Queensland Flood Appeal

Since I’ve been home it has pretty much rained constantly.  Not only that, it has pretty much been one of the wettest Decembers on record for Queensland.

I don’t often feel charitable, and when I do I keep it to myself, but the towns where I grew up are currently under water.

Thousands of Queenslanders have lost there homes, businesses, their possessions due to rain. Farmers have lost their crops and there are food shortages.

The funny thing for years we prayed for rain, having suffered drought and some towns running completely out of water.  But that’s Australia for you.. a land of “droughts and flooding rains”. 

So if you feel so inclined, please give to the Queensland Flood Appeal.  Nothing bad will happen to you if you don’t, and nothing good will happen to you if you do.. but you may be able to make a teeny tiny difference to someone that you have never met.   

You can see how to  donate online here with the Australian Red Cross or go to the QLD government’s donation page here.

Post Holiday Blues

Getting back to hum-drum reality of your day to day life after being on holidays is hard. Very hard.

I've had three lengthy stints in the UK now, the most recent the shortest, and each time I have returned home I've found myself slightly discontent. It's hard to leave a place that you love.  It's even harder saying goodbye to the people that you love. 

Don't get me wrong, in a way it's nice to be home.  Despite my many protestations I do love my family very much. I love my family home as well.    After a month living out of a suitcase it is nice to be back in my room, sleeping in my bed (with all my lovely pillows), washing my hair with a normal-size shampoo bottle and pooping in my own toilet.  

Part of me wishes I was still out on the road. Having adventures, seeing the world, meeting new people, having more grand love affairs.  But then

another part of me is ready to settle down and start being a grown up.  

I think the short-term solution to my dilemma and my post-holiday blues is simple.  Do more awesome fun stuff closer to home.  Start planning another trip. Write more. Stop telling myself that the grass is greener and just get the hell on with things. 

Because the city I love will always be there (nuclear war and polar ice-caps melting aside), and the people I love don't just go away because I'm 16,532 kilometres away. 

Good Plan. 

An Affair to Remember (part 2)

We left off the Monday of my first weekend in London, having said my farewells to my holiday fling and left to visit Madam Alsop in Essex.

I hadn’t been on the train to Chelmsford long, looking at the snow covered fields passing me by when I realised that there was no way I was done with him.

Some facebook messaging, an exchange of numbers and an unexpected block of free time led us to arrange a rendezvous for the next weekend.

The prospect of seeing him again filled me with a strange sort of calm happiness.  This all sounds ridiculously cheesy I know, but you all know that deep down I’m a hopeless romantic. I’ve always wanted to be swept off my feet with grand romantic gestures.  Through my 27 years I can count on one hand the number of times a boy has even tried.  But sweep me off my feet he did.

It’s not every day you meet a man who will willingly indulge your childish whims (hand-in-hand tour of Christmas lights.. sigh).  The Ex did everything he possibly could to get out of taking me to see the Christmas lights, and here was a man that did it just to make me happy. Jerry Maguire may have had Renee Zellwegger at hello, but this man had me at “Shall we go to Winter Wonderland?”

So readers, I was hooked.  It was nice to have someone around to text again when I was feeling frisky (a lack of available men has seen my love of drunk texting go unfulfilled recently).  It was nice to completely be myself around someone, in full geek mode, and STILL have them want to shag me senseless.  It was nice to have a man encourage me with my pursuits instead of telling me I was dreaming.  It was nice to have someone take care of me, hold my hand and hug me when I was feeling sad.  And after the calamities of my love life it was nice to have my faith in men restored again. 

So after three and a half weeks, hours spend in bed, two of the most earth shattering orgasms I have ever experienced (ever), much wine and food I said goodbye to my “5 foot 8, very good in bed and good looking” (to quote him) man for the fourth and final time.  And instead of a classy farewell like Casablanca, I cried like a baby and it took a lot of strength to walk away. 

I’ll probably always wonder “what if”, but in all honesty it’s probably best I came home before I got my heart broken or ruined it like I always do. 

So there are no promises of meeting on top of the Empire State Building a’la “An Affair to Remember”. Just happy, lovely memories of a wonderful man.  

Flying

When you live in Australia, going on holidays logistically requires you to get on a plane and travel for many, many hours.

The flight to London involves two legs of 7 and 13 hours respectively and a couple of hours layover in Singapore.

That equates to roughly 24 hours of pure and utter hell. Ears popping, sitting next to large people, unable to sleep, with indigestion from the airplane food and children screaming. And turbulence. And children screaming. And more turbulence.

It’s bad enough that your holiday has to end.  Saying goodbye to people that you love and not knowing if or when you’ll see them again is one of the hardest things in the entire world. And then after that emotional rollercoaster you have to get in a metal tube with 250 other people and sit in one foot of space for hours. And hours. And hours.

Arriving home should be a blessing, then BAM! Jetlag hits with a vengeance.. you get dizzy, and wake up disoriented with no idea where the hell you are.. clutching the bed beside you wondering why you are alone and not in bed with a sexy Yorkshireman.  If I didn’t love exploring the world so much I’d happily never ever get on a plane again. In fact, if I could get a train to London I would.

But alas, until I have perfected the art of teleporting I’m stuck with the giant metal bird in the sky.

A Letter to London

Dear London,

There are days when I can’t imagine why I love you.  Every time I see a puddle of festive sick on the street I’m reminded of just how dirty, smelly and overcrowded you really are.

When I get ignored at the checkout, or knocked over on the tube escalator (to be fair, I WAS standing on the left), or when I just clutch my belongs and hide my face as a thousand busy shoppers jostle me on Oxford Street I wonder why I even came back.

And then a steel drum band starts playing a Christmas Carol, a man walks past in a bow tie and top hat, a friend rings to say “pub time” , I walk into H&M and see the glistening lights of the West End and I remember why you always hold a special place in my heart.

You are eternally vibrant, even on your darkest days and you’re always ticking even when there’s tube delays.

Even though London, you are the worst place to be on your dark days, you can always bring me out of it.  You are my city of firsts and you will eternally hold a special place in my heart.

Yours Faithfully,

Miss G x

An Affair To Remember (part one)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single lady on holidays in another country, will inevitably have a fling.

There is something about the combination of cocktails, being away from home and a “Woo! Holidays!” attitude that means that any man of a certain age, who is reasonably attractive, automatically becomes an interesting prospect.

And so, on my second night of my London homecoming I took a fancy to my good friends housemate.  One thing led to another and before I knew it we were snogging on the dance floor. Which then turned into a weekend of some serious fun.  

What was surprising however, was that this casual flirtation turned into something more.

Regular readers will know about my rather unsuccessful love life, and that it is not often that I meet someone with whom I instantly feel comfortable. But with this boy (or rather, man) I did. He made me comfortable. He made me feel slightly weak at the knees every time he kissed me.

But I didn’t think much of it at first.  I was after all on holidays and it was my first weekend in the country. 

So we said our farewells, but as soon as I left and got on the train for my next destination I knew that I absolutely had to see him again. And that, dear readers, is when it got interesting. 

Happy New Year

Well I’ve been off-air for the past month, off gallivanting around the world catching up with old friends in London.

Over the next few days I’ll be updating with drabbles from my notebook that I wrote (with an actual pen).

And yesterday, my vacation came to an end. This fills me with sadness on a few levels, which after future posts you will understand why.

So jetlagged, at 5.00am on the 1st of January, 2011 I lay in my own bed, wondering what this year will bring and trying to come up with some new years resolutions.

But maybe, all that can wait until Tuesday when I’m back at work (groan!) and for now I will continue unpacking, catching up with my emails and maybe finding a friend who’s not hung over to go have a drink with.

Happy New Year!