freedom

I experienced the first bouts of utter freedom again this afternoon. It's not like I've been kidnapped recently or anything - far from it. I'm talking about the freedom that you feel in your breathing, the tension you hold in your shoulders, the endless lists you make in your head. Being free from all of that. In other words, baggage. I had in my hand my first cup of bought coffee (because I'm turning into a tight-arse) in a long time, just after lunch with a close friend in the city. I now have lunch every Tuesday with this friend of mine. It's a good feeling, knowing that something is constant, rain hail or shine, whether we've had a good day or a shitty one. Anyway, with my cup of coffee in hand, head stuck between my earphones, I swerved my way through Melbourne city foot traffic at 1.15pm. The sun in my eyes, wind behind me, it was lovely. I had change jiggling in my pocket along with my mobile, metcard & a single key to get back into the office. And as I was waiting for the tram, I realised for once in a long time I did not carry a bag, or a scarf, or a document in hand. No, all I had was a cup of coffee & head bopping to Madonna's "Get Together". That is the kind of freedom I'm talking about. To be free of my handbag, which held all my amenties, another set of keys, diary, folder. I was free of that! It felt great, and suddenly my feet picked up, I let out a whoosh of breadth and I was free. And then I wondered how long before I could feel like this again. But for the meantime, I just let go - of the nasty phone calls I've had all morning, all my worries and obligations. I wonder how many people have that kind of freedom anymore? Is it inevitable that we collect more baggage as we get older, or more precisely, as we accumulate more life experiences. Just as our experience enriches us, we also pick them up and hoard them to become a part of us. Just let go, I think. Just let go, and breathe a little easier.

Imitation is the best form of compliment

Writing about wd-50 at this moment might seem somewhat passé. It’s been a year since I’ve eaten there (on a whim and the fact that it was rated as having the best tasting menu in NYC circa 2005) and all the big controversy of fellow Brit-in-Aussieland chef Robin Wicken copying (oh sorry! It’s PC to say ‘inspired by…’) wd-50’s chefs food style. Personally, who cares? A lot of people wank on about stealing intellectual property et cetera, but frankly, it’s food at the end of the day, and I’m glad I don’t have to fly all the way to New York again to have great food. I’m proud of Melbourne’s eating scene, even more proud so that it’s in fact so good, that someone actually cares to complain about it!

I personally have not been to Interlude, but so far, it’s all been positive. I dare say that this entire episode would probably have seen the doors of the restaurant swing more often since! Afterall, no publicity can be bad publicity, right? So I say to Mr Wickens, keep being inspired!

I’ve just come back from a holiday in Germany. It’s recently dawned on me that not many people knew I had gone. I’ve heard the phrase “Oh really? For the World Cup?” so many times, I wish I got a Euro everytime I heard it. The answer succinctly is “No, for a party… but the soccer-watching on telly was great too!”. It’s been a holiday unlike my style, but I will write more about that when I’ve finally got my travel log sorted. These days, all I can do is count till the number of hours when I can go to sleep again. But no such luck, it’s full speed ahead with my beloved and I taking off exactly where we left off. Already so much to do, so much to eat… is a wonder 24 hours is enough.