Well well well, look who it is – back for more words of mine, you greedy grub you. Continue reading
whoaaaa been a while?!
Here you,
I’ve not posted on this site in two months. I don’t even know why, I just stopped for a while! Isn’t that irritating? No explanation for my disappearance?! Hoho! Continue reading
Paris: Muggings and Riots and Notre Dame Engulfed in Flame
After Chiang Mai came two sweaty nights in Bangkok. After Bangkok came Paris.
Jeanne and Justine got an earlier flight out of Thailand, and I arrived in the city fourteen hours after them, in the evening. By the time I arrived Justine had already left the city for Orleans, an hour or two south. Won’t be seeing her for a long time now. After a year of perpetual company and a merry-go-round of familiar faces, suddenly Jeanne and I were all that remained. Weird. Continue reading
Chiang Mai: Songkran Sogginess
I left Tasmania and my darling Seth Todd, and flew for 24 stinking hours on a succession of Jetstar flights. Let it be known, Jetstar are low in cost but high in tedium; for hours unending I had nought to do but stare at the barren headrest before me. My requests for a free little glass of water were repeatedly declined, and in the end I had no choice but to splash out and numb myself with a little plastic wine bottle. Continue reading
Tasmania: Howling at the Thunder
And just like that, Tasmania is finished. Five weeks of apple picking are done, and I have left. Spending tonight in a crappy hostel in Melbourne’s CBD, after flying out of Hobart earlier today. 24 hours and I’ll be with Jeanne once more, in Chiang Mai. Got a lot of airports to traverse in that span of time – it’ll be pretty shit. I’ll live. And then it’s all joy on joy. Continue reading
Tasmania: Orchard Zen
Apple picking is existence now. Apples are everything. Stems and seeds and cores and leaves and branches and roots and ladders and wellies and bins and sacks and brambles – apples. Continue reading
Tasmania: Danny Appleseed
I can hear kookaburras. God I’ve missed that sound. Continue reading
Melbourne: The Warehouse
Everything has gone topsy turvy – in a good way. I think? I’ve only been working at this particular labouring job for one week, but so much has happened. Continue reading
Melbourne: It All Relates
I always hesitate to publish articles like the last one, because of course when I write them I am feeling emotional. I’ve learned a few things during my time on earth, and one of the earliest lessons I taught myself was not to speak in anger – I still do it of course, and more often than I’d like, but I try my best to avoid it. I remember as a kid in primary school having arguments with family and friends, and feeling rotten afterwards as the anger subsides and the empathy creeps in and guilt shades everything. I feel guilty about telling Australia to fuck off, is what I’m trying to say. Sorry Australia. You have your flaws, but so does everywhere, everyone, and everything. Continue reading
Melbourne: Grunt Work
I arrived at the shift at 5pm, half an hour earlier than the job required, as I was told that if you want more work in the future you need to make a good impression. There were nine of us; two supervisors and seven labourers. I’d been told by the agency not to expect anything too thrilling. ‘Grunt work’ was how Monique had described it over the phone. I said grunt work was fine. I just need to make a little bit of money before I leave this city behind. Continue reading