going by the surge in links from US and UK writers and publishers.

For me, the success has stemmed from each reviewer's distinctive 'voice' and the communal ownership of the site. Not all the posts are perfect but the uncertainty of content and review style adds to the charm, for me. It's also simplicity itself. Other projects I've worked on needed constant care and planning. Yet HorrorScope, once it was set up, practically runs itself. The ease of keeping the content ticking over, even if a few of the editors take time off, is just brilliant.

I'd love to see HorrorScope develop in a more commercial direction, with reviewers being paid for their contributions. This could have the effect of increasing the frequency of more substantial book reviews, which is probably one area that could be improved. This move could be on the cards down the track but depends on a couple of big question marks at this stage.

Q2. You're bringing the Shadowed Realms online publishing project to a close. What do you feel proudest of having achieved with it, and what lessons will you take from the experience? Brimstone Press are following on from the success of Shadow Box with a new anthology, Black Box - how is that coming along? (And how do you find the time?)

Shadowed Realms did many things - achieved SFWA pro market status, enabled a flash story to win an Aurealis Award (Lee Battersby's creepy "Pater Familias"), was the first online zine to be nominated for a 'Collected work' Ditmar, and published a bucketload of excellent fiction from the best in the business. Most importantly, Shadowed Realms was probably one of the primary catalysts for an Aussie horror surge. I'd like it to be remembered as a vehicle that helped kickstart a genre.

The zine also pushed the boundaries and hopefully raised the standards of online fiction. What people don't seem to understand is that the electronic medium is very different to print and offers many new and exciting alternatives to the presentation of text. Working on Shadowed Realms allowed me to enhance my graphic design skills - experience I'll be applying to future book covers and the Black Box e-anthology.

The table of contents has been finalised for Black Box, and I'm proud to say it is a stellar lineup (website to be updated soon!), proving Shadow Box struck a chord with a lot of writers. You'll see bite-sized stories by Will Elliott, Robert Hood, Stephen Dedman, Kaaron Warren, Paul Haines, Kirstyn McDermot, Martin Livings, Lee Battersby, David Conyers... the list goes on! Plus a hell of a lot more art and funky add-ons. I expect Black Box to be published in early 2008, once I get my awards judging and some important writing commitments out of the way. I hope it will be well-received. I expect it to be my last hurrah for flash fiction (once my collection Shards is published) and all profits will go to the Australian Horror Writers Association, so good sales will directly benefit Aussie writers and editors.

As for finding the time, something always gives. For too long, that was time with my family. This year, events forced me to realise this had to change and so I've pulled right back. Not all the way out but enough to regain some sanity and put most of the SF small press bickering behind me.

Q3. You're a graduate of the Clarion South writing program, you've published many short stories over the years, but I understand you've recently completed a novella. How would you say your writing style has evolved? Does the short story form come most naturally to you, or do your future plans involve novel writing as well?

Yeah, my latest story is a Cthulhu Mythos novella entitled "Requiem for the Burning God", my first true attempt at Mythos horror fiction. It was a hard slog but worth every word.

My writing has improved by leaps and bounds since I first started out a few years ago. At first, the grand plan was to quit the day job and finish a work-in-progress novel. I almost did it (about 80k words of it) but was distracted by short stories, which came very naturally to me. I can see myself as a novelist but I really need to recondition myself to writing at longer lengths. My recent publications have been novelettes ("Yamabushi Kaidan and the Smoke Dragon" in Fantastic Wonder Stories and "Beneath Southern Waves" in Daikaiju 2), so I think I'm on the right path.

My first twenty or so short stories needed a lot of work (in hindsight) but each was an improvement on the last. Attending Clarion South in early 2005, the editing work I took up around the same time, and Angela's advice gave me the insight to really understand the flaws in my work. Since then, I've been much more self-aware and I feel the work has improved. My output has slowed dramatically, but having edited all of my old stories up to a level at least close to my current standard, I'm still publishing work at a steady rate.

I think my writing has become less "purple" (less reliant on adjectives and adverbs) and I'm absolutely confident on the technical aspects of grammar, syntax etc. I haven't had a lot of reviews lately, so I can't really gauge whether readers are responsive to my current, more refined style. However, the greatest change has been psychological. I'm no longer hungry for approval of my stories from others. It's desirable, sure, but no longer something I feel when it isn't there. It's a liberating feeling.

Q4. As well as writing, editing and publishing, you're also an Aurealis Awards judge. You must have read a huge amount this year: what have been your highlights?

An Aurealis Award AND an Australian Shadows Award judge! I took on both this year because I'm reading the same material for both awards, so there is little to no extra workload. I believe in an efficient Australian awards system that rewards excellence, which is why I put my hand up in the first place. In some ways, it is more important that the Australian Shadows Award becomes a success because the AHWA has been doing excellent work in promoting Australian dark fiction and they are probably the best way forward for horror writers in this country. My involvement in the Aurealis Awards this year arose because the award has an established reputation with major publishers - one that should be improved upon to help small press writers take that next step with the majors - and despite the good intentions and hard work by volunteers, I disagreed with the half-arsed way the awards were handled at the end of last year and the disrespectful thoughtlessness that followed. I believed (and still believe) I could make a positive difference.

I've been enjoying reading Aussie horror in a more considered, critical manner this year. In fact, I've been reading all Oz horror short stories (and most of the F/SF stories) for the last three years, but for some odd reason, I'm enjoying it more this year.

I've just finished reading David Conyers' and John Sunseri's The Spiraling Worm collection, which greatly appealed to me - possibly because there is so few Lovecraftian style cosmic horror written by Aussies. What I've read of Jason Nahrung and Mil Clayton's novel The Darkness Within has been interesting, as has been Troy Barnes' self published novel Deadlight, but I'll go into detail about these in my upcoming HorrorScope reviews. I suspect my tastes may vary from most others.

To date, Russell B Farr's Fantastic Wonder Stories has been the Aussie anthology of the year. I won't name specific stories but the anthology has tremendous variety and more than a few surprises. Not a lot of Aussie short horror fiction has resonated with me. It looks to be a lull year, although a couple of anthologies may appear in coming months, and Shadowed Realms has two more issues to be published, so my hopes are high.

Q5. Finally, and most inappropriately, if you had the chance to get it on with any fictional character, who would it be and why?

I'm attracted to the dark side, which is probably not a surprise. Give me a vampy vixen like Selene from Underworld or Abby from NCIS... and a vial of blood, just to be sure.

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This interview was conducted as part of the 2007 Snapshot of Australian Speculative Fiction. We'll be blogging interviews from Monday 13 August to Sunday 19 August and archiving them at ASif!: Australian SpecFic in Focus.
You can read interviews at:

http://random-alex.livejournal.com/
http://girliejones.livejournal.com/
http://benpayne.livejournal.com/
http://kaaronwarren.livejournal.com/
http://cassiphone.livejournal.com/
http://kathrynlinge.livejournal.com/
http://rosies-travels.blogspot.com/

If you're involved in the Scene and have something to plug, then send us an email and we'll see what we can do!

Novel to film adaptations, or, drop the Susan Cooper and move away slowly.

2007-08-15T18:22:00.000+09:30

They're making a film of Susan Cooper's book The Dark is Rising - and many people (warning: spoilers!) are incensed at the Hollywoodisation of what is a very English book. I'm surprised by the casting: Merriman Lyon, who I always imagined as an Ian Richardson-looking figure, is being played by Ian McShane. Yes - Lovejoy. Here's what he has to say about the book:

"I know they sold a few copies, but I couldn't read it very well. It's
really dense. It's from the 70s, you know?"

To use kiandra_fire's expression, as a student of English Literature my response to this is *headdesk*. Repeatedly. It's a young adult book! Yes, there is a lot of description, the sense of place is important and it may help if you know a little about the pagan/pre-Christian gods of Britain ... but dense? She has another great phrase that made me giggle ruefully - this emotional threat is directed at the filmmakers:

I hold this book very dear to my heart. If this movie decimates the book for me,
my heart will catch the shrapnel. I'm not saying I'll sue for emotional damages,
but please know I will be in pain.

By contrast, Neil Gaiman is very happy with the film of his novel Stardust - the challenge seems to lie in marketing it, though.

Reading, writing, and jumping at dinosaurs

2007-08-14T23:43:00.000+09:30

It was a surprisingly good weekend - I read the new Jasper Fforde book about Thursday Next, First Among Sequels. As always, I admire the startling twists and turns of his BookWorld and the parallel universe where Swindon is the most exciting city anywhere in Britain ... but honestly, I was a little disappointed. 16 years have passed since the previous book so instead of finding out about married life for Thursday and Landen, we jump forward and they're middle-aged parents with teenaged children. SpecOps has been officially disbanded, and Thursday has been lying about the true nature of her carpet-fitting job to her loving husband for many years. It just doesn't quite ring true.

I made it to the Perth Museum, which has a moving gallery telling stories of the Stolen Generation (more to come in a future post) and a colossal statue of a Tyrannosaurus Rex glowering down at you as you enter the gallery, its claws outstretched and jagged teeth dripping mucus. It's huge. You quail, looking up at it. And just as I was walking in, surrounded by families having an educational excursion for their toddlers and kids in pushchairs, the behemoth let out a ground-shaking roar. Now, I don't know if it's on a timer, or if there's some hidden curator snickering behind a screen who presses the "Growl" button when they see a group of susceptible looking children - but the response was panic. Shrieking, crying, needing to be picked up and bundled away ... that's the toddlers, not me, although I may have jumped a little.

I then took part in a random downtown drum circle (this is why I like Perth) and visited a couple of art galleries.

I am delighted to report that I finally moved out: I'm now in a much nicer (although more expensive) hostel. It's small - there are maybe 30 people there at the moment as opposed to over a hundred - and clean, and they grow their own herbs and mushrooms and have recycling facilities! It's surprising how few hostels do this, considering the amount of bottles and cans travellers seem to go through.

And in other news, I'm joining the ASif! crowd in an exciting one-week-only project. In 2005, Sydney writer Ben Peek interviewed 43 people on his blog to create a snapshot of Australian Speculative Fiction. This week, a group of ASif! reviewers are updating this, blogging interviews which will also be archived on ASif! as we go.

You can see the results so far at:
http://random-alex.livejournal.com/
http://girliejones.livejournal.com/
http://kathrynlinge.livejournal.com/
http://kaaronwarren.livejournal.com/
http://cassiphone.livejournal.com/

I'm very excited to be in such great company!

In which I am undaunted by sports.

2007-07-30T19:45:00.000+09:30

It's been a weird weekend. On Friday, a challenging day in my new department (Accounts Payable, otherwise known as "the one where we send out money to pay for things we buy from other companies") we commenced with choc chip muffins ... just because. Then a former employee brought her new baby in to be cooed over while we crowded into the lunch room and shared a Nando's takeaway. At one point the pram caused a log-jam in between cubicles, causing one guy to ask, bewildered, "There's a queue to hold this kid?"

Then - and this is how I know I've Arrived - I was invited to end-of-the-month free drinks, or "Beers in the Boardroom", where I encountered the CEO. I'd never seen him before in my life and was on the verge of asking him what he did, when I realised how much louder he was than everyone else, and quickly bit my tongue. Only the mighty get to shout with joy and be applauded! A group of blokes were trying to think of the word "scanning," but couldn't, so - and I love when this happens - they expressed it with sign language which turned into an interpretive dance. Three were doing smooth arm-waving movements, while the other two, trying to comprehend, mimicked the arm waving with added flourishes. They looked like a camp forest of seagrass. I could just see them back in their clubbing days, "stacking boxes" to house music. Incidentally, the whole dance genre of music has a derogatory yet onomatopoeic Aussie name, "doof doof".

I also spoke to cute-guy-who-looks-like-Charlie-from-Numb3rs, whose name I forget.
Every lunchtime he and another IT guy run 7ks in preparation for the 12k charity walk we're all doing at the end of August. Well, they'll be running it, but I'll be walking: my only sport is belly dancing. He recalled a toe-curling occasion when he'd been in a restaurant with his parents and a belly dancer had made some suggestive moves on his father. I was momentarily silenced.

On Saturday I re-read Harry Potter 7 - I so want to write a review going into spoilers! and on Saturday night met up with my wonderful bubbly marine biologist friend Marjolein to go to FloorPlay, a dance extravaganza widely advertised on TV with the tagline "Burn The Floor!" The dancing was spectacular, and the costumes were just amazing (I want a dress entirely covered in sequins!) although I didn't think the series of black elastic straps actually did much for the woman who wore them instead of a dress.

Unfortunately, we were sitting in the balcony. We could see the stage just fine, but at the beginning an usher asked us not to stand up when we couldn't see the dancers, as this would interfere with the lighting. Well, this show has been at that theatre for at least a month, and frankly to have everyone disappear into the aisles - while a lot of fun for the audience in the stalls - is just poor staging! If you can't send a couple up to the balcony, at least leave someone on stage for us to look at! Otherwise, regardless of verbal warnings, people are going to stand up and crane over in an attempt to keep up.

Who goes to a show like this? Well, women are in the majority, although the chaps dragged along didn't seem too henpecked. We were in awe of the cougars, though - reeling ladies in their fifties, slamming back cocktails then backing young men into corners and attempting to rumba with them. Some of their outfits, like the head to toe red leather ensemble or the fishnet tights fluffy with ostrich feathers, were fantastically striking, as if the spirit of Isabella Blow had glided across Subiaco. As we left the theatre they prowled off in search of innocents leaving the bars. I hope that whe I'm in my 50s and 60s I'll still have that reckless sense of adventure!

On Sunday it was too rainy to watch Brendan's footy game, so I went for a wander to check out other Northbridge hostels. I got photos of those trees that have struck me for weeks now as being amazingly sculptural, and strolled like a true flaneur through Highgate and Mount Lawley. I saw coffee shops, bookshops, bakeries, and a shop selling "everything you want - nothing you need," exemplified by the colossal birdbath, over a metre across, on its front lawn. I also witnessed a drunken argument with incoherent shouting followed by a man striking a woman down. It was sickening. The police were already crossing the street so I guess the dispute must have been going on for some time, but I didn't expect to step out of the dreamy suspended-time atmosphere of a second-hand bookshop and suddenly be back in that world of violence and drunken rage again.

Perth is generally one of the safest cities - certainly nothing compared to Alice Springs - but like any city there are a few drunken characters I'd rather cross the road to avoid a discussion with than walk past.

I have two links for you. Here is a great account by literary critic Michael Berube of how his son, who has Down's syndrome, learned to follow a story's narrative through reading the Harry Potter books. And this is a parody round-up of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" - containing ALL THE SPOILERS - but if you want to laugh till you spray tea across your computer screen, and you've already finished the book, you may check it out. You may wish to keep a tea towel handy.

Workplace woes

2007-07-02T18:05:00.000+09:30

It's taking me a while to settle at my new temp workplace (it's not a mining company, they just build plants that process the ore. Which is good for Australian jobs. That's how I'm squaring this with my conscience.)

Nobody told me about Coffee Guy, who mystically appears in the car park at certain times - I only realise he's been and gone by the large number of people suddenly clutching paper cups. No-one warned me about casual Friday, making me the only person in smart trousers (taking me back to all those times at school when I forgot about mufti day, and was the only person wandering vaguely around in school uniform.)

I've also just discovered that the teaspoons in the drying rack are in fact all dirty - which has me feeling just disgusting - and at lunch today I sat next to a lugubrious gentleman who spent the entire break disputing the Tupperware catalogue. ("Two hundred and sixty dollars for a saucepan! Hah!" "Plastic baking trays? The wife'd still melt 'em." "Thirty dollars for four glasses? Look at 'em! You could get twelve for that price in Target!") Then he proceeded to discuss his ailments, and how he really shouldn't be at work but had to come in, and he knew we would all get sick, because it was going around, and all the employees merely reinfect each other, but he had to finish his work, so here he was, hoicking away...

The best business I've encountered so far has to be Computers Built By Bludgers (which means something different in Australian slang - not the Harry Potter kind of bludger). This company is based in Sonorous Close. I'm not joking - there's a distinctive J. K. Rowling element to this. What is rather nice is the way that any gap in the conversation is filled with a cheerful "So how's it going?" Almost all business conversations - at least the ones I've had - end with "No worries!" followed by "love," "darl" or "mate": much friendlier than the more formal UK equivalents, "You're welcome" and "My pleasure." I still sometimes confuse Jan and Jean, Lennon and Linen, but I find myself understanding the accent instinctively. This affirms that all those years of watching Neighbours were not in vain!

Arrived safely!

2007-06-16T23:43:00.000+09:30

Well, it's been a wild ride across the Northern Territory and down the Western Australian coast. but I'm in Perth now, and tomorrow's my birthday, and I need to find a job quickly!

Coming soon: tales of a landlubber adrift in Shark Bay, a Hunter S. Thompson-esque road trip, and How Rosie Got Her Groove Back During an Illicit Getaway to Kalbarri, of all places.

I promise to provide all these stories and more, perhaps even with photos, over the next week!

I shall shake the dust of your town from my heels!

2007-05-05T12:28:00.000+09:30

I have enjoyed my time in Cairns. The tropical weather, the Lagoon, the laid-back lifestyle and of course the amazing trips I've taken have all played a part in keeping me here. However, it has the atmosphere of a town rather than a city where things actually happen. apart from property development, tourism, and the growing of sugarcane, which continue apace. I get the impression that this is a dream holiday destination for two weeks. It's been almost that long for me. I've tried work, tried leisure, sampled the lifestyle to the max - and although this is a paradise, I know I'll think of it more fondly when I'm gone than I do now. Perhaps it's the way 80% of the population work in hospitality and tourism, or maybe the many ways artfully designed to separate the unwary from their money, or the fact that I'm bored with sunbathing by the Lagoon and have read all my books, even the new ones from the Lifeline op shop (a charity shop, for my UK readers.)

That was a good place to stop by - I picked up Wicked, purporting to be the biography of the Wicked Witch of the West, and ended up having a wonderful discussion with the lady behind the counter about modern reworkings of fairy tales. We agreed on Emma Donoghue, and I suggested Beauty by Sheri S. Tepper. As I was walking home, it occurred to me that I should have mentioned Angela Carter - although I'm sure she'd have heard of her already. Wise Children is one of my all-time favourite books.

So I've bought a ticket to fly to Darwin on Tuesday. I have a list of things to do before I leave, and was fortunately able to tick off another Barrier Reef trip. Should you, gentle reader, come to Cairns and wish to see the Reef, I'd really recommend going to Reef Teach the night before. A two hour introduction to this unique environment, with lots of tea, coffee and chocolate biscuits, was a really good thing to do for only $13! The marine biologist was really friendly and had some amazing facts to share. It was also really helpful from the point of view of identifying some of the fish and coral I saw: the unicorn surgeonfish, for example. Doesn't that sound impressive?

I took the Ocean Free out to Green Island, and was mercifully not seasick! Spent the 2 hour journey out chatting with a really interesting paediatric nurse from Bolton (home of the wonderful Bolton Octagon theatre) who's hoping to emigrate out here. As the boat bobbed along I was the first person to spot turtles in the sea! Snorkelling was pretty simple: Green Island is a coral cay and the water's shallow enough that you're quite protected from big waves as you drift along. I've discovered that it's much easier when using flippers to swim with both feet together like a dolphin, butterfly-stroke-style, than attempting to kick my legs separately from the hips.

On the island, which has a pretty expensive tourist resort ($2.50 for a Mars bar!) I went to their unusual attraction Melanesian Menagerie, a strangely macho enterprise founded by a crocodile hunter with many eagerly captioned photos of dead crocodiles on the walls. I felt uncomfortable and strangely repulsed - much as I do when after scanning Frankie magazine in newsagents, something like this catches my eye. The Menagerie includes delicate scrimshaw carvings on whales' teeth, which apparently JFK used to collect; various fish from the reef in small tanks so you could photograph them; dusty wooden Polynesian masks displayed with little explanation; and the malevolent-looking Cassius, the world's largest crocodile in captivity. All the animal enclosures looked rather small. Although I admired the huge slow-moving turtles, it was certainly a bizarre mix of things and not necessarily one I'd recommend.

Since discovering that my youthful asthma means I can never scuba dive, I've discovered a new appreciation for snorkelling and just how much you can see from the surface and free diving. Our guide took us on a "snorkelling tour" - she dragged a life ring around behind her that we could grip onto if we got tired, and steered us around the coral bommies to find Nemo and his fellow clownfish (I have to see that movie!) she dived down to grab a sea cucumber for us - a slightly sticky, plastic-feeling, orange spiny thing, and to tickle giant clams so we could watch their vents huff in annoyance and their huge shells slowly close up.

Then we put up the sails to sail back, which was v dramatic: it's been a long time since I was last in a sailing boat and I'd forgotten just how much they lean over. At what seemed like a 60 degree angle, the helpers chopped up giant platters of fruit and cheese and cake and offered champagne around. I declined it all, and thankfully was not sick! I also got some gorgeous photos, which I'll post soon.

My tips for Cairns are: don't bother with hostels who claim to give you a free meal every night. You receive a voucher for a backpacker pub like PJ O'Brien's or Rhinobar, entitling you to a choice of 4 meals the size of a saucer. To get a decent portion, you still have to spend money! The best meal deals are the vouchers on the back of the local free paper, which give you discounts at some of the many Sushi Train places, and 2 for 1 meals at Montezuma's (a really great Mexican restaurant.) The best gelati is on Shields St. And don't forget to check out the mosaic-covered street furniture, and the art galleries!

Peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God

2007-05-03T14:47:00.000+09:30

It's a quote from Kurt Vonnegut, one which definitely speaks to me!

This has been a weird week in Cairns. I was offered 2 jobs in one day - which never happens to me - and then forced to choose between them. One, an assistant receptionist position at a girls-only hostel, was unpaid but would have given me free accommodation, although the hours would have made it difficult to take a second paying job. The other was housekeeping at the hostel I was staying in, for $13 an hour (by way of comparison, office temp work in Australian cities nets about $20 and hour). No accommodation discount, but at least it was cash. So I accepted that and felt a little guilty about burning my bridges with the other place - although when they'd been talking me through reception duties, a horrible argument occurred which made me feel pretty uncomfortable.

Part of our training when I worked in medical libraries in London hospitals dealt with conflict resolution with difficult customers, and very useful it proved to be! Basically, if someone comes in with a raised voice complaining about something, you do not shout back. When you lose your cool, you lose. It's much better to speak very softly and calmly, attempt to understand their point of view, and try to resolve the issues so that neither side huffs off resentfully and loses face. Well ... that didn't happen. It was astonishing how quickly the bad atmosphere escalated.

The backpacker complained that she couldn't call the airport shuttle, and had lost her money in the payphone, requesting that the receptionist call the shuttle for her (a service that most hostels will do for free.) The managers, however, clearly took against her tone of voice, decided she must have been either lying or incapable of using the payphone, and maintained that they didn't have to call for her as it would cost them 50 cents for the phonecall. She claimed that they gave bad service. They responded that they didn't want her type in the hostel, and she could leave if she didn't like it.

This debate woke up a girl who'd been sleeping, saw the backpacker run out in tears at their deliberate unhelpfulness, and lived on as they rehashed the argument repeatedly, saying "You see what we have to put up with?" I felt pretty awkward - had it been me, with my aversion to vicious arguments, at reception, I'd have made the call for her just to keep the peace, maybe asking her for 50 cents to cover the cost. The thing is, she has now gone off and told her friends "You don't want to stay here!" - and maybe even told the Lonely Planet, the lifeblood of all tourist ventures in Australia!

So, I took the cleaning job. After 1 day of training, I was basically I was working alone cleaning the hostel for 4 straight days, delegating jobs such as hoovering to another girl who helped out for 2 hours a day. A couple of times, the supervisor pointed out things I'd missed: a plastic bag hung on the back of a door, or hairballs in the shower drains. So I put on rubber gloves and knelt down to disentangle them from the plugholes, all the while thinking "Yuck yuck yuck, I can't believe that I'm doing this for $10 an hour after tax - with no discount on the $25 a night dorm room!" For all that, though, the shared bathrooms scrubbed daily were still cleaner than the Worst Hotel in New Zealand (TM) where I worked for over 2 months before I got wise. The housekeeping mantra there was, "It doesn't have to be clean, it just has to look clean. With no Hairs."

After my first day off, the manager fired me, informing me that I paid insufficient attention to detail, and that the job was not for everyone, and not to feel bad about it. Of course, I felt truly horrible! But I talked it over with my dorm roommates, and they thought it unfair that someone had spotted mistakes but hadn't told me, so I could fix them, instead complaining about me behind my back to the manager. Interestingly, in the morning when our dorm was cleaned, I said "Morning!" to the supervisor, who just grunted and couldn't even meet my eyes. Seeing him later showing my Replacement around, I thought I heard an Aussie accent. So my conspiracy theory is that I was kicked out to make way for a local, probably a friend of his. Locals are better because they don't just up sticks and move to a new town when they're put upon. As for me ... I'm flying to Darwin!

My day off was awesome, though. I went to the Tjapukai Aboriginal Cultural Centre to see singing, dancing and fire-making as well as about 20 turtles who gathered under a bridge a small girl was spitting off (why would they be attracted by human spit? They rose from the depths of the lake to cluster around it!) and over to the pretty town of Kuranda via SkyRail, a unique cable car that swings you over 7km of rainforest canopy. Looking down over Barron Falls was truly spectacular, but the sweetest thing was a bright turquoise morpho butterfly that fluttered around the treetops just beneath me. Kuranda itself was quite touristy, although I liked their ironwork street furniture with little animals and birds. Coming back to Cairns on the little tourist train through the mountains was grindingly slow and fairly noisy - there was a commentary but we couldn't really hear it due to the squealing wheels. Apparently it hasn't run for several months due to a landslip, so although I felt excited to be on a train again, I'd only recommend it to real railway fans!

I'm staying in a much friendlier (and cheaper) working hostel, Shenannigans, going to Reef Teach tonight, and sailing out on a Great Barrier Reef snorkelling trip around Green Island tomorrow. I will be fortified with the strongest sea-sickness tablets available and a large bottle of ginger ale, in addition to one of those motion sickness preventing wristbands, if I can borrow one from somebody at the hostel (yes, I'm covering all the bases with folk remedies as well as medical ones!)

A sunny Anzac Day

2007-04-25T16:08:00.000+09:30

I've been strolling through Cairns, appreciating a public holiday with nothing particular planned. Apparently there was a dawn service, but I didn't see it advertaised anywhere. I took a lot of photos of the empty town, which I'll post soon.

There was a crowd of about 40 vacant-faced people outside the mall waiting for the cinema to open at 1pm - a forlorn situation. At the Lagoon, my new favourite hangout where it's possible to lose an entire day, I encountered an astonishingly pale couple from South Wales who'd just emigrated to Cairns a week ago. Their little daughter, who was about 5 years old, leapt into the water and began stomping on the bubbling fountains with expressions of delight, before crawling around pretending to be a crocodile. Her mum half-tried to restrain her "Lyddie! How are we going to get you dry? We didn't bring a change of clothes!" but seemed remarkably relaxed about the situation. We chatted about their decision to make a new life here, and it occurred to me that within a few years, little Lyddie who found the lagoon such a novelty would be a proper swimming and surfing Aussie water-baby - maybe even a surf lifesaver herself. I lent them my travel towel and wished them well, with a sudden rush of emotion at all the possibilities open before them. I feel a huge sense of excitement and opportunity when I arrive in a new place and see it with fresh eyes, and I think I picked up some of that from this couple and their joyful daughter.

Although I'm exploring more exotic locations, when I read articles like this I'm reminded how much of Europe I'd still like to explore. Here, Yann Martel, the author of Life of Pi, explains his decision to send the Canadian Prime Minister a book every fortnight. What a great idea! I always got the impression that arts funding was pretty important to Canadian life - to know that in a small way Martel is keeping the campaign going is pretty inspiring.

Could I be any less interested?

2007-04-22T11:24:00.000+09:30

I'm in Brisbane. It's modern, it's warm, and I'm liking it a lot more than I did when I first arrived in Australia 18 months ago. Then, it was humid November with intense pelting rain bucketing down between 3:30 and 4:30 pm daily. I felt clammy, light-headed, and unable to deal with the heat - on the verge of passing out for much of the time I wasn't in an air-conditioned building. Now, though, I'm appreciating the modern library and the art galleries. I wonder if another change might be that I'm not wearing traveller sandals and trying to boldly stride out. I'm in flip flops, and my walking speed has slowed to a calm shuffle.

The State Library has an exhibition entitled "War and Sport". I stared at this for some time. Normally I love libraries. But this? The only way I could be less interested in their exhibition would be if it was "War, Sport and Motor Vehicles."

Tomorrow I fly back to Cairns looking for a job. I'm feeling hopeful. This last month of madness has been so intense, and I've covered so much ground, I need this weekend of reading books and lying in the sand at Streets Beach to let my soul catch up.

Saying goodbye

2007-04-20T15:57:00.000+09:30

Well, my sister left. We got up early and went down to South Bank, where I had a lovely chai latte at Lagoonas Cafe. The sacred ibises prowling the city's open air cafes are pretty feral - a small boy was teasing one, waving bread at it then snatching it away again. They feared the cafe proprietor as he chased them, flapping a tea towel, but not me when I attempted to run at them. My shouts diminished to embarrassed whispers of "Shoo!" and my aggressive movements slowed to embarrassed flapping. I suppose they've been there since long before the construction of the lagoons and cafes, but it's still disconcerting to have them prowling across the table next to you, their beady eyes unreadable.

It's weird, when we came through here in 1998 the council had just constructed the wavy white metal sculptural walkway - now it's shaded by glorious bright purple bougainvillea. My lovely aunt accompanied us to the train station, and was good enough to be a shoulder to cry on after Hil's train pulled away to take her to the airport. I was all right today but felt emotional again when she texted from Sydney to say how much she'd enjoyed the journey.

Anyway. It was a sunny day. I watched some school sports team training by running up and down the sand on the artificial beach, sat with my feet in the water reading a book, bought a swimsuit (thanks again, Hil, for pointing out where my previous one went see-through when wet. In all fairness, how often does one look at one's own behind though?) and went to the Gallery of Modern Art. They have some interesting exhibits: a room dedicated to the films of Jackie Chan and how his fight sequences are choreographed; a peaceful yet eye-popping infinity room installation, "Soul Under the Moon" by Yayoi Kusama; the Asia-Pacific Triennial of Contemporary Art; and some exhibits, like Anish Kapoor's holes filled with dark powdery paint, or William Yang's brutally honest yet compassionate "About My Mother," which I can't assess dispassionately but I know I had an intense response to.

I'm glad to have this chance to see Brisbane again: I feel as if I'm seeing it more dispassionately and leaving behind the painful memories I have of the place. I can also admire the relentless modernity of the city now - last time, it all seemed so overwhelming, improbable and roaring with traffic. I still wouldn't choose to live here, but this second visit's made me appreciate its good points.

I'm off to book a flight to Cairns.

Tagged!

2007-03-30T13:40:00.000+09:30

Four jobs I’ve had:
Chocolate sample distributor (best job ever - I spread a lot of happiness)
Library assistant (another fantastic job, where not only did I learn a lot, but I got to help other people to learn as well)
General hand in a fish factory
Barmaid and cocktail waitress (I was d*mn good at this.)

Four movies I can watch over and over:
Shaun of the Dead
Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown
Singin' in the Rain
Amelie

Four places I have lived:
Brasov, Romania
Columbia, Missouri, USA
Melbourne, Australia
Nelson, New Zealand

Four television shows I love to watch:
Thank God You're Here! - an Australian improv comedy show
Time Team - eccentric, enthusiastic archaeologists excavating ancient sites around Britain, live on camera, over three days
NCIS - of all the procedural investigation shows, this has the best characters
Grand Designs - ardent couples producing incredible dream homes by adapting old castles, digging into hillsides, using rammed earth or reclaimed stone in a cutting edge way that usually goes wildly over budget and takes much longer than planned. It's always rewarding, though, to see visionary people eventually achieve their dreams.

Four places I have been on vacation:
Menorca, Spain
Sao Paulo, Brazil
Rovinj, Croatia
Memphis, Tennessee, USA

Four of my favorite dishes:
A proper Mexican burrito, spicy and satifying
Our famous ancient family recipe chocolate mousse, with single cream
Grandma-at-Deal's coronation chicken and potato salad, followed by Hedgehog Pudding, a huge, coffee-buttercream filled pudding
Casserole with green beans from the garden and the wonderful mashed potatoes made by Grandma-at-Selsdon - what was her secret? More salt? Real butter? Cream? I can still recall the taste, although she passed away many years ago.

Four websites I visit daily:
www.guardian.co.uk
www.slate.com
www.crazyauntpurl.com
www.somethingpositive.net

Four places I would rather be right now:
In a hot bubble bath in a land without water restrictions ... actually, make that a thermal hot pool in Iceland
Back home hugging my family
Dancing at a street party in Mexico
Magically at the top of Mount Taranaki, New Zealand, without the effort of having to, you know, climb the thing.

Four bloggers I am tagging:
No pressure on anyone!

Dancing, reading and meeting a soulmate ... I think ...

2007-03-27T18:05:00.000+09:30

Susie and I are aching: last night, reinforced by beer from happy hour at the pub over the road, we did two belly dancing classes in a row. It's interesting to experience how different teachers have different dance styles and teach techniques in slightly different ways. We're learning to perform with gold and silver canes, but not in a Fred Astaire way - no, we go through our usual hip-swivelling routines but with additional points made by swinging the cane. For part of it, we have to carefully balance them horizontally on our heads - it's surprising, you can be stepping and rotating from the shoulders down as long as you hold your head still.

Laptop hassles continue: ex-boyfriend kept the CD burner. Have borrowed Pete's floppy disk drive to enable me to save work, but this is not really the best way of transferring articles. I love sitting with a mug of coffee, looking out at the garden for inspiration and typing away, living out my Carrie Bradshaw fantasy, but it's little things like my lack of technical knowhow that let me down and make me seem unprofessional!

And I found out today that DB's wonderful music editor, Nina Bertok, is leaving the magazine. This is a real shame - not only is she a great writer and interviewer, but right from the first time I walked in to the office, she always made me feel like my opinions were worth hearing. She taught me how to fix a mysteriously paused cassette recorder, the two questions you should NEVER ASK in interviews* and sharpened my writing skills immensely. Sometimes you need a person to come along and say "Hey! You're not bad at this!" to give you the confidence to continue.

A weird sideline - when I knew I'd be going "read dating", I posted a question on the BookCrossing forums asking what book people would bring along, and what they thought I should bring. I've been without internet access for four days and during that time speculation on the thread has reached fever pitch. I'm a little startled at what people assumed must have happened to me:

"We've been speculating as to how it went: I think you took your piratical book, and met up with someone with a"Spanish for Beginners" book, and went off for a game of bowls together. A verrry long game of bowls, with no computers nearby for updating curiousBCers as to your adventures...."

Covert reckons "She encountered a snaggle-toothed gentleman carrying a copy of Memoirs of a Buccaneer, by "Half-Arse" Le Golif (said to have lost a buttock to a cannon ball). The blackguard swept her away to his barque, at anchor in the harbor. They're on their way to the Solomon Islands, winds permitting."

"But in case you took the spy novel instead, "She was cornered by a lantern-jawed gentleman in sun-glasses who was carrying a copy of Point Blank, by an-author-who-shall-remain-unnamed. The blackguard swiftly and unobtrusively clamped an anesthetic-soaked handkerchief over her face and bundled her off to his waiting black sedan, claiming (charmingly) to their hostess that she'd "over-indulged a bit". Their whereabouts are still to be determined."

Incidentally, my article on the WORD writing festival (and read dating) is published here - and I'm amazed that my sympathetic editor let me include the last sentence! I've also written about Ethiopian music in this issue - Dereb Desalegn is a traditional musician and Nicky Bomba is a Melbourne percussionist who works with all kinds of bands.

* "So, how did you guys meet?" and "So, where did you get your band name from?" Nina rightly states that these questions will have been asked of groups hundreds of times before by lazy journalists "which you're not, cos you write for us."

New articles

2007-03-08T21:13:00.000+10:30

This is depressing - although I love the headline, which I imagine to be spoken in by Kenneth Williams in a voice of weary ennui. Regent's Park is indeed such a beautiful place to be, the Last Year at Marienbad sums it up perfectly. If you ever have to be somewhere though, don't imagine that you can just walk across it. It is much, much huger than you imagine, even if you check a map first. Especially as the sun is setting and the shadows are lengthening - you feel like Alice Through the Looking Glass, walking faster and faster just to stay in the same place.

This, however, fills me with hope for the future. Up the eco-warriors! One of the more memorable books on construction and development that Dad published was entitled "Who Let Twyford Down?" It was all about the battle against the Tories' road-building through a beautiful rural place which I think was also a Site of Special Scientific Interest. Another of his books which I fondly remember was "Getting Rid Of Graffiti". Perhaps it wasn't the most tactful thing to take him and Mum on a tour of Melbourne's back alleys, enthusing about their amazing and vibrant "street art". Some things we'll never see eye to eye on; but I like to think we respect each other's points of view.

I've never felt so madly busy as the last few days, with the Film Festival leading into the Fringe Festival. This morning I did four interviews in a row!

Here are some of the Film Festival reviews: The Chances of the World Changing was really moving, about a lone crusader for turtles. The Socialist, The Architect and the Twisted Tower should be seen by everyone interested in international collaboration, architecture, and over-budget, divisive projects (hello, London Olympics organisers!) I'd love to see the Turning Torso building for real. And it turns out that my always-modest Dad has actually met Santiago Calatrava - a true brush with fame!

In this week's DB, I was happy with my interview with Die Roten Punkte - I've compared my piece with the interviews they gave other publications, and I think it's more interesting than most. Then again, I would say that, wouldn't I? My Fringe mission is to meet them in person and present Otto with an apple juice with gas.

Their punk thrash CD review is here - it felt a little churlish to advise listeners to see them live instead, but it's honestly what I'd recommend if you can only afford one.

By way of contrast, the Nick Murphy album was dreamy gentleness incarnate. If you like that kind of thing.

The Hannah Gadsby interview had to be edited to within an inch of its life. I had a lot of sympathy with her, as we've both done so many completely random jobs. Let me just say that what I ended up describing as her "lewd parody" of a Pam Eyres poem, she actually recited down the phone to me. And I gasped. And laughed. And thought, "Whoa! We've never met! I can't believe she actually said that!" And then spent 15 minutes wondering how I might include it in the magazine, and if perhaps I just used the first line of the rhyme people would gather the particular word it rhymed with, and if that could also be deemed offensive.

Well, you will not hear that kind of language on this blog. If I feel the need, I will use asterisks to avoid giving offence, as in "Get away from me, you d*** dirty ape!"

The Laura Love interview turned out pretty well, I think. She really took time with her answers, and was completely open about things I hadn't expected. My final question to her, which I didn't have space to include in the piece, was whether there was anything she rarely got asked about which she'd like to share, to which she proudly responded, "I hardly ever get asked if I am gay. I get asked more if I am black than if I am gay. Maybe it's because I'm sort of femmie in a way. Well ... I am."

It's a pretty interesting point - I suppose it's easier as an interviewer to ask about race, which is immediately obvious and also informs the way you're brought up, as opposed to sexual orientation, something unique to that person which they may not feel comfortable "revealing" to an interviewer.

And this was probably the most challenging review I've written so far, of Philip Glass's opera Satyagraha. It took a lot of rewriting to try and interpret the ambiguity of what was going on.

Thoughts on interviewing

2007-03-01T10:48:00.000+10:30

Today I've had my first interview by email. It's a bit different to meeting musicians in person, where you pick up cues from their interactions, body language, clothes, whether they spend ages ripping up sugar packets, all of which can add interest to the final article. Even in phone interviews, where there's still the flow of conversation, you can ask the interviewee to expand on or explain what they're trying to say, pick up humour and what they really feel from the tone of their voices (or whether, naming no names, it's 1pm and they're stoned off their heads), to spell out the names of the obscure bands they cite as their influences - and they can speak to the moment, like Die Roten Punkte yesterday: "We're in a phone box in Keith, Astrid is doing the robot on the pavement ... there's an old couple walking past giving us strange looks, I guess they don't see many international rock'n'roll stars here..."

Writing out questions for Laura Love made me really think hard about what kind of answers I needed, and also about how I should most respectfully phrase my questions - especially when asking about how a particularly difficult upbringing had shaped her today both as a woman and a musician. One particular story mentioned in her biography is just horrific, and I'd feel intrusive about bringing it up and forcing her to recount such a traumatic memory. Her CD, You Ain't Got No Easter Clothes, is really, scarily good. On the one hand, it's great to be able to say to someone that their music, or art, or whatever they've created, has really touched you. On the other hand, they must hear that a lot, and I'm trying to be professional here (she says, three bags of groceries spilling around her feet in an internet cafe, the milk already warmed to room temperature.)

Apropos of nothing, a phrase that you probably never want to hear resounded around the tree-lined calm of Unley this evening. My housemate Pete has his plaster cast off and is getting back into his professional life ... as a lawyer. And he's relishing it. There are moments when he looks truly piratical, with his dark eyes flashing dramatically above a pile of paperwork, especially when uttering with relish a phrase as sinister as:

"I'm gonna charge like a wounded bull."

Pause, gentle reader, to allow a shudder down your spine.

Unley is a strange suburb. The power blackouts that plague Adelaide never affect us. The council offers increasingly unlikely excuses for these, ranging from the wrong kind of trees inconsiderately dropping branches, to, I don't know, drop-bears. Yet somehow our street lights shine on. Pete's conspiracy theory puts it down to the concentration of dignitaries, high earners, and Freemasons in the area - and if you've read Alan Moore's outstanding graphic novel "From Hell" - I'm not talking about that film remake - you may well believe it. I prefer to attribute it to more positive things, such as a number of powerful leylines running through Unley and converging on the nexus of power for all of South Australia. I am, of course, referring to Haigh's Chocolate Factory.

If your body were a drum kit ...

2007-02-28T19:46:00.000+10:30

The pig is finished, save a few coats of varnish! Jane painted his face and belly in different shades of green to really highlight his chubby features. He's grinning so widely and sharing the joy so much that his eyes are squeezed tight shut. (Yes, somewhere along the line he stopped being It and became Horatio, the cheerful soul.) It actually didn't take very long to paste our cut out fruit and flowers across his torso. Originally we'd planned to use footprints, either ours or smaller ones from Jane's kids, to represent our theme, Walking in this World, and show the journey from the fertile earth to the starry skies of the imagination, but they would have added another complication. So we thought we'd trace a path in flowers. But they looked so gorgeous against the green that we just had to extend them, so whichever angle you view Horatio from on the totem pole, you'll see them somehow.

He also has a cheeky strawberry on his tail, and a flower like a bindi on his forehead, which gives him the look of a Buddhist philosopher. Our final idea was to create "grass" with the green raffia Jane had left over from another project. Once soaked in the same wallpaper paste we'd used for the papier mache, it became really soft and pliable, we could wind it around tracing the flower shapes and linking them all together. I got a bit carried away and round it around the legs as well. It was ... therapeutic. Then I took a step back and wondered whether it was a little too much - but the pretty contrast between the mid-green body and lime-green twine! Horatio: half-pig, half-tortoise, all-joyful. He brings a message of love, peace and environmental awareness.

And the brilliant adaptation of a hanging basket thing ...

I went dancing again last night and feel absolutely shattered. I'm getting more coordinated, but moving your ribcage in a diamond shape while stalking seductively across the floor and doing perfect sinuous snake arms is almost too complicated to coordinate. Rubbing my tummy while patting my head, I can do - and tapping one foot on a drum pedal while beating time with one drumstick I can also do - but trying to add in a different rhythm on a cymbal makes it all fall apart.

I've been seeing some pretty interesting movies at the Film Festival, but am sadly behind in writing them up. In DB this week, this article is about the very inspirational Raw Dance Company.

Pigs and legs and polo

2007-02-27T19:30:00.000+10:30

Congratulations to my talented sister Hilary, who has been selected to play canoe polo for Great Britain! A former captain and assistant coach of the Under-21s, this is still a great step up to the Ladies Squad. It's one of the few sports that GB are pretty good at ... perhaps by 2012 it'll be accepted as an Olympic sport. Anyway, huge hugs to the lovely Hil!

Autumn is coming. I was walking across the parklands and heard a rustling as if someone was close on my heels. Turning round defensively I realised it was a little leaf caught in a breeze, skittering along behind me like an eager puppy. Leaves are interesting, I've been taking a lot of photos of them.

After an uncomfortable journey out to the Adelaide Hills and Jane's wonderful studio space, where the pig's legs meant we couldn't jam it into the car boot or the back seat, so I had to squish it onto my lap, we set up for a craft afternoon. Her gorgeous kids were at first a little nonplussed by the giant piggy, which was a different colour every time they looked in on us!

Our papier-mached porker Horatio has been smoothed, the gap between his head and body filled out, completely painted with gesso (a white acrylic base coat) and we've collaged the sky across the top half. (It does remind me slightly of a turtle... one difficulty has been that Jane and I each took a side and agreed to cover half way down, ending at the middle wire - unfortunately the irregular twisted nature of the wire base means that one side now has much more sky than the other.) Rather than simply sticking with dark blues, we took inspiration from Van Gogh's Starry Night and included scraps of orange and yellow - they're at the opposite side of the colour wheel to the blues, and really add contrast. The sparkly silver cardboard stars are proving a challenge to stick down: the body's such an irregular curvy shape that the points keep spiking up.

And, alas, one sandal has fallen apart. I only had it for 18 months and now am stomping around in trainers, feeling way too hot. What can I do with 1 and a half sandals? It's a shame they can't be recycled somehow - unless I create a Crocodile Dundee's Legs style art piece as they have in Hahndorf...

The pig begins

2007-02-23T14:29:00.000+10:30

This is the pig, the open flap in its belly closed with cable ties: I'm cladding it in papier mache for strength. Thankfully various people are giving me a hand. I've made the paste using some flour that expired in 1998: see, you wouldn't cook with it but because I'm all about recycling, I have found a use for it! Actually, it's pretty gritty to touch in the papier mache. I'm also finding that the very fine chicken wire has a lot of sharp spikes that stick out through the mushy newspaper.

All this is taking place on our kitchen floor. Oh, how great it would be to have a studio of my very own!

A good day for vegetarianism

2007-02-21T17:47:00.000+10:30

I cannot find anyone to watch Status Quo with me. I took home the DVD from the magazine office to review it, but everyone I mention it to looks at me askance. I selected it purely because last week I happened to catch part of a documentary about Live Aid, featuring Rick Parfitt and Francis Rossi - and more than any of the other stars of the 80s, they really struck me as being typical down to earth, humorous dads who just happened to have forgotten large chunks of the last 20 years. Now I'm running out of time and still haven't sat down with it.

I purchased a whole roast chicken that I really felt like enjoying. The checkout guy wrapped it separately and handed me all my bags. Or so I thought. I got home, unpacked, then realised I was missing a chook. And that the supermarket was 20 minutes walk away so would definitely be closed. I am growling with rage, frustration, hunger pangs ... and worry at the thought of a warm chicken spreading bacteria across the supermarket. See, I only think of others! Pete finds this funny. But then, he is a vego.

I finally finished my collage for the creativity group, which I was surprised to find illustrated a lot of things for me. The photo shows the potential pig...

Sigh.

An interesting interview

2007-02-13T18:48:00.000+10:30

Today I spotted a cyclist with tinsel woven through her bike baskets, a cheerfully eccentric sight. There were a group of kids in their early teens outside the State Library this evening, hanging out and stepping from side to side and throwing hand gestures. When I walked past them, I realised that they were, fairly quietly, and intermittently breaking down into laughter, having some kind of rap battle! It was awesome - after being indoors reading and writing, to have such an organic spoken word performance just happening right there filled me with hope. Adelaide seems an intellectual and creative place - there really is a lot of interest in the arts here. I would have stopped to listen, but the kids were clearly doing it for their own entertainment rather than as a public performance. Sure, it happened in the 'everyday life' of 8 Mile ... but it surprised me to see it in South Australia!

I interviewed a south Australian guitarist-singer-songwriter, Laura Hill, this morning. She was different to the usual groups that I talk to for various reasons. Firstly, talking to just one person instead of a group, it's much more of a fair conversation. No-one's worried about saying something their bandmates will tease them for later. We could talk about much more personal issues - her mother's serious illness and how it motivated her to seize the day, overcoming stage fright and gaining the confidence to perform her own work, and what really troubles her about the music industry.

Then there were some things that struck me - and this is just my interpretation here - as being particularly applicable to women talking together, something I first studied as part of the Women's Folklore and Feminist Theory unit I took at uni. Firstly, when talking about following her dreams, there was a real acknowledgement of the doubts and difficulties she'd had to work through, and the impact of her decisions on her family and friends - none of that arrogant solo over-confidence I've occasionally observed with guys on the same kind of path.

She was also really interested in me, where I'd travelled, and what my dreams were - a slightly disconcerting experience for an interviewer to be put on the spot and asked about their musical background as well! (For a much more intense example of this, when the Australian Michael Parkinson, Andrew Denton, invited Richard E. Grant onto his chat show to plug Wah-Wah, Withnail completely turned the tables on him, having done a frightening amount of research into Denton's upbringing, star sign, and even how he reconciled with his estranged wife. I was watching it with friends in Melbourne thinking, "Wow! This is live TV and it's completely unpredictable!" Then a woman in the audience had a coughing fit and the onstage challenges momentarily ceased as they both strode out to pat her on the back and give her a glass of water.)

And finally, she was really keen to credit everybody who'd helped and supported her on her journey, from her parents to her partner to the members of the girls' surf club she founded. She made sure to mention every musician who'd assisted with her album, and stressed how much of a collaboration it was, even down to the fact that the cover photos were done as a mutual exchange with a photography student who needed to build up a professional portfolio. This just seemed really, well ... refreshing. I told her so, and at first she wasn't sure whether or not I meant it as a compliment. But it really was a tribute to her attitude. I hope she makes a go of it: the article will be out this week and her album launch is on the 3rd of March.

Reasons to be cheerful

2007-02-12T18:06:00.000+10:30

1) Finding a fantastic hidden gem known only to art teachers - the Adelaide Recycling Centre, or That's Not Rubbish! as it's known. All kinds of scraps and fabric ideal for collage and projects, and run by a couple of really interesting and friendly women. If you want to go there, take a friend to map read and be prepared to ask passers-by for directions, though. It is a well-hidden gem.

2) Driving along, talking about depression and doom, wondering what I'm doing with my life, when on the radio we suddenly hear Sir Mixalot. That song is guaranteed to have us geeky white girls slapping the air and shaking it like slightly less coordinated versions of Cameron Diaz. "My anaconda don't want none unless you've got buns, hon!" Ah ... good times.

3) My wonderful photographer friend Rene has a website at www.renegrosso.com - everybody should visit here for some surprising moments of restfulness, inspiration and startling beauty. I first met Rene when I made cups of tea for a bunch of random travellers in a Prague hostel. (Note to prospective British backpackers: you can always introduce yourself to people with tea and sympathy! I like the scientific Tetley's drawstring teabags best for making a first impression.) Karen and I travelled with him and Tymen through the Czech Republic, Austria and Hungary, saying a sad goodbye to these energetic guys in Budapest. We were overjoyed to get a call saying they'd come all the way down to Romania to hang out with us!

Former bookshop owner Rene has a broad smile, an infectious laugh, and the most unique Canadian accent I've ever heard. My sister and I stayed with him in Edmonton when we were doing our cross-Canada pilgrimage. Randomness attracts him: one night he took me along to a club night where he was photographing a latex spiderwoman. I saw his cross-processed prints of a previous theme night featuring kitty-cat dancers tangled in balls of wool. He also taught me some of the few photography facts I've remembered: what cross-processing is (well, I can recognise it when I see it, but don't ask me to explain it); and that when having a black and white portrait photo taken, ladies may request a red filter over the lens to even out the skin tone. Talking of which, he owes me either a photo or a bottle of red wine. Murfatlar would be nostalgic...

4) I had a brush with local fame when as I was waiting at a traffic light, behind me I heard a resonant "LAAAH!" It was the sort of Singing Voice that clearly belonged to an Actor warming up his Vocal Instrument. Sure enough, I turned round and recognised the chap. "Weren't you the First Voice in Under Milk Wood?" "Why yes! Yes I am!" he said delightedly, pumping my hand. It was apparent from his delight that he hadn't yet been Spotted very often. When I informed him that I'd reviewed the production and singled out his Welsh accent as notably convincing, he rose several feet into the air and strode across the street beaming. It's good to make someone's day!

5) Pete and I had a near-miss brush with real fame: Tenacious D were in town! We were walking through the CBD when I got a text message from Susie saying "I'm on the bus and could swear I just saw Jack Black standing outside Hotel X!" We had to hunt him down, of course, but by the time we reached the hotel, pens at the ready for autographs, he had gone inside leaving a small gang of hardcore fans clutching signed posters. "Is he coming back out?" I asked. "He didn't say," one responded dogmatically, "but he might. So I'm staying put." He unfurled his poster and permitted me a glance at the great man's scrawl. Somehow I expect celebrities to have more flamboyant handwriting than the rest of us, for their signatures to feature stars and hearts or in this case thunderbolts. But no. (I can't talk though - my "Rosie" has often been misread as "Kevin".)

Dammit, where'd my hard-won equilibrium get to?

2007-02-07T14:17:00.000+10:30

Hey, ex-boyfriends! Want to really annoy your ex-girlfriends?

How about

a) turning up in their new city with only 8 hours advance notice

b) expecting that they'll drop everything to entertain you, which they do because in theory you both want to be friends, and they want to prove that your initial impression of Adelaide wasn't fair

c) keeping them hanging on waiting for you to phone as if the last 8 months haven't taught them anything

d) inviting yourself over for Sunday morning brunch, even going so far as to request that you be served chai tea

e) politely asking when you should arrive by - your ex-girlfriend will say 11am at the latest - but she doesn't really mean it! No, it's fine to shamble along after 1pm. Just fine.

Yes, it was pretty awkward. I don't know where all the affection and good wishes went, or all the love that we had for three years ... even being able to hold a conversation without judging and irritating each other. Perhaps I was building it up too much, thinking that I'd finally get some closure - but I guess I just ended up thinking, wow - we really have so little in common. How come we didn't argue more? How could this guy's opinion have been so important to me for so long? And how come it took until 10 minutes before he left to actually express any of this irritation, rather than bottling it up?

I guess sometimes you can get on fine over the phone and email, but in person ... all the stress returns. Like I constantly say, and most of the time believe, I want us both to be happy, and clearly we can't make each other happy.

Pffff. Oh, I have new reviews published:

an interview with the creative genius behind Quiet Child

reviews of a cool jazz trio whose music I found challenging to describe - let's face it, I'm no Whitney Balliett; Kiwi dub/roots stars the Black Seeds; and Sugababes' Greatest Hits

and a review of something rich and strange, Highway Rock'N'Roll Disaster.

Plus, I do have good news: Nia, a friend from uni, has taken the big decision to come travelling, and may be doing a working holiday to either Australia or New Zealand! It was just lovely to hear her voice again. Sometimes it's your old mates who know you best and make you laugh the most ...

or perhaps a random hilarious mate from purgatorial times fruit picking in Queensland, who phones up after a year, bringing up times that were pretty funny in retrospect (Maverick had set out into town on payday with the idea of going food shopping and bringing us a loaf of bread. Several hours later, with no sign of him, we set off in the car and were greeting by a drunken lurching yelling Maverick, brandishing shopping bags, who tumbled under the stationary car and couldn't extricate himself. "Rosie! Beautiful Rosie! I have your bread!" he cried, handing out with exaggerated care a squashed and mud-splattered loaf. Several friends gathered round to haul at his limbs and finally removed him. He waved us off, clutching his head - a cheerful soul, and someone I'd definitely look up in Sydney!)

... or sometimes it's tea and sympathy with a housemate who gives the best advice. I started writing this feeling pretty grumpy, but actually I have a lot to be grateful for.

Fingers crossed for the wishing pig!

A totem pole of wishing pigs!

2007-01-31T17:48:00.000+10:30

I am inspired! The Adelaide Fringe Festival has called for artists and community groups to pitch for a chicken-wire pig (the Festival's mascot is a flying pig) to decorate or fill up. Their stomachs are the size of exercise balls. These are big tubby cheerful porkers. The lucky 6 - 8 people who win a pig will have 2 weeks to decorate it, then they'll be slotted into a giant totem pole to watch over the festival throughout March.

What an awesome idea! They have to reflect your wishes for the future. So, another member of the creativity course and I have pitched for a pig. The photo shows her colouring our design in, transforming an intimidating official form into a joyful, colourful piece of paper you really want to pick up! She travels with a little art kit, a set of watercolour pencils, sketchbook and brushes - and a tiny jam jar. I put a couple of drops of water in the jar, and she was able to blend the coloured pencils like paints.

It's a lovely cafe, the Duthy St Deli - if anyone wants to go there, it's Stop 6 on Duthy St. I'd not been there before, so had all the other bus passengers looking out for it. I had an affogato - piping hot espresso that you pour over vanilla ice cream, making something much tastier than the average Farmer's Union Iced Coffee, a heavily sweetened drink in a carton that South Australians are brought up on.

Anyway, I've handed our bid in to the Festival Office - if we succeed in getting a pig, I'll explain our fantastic design and how we're going to make it happen!

This lunchtime I went to see Pan's Labyrinth with an unfortunate friend. We both like arthouse and imaginative movies, but somehow seem to pick particularly gruesome ones. Last time it was The Prestige, excellently done and very thought-provoking, but incredibly dark and creepily disturbing.

Today's film was indeed about a girl who escapes into a fairy-tale world during the Spanish Civil War, as I'd gathered from reviews. However, this is the original kind of fairy tale - not the sanitised Mother Goose kind but frightening and full of Gothic horrors. And the violence and torture were not nice... I had to cover my eyes for some of the close-ups. It's interesting, arthouse films have a certain level of creative freedom: if it were an action film you wouldn't expect so much graphic stuff. It was very well acted, with great set designs and characters, but pretty intense and threatening throughout.

Next time we're going for Marie Antoinette or Volver.

What I did on Australia Day

2007-01-29T16:07:00.000+10:30

Australia Day is not really wildly celebrated in Australia. When I worked in London, I was aware that one day every year the Tube would be filled with cheerful green-and-yellow painted hoons (a word I've only learned since coming here) conducting the drunken singing of Waltzing Matilda by waving inflatable kangaroos. I thought that, apart from the shop in Covent Garden selling Vegemite and Tim Tams, that was it for Aussie ex-pats.

But there is a new tradition here in Australia! Triple J, the independent radio station, plays the Top 100 songs of the last year, as voted for by listeners. Of course there's a lot of debate about which ones will absolutely, definitely be in the Top 10, and which bands have to make it into the list somehow, and which ones you voted for... people even bet on it, and offices will run sweepstakes. It's not quite The Race That Stops The Nation (the Melbourne Cup, which does get people to pause for 5 minutes of their day.) This is more a long backdrop to the entire day - the 100 tracks take around 8 hours to play, as there's constant waffling from the presenters, relatively pointless interviews with the bands ("How does it feel to be Number 34 on the Triple J Top 100?" "We're Number 34! That's so awesome! Whooooo! Shout outs to my Mum and the Adelaide Hills massive!"), and phonecalls from people having parties and barbecues where they listen to the radio for 8 hours "It's madness here in Woolloomoolloo! We're eating snags! We want Scissor Sisters!"

I was invited to a slightly more sedate Australia Day barbeque, and it was actually really mellow and relaxing. We snacked on an irresistible dip made from a hollowed out cob of bread, filled with cream cheese, herbs and French onion soup mix among other mystic ingredients. People arrived. Beer was drunk. The images are of classic Australian icons: the flag on a Hills Hoist (we'd call it a rotary clothesline, but here it's a national icon as it was invented in South Australia); and an amazing Fisher Price toy barbeque set up next to the full sized one. They say kids learn by copying their parents' behaviour - well, here you can train your "bub" in the fine art of sausage sizzling just like his dad!

As people arrived, we began eating, and eating, and eating. I'd like to give a big shout out to Pete's family and the fantastic fruit, vegetables and eggs they grow and share with us: the tomato salad I made was much admired. One dessert was absolutely delicious but sent me into paroxysms of guilt. To make Sinful Ice Cream Cake, crush a packet of choc chip cookies and mix with melted butter to form a cheesecake base. Then take a pint of choc chip ice cream and stir into it ... half a jar of crunchy peanut butter. spread on top of the base and freeze. To serve, make a chocolate fudge sauce by melting dark chocolate with cream. This is amazing, but will glue you to the floor for the rest of the day. The other pic is of a much lighter dessert, and the perfect way to get people eating healthy fruit: skewers of strawberries and melon-balled canteloupes, watermelon and rock melon. They're just so pretty!

The rest of the day was spent reclining on the lawn, listening to music and debating our favourite bands. For facts to back up the argument, people went on the internet to check whether the Triple J website was updating in real time. And it was ... on Eastern time. Sydney is half an hour ahead of South Australia, so the top 5 were already up there, seared into Pete's retinas as he gave a howl. "I didn't want to know that! And you don't either!" he threatened, before dropping increasingly obvious hints about who we'd be hearing next.

The Australian flag was even more controversial at the Big Day Out music festival, where organisers tried to ban it on the grounds that it would incite racial tension. That has happened in the past, but a huge public outcry saw thousands of music lovers proudly flourishing their Southern Cross capes, hats, t-shirts and even tattoos to the TV cameras as they walked in. The flag is in question for various reasons - there are various sides to the debate here.

Advice to travellers

2007-01-27T16:38:00.000+10:30

I recently got a very mature and considered email from a cousin. Part of my response to her contained travel advice; I've copied this below for anyone who is considering taking time out to go on a journey.

Regarding Gap Year plans, I think youve done very wisely in taking a year out. You need time to decompress from the A level stress, to make some money, to broaden your perspective, and when you do come back to study, you'll appreciate it a lot more.

One tip: wherever you decide to go, don't start in Freshers' Week by alienating everyone with how you discovered amazingly cheap Thai fisherman's pants, and how the locals were all so spiritual, and that you alone have been Awakened to Cosmic Truths. There will be a ton of people who say that, and they can get pretty annoying, not to mention boring once you've heard the spiel the first 10 times. Get to know people first, then bring up your exotic experiences if they're actually interested! I'm sure that I don't need to tell you this, as you're such a friendly people person, but Gap Year bores do get ruthlessly mocked.

http://www.teaching-abroad.co.uk/ is the website for the outfit I went to Romania with, Teaching and Projects Abroad. I think the things Karen and I looked for to help us decide on a project were:

a project we felt strongly about doing that would enable us to use our talents to actually affect people's lives, not just being used as spare pairs of hands;

a country with good transport links so that should anything go wrong, we could get home relatively easily;

the opportunity to live in the community, not just stay with other foreigners;

a language we'd be able to pick up the rudiments of so as to make ourselves understood. Romanian is, as the name suggests, one of the Romance family of languages, along with French and Spanish which I'd studied before. (I really, strongly recommend that you get some audio tapes / CDs and do this, even if it's only the basic greetings, finding toilets, and "Does anyone here speak English?" We found the Berlitz tapes make this much easier than the Teach Yourself tapes, which get unnecessarily grammatical too quickly.)

It was also one of the cheapest projects – we saved more money by taking a cheap flight to Prague, and then working our way down by train, allowing us to acclimatise to travelling, rather than flying straight in to the very busy capital. We knew, however, that our host families were getting well recompensed for housing and feeding us, and that the fee included a donation to the orphanage.

As a bonus, we had the option to extend our stay, or transfer from Care (in the orphanage) to Teaching, Archaeology, Journalism or Wildlife Conservation if we weren't happy - it was good to have that option, although we chose to stay where we were.

The director's wife also taught a language course which was a great advantage – when Karen was suddenly taken ill in the remote Danube Delta, where no-one spoke a word of English, I'm so proud that I was able to commandeer the only car in the village from a wedding to get her to the medical centre and answer all the required questions. One thing about travelling is that it certainly gives you initiative!

Take a little photo album to show people your family, and what home life is like for you. You may want a little autograph book where the interesting people you meet can write you messages and give their email addresses.

Phone home once a week if you can. I do this every Sunday, so Mum and Dad don't worry throughout the week, and if I can't call I'll text or email the next day to reassure them.

One final tip: get yourself a money belt that lies flat against your skin, and if you feel unsafe, go into a toilet cubicle where you can organise your money and passport in privacy. Well, that's if there are toilets and not just holes in the ground. I'm sure your parents are having kittens about this, but from someone who's been there, I can tell you that I look back on Romania as being among the best times of my life. There were huge challenges, there were moments when I couldn't help crying, but it was a unique opportunity and I saw a huge amount of a beautiful and hospitable country, on the cusp of major social change, that very few people visit.

On following a dream

2007-01-23T16:45:00.000+10:30

A car park down an Adelaide side street. One Fringe Festival, an artist with a vision spent three weeks cementing toy cars onto this wall, in their thousands. I admire that singlemindedness of intent.

The Walking in this World course is proving interesting - writing three pages every morning means that I'm actually remembering my dreams, and pretty strange they are too. I've always thought that hearing other people's dreams is not particularly interesting, so I won't share the surreal sequences. In analysing them, though, I notice a lot of anxiety, insecurity, not really having any answers, and worrying about being misinterpreted.

I can see where this is coming from. I'm making a conscious effort with writing, and I really would love it if people who ask what I do (a horrible question, as if what you receive money for is What You Are and defines how much respect you should be given, and how much interest you're worthy of) gave me some encouragement, or said that my words touched them. Instead, all anyone seems to ask me about is money. Have I got a proper job yet? In all my time of drifting about the world, seeing sights and storing up memories and ideas; and working clock-watching jobs which I'd do to the best of my ability but come home feeling as if some part of my mind and soul had not received any exercise or challenges ... I've never felt anything like the gratification I get from picking up the latest issue of DB and re-reading my words from a published magazine, or getting an email from The Program to say that they liked my quirky article on going undercover at The Beards' gig. I finally feel that I'm progressing towards somewhere that I want to be, and I'm getting a lot of satisfaction from that - but when people reduce it to a purely financial level, I feel that my joy in creating and sharing just gets chipped away.

Before I started travelling, I used to have a lot of flying dreams, which I took comfort from. Once I left the UK, these dreams, which normally had me escaping from various places in St Albans, simply stopped - I'd addressed that problem. I'm not sure how I'll address this one. I have, however, taken inspiration from Elena, who started the Walking in This World group. After standing in the $2 shop for several minutes staring at the art materials, I took the initial step of buying a set of coloured chalk. For only $2, I have a small colourful box of potential in my bag. Do I dare actually go out and reclaim some pavement space? I have all kinds of positive messages floating in my mind, and I can imagine what colours I'd write them in. It's dark outside now, so I could do a mini guerilla art project as I walk back home through the park ...

If I actually do this, I'll post a picture.

Random facts that I think are interesting:

1. Trivia is the Roman goddess of hounds, sorcery and crossroads

2. In the English language, "ough" can be pronounced in 8 different ways, all contained in this sentence: A tough, dough-faced ploughman strode through the streets of Scarborough, coughing and hiccoughing thoughtfully. Reading that reminds me of an acquaintance from uni, "Cactus James," who was from Scarborough. Among his many quirks he was notable for actually laying down money to purchase a single entitled "The Whistle Song," featuring the instruction "Blow your whistle, baby!" and frenetic whistling. After his housemates protested at his repeatedly playing this at top volume, his concession to their long-suffering eardrums was buying an entire album by enthusiastic German remixer DJ Otzi. I considered myself fortunate not to live there.

My latest published articles:

Dallas Crane interview

One I thought went really well: an interview with The Battery Kids

Review of the slightly daunting Menopause: The Musical

Attending a Moonlight Cinema screening - read it and weep, you chilly people in the northern hemisphere!

Interview with the Dairy Brothers that got overtaken by Lord of the Rings ... their feud with The Beards clearly continues!

A strange night out at the Rambutan Circus Collective

Kicking it up a notch!

2007-01-17T15:27:00.000+10:30

No, it's not the door to my new residence ... but when I noticed this is the Adelaide CBD, my mind immediately sparkled with possibilities. It's so stagey, with the gold detailing on the blue - I feel as if on the other side of a door like this, one could perfectly reasonably expect to walk into Gringotts Bank, from the Harry Potter books, a place of magic and alarming perspectives, staffed by goblins.

Incidentally, if anyone reading this works behind this door, this is just my fertile imagination, all right? I'm not calling you personally a goblin.

This week will be one of my busiest so far. On Saturday I moved into a new house share. Sunday was spent unpacking and checking out my new suburb, Unley - there's a lovely library, 2 gyms in case I do suddenly go on a fitness kick, and most importantly, lots of large trees lining the streets. This means that even when the temperature is 41 degrees, I can still walk out to the shops by hiding in patches of shade. Pity the poor tennis players at the Melbourne Cup, who have to have ice baths and rehydration therapy after matches in the heat!

On Monday I organised the rest of the week, wrote up CD reviews and picked up my mail, including a lovely letter from Grandpa with memories of his early career farming. I walked around smiling all day, and read highlights out to Pete - who wished that he'd been able to collect similar memories from his grandparents.

Yesterday I went to review Menopause: The Musical with lucky housemate Pete as my plus 1. A great show for women, but a few times the sheer brashness and up-front nature of their discussion had my toes curling a little: goodness, those endless hot flushes! And just to think, all this is ahead of me! Pete was initially dubious but came out of the theatre with, I think, a new understanding of his female relations.

This morning I interviewed local band The Battery Kids, softly spoken lads who nevertheless had some entertaining stories which I think made a good piece. This afternoon Rachel's accompanying me to For Your Consideration; tomorrow I'm interviewing Aussie band Dallas Crane over the phone, then reviewing Highway Rock'N'Roll Disaster; then on Friday seeing the Dairy Brothers' new single launch with Jasmine. The sooner I get a laptop to type this up on, the better!

I've also started a creativity programme, Walking in this World, supported by an online group. I'm hoping it proves helpful: I have to scribble 3 "morning pages" at the start of each day, to get rid of nagging worries and stimulate my creativity. They're personal, but I'm prepared to exclusively reveal that each snapshot of my mental state first thing in the morning has featured some comment about me still feeling tired and grumpy without that vital first cup of coffee...

Positive changes!

2007-01-14T15:48:00.000+10:30

Good things are happening!

My wonderful American friends Julia and Steve have welcomed an adorable baby daughter who rejoices in the name of Aerin Syrah. Congratulations to the happy family! I finally spoke to Jules for over an hour today and they're both head over heels in love with the little one.

I have moved to a fixed address, for the first time in 6 months! I'm sharing an apartment in peaceful Unley, just south of the city centre, with a lovely guy from book group. The sun is shining, I'm checking out my new local library as I write this, and then I'm going shopping to make a celebratory dinner tonight followed by watching Much Ado About Nothing - a new modern British version apparently set in a TV station.

Australian television is fairly dire - the shows I enjoy watching (Grey's Anatomy, Numb3rs, House, NCIS, The OC, Black Books) are all either American or British. On the plus side, this means I have more time for the important things in life, like reading books.

The photo is of another exotic tree, this time one at the bottom of my new street. I don't know the name of it, but the red cups are slowly being shed to the ground, and walking underneath them along the pavement you hear a soft dry rattling like a rain stick. It's not the leaves rustling, but the dried seed pods being stirred by the breeze.

Surprises, friendships and origami stars

2007-01-12T16:44:00.000+10:30

well, things are moving on apace. I've applied to review Big Day Out Adelaide for www.vibewire.net, a site I've visited occasionally over the last few months. I would be so chuffed to win a ticket - if I got to go there and report on the experience, I'd not only interview the bands and punters, but also try and talk to the roadies, sound mixers, food vendors, security guards etc as I think the backup staff must have a lot of insider gossip! Vibewire is particularly notable for one very helpful columnist, Hailey Baldwin, who gives practical advice on pitching articles and getting published.

I got a message this morning from the former boyfriend, which surprised me a lot. After being left heartbroken, he realises that it hurts! and that perhaps it hurt me!

On the one hand, it's good to get some closure: finally, a genuine apology. I could wish that he'd said this sooner, when I was still crying myself to sleep every night. But perhaps it was something that he had to go through, thanks to the laws of karma. I'm glad that eh's come to some self-knowledge, but I thought I'd feel triumphant, dancing around going "Hah! Not so nice, is it? Yeah! Sob for me!" In fact, I just feel ... empty. Detached from his emotions. A certain amount of pity.

He actually asked me why I was always so nice to him. Well, when I tried to put myself in his shoes after the breakup, it came to me that he probably found it quite hard to look at himself in the mirror, knowing the mistakes he'd made and how badly he'd handled things. Also, to take a broader view, there's been so much negativity and hurt, for so long, that it makes no sense to put more of it out there.

The thing is that I want him to be happy. I'm not the one to make him happy, but I hope he finds someone who is. Does this mean that we can be friends? Do I even want him for a friend, knowing that he's not the fantastic person I thought he was? It's easier to speak on the phone than to see him in person, certainly, which I'm not sure I'll ever want to do again. On the other hand, after 3 years together we probably know each other better than our families and friends. And there aren't many people - I think this is particularly true in men's lives - that you can really open up to about your emotions, and share your upsets with. I'm English, he's Canadian, so we're both away from our immediate support networks, I suppose. So I've come to the conclusion that I will be civil and supportive as much as I can.

God! I guess I am learning all the time. You may bury your head in the sand in a relationship, blindly carrying on and not really developing further, but afterwards when you look back, even if there's nothing else positive ... you gain some self-knowledge.

I also want to pay tribute to all my friends. Tash and Rob who took me in, and also forced me to celebrate my birthday with delicious yum cha and actually laugh again, my wonderful and understanding cousin Anna who was a huge support, and everyone else who called, texted, emailed, or just hugged. That was another good thing: looking around me, I realised just how much love and concern I was surrounded by.

Positive vibes to everybody!

Now I need to get cleaning: when I return the keys to this flat I'm minding, I want to leave it pristine, all the linen washed, wine in the fridge, flowers with a nice scent and my 2 comedy CDs of "I'm Sorry, I Haven't A Clue." I hope Rachel will like them. I've also used up one of her charmingly tiny jars of Moccona coffee, so am embarking on a creative project: to clean it out and fill it with multicoloured origami stars. This is a haven of peace and calm: the picture shows the view from my balcony as the sun goes down.

Incidentally, if anyone's reading this and thinking, Gosh, she sounds like a lovely house sitter ... I am available from May onwards! and yes ... I will travel.

Good things in the New Year

2007-01-04T14:07:00.000+10:30

Major good news: I've been granted the second year's working holiday visa. Thank goodness for that, after 2 months of worrying. One more year here to see everything that so far I haven't been able to (Western Australia, the Northern Territory, Far North Queensland, Byron and Nimbin ... it might not sound like much but if you look at a map the distances involved are pretty enormous!)

Even better news: My sister's coming to visit in April!!!

It was an unusual New Year's Eve this time around. Last year's was great - 4 wheel driving on the beautiful Fraser Island with 5 good companions. This year, instead of going out drinking and watching fireworks in Adelaide, I joined a good friend's family at their Adelaide Hills mansion. I hadn't expected them to be millionaires, but it was a stunning place with a new pool and all the entertainment one could want. We ended up singing Singstar Rocks before racing down to restrain the dogs at midnight in case the fireworks startled them. I felt like one of the adults for the first time: really interesting people were around debating climate change, international projects, sharing gossip - and I felt like I had something to contribute to the conversation too, rather than wanting to hang out with the kids all night. The teenagers, rather than playing or celebrating, were going on the internet trying to find the footage of Saddam being hung! Who would have children these days? It must be a horrific job to be a parent trying to stop your little darlings from seeing this deeply disturbing stuff.

On the TV they showed what was going on in Sydney ... yes, gorgeous fireworks, but minor celebrities dancing around for half an hour first? I can see they must sell a lot of advertising in the run up, but for those in Australia at the same time next year who want to see what's going on, just turn your TV on at midnight and skip all the pointlessness.

Resolutions for this year include:

Writing more - I'm not setting a target of 1000 words a day, because I know from experience I wouldn't always do that and then would beat myself up over it. I will at least update this a couple of times a week.
Dancing more - I lost the joy back there for a while. But I'm excited to be part of a gang of 5 amazing Adelaide people starting a belly dance class this Sunday. Wish me luck.
De-cluttering. I shouldn't have to explain this, but it's ridiculous for a backpacker to travel with 8 bags of stuff. Having settled in places for months at a time, I do tend to amass things, books, more clothes than I need, and lots of tickets and mementoes I'm planning to scrapbook. The current mission is to finish a scrapbook by January 11th, when I move out of this house-sitting place. I will stop getting sucked in to all the books here, and start organising so as to leave with less stuff than I brought. I would post a photo of what I'm carrying around with me, but I'm too embarrassed by it!
Be a better friend. Last year I went through a brutal break up, the day before my birthday. I had to write possibly the most difficult email ever to all my family, friends and all the mutual friends who had only ever known us as a couple. After being on the road for so long, I'd half lost touch with many people. But I was amazed and touched by the huge outpouring of support that came in from practically everyone I knew, including people I thought of as Eric's friends. I was pretty emotional at that time and would read these thoughtful messages and cry. What I didn't do was write back to these people. Several months passed, I got a measure of equilibrium back, and I felt too ashamed to write now after so long. My conscience has been pricked, however, by a strong family member whose husband recently passed away. Of course I wrote to her, but stressed that she must have a lot going on and not to bother responding. But she sent a wonderful note to me at Christmas saying how much she appreciated what I wrote, really putting love and best wishes into it. If she can do this, after such a bereavement, I think it's high time I made amends as well.

I'm proud of where I've got to, though, and I have a lot to look forward to.

Want to see what I've had published so far?

So proud of this one, a truly weird interview with Adelaide's bearded messiahs The Beards (the photo above shows Kirsty, Jasmine and myself appropriately disguised to attend their gig I'm the evil Grand Vizier, Kirsty is the Billy Connolly lookalike and Jasmine's rocking those fluffy sideburns. Hey, it was Christmas! Without our own facial hair we had to use what we had at hand - namely a feather boa and purple tinsel.)

A slightly more sedate interview with Adelaide band Is This Art?

A review of KT Tunstall's album Eye to the Telescope

Review of Under Milk Wood by Dylan Thomas

Review of Sam Shepard's controversial play The God of Hell

Review of Translations by Brian Friel

Season's greetings

2006-12-30T22:58:00.000+10:30

I spent a very peaceful Christmas with my aunt and uncle in Melbourne. The area they live in is close to the sea and incredibly quiet, with the only sound an occasional bird singing in the garden. On Christmas Eve we carried out a very moving Polish custom: a large wafer of unleavened bread was broken into pieces for everyone present. Then we approached every person individually, gave them a morsel of our bread and took a piece of theirs, and said what we wished for them in the year ahead. It's pretty moving to actually be able to come right out and say "You are a great person! I wish you health and happiness and fulfilment in your life and work!" Yes ... I am English ... although I don't think I'm particularly inhibited. I've thought positive things about my family for a long time, and I'm used to sending emails or text messages containing virtual hugs, but actually breaking bread and saying these things to their faces, followed by hugs, was pretty inspiring. We sat down to eat the magical burgundy-coloured beetroot soup with tiny star-shaped pieces of pasta, relaxed and smiling.

Talking of food, I have been reading the reminiscences of appalling Scots poet William McGonagall, and the many challenges he faced in bringing his poetry to the ungrateful masses. Here is an account of the first time a publican threw peas at him.

On the luxury Firefly Express coach from Adelaide to Melbourne (lots of leg room and 2 movies during the 10 hour journey) I was startled to see the blue skies and heat haze of South Australia give way to general greyness in Victoria. It's a long journey, but I had a lot of music to listen to ... Ararat is a stately place to drive through, laid out by Chinese miners in accordance with feng shui. As you head down the wide main street it is aligned with the Grampian mountains in the distance. Don't get me wrong, I'm not criticising the weather - merely observing that I had to wear long sleeves; jeans rather than shorts; and, shock horror, socks about the house!

Returning yesterday, the heatwave finally broke and we had several hours of tropical downpouring rain. It's something I never really commented on back in the UK, especially when I was in Manchester - I certainly never imagined missing precipitation. Then again, I had no comprehension of thousand-year drought at that time, even though I shared a house with geography students. That's what meteorologists are saying about South Australia - that this is the worst drought the country has seen for a millennium. Apparently, every week at least one farmer commits suicide.

But enough of this depressing talk: the pelting rain, which I really observed for the first time, felt fantastic. The air was cooler, the sky looked relieved, and seeing the drops pound down on the roads then bounce up was incredibly satisfying. Look closely at the picture, they're splotting down and rebounding. Apparently when you stand under a power shower, your body releases endorphins: it felt like the land was getting that rush too.

What a difference a witch makes

2006-12-19T22:27:00.000+10:30

It's very strange, but since my time staying with a witch on her farm / animal rescue sanctuary, a lot of things have been falling into place. Perhaps the main thing was that I explained the story behind my greenstone pendant and she didn't laugh, but took me seriously. In New Zealand, you don't buy greenstone for yourself, but as a gift for someone else, otherwise it's bad luck. So when Eric and I had our 2 year anniversary, we bought each other greenstone pendants. I love mine and since then have rarely taken it off. Well, we're not together any more and I was fed up of thinking about him, feeling upset, constantly going over what could have happened differently.

I explained this to Catherine, who is an amazing listener and very wise - rather like Granny Weatherwax in character, although in appearance more like the Morrigan. She suggested that we do a cleansing ritual, to remove his energy from it, and give it positive energy for me. That night I had the best and most healing sleep I've had in months, about 12 dreamless hours. When I awoke I looked at the sparkling morning sun and thought ... "I can do whatever I want." The ritual, though harmless, I'm not going to share, because it was a personal thing. Since then I've been doing my usual absent-minded rubbing and fiddling with the stone round my neck, just like I always seem to, but thinking "This is a positive thing. This brings me good luck." I still have fears and worries and all the rest of it, but I'm doing better about asking for the things I want. After all, the worst that can happen is that I'll get a polite "No, sorry." And things really have moved on!

I have found some really good friends in Adelaide and a paying job so laughably easy anyone could do it, were it not for the overwhelming fumes. My mate Jasmine and I weld vinyl together to make marquees. I also specialise in cranking a vast punch to force eyelets through. We talk all day and take it in turns to listen our preferred stations on the radio: our unspeakable supervisor likes middle of the road soft rock (The Eagles really make him happy). Jasmine likes chart stuff (although SAFM has a pretty limited playlist, and we end up hearing the same tracks at least 4 times over each 8 hour period). I crank up Triple J, the rock/indie station - it's the equivalent of XFM in the UK, and the only one that plays unsigned acts. This is very handy research for my brilliant unpaid position...

I am a published writer! Yeah!

This is something that I've wanted to do for so long, ever since writing for student newspapers in Manchester and Missouri, but somehow I never got around to it. The confidence, I believe, comes from the Goddess energy, but the direct inspiration came from metal guitarist Yngwie Malmsteen.

Let me tell you about Yngwie Malmsteen.

I first encountered him in the lyrics to a Fun Lovin' Criminals song circa 1997, which contained the line "My fingers are moving faster than Yngwie Malmsteen." I assumed this was a sexual reference for something depraved and Swedish, nodded knowledgeably and moved on. One day in an Oxfam shop I was browsing the racks of cassette tapes and noticed "Odyssey," by Yngwie J. Malmsteen's Rising Force. His rampant power metal mullet made me smile, but the brilliant idea of naming your band your Rising Force made it irresistible. 50p later it was mine.

If espresso coffee were music, it would sound like Yngwie Malmsteen. He is the world's fastest guitarist. His "Flight of the Bumblebee" has to be heard to be believed. So I was predisposed to go crazy at his concert, which I attended with my understanding friend Susie. Afterwards, all my enthusiasm had to be channelled somewhere. But I didn't have a guitar. I had to share the experience somehow, or burst.

I offered my writeup to Rip It Up and DB. DB were interested and soon I was interviewing bands and reviewing CDs, books and arts events for them. That Yngwie review was published by The Program here:

http://www.theprogram.net.au/reviewsSub.asp?id=4338&state=1

I'm so chuffed!

So things are going surprisingly well. I don't answer to anybody but myself right now, and though I still feel guilty over things that I fail to do, dammit, I meet my deadlines!

Hopeful in Adelaide

2006-11-24T12:56:00.000+10:30

I'm job-hunting again. Have sent my CV out to goodness knows how many people, now waiting to hear back from them....

I'm staying in a lovely, lovely backpacker's hostel called Annie's Place - the nicest of the 4 I've tried in jacaranda-festooned Adelaide so far. Meeting very interesting people (including the Midnight Farter) and making friends. It's good to have a nice group of people welcome you home every evening and ask how the day's gone.

I have plans to expand this blog as well, and introduce some of the people I'm meeting - also to share stories about what I've been up to for the last few months since leaving Melbourne. Watch this space!

Welcome to Rosie's Travels!

2006-08-01T18:43:00.000+09:30

Hello, good evening and welcome from chilly Melbourne winter. It's 7:09 pm and I'm still at my desk having spent 2 hours failing to complete a unit of my art course. I've got a lot to think about, and one more BookCrossing book to register. Plus the library closes at 8pm ... More to follow tomorrow.