Admittedly, it's been a cold and dry winter. Therefore, for months on end, my feet is in comfy runners or boots. My favourite pair of footwear are these DKNY jelly runners.


Nothing glamorous, just solid, springy and good for running after trams!!
Several nights ago, I picked my beloved up from work. I wore my Birkies. They are my favourite pair of footwear in summer –

Perchance, when I met my beloved, he peered down at my feet. A moment later he looked up at me and grinned;

“When was the last time you painted your toenails, grubby girl?”

*hMPppf!*
(admittedly, it was sometime back in Germany)

And the Saints went marching out...

My post about the St Kilda footy club two weeks ago has reached its death knell. We played our ‘sudden death’ elimination finals last Friday and lost. To Melbourne, who I absolutely detest. Just something about that team that grates... and grates. So there it was - goodbye 2006, hello 2007. Again! The frustration! And then, yesterday, the footy club announced they were sacking the coach.

Is there is flight instead of fight theme going on here? The reason was the ex-present coach was not heading the same direction the Club is going. Hence, fresh blood.

to the gig to check out a Little Bird

I haven't been to a gig in ages. I think the last one was the White Stripes concert at Festival Hall about 8 months ago. Where has time gone to? But last night (a school night!), my beloved and I met up with a friend of his at the Cornel Hotel to watch one of our favourite bands, Little Birdy.

The gig experience is so unique, I can't really describe it. It's not crowd-size big like a concert - more like a mini one with only the very best fans around. I collected the tickets at the door and popped over to the Corner Pub quickly for one drink. Tickets in hand, I was skipping (yes! skipping) back to the pub waving the tickets like a lunatic. The anticipation of standing amongst the crowd, drinking watered down beer (not true, actually, the Stellas were great!) and letting the guitar chords rip through my beating heart makes me slightly woozy and silly.

I love the crowd at the Corner. Everyone is slightly alternative and left-field. No one has the perfect height or the perfect weight (not even the lead singer - she kicks arse!). Everyone's dressed in their own unique/vintage/mum-dad's old clothes/Hunter&Gatherer clothing, sporting funky hairdos, eye makeup and earrings. I felt right at home. By comparison, I always feel kinda normal. I was wearing my favourite t-shirt (from Zara, with rhino studs and fraying collars/sleeves thing happening), my favourite jeans which makes my arse look small (thank u Tsubi) and comfy boots. The Corner is also smoke-free now, which makes me doubly happy! :) It is kind of strange not seeing everything in a haze, though I think that's a small price to pay for my lungs.

Anyway, there we were, 'hanging' around the bar, practising our cool air of indifference and chugging down beer. The support act was another Perth band called One Horse Town (female lead singer as well). Not bad, but needed more polish (and hence still playing the support role!). Little Birdy finally came on at 10.30pm and started with "Excited" from their Big Big Love album. The entire crowd burst out in recognition. Have I mention how much I love going to gigs??? Aarrghhh! Delirious! The next 1.5 hours passed by in bliss, and I was quite sad it had to end (come to think of it, I feel like that everytime something's over). We hung around for a little while longer before stepping out into the busy Swan Street traffic.

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.

The natural unravelling of my universe

I was reading a book recently, and the author had taken a quote from Danish philosopher, Søren Kierkegaard. It jumped out at me, and I thought about it for the rest of the night. Doing a quick search the next day on the internet revealed that Kierkegaard was a 19th century philosopher who was recognised as the first existentialist philospher. If anyone remembers, a couple of blogs back, I was telling all those who would listen that that word popped into my head one day. I swear I had never heard of Kierkegaard until a couple of days ago. Is there something unravelling in my universe that I need to know? Why do clues come in drib and drabs?

“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards”


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/S%C3%B8ren_Kierkegaard

a new old discovery

So my mum’s in town. As usual, she’s taken us by a quiet storm… the calm before. Truth be told, as I get older, I feel the need to be near her again. As how I was when I was between the ages of six to ohh... thirteen? Then the teenage and early adult years were years of denial that I wasn’t anything like her. Ah… all lies, lies, lies!

But I digress.

As I was saying, it’s kind of fun having mum around, even though my beloved and I now spend half the time we would normally spend together. And that’s hard too, but I love them both, but in different ways (obviously!). What mum has (re)taught me is knitting! And now it’s addictive – perhaps it is the fact that once you learn the basic technique, you can basically see the fruition of your work unravel (ha! ha!) before you eyes. Yes, the times of instant gratification, but more importantly being able to touch a finished product with my own hands. Oh, I’m a long way from done, but as I see the ball of red slowly turning into a *reasonable* scarf-like thing, it’s amazing. And yeah… the addictive click-clacking of my 5mm needles.

Did I mention that I’ve had six unsuccessful attempts before finally settling into a fairly comfortable routine? This was mainly due to the fact that I started on a ridiculously funky, hairy wool learning how to 4K-4P (for those uninitiated non-knit-talkers, that’s 4 knit, 4 purl). I finally spat the dummy and started on plain chilli red wool, doing 4K-4P. Started off well enough, but then I thought I could watch telly and count at the same time (no, being an accountant does not help). And about ten rows into my beautiful knitting, I discovered a stitch quietly unraveling itself halfway down. I had missed a stitch!!! Imagine my horror, not to mention the wasted three hours of my life and I wasn’t even five inches through! So I did the only thing that had to be done, I unraveled the damn thing…for the fourth time. Desperate times called for desperate measures and I dumbed down my pattern, performing only the knitting stitches.

There is surely some moral to this story – JUST GIVE UP, I hear some say! But I refuse to, and perhaps it’s my stubbornness that makes me persevere – but most of all, I think it is the bonding that I felt I’ve lost during the last few years with my mum, and I’m discovering that through knitting again. For that, I am thankful. Who knew a pair of needles and two dollar wools was what was needed to do the trick? J