tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75431019383194373842024-03-13T11:28:47.301-07:00Theres no beginning to the story....Emily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7543101938319437384.post-68014501266263362932009-03-09T08:44:00.000-07:002009-03-09T08:58:10.869-07:00a poem about being ill and alone in the house aaaaall day.3p.m creeps in through the cracks<br />dust crashes<br />into surfaces, and waits<br />for movement to stir it.<br /><br />I step from room<br />to room<br />and marvel at the pressure<br />changing in my ears.<br /><br />Items left behind<br />Coat sprawls over armchair<br />and waits<br />for arms to claim it.<br /><br />High ceiling, broken-legged chairs<br />both equate to<br />naked lightbulbs.<br /><br />Dirty kitchen waits like a<br />pavement hit<br />to the face;<br />it might happen.<br /><br />Open the fridge door<br />stare at its insides-<br />three jars of maionnaise;<br />no milk.Emily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7543101938319437384.post-7980113289250184042009-02-22T10:10:00.000-08:002009-02-22T11:55:42.182-08:00a new life in a secondhand coatAs I hurtle towards my dissertation deadline like a fucked microlite towards the hills, and the recession beckons imminent graduates into it's dead-end embrace, one thought gives me hope. My future is secure. This is a girl in love, and in love with her own self-conscious naive optimism. Of course it doesn't matter that both Keir and I are very likely to hit the breadline as soon as my final loan goes. Of course we will be fine. Of course, because we have <span style="font-style: italic;">tha powah of lo-ove</span>. We will saddle it up and ride it off into the sunset. Me, Keir and <span style="font-style: italic;">tha powah of lo-ove</span>, making our fortune in a wilderness of unenployment, poverty and toil....<br />This year will be a test of our mettle. But I am confident we will be fine.<br /><br />We are going to live on charity shops.<br /><br />Charity shops for plates and mugs, clothes, kettles and ironing board covers. Charity shops for trinkets, books, coats, curtains. Charity shops. And freecycle, and ebay, and maybe a jumble sale or two. Secondhand life and all the riches it has to offer, as long as you have 50p. Of course we couldn't live entirely this way. Consumables must be new by definition. But I reckon people don't go to charity shops enough. An article in the paper recently predicted that in a few years, mending and making do will be thrown in the history bag, along with glass milk bottles and Sesame Street (my predictions, not theirs). Lets not be wasteful, chaps.Emily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7543101938319437384.post-90270195940275266762009-02-02T04:47:00.000-08:002009-02-02T05:06:51.570-08:00Snow.Bloody, miserable, cruel snow. I love it, but today it conspires against me. Yesterday I spent all day teaching mum how to copy and paste on a computer. Today I just want to get out of the house, but I cannot. The snow has stopped the busses from running. There is no escape. So, it's monty python dvd's, tea and vegetable soup today. If things continue like this tomorrow then I will be stranded in Dorset until the busses and trains allow me to return to Derby.<br />My hankering to do some knitting has worsened since my return to England. Mum's near phobia of clutter means that she has chucked all her balls of wool away. I want wool. I cant go into town. I want to knit Keir a jumper to warm his cockles when he returns, because I miss him and knitting is cosy and good to do while watching monty python dvds and drinking tea.<br />Ahhh, I miss Australia.Emily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7543101938319437384.post-15235942271855213772009-02-02T03:53:00.000-08:002009-02-02T04:38:54.904-08:00Nying nying nying nying-nying nying!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3LFq8U-KB1OYJmNdZrjKcFsP7YDM-E7hQ4ugfU0xYpmUpqMG2nht5p2oAF4Ht0SSDE4xwkpFQeU5Jko0lqeUDnwAK2_sehh-BMgqBsy_1bBVi-5XFEsJTvTwd49SyGwxabb1XCUuZx-Y/s1600-h/27-01-09+01a+UNCLE+&+NIECE+GOODBYES.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298167200568304402" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3LFq8U-KB1OYJmNdZrjKcFsP7YDM-E7hQ4ugfU0xYpmUpqMG2nht5p2oAF4Ht0SSDE4xwkpFQeU5Jko0lqeUDnwAK2_sehh-BMgqBsy_1bBVi-5XFEsJTvTwd49SyGwxabb1XCUuZx-Y/s320/27-01-09+01a+UNCLE+%26+NIECE+GOODBYES.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>Hello England, god how I hate you now.</div><br /><div>I left Will and Helen tearfully. They have been so good to us and shown us so many wonderful things, and been brilliantly fun company too. Keir and I are already entertaining the idea of returning in a couple of years to bother them some more :) this time with driving licences (at least one anyway). </div><br /><div>We spent my last couple of days in Sydney poking koalas and kangaroos and cockies in a koala park, and snorkelling at clovely bay, one of the best snorkelling spots in sydney. It's sheltered and calm, and the fish are plentiful and friendly. The highlights were poking strange and foreign (potentially poisonous) squishy rockpool things, and plucking up the courage to swim out into the deeper water to meet the local blue groper fish. He was lovely- almost 2ft long, flanked by smaller fish that fed in the clouds of debris he dug up from the bottom as he grazed away. He had massive blue lips and a smiley looking face, so I didnt panic too much when he came straight towards me. Other divers were swimming down to try and touch him. </div><div>I left Keir at Sydney airport after failing to not cry (I fought hard not to cry in front of the immigration woman), and subsequently spent most of the first flight getting teary eyed every time some sad music came on my ipod, or someone in a film died of cancer.</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhThJSTN7Xve90bZQd9nzBpmlht4pLfBGRVPEHZ-6aVhdxEZzAwPBnR99geVWAwSHUdwEEmZvLpSmf9GroJtsgIH1xeyP1PQdCOnpG-Vua-BHcpMJLTFI6EcsX7FiUttTq6kNXDqi0DUGI/s1600-h/29-01-09+03b+Elegant+Emily.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298173026893241202" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhThJSTN7Xve90bZQd9nzBpmlht4pLfBGRVPEHZ-6aVhdxEZzAwPBnR99geVWAwSHUdwEEmZvLpSmf9GroJtsgIH1xeyP1PQdCOnpG-Vua-BHcpMJLTFI6EcsX7FiUttTq6kNXDqi0DUGI/s320/29-01-09+03b+Elegant+Emily.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><br />Beijing airport is the loneliest place in the world when it's 5.30am and you look homeless, have no money and have six hours to kill. You cant just buy a sandwich and sneak off somewhere to eat alone. Nowhere sells sandwiches. Or snacks. You have to go and sit in a resteraunt or cafe and be scrutinized by hundreds of chinese people. I was glad to get back on the plane, at least until seven hours in when the air con was just redistributing farts and I had watched every film that wasnt Troy or The Simpsons movie (again), including a chinese comedy which featured as it's leading comic character a cross eyed villan who couldnt do martial arts and had bowel trouble. Amazing.<br />So thus concludes my astounding adventures in Australialand- I've had the best time of my life, and it pains me deeply to come home again, but I have unfinished business to attend to. That is, as soon as the snow stops.Emily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7543101938319437384.post-6543601642348729292009-01-23T19:35:00.000-08:002009-01-23T20:04:51.259-08:00The Great Ocean Road, and finally some bits about RawsonIn the company of Will and Helen and Keir and Jack, I have experienced the following:<br /><br />RAWSON:<br />* Wallhalla, a tiny mining town, now mostly uninhabited except for a few happy campers and a smattering of holiday homes. Keir and I almost got lost on a walk that is apparently impossible to get wrong. Near fail.<br />* Feeding wild parrots by hand every morning, and befriending large flocks of cockatoos and galahs. Cockies are great, they are real clowns. Specially when they put their silly hats on.<br />* River swimming, rock diving and rope-swing spazzing into the water. Also a bit of snorkelling but I got the heebie jeebies doing it in murky river water (I was convinced there be monsters)<br />* Swatting shitloads of march flies.<br />* Spotting a tiger snake (they're nasty)<br />* 4WD riding through a river and down the bumpiest, steepest dirt track ever.<br /><br />GREAT OCEAN ROAD:<br />* Kayaking in the surf. Almost being killed by kayak in the hands of Keir (he didnt mean to). Suffering several bumps and bruises as result of kayaking, including a smack to the head after falling out on a big wave.<br />* Bodyboarding with success. Resulting injuries included bruised ribs and friction burns, and a very nasty raw blister on my foot (damn surf shoes)<br />* Rockpool pokery. I found seastars in many colours and sizes, sea anenomes which I duly poked, and a luminous orange sea sponge, among other things.<br />* 'Fossicking' for shells. Beachcombing, in other words.<br />* Koala spotting in eucalypt forests. We saw loads. They are very cute, and slow and sleepy. They are my new favourite animal and I am determined to have snuggled one by the time I fly home.<br />* We saw an echidna crossing the road. Insert joke here.<br />* Walking through rainforest.<br />* A proper reet good barby with some of Will and Helens mates. There was steak, and king prawns, and baked bananas with chocolate and ice cream and beer and, and, and......<br />* Visiting the Twelve Aplostles. Well, the ones that are left anyway. It's a pretty sight, that bit of coast.<br />* (EVENTUALLY) learned how to play the card game 500, after much grumping and holding back of flappy girly emotion.<br />We are now back in Cheltenham, and off to Summers later today for a couple of nights. My cousin Adrian works at a bar near there so we are going to see him for a few bevvies, and the beach there is home to a pod of dolphins which, in the early morning or late evening and if we are very lucky, we might be able to swim with. There is a pier a bit further along the coast where we can go snorkelling for seahorses. Woop!<br />xxEmily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7543101938319437384.post-48928948720734751302009-01-17T00:13:00.000-08:002009-01-17T00:20:21.222-08:00Another recap<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnnHnViIasUeN79Ib4lKzaXjCUVue2XPJAe88LCY-sEYeaPIQMgMUXZ73ls6VfV1fmFgoQiAjS9oMeqvfA3mRvsRRHxDWAc5tMMMreAqzYuGtJCbtJZdU2gyUyomnlKBssjybjrsdLos4/s1600-h/DSCF1625.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnnHnViIasUeN79Ib4lKzaXjCUVue2XPJAe88LCY-sEYeaPIQMgMUXZ73ls6VfV1fmFgoQiAjS9oMeqvfA3mRvsRRHxDWAc5tMMMreAqzYuGtJCbtJZdU2gyUyomnlKBssjybjrsdLos4/s400/DSCF1625.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div>Finally it is time to recap.<br />I've been bored in Sydney, staying in Glebe village which is known as a 'bohemian travellers retreat'- of course, the minute the word 'bohemian' gets slapped in there, it conjures all sorts of disgusting images of tanned european backpackers languishing on beanbags in chai cafes. Not far off. Perhaps it is envy that causes my distain, those people clearly have a lot more money to chuck at that endless road of thai resteraunts and quirky cafes and eco shops and feminist secondhand bookstores, and actually it is a very nice place. Especially compared to the mental Sydney central, which could be mistaken for Beijing if you are going on the chinese to western faces ratio. which is about 100:1.<br />In Sydney I have:<br />* hand fed a turkeyheron (real name, sacred ibis)<br />* seen in New Year<br />* gawped at the opera house and harbour bridge<br />* visited the Rocks market and Glebe market<br />* done lots of swimming in a salty swimming pool<br />* been dashed against the sands at Coogee beach<br />* met a really bloody huge stick insect<br />* been round the wildlife centre and the aquarium, and met a Dugong (sea cow) and many other fishy things<br /><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUvLPLgx5ClcolNaWRGHOf5BZpcvYyrsZT3rVnDs7Hi2Zu68EdcTe148yT3URE4hC7EV-qm3p75FeLDHl8pJVBOuciOFltvBeGWqek6gLL0-WEpykN2r_r1HJvzIJhsIREB9N_EmWgnZ0/s1600-h/DSCF1739.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUvLPLgx5ClcolNaWRGHOf5BZpcvYyrsZT3rVnDs7Hi2Zu68EdcTe148yT3URE4hC7EV-qm3p75FeLDHl8pJVBOuciOFltvBeGWqek6gLL0-WEpykN2r_r1HJvzIJhsIREB9N_EmWgnZ0/s400/DSCF1739.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div>The flight from Sydney to Melbourne was relatively pain free except for the HUNDREDS OF CHILDREN on board, who invariably all wanted food/drink/to get off/to see daddy/to generally piss me and Keir off by kicking seats and snapping seatbelts. We are not having kids. A puppy will do just fine, and be far less irritating.<br />We met Soph and Gem in Melbourne and blagged free entry to the melbourne museum, cos we're students innit. We learned about the human reproductive system by looking at actual dessicated preserved testicle tubes and penises and vaginas which made Keir very upset. The natural history bit was easier on the eye, with wonderful aquatic specimins including a picture of a blobfish, which looks like a sad old man with a bulbous nose.<br />Oh, and we went geocaching with the girls- it's fun! This one was stuck with a magnet under a statue thing in the park.<br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHs4nMjeJPw1NvnaZK3gLksdBoulMKpCgdiExYF1htxXrkMm19GDzRaviYuUzDHh1YENKI3jENMQV6Ld-KWn5nRXUnoBi6RTrVFBBLgKRhtwT20VoDz7ZGGynZtIpRpDnPCrMAe0QCMzo/s1600-h/DSCF1808.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHs4nMjeJPw1NvnaZK3gLksdBoulMKpCgdiExYF1htxXrkMm19GDzRaviYuUzDHh1YENKI3jENMQV6Ld-KWn5nRXUnoBi6RTrVFBBLgKRhtwT20VoDz7ZGGynZtIpRpDnPCrMAe0QCMzo/s400/DSCF1808.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div>Melbourne is a twee/secondhand/indie haven. We came across little cafes and pubs decked out with old rock and roll pictures and higgledy piggledy furniture, advertising live bands despite the seemingly impossible size inside. Today we came across a secondhand bookshop that sold Playboy mags from the 70's. I've got one for the amusing articles and classy porn film reviews, as well as the manly manly cigarette adverts. We stumbled on the Lost and Found market too, during a hangover/geocahe fail day, a three floored building chock full of old stuff, relabeled 'vintage' and sold on at well above charity shop prices, much to my annoyance. Inside it looks like the mother of all jumble sales, except everything is desireable on one level or another. I spent far too long drooling over old bicycles, typewriters and cabinets full of costume jewellery and old cameras. I do love old things.<br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA4-ByAqBcLz2Kk0DKDe1ERaNxcLibpzNWfwMLw08-kbIfXpEtpowf3M-PqPfr9ifxp5OAyUbZiK7NIszAKtuW576R1xhb3EUVgeKBXJWZ7OhkMUNSVoMSjZl3od91KO5_jyeimgG9Dl8/s1600-h/DSCF1822.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA4-ByAqBcLz2Kk0DKDe1ERaNxcLibpzNWfwMLw08-kbIfXpEtpowf3M-PqPfr9ifxp5OAyUbZiK7NIszAKtuW576R1xhb3EUVgeKBXJWZ7OhkMUNSVoMSjZl3od91KO5_jyeimgG9Dl8/s400/DSCF1822.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div>I will get around to posting about my adventures in the wilderness soon, tomorrow we are setting off on the great ocean road, and I will be off the radar for another week or so. I will finish this off when I return. x<div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>Emily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7543101938319437384.post-63654103128142408342009-01-14T04:10:00.000-08:002009-01-16T22:21:00.029-08:00Rawson<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0ekUbR1QRU_g1-GOHK8c3ZlRjIOx6q6zTkjxNqn4Ie5nO4RgfVKv7rrte6O5yVOKWJhhvyIeCySkFKAjwwIAxIgiEEryRvbwLtit43SF6YkfVZYdszQZqZQ4JHGi5Q9OUUNWLg57c7hg/s1600-h/DSCF1905.JPG"><img style="CLEAR: both; FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0ekUbR1QRU_g1-GOHK8c3ZlRjIOx6q6zTkjxNqn4Ie5nO4RgfVKv7rrte6O5yVOKWJhhvyIeCySkFKAjwwIAxIgiEEryRvbwLtit43SF6YkfVZYdszQZqZQ4JHGi5Q9OUUNWLg57c7hg/s320/DSCF1905.JPG" border="0" /></a> We have returned from the bushy mountains. I don't have time to recap as yet, but I will do so soon, prhaps while Keir and the gals explore the exciting world of Neighbours on friday. x <div style="CLEAR: both; TEXT-ALIGN: left"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; PADDING-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 0px; BACKGROUND: 0% 50%; PADDING-BOTTOM: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; PADDING-TOP: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial" alt="Posted by Picasa" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>Emily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7543101938319437384.post-48902607086240776342009-01-09T19:08:00.000-08:002009-01-09T19:11:00.555-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjshE5NKTPpq163pLtglKmyMyl-QEczrlNPUzp_P7eCwy1L7081Ks7nsEX5mTitxdJIVTMD9TEL1G96z5y2oEIwMpy_k23kcVz9veJ6JRDul1P0vhsuEDf-9K_NueQ56eh8Lh5MQVI8voY/s1600-h/DSCF1510.JPG"></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFzDmr-qlNWSdP2_FCHFyeyU-bhyLk76ymOxH2Hyozq7SfUQaTyfADGi2PR-spt7Z2ThJ9FuFEdsXT6-OjILjuBPHUJ5w4A8MiGN2XGw5-X-JfIhYU54FwQbca_WcUSX0BHsBhR3L__Ik/s1600-h/DSCF1555.JPG"><img style="CLEAR: both; FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFzDmr-qlNWSdP2_FCHFyeyU-bhyLk76ymOxH2Hyozq7SfUQaTyfADGi2PR-spt7Z2ThJ9FuFEdsXT6-OjILjuBPHUJ5w4A8MiGN2XGw5-X-JfIhYU54FwQbca_WcUSX0BHsBhR3L__Ik/s320/DSCF1555.JPG" border="0" /></a> Hello! We got to Will and Helen's yesterday and today we have already been snorkelling before lunch. I had a bit of trouble making myself breath underwater, even with a tube, but got used to it eventually. I didnt realise how easily we float once the fear of getting face underwater is removed. Keir and I floated around some shallow rocks- I met a big jellyfish, a tiny jellyfish, and a.....fish. I tried to introduce the fish to keir, but somewhere between my bursting out of the water going 'Eeeeee! Fiiiiish!' and Keir's splashy arrival, it got away. Actually, I think our graceless arm/leg waving in general scared most of the interesting stuff away.<br />Nevermind.<br />Off to the bush in a bit for a few nights, theres a big river there and a lot of forest.<br /><br />Chiao x<div style='clear:both; text-align:LEFT'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>Emily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7543101938319437384.post-83659024731227216842009-01-03T23:07:00.001-08:002009-01-03T23:13:51.603-08:00an education in birdsThe brown and yellow birds are indian Myna birds- they can imitate other birds calls , sounds and human speech. They are an invasive species, not native to australia and they are considered a pest. The turkeyheron birds are Australian white ibises, and they are also considered a pest, as they like to pick at rubbish dumps, terrorize people's picnics and steal food, rather like seagulls, haha. Apparently feeding them makes them worse. Well, I had one nibbling cheese doritos out of my hand today, and found him to be impeccably well mannered and genteel. The magpie birds are...magpies. They are just nice. We like them.<br />xxEmily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7543101938319437384.post-59947980349200268542009-01-01T22:16:00.000-08:002009-01-01T23:22:53.653-08:00Happy New Year<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz8DcUPWPzLMW45bW62Ln0I21i8FVrwNTA6NZREcrRjJb7sIlHiLvsU_pIqbEkaqagXzPcvx69Biu6Y7HZtQ3qEkExZxVQuzD3QdoM-n1ePjUxfeqAI4YzMmsgYm3E3aB6kyNcGLAFCO4/s1600-h/new_year_2_wideweb__470x305,0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 260px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz8DcUPWPzLMW45bW62Ln0I21i8FVrwNTA6NZREcrRjJb7sIlHiLvsU_pIqbEkaqagXzPcvx69Biu6Y7HZtQ3qEkExZxVQuzD3QdoM-n1ePjUxfeqAI4YzMmsgYm3E3aB6kyNcGLAFCO4/s400/new_year_2_wideweb__470x305,0.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286593347819990690" border="0" /></a><br />Well it's time for a catch-up.<br />I've made it to Sydney, via many long hours of boredom and relative discomfort and DVT paranoia and two chinese men who for some inexplicable reason liked to take up as much space as possible, hawk plegm all the time and eat food by sucking it off their forks, making a noise not unlike the vacuum-flush toilet. Call me an imperialist but theres a lot to be said for British manners.<br /><br />Keir had just rescued me from the airport and brought me to Rooty Hill- a suberb outside the centre of Sydney- when we were confronted by a man who looked like Bill Oddie and a huge swollen red faced woman, fighting over a tame bird. Apparently the bird belonged to him- when she picked it up off the street and went to walk off with it he went mental and grabbed her. She dropped the bird (a little greeny cockatiel) to swing at him and the two of them swore and shouted and wrestled until a security man pulled them apart- we had to move on at this point because I was worried that the woman was going to stomp on the poor thing, which was waddling dazed around their feet.<br /><br />Apologies for the scatteryness of this blog, I am reeling stuff off as I remember it.<br /><br />There are many birds here- all of them prettier and singier and stranger than the ones back home. So far there seem to be two main contenders for most common- pigeons, and brown birds the size of thrushes with yellow legs and beaks, we are calling them 'silly birds', that like to sing like mentals and walk around looking at things. I like them. There are also black and white birds that are very curious, look like little magpies and like to come right up to you to see what you are doing/eating. Oh, and big grey and white things that are bloody ugly and hang out at the park- I call them Turkeyherons. There are wild parakeets and really brightly coloured birds in the trees, but they are a bit more shy.<br /><br />I met a stick insect this morning, it was hanging from the frame above the toilet door. It was seven inches long and looked very much like a stick.<br /><br />I spent my first day of 2009 swimming in the sea at Coogee beach, smothered in factor 30 and happily being tossed around in the surf. The tide there is incredibly strong and if you decide to surf a wave to the shore using just your body, beware- being ploughed into the sand feels like being held against a Black & Decker circular sander. There was a bit of bikini slippage, and Keir and I got stuck in the surf; every time we tried to stand up another wave smacked us back down, hurling small children at our heads and shins. It was tremendous fun. :) Afterwards we went along the coast a little to the cove next door- Gordon's Bay, which was a huge contrast to the body-covered beach at Coogee- it was weedy and smelly and had a lot of little fishing boats tethered up on wooden slatting all around, and there were rocks and beautiful shells all over the beach. And lovely dogs. My kind of place. Apparently it's illegal to take shells from the beach, and one can be fined up to $5000 if caught....so I didn't sneak any into my hat.....<br /><br />Tomorrow we are off to wander round The Rocks market, then we are going to a moonlight outdoor cinema to see Wall-E.<br /><br />New Year's Resolutions:<br /><br />1) No more will I drunkenly demand a cigarette.<br />2) Swimming and squash. Lots of it. Slim is the new squishy.<br />3) I will get through my degree with at least my sanity, if not a first (which looks unlikely now)<br />4) Post-graduation, I will learn to drive, if not for the benefit of living in the UK, then at least for the privilege of car-hire when travelling.<br />5) Jewellery making as a side-business, not just a break-even hobby. Will attempt to get into a few more galleries this year. Maybe try outside the UK.<br /><br />Thatsitfornow. xxEmily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7543101938319437384.post-66910924278898572572008-12-24T08:03:00.000-08:002008-12-24T09:01:39.443-08:00And now its time for something totally differentWell, I'm back in lovely Dorset for a few days now before my long long flight to Australia. Dorset is not at the moment lovely but is in fact grey, soggy and exactly the same as when I left it two years ago. Dad picked me up and we went to Tesco in town to do some last minute shopping. Dad was chatted up by a woman at the banana section who carried herself like a drunk sack of hammers and lacked front teeth. I managed not to see anyone I knew much to my relief. When I go home I resign myself to the fact that at some point I will have an awkward encounter over a Tesco checkout. Or perhaps in an aisle. Someones mum, someones sister. God I know I'm bitter, but I just cant stand small talk.<br /><br />I'm so excited about Australia I can't sleep at night. The next few days at home should be nice and relaxed- reading, walking around the Purbecks and cooking a 'non christmas' roast for my parents (and a few stray old ladies). I'm slightly annoyed that the rellies insisted on me returning their massive suitcase that I borrowed last time, especially because I have since discovered that they have no plans to use it any time soon. I lugged it back, empty, on a train so packed that i had to sit two carriages away from it in my reserved seat (thank goodness) which was occupied in and around by a very well mannered london family. I had to kick them out of my seat, like a heartless cow. I wouldn't have, but the only other option was to sit inside the suitcase. A man a few seats away was having a blazing row with another man who refused to move from his reserved seat. He wasn't doing a very good job of it, using phrases like 'duuuuur' and 'god you're such an arsehole! I'm going to sit on your lap!' A polish woman sat opposite me asked the refreshments trolley man if he had a bin for their waste. He was apparently also polish and snapped 'no! I dont have <em>'rubbish'</em>'. The woman foolishly persisted- 'what is that bag on the side of your trolly?'. 'ICE bag. No rubbish! I not <em>dustbin</em> man!' He trundled off without serving her and collided with an unfortunate woman trying to get to the toilet. 'GO OTHER WAY'. The woman reasoned that there wasn't a toilet the other way. He spat 'I AM GOING THIS WAY'... she went the other way. I bought a cup of tea from him, smiled sweetly and was very nice in an attempt to soothe him. He was unresponsive, and as thanks for me giving him exact change, he asked me if I wanted sugar...then didn't give me any.<br />God, what an arsehole.Emily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7543101938319437384.post-15278844993278003022008-12-24T07:53:00.000-08:002008-12-24T08:02:08.989-08:00Xmas eve at the 'rentalsGoes something like this:<br /><br />Mum: What do you want in your ham sandwiches Ed?<br />Dad:...Ham. What kind of question is that?<br />Mum: Well then, JUST ham, thats fine. I'll make you JUST ham sandwiches then shall I?<br />Dad: Do you mean 'what would I like WITH my ham sandwiches'? <br />Mum: Yes thats what I meant.<br />Dad: Well I didn't know that did I? It's a silly way to phrase it. You should ask questions properly.<br />Mum: *tuts* do you want white or wholemeal bread?<br />Dad: You know I never have white bread.<br />Mum: What do you want WITH your ham?<br />Dad: We don't have any ham. Do you mean gammon?<br />Mum: Yeah, gammon.<br />Dad: Well why did you say ham when you meant gammon?<br />Mum: Oh, same difference. What do you want with your gammon?<br />Dad: Coleslaw.<br /><br />LOL, I feel like I'm living with George from Seinfeld's parents sometimes.Emily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7543101938319437384.post-28499166915899195142008-12-18T14:59:00.000-08:002008-12-19T01:53:32.142-08:00Ten days and counting..I played squash today for the first time ever. And I'm not actually terrible at it! I seem to have trouble hitting the ball from certain angles, but with practice this will improve. Plus I felt really cool and sporty strolling out holding a squash racket. My left arm and my arse hurts (?!) and my left nostril is sore but I'm pretty sure that is unrelated and probably something to do with an impending cold. Well, not for long, baby! In ten days time I will be arriving in sunny sunny hot hot Sydney, where colds are an invention of the silly and Dickensian British, along with chills, depression and 'the vapors'. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghJQKQ6gtUpufChk19qWKm4NsTDzFqyKiXEDmmFGBJ0eBZjfMRdFQKnSauP7hbq64U-KEXRUAecPsXgvD4BcLFqw5F4w8PJRbKPVgwyq9L2SjG8LQZovVwJ1GIUxdA2BbLqb466wrC3pg/s1600-h/Ida+Lachmund.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 278px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghJQKQ6gtUpufChk19qWKm4NsTDzFqyKiXEDmmFGBJ0eBZjfMRdFQKnSauP7hbq64U-KEXRUAecPsXgvD4BcLFqw5F4w8PJRbKPVgwyq9L2SjG8LQZovVwJ1GIUxdA2BbLqb466wrC3pg/s400/Ida+Lachmund.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281436395738610226" /></a><br /><br />I have an awful lot to do before I go home on tuesday. Coursework research, packing, jewellery orders, work and bank stuff.....<br />Today, I have developed a cough. This is not a good sign. Perhaps the vapors have got to me after all. :(Emily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7543101938319437384.post-10066337552277861372008-12-13T03:05:00.000-08:002008-12-13T05:18:04.306-08:00Climbing the oak boughs, low boughs we straddle,<br />a kite to untangle, a birds nest to raid,<br />shoes tied at the laces and flung up to tangle<br />bright blankets we stretch and peg to the branches<br />all at sea we are<br />all at sea<br />all adrift we are<br />you and meEmily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7543101938319437384.post-79003513792700618512008-12-09T02:22:00.000-08:002008-12-09T02:39:16.458-08:00Things I have learned in the last couple of days<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQaPYz_GIya43YK6B4MFG4JeP74qhJ5EdTobKMFcthF6KwvnksOFwE8AH-OeZi9PizeNTKitbgq51st5cDOUs1D2IbcEEnXIsgYEpHBqodgou45HjrD1GhNW4qpLeovxuqI2MLW-TPPVs/s1600-h/CNV00025.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQaPYz_GIya43YK6B4MFG4JeP74qhJ5EdTobKMFcthF6KwvnksOFwE8AH-OeZi9PizeNTKitbgq51st5cDOUs1D2IbcEEnXIsgYEpHBqodgou45HjrD1GhNW4qpLeovxuqI2MLW-TPPVs/s400/CNV00025.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277737958640717106" /></a><br />1) You can teach a goldfish to play football.<br />2) Getting a zip replaced on a pair of boots around here will set you back around the price of a nice new pair of boots. <br />3) Barclays charge a fiver for copies of bank statements.<br />4) Town before xmas is a callous, heartless place where one man will tread on anothers balls to get ahead in the queue.Emily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7543101938319437384.post-77977523961313844722008-12-06T13:23:00.000-08:002008-12-06T14:14:51.891-08:00Ice skating on a saturday twilightI did it. I went ice skating. And I didn't fall all the way over. Not once. I felt comfortably young doing something a bit 'fun', until I saw the scores of kids half my age skating rings around me. Suddenly I felt like a brittle, knock kneed old batty aunt with dyspraxia and one good eye, bumbling along with arms and legs akimbo going 'wheeeee....?' But I cared not. I had a jolly good spaz. Now my legs are aching and my ankles which felt so supported before are groaning.<br />That said, ice skating was possibly the best remedy for a day of working in the kind of bar where weird old men stroll in and tell you without any prompting that you would need to lose a bit of weight before they would ever consider you as a serious romantic option. This particular man was in his late forties, looked like a cross between Bono and a tranny/Boy George, and was sporting eyeliner, peircings and Ming The Merciless evil upside-down drawn-on eyebrows. He had a very amusing conversation with another local which went something like this. Names have been changed to protect the ridiculous:<br />Costco- 'oh yeah, well my girlfriend *name removed* is heading over in a bit.'<br />Ming- '*name removed*? I know her.<br />Costco- Yeah?<br />Ming- Yeah. Uh. I went out with her for a bit.<br />*awkward silence*<br />Ming- Hah, it was like 20 years ago...<br />Costco- Oh aye.<br />Ming- She was a lovely girl. Very nice. Stunning looking too, dead skinny....<br />Ming- Great shag. Got her legs up round my neck!<br />Costco- ........I'm just going to the cashpoint.<br />Ming (to me)- Well, that was a bit embarrassing.<br />Me- *squirm*<br />Ming- You know, you're a really well-built girl. You look dead solid, like an athlete, or a kickboxer.<br />Me- Uh...thanks.<br />Ming- Oh no, I don't mean it in a bad way, I think it's dead hot like. Not for me though, I like girls who are skinny. I mean, you're really a beautiful girl but you would have to lose some weight.<br />Me-.<br /><br />I wish I did do kickboxing.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4PJoetnObb8-_VibUwG-vxpgf4Xt2MRQ9e69pPmgNkFiwYTY6u2DCUePk2iGaCSSiGiMB2L4ur9N7SMUylkwpDlZ1360PMMeXeIwkgdjk6tM07kLmfPQE9O0bkVydUCfyF5qKgySrc14/s1600-h/boy-george460_1119545c.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4PJoetnObb8-_VibUwG-vxpgf4Xt2MRQ9e69pPmgNkFiwYTY6u2DCUePk2iGaCSSiGiMB2L4ur9N7SMUylkwpDlZ1360PMMeXeIwkgdjk6tM07kLmfPQE9O0bkVydUCfyF5qKgySrc14/s400/boy-george460_1119545c.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276803339682308866" border="0" /></a>Emily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7543101938319437384.post-4558000434841667292008-12-03T15:27:00.000-08:002008-12-03T16:12:44.178-08:00Agent Dale Cooper, you are my dream-boy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgmLZbxZmEr67pp8phdg4yXtxQr3-ab20hyn4tWcJRAoq5uDnBynf6YORy9OMpalG_nzSlTUtmq_Xq2q9jIf-M2AfnoCgzi7PCKSmfR6hK4rmTIMf3yl3XDPFYUF3HdsXRQzvJUmTQN54/s1600-h/225499211_35367c7a34.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 277px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgmLZbxZmEr67pp8phdg4yXtxQr3-ab20hyn4tWcJRAoq5uDnBynf6YORy9OMpalG_nzSlTUtmq_Xq2q9jIf-M2AfnoCgzi7PCKSmfR6hK4rmTIMf3yl3XDPFYUF3HdsXRQzvJUmTQN54/s400/225499211_35367c7a34.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275721068628810002" border="0" /></a><br />I have been alone in the house all day long. Entirely self-inflicted, but goddamit I needed to do some work. I have scrapped second-rate fairy romp in favour of a shorter and infinately less rubbish story. Mostly because I did all the hard work on it two years ago and just re-worked it using my new margret atwood google widget. The loneliness has gotten to me though. Ive been on the internet for the past two hours looking at freaks and autopsies on youtube. Sicko. This is how it starts...<br />Also in the absense of my beloved I have been growing unnaturally attatched to pictures of Agent Dale Cooper from Twin Peaks...I am trying to attatch said photo example but it seems I saved it as a 'plain text' document, because I'm a mush-brained goon.Emily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7543101938319437384.post-60303097522720824802008-12-02T03:37:00.000-08:002008-12-02T03:44:39.384-08:00Postman calls<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ZkzMFzkD1FCoV2_Ub0DE1TKBp-VpENAITp_MkmYIPbf7SCXGT84MnEslba8-LJDKqaFLV3mcyAPC365MGCWdgENRCJeD_T1oF9IOqchMGXoNnJ0lLhBk4Kdhpx27v4MovYVGgv5hpF8/s1600-h/DSCF1261.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ZkzMFzkD1FCoV2_Ub0DE1TKBp-VpENAITp_MkmYIPbf7SCXGT84MnEslba8-LJDKqaFLV3mcyAPC365MGCWdgENRCJeD_T1oF9IOqchMGXoNnJ0lLhBk4Kdhpx27v4MovYVGgv5hpF8/s400/DSCF1261.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275156131037691970" border="0" /></a><br />Ahh, I got a letter from Keir AND a letter from my dad AAAND a pair of PJ's in the post today. Amazing. Sadly Primark's sizing templates dictate that a girl who might wear size 14-16 pj's will undoubtedly have a belly like a beach ball and an arse like a pancake. And no, I wasnt wearing them back to front. Unless Primark stitched the label to the wrong side. Which is wholly possible.<br />In other news, we have SNOW. Not a great deal of it mind you, and although I want nothing more than to go and frolic in it, there IS a school at the end of my street and I don't want to be pelted to death by all the snotty 13 year olds who hate me because I wont buy them fags.Emily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7543101938319437384.post-69995210425709158582008-12-01T05:35:00.000-08:002008-12-02T03:36:45.082-08:00Fail day, success day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDw748ntF9Focrzyse9HWVqOXREPK46QxVzpf5e_pqrC5L0sovWgpZAw4KbYuKXC3lDikY9d53TmmCkkAI9Yhl2o866Ucm8yaa4KfE5avM6QZwM0nwW2zkefExb3gHp3yIxaM7jowhduE/s1600-h/zcTqHiK8cfcmvon3jcHNynYgo1_400.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 308px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDw748ntF9Focrzyse9HWVqOXREPK46QxVzpf5e_pqrC5L0sovWgpZAw4KbYuKXC3lDikY9d53TmmCkkAI9Yhl2o866Ucm8yaa4KfE5avM6QZwM0nwW2zkefExb3gHp3yIxaM7jowhduE/s400/zcTqHiK8cfcmvon3jcHNynYgo1_400.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274820744791404274" border="0" /></a><br />Well the weekend has been a totally driven all-out pen snapping kickupthearse-fest. I have written most of the first draft of my portfolio story and I will be finishing it today. Hopefully. However a series of FAILS is threatening to put a dampener on my day.<br /><br />FAIL 1- Anja has gone off home for a wedding, and Clem has just gone off home, leaving me alone in the house for a couple of days with pets and occasionally visiting pieces of furniature for company. This is ok. BUT. I cannot have a shower at present as it seems the boiler has taken a decision to go from inexplicably working fine to just not working at all. Just for me.<br /><br />FAIL2- I got a little package in the post this morning with an Australia stamp on it. Getting hugely excited, I ripped it open thinking 'yay it must be from Keir or my Uncle or someone from that hemisphere'.... but no. It was a stupid tiny packet of stupid dinosaur shaped sweets from the Natural Confectionary Company. The Australia stamp was dated dec 2006, which I suppose means that it is a joke about the 6 weeks it can take for free samples to drop through your door. Well, thanks a bundle Nat Con Co, you just ruined my day. And your sweets are bland tasting and gluey. I'm expecting far more important things in the post; a lonely planet guide to south australia, a winter feather duvet and a pair of fluffy frumpy frau pyjamas (thanks mum), and some jewellery making supplies so that I can afford to go home for xmas. Anyway, god how thoroughly boring. Sorry.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxnn9xkEIpqtHM9DWJB0TW37ePpqdELMWBOI5IZVPkJEyDp0cKsMbodAwHo6X-ywr3ivT3R7u1PoZOdKa9I-6g2a3041RxjfHhDu1jt0k-681KuFXHMsz3Oa8gAApYVsO18ggn-gmjs84/s1600-h/DSCF1260.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxnn9xkEIpqtHM9DWJB0TW37ePpqdELMWBOI5IZVPkJEyDp0cKsMbodAwHo6X-ywr3ivT3R7u1PoZOdKa9I-6g2a3041RxjfHhDu1jt0k-681KuFXHMsz3Oa8gAApYVsO18ggn-gmjs84/s400/DSCF1260.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275154829398370162" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Oh, success came in the post too. The water bill has inexplicably been written off. We now owe them a grand total of £2.26. Which I can just about afford to pay right now. Huzzah!<br />xEmily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7543101938319437384.post-54805081277750133392008-11-23T09:39:00.000-08:002008-11-23T09:57:28.429-08:00Sunday, an Attic Room<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPXWXEaSAyu_xUyiPzmVbqD53lyhlQOwIEdWvEmF1Gmc7rzcYtwPdHpgddDsH32_h397FLSBg063OAes-yap1X1c315Ezi_8emN4-b5fO5X5vU8nBN6VrR0cNDbdR314-im0wi9fWv1wA/s1600-h/CNV00011.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPXWXEaSAyu_xUyiPzmVbqD53lyhlQOwIEdWvEmF1Gmc7rzcYtwPdHpgddDsH32_h397FLSBg063OAes-yap1X1c315Ezi_8emN4-b5fO5X5vU8nBN6VrR0cNDbdR314-im0wi9fWv1wA/s400/CNV00011.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271911431313732786" border="0" /></a><br />This is a bit of writing. Enjoy :)<br /><br />Mid afternoon in your attic room feels static. There is no sound from outside, just the occasional creak of the house as it adjusts itself for comfort. If I look out of the tiny window, I might discover that we are adrift in the Pacific ocean.<br /><br />I am lying on my back on your bed, reading an out of date weekend guide. You get up and ask me if I would like a piece of fruit. There is a visit to your sister’s place between us and dinner, so I say yes, I would like a satsuma please. I noticed a particularly big and yellow one in the fruit bowl downstairs. You grin, standing half in, half out of the doorway, stooping slightly because the door is really meant for a child. Your hair is short and fluffy; it sticks up in funny places where it has not yet settled into a style. When the woman in the barber shop asked me if I was going to miss you, I cried. It was down to your shoulders when we met. It was down to your shoulders yesterday, and smelled like lemon and tea tree.<br /><br />You return with a plate. My satsuma is there on the side, accompanied by a selection; sliced melon, a banana, and a sharon fruit. Neither of us has tasted a sharon fruit before. It’s yellow and shiny. Fits in the palm of my hand. It looks like a fat tomato, but harder to the touch, like the plastic fruit thats manufactured for coffee tables. It doesn’t look like a Sharon fruit. Or a Claire fruit, or a Janice fruit.<br />You pluck off the green top and try to peel it with your fingers. I peer into the hole; the inside is wet and fleshy.<br />‘Gross. I don’t want to eat it. Rob said it would be like an apple inside.’<br /><br />The television is showing the Moto GP. Stoner is in the lead. Rossi is close behind.<br /><br />We cut it in half. It’s juicy and full of little stringy veins. You sniff at it cautiously before taking a bite.<br />‘It tastes like a pear. Lot like a pear.’<br />I have a go. It’s not like a pear at all. It smells strange, sort of yeasty, and tastes like a mango.<br />‘It’s like a mango. A weak, mushy one.’<br />‘I suppose it is.’<br />We sit curled together on the sofa, with the plate between us and the race in front of us whining on a twelve inch television screen.Emily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7543101938319437384.post-32357056814007312852008-11-22T01:53:00.000-08:002008-11-22T04:05:54.773-08:00Shameless self-promotion<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8AXmM-fUHSICRJCR7mG7NinLHuebncaP_E8gNZuBYP6Ee2F_no7xXT14yr7ovY2VYc4QITvecdxL7pJlV9UTIdlekkdZzUd1plCVIzwLF-G-9zRGMunHifCxfFPzQb7YMGN-obCGmceo/s1600-h/PA080003.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8AXmM-fUHSICRJCR7mG7NinLHuebncaP_E8gNZuBYP6Ee2F_no7xXT14yr7ovY2VYc4QITvecdxL7pJlV9UTIdlekkdZzUd1plCVIzwLF-G-9zRGMunHifCxfFPzQb7YMGN-obCGmceo/s400/PA080003.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271418540287259650" border="0" /></a>So, this is what I have been up to the past few days. If only I had a gang of convicts to help me mass produce this stuff. I'm dreaming buttons at the moment.<br />Progress is slow and uncertain saving wise. Sudden bills and angry letters fom various water/gas/electric companies are stripping me slowly of any extra shifts I have managed at Vines, and communication from the Ropewalk gallery is patchy. To raise some extra funds, I have a plan. If anyone has a lot of girlie friends who like to buy beady things, I am looking for a host for a jewellery party. The deal is, you invite me, my jewelleries and a hoard of friends over for nibbles, wine and jewellery gazing/buying/ordering. In return, I can offer you either a cut of the profits, or a set of jewellery to keep, depending on the level of success. I can supply wine and nibbles if need be :) the following is a link to my facebook album, with a few examples of what I do:<br /><span>http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2001600&l=64029&id=1161262824</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrK3YgW7k8pZIt6VIYKucDNSg6HEgV1yr4vWnWm0FbJ-BYgB5ICEZXjIsvaclmJrYyfG1l4VvCeb9umNxWhsghU6Je-8fFT9Rh25fz3CCKAbVZvWZphFyoPDJs_slkMs5eM2GlRQAcklg/s1600-h/PA080007.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrK3YgW7k8pZIt6VIYKucDNSg6HEgV1yr4vWnWm0FbJ-BYgB5ICEZXjIsvaclmJrYyfG1l4VvCeb9umNxWhsghU6Je-8fFT9Rh25fz3CCKAbVZvWZphFyoPDJs_slkMs5eM2GlRQAcklg/s400/PA080007.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271422138119125074" border="0" /></a>Emily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7543101938319437384.post-70004963663761642962008-11-20T06:41:00.000-08:002008-11-20T07:45:12.011-08:00Now that we have caught up...Down to matters at hand. Our house smells of chicken, and the kitchen bin is overflowing to the extent that if anyone were brave enough to dig the tie handles out from under the refuse, they might just get pulled in. The residents of 11 Rowditch Avenue would like to take this point to extend their apologies to the Binfox, and announce that we have found the cause of our problem-<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-WTLaiP_CiG94N1JGgvoQUlD5VPomoELhCF9Q4VbQzNAYNRFAWvtS9M5rrfCuVM5FdvX3sUcI03CUSw0f4sWZHrJ-rV_K1rbn7tXLUdGhoqSxxjVFZzLt0mz3PSNehCk_534vg_mdwGw/s1600-h/coconutcrab.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-WTLaiP_CiG94N1JGgvoQUlD5VPomoELhCF9Q4VbQzNAYNRFAWvtS9M5rrfCuVM5FdvX3sUcI03CUSw0f4sWZHrJ-rV_K1rbn7tXLUdGhoqSxxjVFZzLt0mz3PSNehCk_534vg_mdwGw/s400/coconutcrab.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270752617714780018" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Times have been hard since Keir went away, but now that we have decided to throw credit cards to the wind, the anguish has lessened. My tickets to Sydney are booked, as is my lovely National Express coach trip from Shaftesbury to Heathrow Airport. Rhi informs me it's like visiting a town....except it's an airport. Fabulous! I was a little worried when I found that each terminal has a dedicated bus service. Eep. I must remain positive though. I am the fearless traveller, and no obstacle will overcome me, especially not long-haul flights and the possibility of having all my camera film ruined by the x-rays at customs.<br />Despite my worries, I am pleased as punch and am now eagerly counting the days until New Year. I spent all day yesterday in a self-created sweatshop, manufacturing handmade jewellery for the wah classes to gift their loved ones. Keir is busy beavering away at his matched betting to make us some extra dinero, and both of our parents are contributing towards it, which is wonderful news for us. I've counted the piggybank- it's an extra thirty squid. Woot. I almost made the grave error of pouring the thing into the Coinstar at Sainsburys, until I remembered that all it gives you in return is a voucher for groceries. Nuh-uh.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvRkV3oRaF5roOqFscJmBe637WhG5DHNEVqsI5JJ29iQMqohhgz4anoHoAEfViXmnxy4VHz21ol5_H9x7-weFUf1CJmD0m4uKUukFrrc1NtevTHPB00WHODkgq-TVcsEFhmXqiwJzF_8Y/s1600-h/DSCF1238.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvRkV3oRaF5roOqFscJmBe637WhG5DHNEVqsI5JJ29iQMqohhgz4anoHoAEfViXmnxy4VHz21ol5_H9x7-weFUf1CJmD0m4uKUukFrrc1NtevTHPB00WHODkgq-TVcsEFhmXqiwJzF_8Y/s400/DSCF1238.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270760713470394914" border="0" /></a>Gemma and Keir have now seperately informed me that I will be forming a new band with them and Sophie in Austrailia....and we are playing a gig. The seperate and repeated assertion that this is indeed a plan leads me to believe that they are actually serious. Am I musically competant? No. But lets not niggle over little details.<br /><br />Oh, and we invented a new word last night- 'Flunging'. The meaning is disputed, but I think we agreed at least on it being some form of ear-sex. I also believe that Nick put it on Wikipedia. But I'm not sure. I have learned a lot of words recently. Cam told me what 'Docking' is. Josh and Anja showed me a pornographic drawing on the coach home from Amsteram to explain the concept of 'Swordfighting'. All these words are sure to come in handy. One day.<br /><br />xxEmily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7543101938319437384.post-3646061885142612162008-11-20T05:58:00.000-08:002008-11-20T06:29:37.109-08:00So heres a catch up-<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwjmqq6wtC5zVusBYvXDDos2zhQhQLy6Xl_vzJKqImwFEIN5N35AVshkKzl93HzSQIZQhfyTkx_wY3zj6-s1uvrezAKnXhvwxWifZJCzHP1korkt3tedkDPgDyOjb6-r17d8AZrqKovsQ/s1600-h/45220007.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 315px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwjmqq6wtC5zVusBYvXDDos2zhQhQLy6Xl_vzJKqImwFEIN5N35AVshkKzl93HzSQIZQhfyTkx_wY3zj6-s1uvrezAKnXhvwxWifZJCzHP1korkt3tedkDPgDyOjb6-r17d8AZrqKovsQ/s320/45220007.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270746720208060130" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Since Keir went away to Other-Hemisphereland I have been all the way to Amsterdam with some jolly good chums, where we saw all manner of strange and magical things. I even wrote an article about it for Dusted, which I've blagged for this...blog. Enjoy!<br /><br />About 7.30am, after an eleven hour slog across Europe, our coach pulls up outside the Heiniken museum and we all stumble out. Tired. Travel Sick. Cramped to the max. But nobody really minds that we are all sweaty and smell like stale crisps... because we are in Amsterdam.<br />The Hans-Brinker hotel is located quite close to the Red Light District- politely called 'De Valen' ('The Walls') by the locals, and prides itself on it's grubbiness. So much so, there are postcards available to buy at reception which bear slogans like 'Hans-Brinker- now a bed in every room!'. They don't lie. Our room consists of six prison-issue bunkbeds, a few kicked in lockers, and a kind of wetroom shower/toilet combo. Not much else, except for the charming graffiti'd pinboard which shouts 'I HATE VAGINAS', among other things. Oh, and there are posters in the lifts warning guests of the dangers of overindulgence. Any guesses? Yep, it's a photo of a guy passed out and covered in writing, shaving foam, fruit and lingerie. Beware.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1MOFvHy7rY2gxHfARvu-Rc28oOP0i_GVb-s3oV4sbxEnYQ3GdVaYBL1HUTGdS9qX1S2bx4pxjeOA1MCM66mMC8FI6mlv1IY3-1UtVN2VjEl4ZaSz7o4Ve8SHExm9QioG2P_BSwX6sKVM/s1600-h/DSCF1213.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1MOFvHy7rY2gxHfARvu-Rc28oOP0i_GVb-s3oV4sbxEnYQ3GdVaYBL1HUTGdS9qX1S2bx4pxjeOA1MCM66mMC8FI6mlv1IY3-1UtVN2VjEl4ZaSz7o4Ve8SHExm9QioG2P_BSwX6sKVM/s320/DSCF1213.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270741961800573570" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The first stroll around Amsterdam in the morning sun is breathtaking. The streets are bustling with commuters, but the cars are few and far between. Men and women dressed in smart suits and high heels peddle to work. People rush by on bikes customised with paint and plastic flowers. Parents taxi their little children in wooden carts hooked to the front of their bicycles. This is an image of a lifestyle that I wish I was a part of. Locals leave their bikes unchained, knowing that they will be safe. Of course, for those not accustomed to bicycles en masse, woe betide you who strides obliviously across that 'pavement'.<br /><br />I must be honest now and admit that although there are many fascinating galleries and museums in the city (most popular are the Cannabis museum and the Sex museum), I was too caught up in the magic to visit them. The real romance of Amsterdam lies in it's streets and coffee shops, and I found plenty of things to see tripping dreamily between the smokey cafes and street markets- a specialist glass doorknob shop, fast food vending machines and market stalls selling Virgin Mary paraphenalia. After dark is the time to really explore. The city opens up to show it's bright and colourful lining, and the real fun begins.<br /><br />The Red Light District is not for the faint of heart. Or for claustrophobes or people who are scared of shop dummies. At it's dark heart it is a dizzying network of narrow alleys, lined with full length windows lit up in a lurid pinky-red. Inside, prostitutes stand displayed like living manneqins in underwear. It is an unnerving sight. One or two such alleys that we visited are so narrow that to get past the row of people coming the other way, you must press your face against the wall and inch along past the mad graffiti until you are spat out on the other side. There are cinemas devoted to showing hardcore porn, and even a 'discount erotic store' which sells, amongst the naughty things, cheap 2009 diaries and paint-by-numbers kits.<br />The locals, if you are lucky enough to meet one (Amsterdam is very cosmopolitan) are generally friendly and take an interest in the experiences of the tourist. We were chased by a man in a wheelchair, personally serenaded by a man with an accordian and joined in a few photographs by a teen who called himself 'amsterdam guy'. Wouldn't have met <i>them</i> in a Cannabis museum.<br />Despite the eye bags and sore head on departure, I think the time was right to be going. Amsterdam is a beautiful and hedonistic city, with the balance just right. Everyone is relaxed, nobody is rushing, nobody causes trouble. What you decide to indulge in there remains between you and the city. Oh, and some very good friends.Emily Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04699576615247786868noreply@blogger.com0