The end of February marked the arrival of exuberance, unruliness and mischief. I’m talking about none other than Miss Esther Flatters. All the way from London via an exotic Indonesian jungle trip she came to visit me down under and run the usual impulsive muck. Upon arrival to Sydney I met her at Il Baretto for a much overdue catch-up. We barely had time to catch our breath amongst the unstoppable chatter between us over dinner; what we’d been up to, what we were doing now and what the future held. Needless to say she had a plethora of entertaining stories to amuse me with from her exhaustive trip through Asia and was most pleased to hear that I’d be rejoining her in London in the summer. We spent the evening barhopping through Surry Hills; particularly at The Winery, Low 302 and Shady Pines.
The next day we went to Newtown (a.k.a Camden) for a thai lunch which inevitably could never surmount to the delicious and authentic meals she would have indulged in whilst in the land of Thai herself. What she wouldn’t have found whilst trekking through Thailand though, was a fully equipped circus society. We happened to stumble across one when we accidentally found ourselves at Sydney University orientation fair and I certainly couldn’t have prepared myself for what happened there. As soon as Esther set eyes upon some unicycles, juggling balls and multicoloured ribbons she ran off to join the circus so fast that I didn’t even notice her departure.
I was happy laying on the green grass underneath the glistening hot sun whilst Esther refined her circus skills. Some people are just born with it.
On Thursday night Kelly, Brennalisa, Auntie Gabz, Domenico and I headed over to Shady Pines to support our spine-chillingly talented friend Steve Smyth who was putting on a gig in there. As always he blew us all away with his astounding voice. It’s always a pleasure to watch Mr Smyth perform! True to form he was bare foot, had his face covered in bountiful hair and a mammoth smile from cheek to cheek.
After work on Friday Sophie, Rodney and I met Kara, Dean and Antonella at a random photography exhibition beind held at District 01 on Crown St. Funnily enough an old uni friend of my mine had his photographic work on display there. Not really my cup of tea this whole art thing but there was free champagne and canapés so I wasn’t complaining!!
Later on we met Esther at an Italian restaurant in Surry Hills for pizza and more cheap wine. We felt very much in our natural surroundings in this painfully ethnic, loud and family-run eatery. Esther in particular felt so comfortable that she decided to kick the pianist off the stage and took helm of the microphone to serenade us with some of her self-penned songs. It was the first and probably the last time someone would dedicate a song to me in a public space! Thanks Esther ♥
Once we’d stuffed our faces and successfully made the staff loathe us for taking control of the entertainment facilities, Esther and I headed over to Flinders. I thought we’d just have some quiet drinks and call it a night. I should have known better, it’s Esther we’re talking about after all! I let her out of my sight for not even 30secs and when I turned around she was chatting up some geeky bankers at the bar who were lining up double vodka cranberries and shots on the bar. That saucy temptress haha! And so the whirlwind began…
A barful of drinks later, the next thing I remember is jumping vigorously on the couches with my untamed hair flying all over the joint, dancing with a bearded boy that looked and moved like Jamiroquai and befriending some crazy New Zealanders, one of which I tried to steal his afro?
The highlight of the night however, was undoubtedly the part when I was sitting lonesomly on a couch and in the corner of my eye noticed a mysterious, thin figure to my right who was staring at me with a look of deep concentration and scribbling vehemently in his notepad. First of all who carries a sketchpad and pen in a bar? Anyways, I kindly asked him what the fuck he was doing. He handed over the sketchpad and there it was; a haunting portrait of myself that he’d penned in no more than 20 seconds.
I was simultaneously frightened and flattered. Amused by his eccentricity I asked him to sketch a guy walking past with a black hat. He fervently flicked through the pages and low and behold he’d already drawn him! Same as the blonde girl I suggested he sketch AND the bartender with a nose piercing. He was on fiiiiire! He’d successfully identified and drawn each and every patron of the bar. Was he an undercover cop or something I thought to myself?!!?!? Bizarre little bar this was.
Waking up sweating like a rapist, Saturday morning demanded that we head to the beach to cool down so I rounded up Esther, her sister Naomi and Sophie to spend the day at North Bondi. Funnily enough we bumped into Marie, Vanessa and friends so located our towels next to theirs.
That night I thought I’d show Esther how we Inner Westerners party in the burbs and took her to Nick’s 21st birthday party in Earlwood. The pressure was on him now with an international guest! Pressure was also on me to find her an outfit to wear for it was a ‘Through The Ages’ theme. I already had my costume mentally prepared for weeks; a 60s hippie! Finally my chance to metamorphosis into my dream persona. Luckily with Esther’s immaculate make-up and hair skills and my random possession of a feather boa, we were able to transform her into a 50s burlesque dancer in no time!
Sophie the 70s groupie, Dom my male hippie counterpart and Jarryd the Cheech & Chong replica came to my house for some pre-drinks before we made our way to the party in a cab which took its sweet arse time to arrive.
With all the typical drama that ensued that evening, I was glad Esther came out of it ranting about the amazing greek cuisine that was on offer. Phew! Mission successful, she had a good evening.
On Sunday morning I farewelled my dear friend, whom I’d had an absolute blast with as per usual ( ♥ you to bits girlie!!!), and prepared myself for the days next adventure; SOUNDWAVE FESTIVAL! From 60s hippie to goth metal rocker, it wasn’t the easiest of tasks to transform my mindframe and dress sense in such a short space of time. But Kara and I had one hell of a day regardless! Iron Maiden, Queens Of The Stone Age, One Day As A Lion and Slash – how could we not!?
It’s great having friends in conveniently high places. Even 10,562 miles away, our trusty London friend Adam was able to hook Kelly, Brendan, Annalisa and I with passes to the highly anticipated Laneways Festival; a celebration of all things indie, rock and pop. How you may ask? Well, it helps that he’s spent the last year tour managing Two Door Cinema Club who just happened to be on the bill. Alas we had another British friend to play with on our grounds!
I was looking forward to watching a multitude of live acts that day but since Mother Nature decided to thrust a mini cyclone our way, I opted for the warmth of the indoor VIP area and the sweet taste of vodka washing around in my stomach. Kelly brushed shoulders with destiny when she lost her beloved Acne shirt amongst the hurricane and then miraculously stumbled upon it on the other side of the field; it was just laying on a windowsill staring her in the face! Sydneysiders are honest people after all; most people woulda snatched up the trendily valuable top without question.
I managed to catch a bit of Warpaint, Ariel Pink, Local Natives and Two Door Cinema Club (after all they did sort my guest list so the least I could do was support their set) I was astonished to see what an impressive turn up these young Irish lads garnered, I hadn’t quite realised how popular they were on our shores.
Surely you all know this song?
After the show Adam came to hang out and sabotage our impromptu photoshoot before we farewelled Brennalisa who’d simply had enough of the miserable weather and then made a spontaneous decision to head home ourselves in preparation of the night ahead!
After guzzling down more wine and hosting a reunion with blast from the past Ben Pantano, we met Adam and the Two Door crew over at their hotel, which was expediently around the corner. We accompanied our international visitors over to Good God for the official festival after party. We cacked ourselves when we tricked the ‘rockstars’ into thinking the afterparty was at the painfully bogan and local Scruffy Murphys pub and their faces turned pale. Their artist’s passes did gain us entry into the party then again so I really should play nice.
We seized one of the Flintstone-esque booths in the bar, made it our own and began the rollercoaster ride of shots, vodkas and beers into the early morning. The boys were an absolute pleasure to party with!
The world’s longest collar!
On Monday evening the awesome foursome headed to The Metro to check out Brendan’s dj set at the Yeasayer gig.We decided to reserve a seat in the stands, soon regretting it due to the outlandishly cold temperature inside the theatre. We also regretted it because the opening band Ghoul were absolutely horrible. Possibly the worst music I’ve ever heard. Kelly and I found solace and amusement in facebooking each other from centimetres away, writing hateful comments about the band who were simply just.. SO.. Un-Ghoul!
Yeasayer on the other hand were fucking brilliant and easily one of the best gigs I’ve seen in recent months. We were blown away by their ecclectic jungle fever tunes and geometric neon lights. Check out my full review on Music Feeds here.
On Tuesday night Nick and I unleashed our lesbians within when we went to catch Warpaint playing at Oxford Art Factory. What complete and utter babes they are!!! I was absolutely enthralled by the web of ethereal sounds they spun with their sultry, succulent vocals and entangling guitar lines.
Can’t say the same for the support band Richard In Your Mind though (translates to Dick In The Mind by the way) who looked and sounded as though they’d been tripping on potent magic mushrooms for weeks on end. Their cringeworthy performance put us in fits of laughter. Check out their video below and you’ll see why!
So Un-Ghoul man!
On Saturday Patrick kindly invited me to the Good Vibrations festival in Centennial Park for which he has free media passes. Headlined by the likes of Faithless, Ludacris and Damian Marley, no bands really managed to retain my attention and arouse the senses. Except, of course, for Phoenix who never fail me in the live arena. The French indie rockers are always a pleasure to watch on stage and were without doubt the highlight of my day.
Patrick had a photo pass but ironically no camera in tow so he posed as an iPhone representative and simply snapped some images on his phone from the official photography pit. Unfortunately the heavy rain put a dampening on my day but all was redeemed when we headed to Golden Century for a hot midnight Chinese feast after the festival. So Ghoul.
On Thursday I made my broadcasting debut by guest appearing on Patrick’s weekly radio program ‘The Late Late Breakfast Show’. We went over to the studio in Sutherland at around 9pm and hooked ourselves up to microphones and headphones.
He asked me to choose 10 songs from my favourite artists of all-time (much to my delight!) which he played inbetween interviewing me about my music journalism experiences, my ‘rockstar’ lifestyle in London and my passion for live gigs. It was quite a petrifying 90mins but the wine I guzzled previously at dinner certainly helped to calm the nerves brooding inside of me. It’s relieving to know that I don’t have any recorded evidence of my shockingly manly radio voice and my einsteen interview answers but was also glad that I conquered my fear and subsequently had a Ghoul time with it. Besides, for once I got the ultimate free reign to control the radio’s typically agonising playlist, select whatever fucking music I like for a solid hour and have NOBODY complain about it! That was a dream come true.
Saturday was spent lazing by Dom’s pool and soaking up the rays of sunshine before heading to Michael’s 21st birthday party in Earlwood. [V] Festival it was called. And hence all the guests had to adorn themselves in something that began with the letter V (or M for Michael if you were struggling with ideas). As per usual I didn’t participate. However, since I was wearing an off white dress I figured I’d label myself a ‘virgin’ just for the hell of it. No one baught it though. Bastards. Apart from it being an absolute sauna that night, everyone had a Ghoul time and was highly amused by the comically endearing slideshow presentation and the plethora of inventive costumes that included; Venus Williams, Ace Ventura, a Minties wrapper, Madhatter and THE Vengabus.
And to wrap up the Ghoulish weekend, on Sunday we had a much-dreaded family reunion with our long lost outcasts from greater western Sydney. What a bunch of bloody bogans! Couldn’t believe I was actually related to this circus of clowns. Horrified and humiliated, Kelly and I made sure to steer clear from the Fedeli retards and gravitated towards the TV set and the table of food (which was devastaningly disappointing since our guests provided most of the food and can’t cook for shit) instead. Such social butterflies we are.
Our ideal family reunion is one, which just involves our immediate family, mouthwatering food and the freedom to be ourselves without having to uphold a certain façade to impress others. That’s why the next evening, which was Marina’s 50th birthday celebration, we all came alive as we had an intimate dinner in the city, copious amounts of champagne, heard touchingly daggy speeches and took Ghoultastic ‘family portrait’ shots.
I shagged Jethro Cave on the weekend and stole a lock of his untamed hair.Jealous?
Well unfortunately, I’m only kiddin’. Just making sure I still have your attention after what seems weeks and weeks of blog silence. Apologies for the hiatus! Four Weeks With The Queen is alive again and whilst there’s no overt sexual ventures in this particular post, there are certainly plenty of rock stars, live music and good times.
Here are the latest scribblings from my cyber diary..
THURSDAY:
Today was a scorcher, especially in the dire Inner West, so I took pleasure in heading to Kara’s lair for a midday dip in the pool before catching up with the exquisite miss Danielle.
Following that, I wined and dined Sophie and Dom at Il Baretto as a thank you treat for always splurging on their destitute, overly dependent friend (me of course).
As predicted, dinner was delicious! And I’m not just saying that because it’s my aunties restaurant. Actually now that I mention it head here to check out Il Baretto’s blog and let your mouth water over the lip-smacking gastronomic images HERE.
Here’s what we each devoured:
After our meals we headed to the discreet Fico wine bar where kind Domenico served us chilled white wine until our hearts were content.
FRIDAY:
I conducted another interview for Lip Magazine, this time with up-and-coming disco synth act Catcall. You can check out the finished product by clicking here.
SATURDAY:
Kara and I cured our hangovers/hashovers by heading to Nathan’s birthday BBQ in Balmain with a few neighbourhood friends. We spent the day with our grimy fingers in the potato salad, guzzling new-fangled strawberry ciders, playing tennis cluelessly and lazing around in the fervent sun.
That night I attended Marco’s 21st party in Leichardt and as expected got utterly legless with the girls. Nothing too spectacular to report unfortunately, the string of 21st birthdays are all becoming quite predicatable; incriminating slideshows, mortifying speeches, a sea of homemade Italian/Greek food and illegally unlimited amounts of alcohol. In other words, the perfect concoction for disaster.
TUESDAY:
This evening Patrick and I attended the Crystal Castles gig. I’m not a huge fan of their sonically devastating music but I had to tip my hat to Alice Glass who single-leggedly blew the roof off the Enmore even with a broken ankle harnessed by a crutch. The Black Keys cancelled their Australian tour because of exhaustion and Kings Of Leon because of the backline drummer’s busted arm but Crystal Castles soldiered on even with a severely injured frontwoman.
WEDNESDAY:
I’d been anticipating this day for months; a rock’n’roll/indie pop/folk acoustic-based festival featuring superb international acts as well as blossoming homegrown candidates. It was of course time for the BIG DAY OUT Festival! I’d managed to get my paws on a media pass saving myself well over $100 and even though it was predicted to be over 40 degrees that day, I battled the apocalyptic weather and had an unforgettable day.
The highlight of the day was undoubtedly DIE ANTWOORD. What a great performance by the South African zef-side trio. That was some next level shit man, BOOS! I fell in love with Ninja, Yo-Landi Vi$$er and DJ Hi-Tek all over again, even though they had me chanting “jou ma se poes in a fish paste jar” a.k.a your mother’s private parts in a fish paste jar incessantly, at an absurd volume and to complete strangers. They were highly entertaining with their myriad of costume changes, fierce attitude and willingness to crowd surf. Check out the video below!!
Our bohemian beauties – Angus & Julia Stone!
Now presenting.. Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeroes.
All bow down to the modern-aged Jesus Alex Ebert.
Wouldn’t be an Aussie festival without John Butler Trio. Lame.
Motherfuckin’ Iggy Pop.. not a bad physique for an old timer. And that luscious long blonde hair?!
Psychedelic Primal Scream. Those neon lights almost lunged me into a full-blown seizure.
Grinderman.. Perfect way to end a perfect day!
THURSDAY:
I conducted some interviews for Music Feeds whilst in the stock room of my work on my lunch break. I spoke to Dylan Baldi, from Cloud Nothings who was at the time residing in America and melted my heart with his gorgeous accent and then the everso bubbly Guineafowl from Sydney.
FRIDAY:
Tonight Tara, Sophie, Carrina, Daniel and I went to The Gaelic to check out the new venue for Purple Sneakers where one of Hannah’s friends from Brisbane was playing a gig amongst some other indie rock artists on the bill. I was reviewing the night for Music Feeds and met up with Dan their TV/Video producer who just happened to live in London at the same time as me. The bands on the bill were quite enjoyable to watch, especially the headliners Ghostwood – I’m obsessed with their latest offering called ‘Sunset Mirage’. Check it out below:
SATURDAY:
We got down and dirty (literally – my pink gown came home with dust and debris all over it from dancing feverishly all night long!) at Diana’s 21st bash. It was a pleasure catching up with all the Domremy girls, reminiscing over nostalgic photos from our high school days and erupting with laughter over the fireman stripper that was hired for the night.
What a laugh! All the mothers were drooling and pining for a go with the not-so-sexy stripper. Naturally, I spent most of my time beside the unlimited bar sucking down strawberry vodka slushies and sambuca shots.
TUESDAY:
I spent the day at Redleaf Sea Pool with Kara and Dean who were taunting me about not letting them listen to the interview I conducted with infamously mischievous American comedian Eddie Ifft. You can read the transcript here!
WEDNESDAY:
Carrina accompanied me to the Sia gig at the Enmore Theatre; what a fantastically wacky performance the soulful singer/songwriter put on! She entered the stage lathered in black body paint and was attached to a textile-based sheet of cardboard and bubble machine. And on top of that it was a sauna in there so to sport that kind of costume for a good 90mins is pure commitment to entertainment! You can read my full Music Feeds review of the show here.
2011 has been relatively kind to me so far; beautiful summer weather, a myriad of touring muscians and 21st birthday parties galore. For once I have nothing to complain about, I’m turning over a new leaf and can give you my word that this blog will be nothing but positive and buoyant. I suggest you take advantage of it however, before the bipolar cynic inevitably returns to advocate doom and gloom.
On the very same night that Fedeli and I returned from our 10 hour journey home from Byron Bay, we were back in the metropolitan scene dining and drinking at Thainesia with some friends before heading to Oxford Art Factory for the highly anticipated Born Ruffians gig.
We’ve been obsessed with this Canadian trio (particularly the ever so handsome lead singet) since we first laid eyes on them at a gig in East London. As expected, they did not disappoint in the slightest and had us stumbling out on the street feeling weak at the knees with adoration. Check out my Music Feeds review here!
I was desperately seeking some lonesome down time on Tuesday night but another gig was calling – this time it was New York based melancholy weavers Interpol. How could I say no to them? And I’m glad Kelly and I didn’t say no because they put on a fantastic performance. I brought my photographic kit and kaboodle along and briefly stepped into the pit to get these shots:
The string of consecutively fantastic shows plateaud there when I went to catch the Cold War Kids at the Enmore Theatre. They were quite uninspiring. My new gig buddy and fellow Lost addict Patrick accompanied me and after enduring an hour or so of intense heat, we saught shelter and water at the local bar and exchanged CWK criticisms.
I attended the Enmore for the 3rd time that week on Friday night and regretfully so after being utterly disappointed by the totally overrated American quintet That National. I promised you that this blog post would be negativity free so if you want to read my condescending rant about The National’s gig click here.
After the show, my fellow music enthusiast Daniel and I had a refreshing cocktail at The Green Room before calling it a night.
On Saturday evening Carrina, Sophie and I went to the Ashfeld Hotel for Steve’s 21st. My inevitable downward spiral into inebriation began the minute we discovered there was a bartab and began consuming alcohol at an unimaginable rate. Thankfully I managed to conceal and behave myself however can’t remember much from the evening apart from the highly amusing speeches and nostalgic slideshow.
Rarely does my whole family unite for an evening out together completely out of the blue, but when we do it’s always an absolute laugh. On Monday evening we rounded up the Fedeli clan and went to one of our fave Chinese restaurants in the city. As usual, my family was on time and the first to arrive at Golden Century but the rest of the gang soon arrived after us. Before I knew it there were dumplings, crunchy crab legs, chilli squids and duck rolls flying to and around our table. We had to con Karina into thinking the duck dishes were chicken because she refused to consume anything with a beak, webbed feet an efficient swimming abilities.
I promise the mood was much more buoyant and lively than these pictures depict!
We stared around us and quickly noticed we were the only Italians, and for that matter the only non-asians, in the entire restaurant. My mum was trying to impose her theory upon us that the reason the Golden Century is open way past 1am is because it’s the local mafia hangout. Meanwhile, Auntie Gabby was trying to teach us kids and the whole family for that matter a lesson by pointing out one of the tables who were paying such attention and respect to the eldest family member as he softly spoke. They listened and obeyed him like he was above God. I suppose Gabby, being the eldest member of our family was hoping she’d garner that kind of honour and reverence from us too. Dreaming!
You ugly mother fuckers taste so damn good when deceased and fried..!
After a delicious, perhaps overindulgent dinner, we all stumbled out feeling heavily pregnant and decided to walk it off on our way to Kelly’s pad for some wine tasting courtesy of their wine bar Fico. When we arrived to Fedeli’s lair there were bottles upon bottles of wine of all different shades and textures. Shit was getting serious. Kelly decided to whip out the Wii for us kids, but it wasn’t long before the adults took over the console and tried to relive their youth. It was like unleashing a child in a candy store for the first time; they were absolutely amazed by this innovative piece of technology, especially my dad whom we couldn’t tear away from the Wii board for hours!! He had us all in stitches as he cursed the screen in Italian. Now he’s convinced he needs a Wii in his life to feel complete.
Meanwhile my mum almost broke her pelvis doing the hoola hoop exercise and Fabiola proved that her pilates classes were indeed paying off with her flexibility. The rest of us shook our heads and erupted in laughter at the pure sight of these geriatrics. Bless ‘em!
On Wednesday night it was time to catch up with the Jbirds who had rejoined us in Sydney after our Byron Bay getaway. Sophie, Tenaya, Kelly and I went over to Shady Pines to meet them and indulge in delectable apple vodkas. Damn they are good!
Once we’d overloaded on apple vodka goodness and fell it was time to retreat we made our French exit and excitedly ran home for we knew what awaited us; the original Super Mario Bros game for Nintendo Wii! Yes folks we were reliving our childhood; the one where we stayed up all night at our nonnas house glued to the TV and remotes trying to beat the almighty Bowser! We were surprisingly flying through all the lands, playing better whilst drunk as skunks as opposed to earlier that afternoon when we were totally sober.
On Thursday night Kelly, Juanita, Jeremy and I had dinner at The Winery. Just a tip for future patrons it’s called The Winery for a reason; yes, it’s well equipped with a beautiful selection of wine and provides a succulent, dim-lit and romantic atmosphere catered for wine afficionados – but they cannot cook for shit! Alright fuck it, I’m breaking my promise and putting a negative dent into this post. Do not, I repeat do not waste your money on the overpriced, tasteless and excessively complicated dishes on their menue! I feel slightly nauseous just thinking about my duck ravioli blended with the incongruent ingredients of turnips, crispy potato chips and dog urine.
Who is considered an idol, a lifesaver or an inspiration? And who on the other hand is inherently evil, malicious and utterly despised? These were the questions I was asking myself in the lead up to Dom’s “Heroes & Villains” 21st Birthday party. All my idols and inspirations are male musicians and I didn’t really feel like growing a beard or a penis for the night so due to my incredible laziness, increativity and general hate for themes I decided not to really participate at all. Actually no, that’s a lie, at the very last inute I whacked on a floppy black hat, Lennon-inspired glasses and branded myself with the words “War Is Over” across my chest to emulate Yoko Ono. She is a hero; not only for her comitmemnt to peace and protest but in her marital commitment to the ingenious John Lennon! Now that I think about it though, I actually looked more like Stevie Nicks – or atleast the bartender seemed to think so!
For the sake of keeping my dignity and relatively spotless reputation I’m going to tell you the extremely censored verson of the nights events. We drank sensibly, reveled in everyone’s exciting costumes, had a little dance, went to our own beds very early and woke up feeling absolutely splendid. Okay okay okay… so there MAY have been a hotel afterparty, jumping on a bed whilst cranking Nirvana and The Doors with vodka in hand and an incident involving the bathroom sink. But it’s deep in the past and erased from my immediate memory.
Oh and one last name and shame that I promised Kurt to round off the blog; here’s Mr Muller sporting my “Yokohamma” glasses (Think he meant Yoko Ono – but whether that’s his inevitable ignorance or mere drunkness I do not know?) and attempting to relive his fairytale youth in a semi-naked Peter Pan ensemble that looks more like a homosexual Adam & Eve costume than a character from Neverland. What a douche bag, right? Over and out!!!!!! x x
It’s not too far-fetched to say that most Sydney-siders dread the annual New Years Eve countdown. This is partly because they’ve finally come to their senses about how overrated it is, and partially due to the fact that celebratory options are both scarce and unappetizing. Who wants to pay $200 for entry into a seedy metropolitan nightclub only to be bumping and grinding amongst smashed, shirtless, cocaine-sniffing hooligans and end up vomiting in a gutter before midnight strikes, waking up in bed with an absolute stranger that in the light of sobriety doesn’t look as much like R-Patz as you’d thought and the only recollection of your NYE experience being an excruciating hangover?!?!
You may or may not have picked up on it by now – but I don’t look forward to NYE, at all. So to save me the strife and regret of yet another failed one, I decided to escape the city, the festivals and the house parties altogether. I eloped to beachy, laid-back Byron Bay for 4 days in the company of some loved ones who had the same idea; Kelly, my brother Lucas and our special visitors from London town Jeremy and Juanita (The JBirds!) We entrenched ourselves deep in the Arakwal national park, away from the bumpkin chaos ensuing at the main town and immersed ourselves in a world of hamocs, red wine, vintage vinyl records, waterfalls, secluded beaches, bush walks and friendly pythons.
But before I get to the details of our splendid getaway, I suppose I should start with the journey there a.k.a. our ambitious 10hr drive through the dark, lonely night. Why my stubborn brother subjected us to such a torturously long drive and a night of little to no sleep only God knows. Luckily we found a few ways to amuse ourselves though;
Frequent pit stops in dark, secluded car parks with syringe disposal units and undrinkable water taps where we thought Ivan Milat was going to come after us
Having conversations with our best feline friend “Talking Tom”
Reciting Trent From Punchy and Alf Stewart youtube clips
A random and painful selection of my uncles CD’s including; Alicia Keys, Michael Jackson and Jamiroquai. Thankfully there was some RHCP in there too!!!!
Being flashed, beeped at and screamed at by angry, insomniac truck drivers driving at a rapid speed towards us who were trying to inform us about our high beams that were permanently and unintentionally on.
Witnessing the not so “Big Banana” and “Big Prawn” on the highway… what disappointments!
McDonald’s breakfast (Kelly’s one condition when agreeing to endure the midnight drive)
When we finally arrived to our destination looking disheveled, clammy and homeless, we greeted our much loved parent figures Jgirl and Jboy before battling each other for the first shower. The house was amazing! Spacious, artistic and very relaxing, we couldn’t haved asked for anything more. All we could have asked for was for tenants that weren’t such strange, stoned airheads.
We spent the day at the foamy, quiet beach with a determined dog called Bella who was digging for crabs and spraying sand all over us, got burgers from Beloporto (best burgers in Oz Lucas claims) and finished up with a boozy dinner in town amongst the unruly crowds and peverted old men that were stroking the faces of young innocent boys. I also suffered my first animal attack that day, at first mistaking the insect bite for a splinter and hopping on one foot for a good half hour like an imbecile.
That was just one of the many creaturely run-ins we had during our stay. We witnessed everything from diamond shaped pythons and tree frogs to bush turkeys and huge huntsman spiders crawling in and around our house, each time sending Jeremy into a fit of excitement or fear. That’s what you get for living in the Aussie bush mate!
We embarked on a little daytip to Minyon Falls on Friday in search of a fresh waterhole to wade in but regardless of our attempts all we found was a huge cliff with a cascading waterfall that we couldn’t swim down or in.
So instead we headed to Clarks Beach and got ourselves a tan – or in sensitive, pale Jbirds’ case a sunburnt back and a heat-triggered headache.
It was Friday night, the one we’d all been trepidating – NYE. We all wanted to rebel against the convention and pressure of it so what did we do? We cooked us up a scrumptious BBQ on our terrace, chilled in the hamoc, shared past memories and future hopes as well as beliefs of the supernatural and watched funny youtube clips. There was nothing wild or drunken about it! Just a smooth transition into the New Year and one we would definitely remember thanks to our sobriety, heartwarming company and gorgeous surroundings.
THE HAMOC BATTLES: Kelly Vs. Lucas
Admittedly Kelly, Lucas and I did fall into the NYE trap temporarily and quickly jetted off to a hippie-inspired shindig on a farm to meet Milla and co for the official countdown, but again nothing too riotous happened there anyway! By 1am Kel and I were snuggled up in bed and watching Seinfield and as lame as that sounds it was a much more gratifying NYE than past ones. If I recall correctly, the last NYE I spent with Fedeli I came home to bed inebriated and totally dysfunctional even before the clock had struck 12 and I snuggled up with my vomit stricken pillow in my fancy dress and woke up with no memory at all. Need I say anymore?
We were blessed with perfect weather during out getaway but on Day 3 (NY Day) some light drizzle showered over Byron. So on this off day we took the opportunity to make a little roadtrip to Nimbin; the ultimate dope-growing, eccentric hippie town of Australia.
Kelly and I couldn’t have possibly mentally prepared ourselves for the kooky oddballs and overall alternative vibe of this vibrant place if we had tried. Lucas insisted it was a must-see place, but why we followed his advice I really do not know. This is the guy who wore 2 pairs of socks, 2 shirts, jeans and sneakers to the beach on a 30 degree day! I can’t really explain the hallucinogenic vibe of Nimbin, so I’ll have to let the following images do all the talking…
With drug addicts, drug dealers and drug seekers alike parading their true colours all over the joint (no pun intended), Kelly and I felt really uncomfortable and anxious. We cringingly watched Lucas devour a breakfast meal at a squalid, decrepit café sure to be brimming with Occupational Health & Safety defects, waiting for him to spontaneously combust.The aromatic incense, crystal balls, horoscopes, rainbow skirts and therapeutic music in the strip of shops were the only things that kept us calm, cool and collected.
That evening we decided to have an elegant, upmarket dinner where we could expect good gourmet food, commendable service and a pleasant atmosphere. St Elmos was the restaurant of choice – it looked pretty trendy and professional.
Well, let’s just say the food was great but we’ll have to draw the line right there. Not only did we have to wait half an hour to be properly seated, but just as we lifted our forks to savour our meals for the first time, an army of cockroaches came spilling out of the crevices of the brick wall. They took a particular liking to Juanita, whose shoulder was a diving platform for one of the six-legged pests. Naturally, we all leaped out of our seats screaming.
For some extremely odd reason we were the only patrons who seemed to be concerned about the possibility of these disgusting creepy-crawlys having a field day in our food and scampering up our legs. Most of the bogan Aussies stared and laughed at us as though we were being though with the impression we were being overly dramatic and prudent. One obnoxious fellow even had the nerve to taunt Juanita by jokingly yelling, “watch out, there’s one on your back!”
Obviously mortified at the sight of the gang of roaches and offended by our fellow customers’ insensitivity, we turned to the restaurant staff hoping for some sympathy and compensation. But d’you know what we got instead? Not the best seat in the house, not a complimentary bottle of wine and certainly not a discount. Just a clueseslly crude blonde waitress who relocated us back to the “waiting table” by the front door and said, “It’s all part of the al fresco dining experience” with a million dollar smile. Hold up a fucking second. Did she REALLY just say that!? Did she try and market the whole “cockroach + outdoor dinner” as a viable, appealing package?! This brainless goose turned it around to seem as though it was OUR fault for selecting to eat at a restaurant that was partially open-air on a rainy night.
You can imagine how gobsmacked and disturbed we felt by this. We contemplated leaving abruptly, reprimanding the manager, enlisting services of a lawyer or dropping a bomb on St Elmos altogether – but instead we bit our tongues and ate our meals.
Jeremy brightened up the situation by stealing Kelly’s phone and hacking her Facebook (a favourite past time and/or addiction he developed in London). Having only recently discovered the “Check In” feature on FB, he found out which other people were currently dining at St Elmo and carefully selected two victims – one male and one female. To the girl he wrote something along the lines of “Hey babe, It’s Kelz here let’s totes be besties xoxo” and to the guy he wrote “You’re so hot! Meet me in the bathroom in 10mins for a good time”. Poor Kelly was mortified, even more so when no one replied to her eager requests.
The next morning – our last day in Byron – we had a healthy breakfast at Twisted Sister, followed by a spell of shopping and then headed over to the foam and freak free Belongil beach.
Despite having detected the school of bluebottles that began drifting to shore, I decided it was simply too hot to let these little stingers ruin my emancipation in the refreshing water. So I continued swimming anyway. 10 mins later I was stung by one of these fuckers and in hindsight I thank the heavens that it was only tiny. As I limped out of the water and declared my injury, one guy offered to urinate on my leg (apparently it eases the pain). I shot a demonic, disgusted glare at him and he slowly backed away.
At first I didn’t think the aftermath was that unbearable, it just felt like a small sharp pain that lasted no more than 15mins. I even remember thinking to myself “Gee, it’s not as bad as I always thought it would be. I’m going to swim in bluebottle infested waters more often from now on”. Boy I was so, so wrong about that. But I’ll elaborate on that when we get to it…
That afternoon we joined our lovely friend Hayley (whom we met in London and who recently just returned home to Byron Bay) at Soul Bowl for lunch. What a spin out to see her in her natural habitat – chilling in flip flops and a multi-coloured sarong by the Aussie beachside! We headed down to the sand again with Hayley, her sister and some of her friends.
Here’s what they’d been up to earlier in the day..
Again I foolishly braved the bluebottle-ridden waters, coming out again as a victim. This time one of the stingers managed to wrap its tentacles around my leg – which I had to quickly flick off me – so the sharp pain was more widespread. I was convinced though that it wouldn’t hurt too much… wrong, wrong, wrong again!!
For our last dinner together we tried our luck with another “al fresco” restaurant. This time though we weren’t subject to an invasion of bugs nor a ditzy waitress. In fact we were served by a very beautiful, very polite foreign waitress and got to eat our Japanese meals in peace.
In celebration of this we ordered a round of sake – but I put the shot glass down the moment it touched my lips, for to me it tastes like acidic vodka. After dinner we made our way to the iconic “Railways Bar” that hosts a lot of live music.
On tonight’s music menu was a dread-locked, beatboxing, didgerido-playing extraordinaire and his band of neanderthiles. They were definitely not superstar material, but at least it was amusing watching them entertain the drunken derelict crowd with beat boxing remixes of Michael Jackson and U2.
That night I’d planned to get a long, solid slumber in preparation for the long drive home in the morning. Well, that idea went straight out the window when my dormant blue bottle sting decided to awaken, swell up, blister and make me frantically scratch myself through the endless, dark hours of the night. I was in hell. I felt like I was on fire/had chicken pox all over again. This extreme irritation didn’t cease for a good 3-4 days and no amounts of antiseptic/numbing cream could bring the bluebottle’s revengeful reign to a halt. NEVER again will I underestimate the power of a bluebottle. And I certainly will never purposely swim in blue bottled infested waters again either!
This weekend was a darn miracle. Something very unexpected and pleasantly atypical occurred; I actually had a wonderful Christmas. The Grinch, the ultimate hater of all things jolly and traditional, indeed had herself a Merry Christmas after all.
The past 5 years of Christmas have been identical and equally lackluster in my family; a typical wog lunch at my nonna’s house in the burbs, sitting around the TV for hours watching the Rai Italia channel whilst twiddling our thumbs and then us “kids” unexcitedly opening a few uninspiring presents. But this year the Andreucci/Fedeli family decided to spice things up a bit. We all packed our bags, farewelled the Inner West and ventured into the countryside for a cherry-picking Christmas extravaganza weekend!
My aunties Marina and Patrizia live in a vibrant little cottage up in Orange and run a much-loved Italian restaurant called ‘Fiorini’ on their largely vegetated property. They live the simple life; cooking, gardening, breathing in the fresh country air, painting and nurturing their playful pet dog Sam and endearing blonde horse Patricia. This weekend they invited us up to have a little taste of their tranquil world.
One by one the members of our tightknit family began to arrive in Orange and unloaded all their belongings into the cabins we’d arranged for our accommodation. Our cabin was titled “The Barnyard” and adhering to the whole country theme it had farm animal figurines and wallpaper everywhere that made me feel really uncomfortable. I felt like I was reverting back to my infant years and sleeping in a nursery. Not only that but I would be sharing this “Barnyard” with my brother, my parents and my estranged uncle. Thankfully there were separate beds for us all, but nevertheless this was going to be a rather in-ter-est-ing experience.
As soon as my partner in crime – Kelly Fedeli – arrived into town we cracked open a bottle of red and sat in the pleasant sunny paddock drinking and harassing the innocent animals. Being drunk was the only way we could envision ourselves getting through this weekend.
We spent the rest of the afternoon catching up with family, feeding on fresh seafood appetisers and keeping the wine flowing deep into the night. By the time dinner rolled around we were prettayyyy tipsy and beginning to embarrass the family. Thankfully everyone else was beginning to reach our wavelength of inebriation and loosen up a bit too. It ended up being one hilariously fun evening.
When the time was right we introduced the famiglia to CRANIUM; the top selling trivia boardgame that requires teamwork, commonsense, creativity and intellect. These are four things our family seems to lack, especially when under the influence of potent alcohol. Cranium had our whole family in stitches of laughter, fits of controversial rage and a whirlwind of mayhem; just how an Italian Christmas eve should be!
Typical..
The oldies started to freak out when they realized it was midnight and way past their bedtime. Too much excitement for one night I guess! We packed up the corruptive Cranium game and called it a night. The next morning everyone woke up pretty cranky in my cabin because a mystery snorer kept everyone tossing and turning in their sleep. We spent the first 20mins of the early morning pointing the finger of blame at each other. I decided to get some fresh air and have a stroll through the beautiful rose garden with my camera in hand.
Once everyone had crawled out of bed with their mild hangovers and systemized themselves we made our way over to the ranch for a light breakfast; coffee, panettone cake and leftovers of course!
It was Christmas day and instead of watching Rai Italia like deadbeats as done in the past, our auntie Marina decided to break the vicious cycle with something more lively and exciting that she had planned; a morning frolic through the cherry fields and a lifetime supply of wild, juicy crimson fruit.
Everyone spread out through the cherry tree-lined forest with their plastic bags and boxes and began dedicatedly handpicking the scrumptious fruits. Kelly and I however quickly gave up on cherry-picking and instead began eating them, spitting the seeds at each other, skipping through the crops and inciting airbourne photoshoots with our cousins Ray, Karina & Lucas. Meanwhile Domenico and Uncle Kick were launching rotten cherries at us, I suppose they too quickly got over the novely of fruit picking.
Cherry Christmas everybody!
New MGMT album cover, perhaps?
Yes, I’m related to this. No, I’m not proud of it.
When we got back to the ranch we watched Kick sneakily trying to mount the horse whilst the devoted women of the family began cooking up a storm for lunch, which as per usual was divine.
Balding Human Vs. Bountiful Hairy Horse
Patrizia the hungry horse having a cheeky nibble out of mum.
Patrizia strikes again!
But no horse will go near this feral, smelly creature above…
After stuffing ourselves for the fourth and regretfully not the last time that weekend, the Fab Five decided to explore a bit of the countryside and go for a cruise. We discovered a picturesque lake nearby but unfortunately it had also been discovered by a horde of rampant feral families too. With naked fat kids wading in the water, dreadlocked beasts cavorting in the sandboxes and barefoot neanderthiles guarding the barbeque areas we felt cornered and unwanted so we promptly left and headed back to the safety of within the ranch gates.
To erase that distasteful visual memory we declared it “Present Timeeeee!” Everyone gathered around the gift table, which was looking quite bountiful this year thanks to our Kris Kringle initiative that required every family member to participate.
I curiously opened up the little card to my KK present, which began with; “Hello brother”. I knew exactly who it had come from. I shot a highly amused glance at none other than my vampiric brother Kelly. She’d thoughtfully bestowed me with a studded knuckle-duster, some hippie bracelets and those bohemian “worry dolls” we used to put under our pillows as kids to eliminate our concerns and fears throughout the dark night.
The Three Sisters (OPSM advertisers eat your heart out!)
Twas nice to see that everybody participated in this KK gift exchange, even Uncle Kick who finally renounced his tendencies to jokingly buy people bananas, blow up sex dolls and illegally daggy underwear for Christmas, instead buying my auntie some beautiful perfume this year.
We spent the rest of the evening dabbling with Cranium, chilling in the sunshine, chasing the dog around the paddock, witnessing “DOUBLE RAINBOWS!”, dressing up as holy priests, eating our last supper, having a fiery debate about Facebook and playing Italian bingo. I managed to get through Christmas this year without having a breakdown, watching trashy Italian TV shows or falling asleep under the dinner table… and that folks, is quite a fucking feat for grinchy old me!
WOAHHHHHH! A double rainbow! What does this mmeeeaaaaannnnnnn?!?!?!?
If there’s one person renowned for throwing one of, if not, the best annual summer house parties in the Inner West it’s definitely Chris Romeo (I can already sense his ego growing). Usually such a momentous event is thrown to celebrate his birthday, educational graduation or loss of virginity, but this year it marked his farewell to Sweden. The lucky bastard is jetsetting to Europe for a 6 months of exchange – I might just have to sneak myself into his suitcase somehow!
Christopher’s party was also different this year in that there was a dress-up theme; “Bikinis, Sarongs & Thongs”. I’m not a big fan of themed parties (especially when it involves revealing your body to such extents) so in order to be able to stomach 7 hours of bulky beach bods, tacky leopard cut-out costumes from Hot Line and the general uncomfortability that a fully fledged hot tub party induces, I knew what I had to do; get totally inebriated. And that my friends, is precisely what I did.
After one too many drinks at mine, Sophie and I stumbled into the Romeo gates at 11pm where we found several people throwing shapes on the dancefloor, guzzling booze from Americanised plastic cups, faux sheep rapists, Jacuzzi Junkies and as expected, a horde of half-naked, testosterone-fuelled partygoers. Through my drunken eyes it appeared everyone was having an awesome time.
I’m the ONLY one with demonic cat eyes in EVERY photo… is the camera trying to tell me something?
Unfortunately there’s not much I can recall and recount to you from the evening except for two more things that occurred throughout the night’s course; meeting my archenemy and my soul mate simultaneously. My ultimate nemesis came in the form of an obnoxious infant whose name we must not mention.
He wasted more or less his entire evening warning me of the foul, negative side effects of females drinking beer, crowning me a satanic emo bitch and wishing premature death upon me. I’ve never been so amused by another humans hostility towards me.
Moving on to the love of my life, standing tall at 12.5 inches, with a handsomely chiseled jawline, an irresistible black and white fur coat and a million dollar smile, this very special four-legged friend stole my heart within seconds of me laying eyes upon him. I’m talking about none other than Mr Mittens!
Before I knew it, it was 3am and most of the patrons had left, I was still wide awake though and fairly tipsy. I began harassing Chris’ poor mother – who was starting to sort through and sterilize the ruins and rubble of the party’s aftermath – to please find my shoe harness that had fallen off my fave pair of shoes and a silver leaf ring I’d lost. With the way I was carrying on, I’m positive I firmly etched it into her mind that finding these 2 beloved items was a matter of life or death for me. I’m pretty sure I also implanted this into the minds of a lot of other people at the party who I was half-jokingly whinging to for a solid 5 hours. Anyways a long walk down a dark road and a cab later I finally made it into bed and let my concerned brain go to rest.
Naturally I woke up to a pulsating, unmerciful hangover the next morning. But that’s not the only thing I woke up to. As my eyelids struggled to separate from each other and my cranium began to make sense of what I was seeing in my peripheral vision, I cranked my head to the bedside table and guess what I found staring me in the face? My god damn shoe harness!! Yep, that’s right, I didn’t even wear the freaking thing to the party, I left it at home all along (oh and my ring ended up being in the car so I didn’t wear that to the party either!!!) Boy did I feel stupid and terribly bad knowing that Chris’ mum was turning the house upside down in search of them… I don’t however, feel guilty for complaining to the rest of the party, because that was quite pleasurable actually!
No one really socializes with or appreciates their neighbours that much anymore. I remember the days where nextdoor neighbours were like family members; you’d have sleepovers, mind each other’s pets, invite them over for lavish birthday banquets and buy them thoughtful Christmas presents. Nowadays you’ll go to extreme lengths to avoid and ignore them. I for instance don’t tend to go outdoors between the hours of 3pm and 4pm because I know that’s when my annoying, highly talkative neighbours are hosing down the driveway, scooping dead leaves into the drains and seeking companionship. It took my new batch of psychotic nextdoor neighbours who’ve managed to crash their car into our wall not once, but twice, for me to realize I’d taken my lovely ex-neighbours for granted. So on Saturday night Mum and I organized a little reunion with them at a local pizzeria. Gifts were exchanged, old memories shared and new memories made – just the way neighbourly relationships should be!
Wow I don’t know where that overly positive outburst came from..
Anyway back to my true cynical, sarcastic self… After things finally wrapped up at dinner I headed to Surry Hills for a 21st birthday that I was simply WAY too late for and hence the action-packed, fun-filled night I’d anticipated quickly vanished from any future possibilities and instead spiraled into epic failure. Why I even bothered to go out I do not know. Since when do birthday parties finish at midnight? I obviously missed the memo and by the time I arrived unfashionably late after 11pm everyone was sloshed and beginning to vacate the premises. I ended up following the herd back to… wait for it… Five Dock pub (kill me), followed by Bianca’s residence which was renamed “Bar 2046”, watched everyone crawl around on the floor screaming “Gale!” and then walked home in the dark. Really eventful.
Mitch brushing his teeth with a handy dandy mini toothbrush he just happened to pull out of his pocket.
Dale rummaging through the Bar 2046 cabinets for any signs of alcohol.
Moving onto another pet hate of mine (apart from pointless nights out) is none other than Christmas. Oh yes, Jesus’ birthday, the day/s everyone gets overexcited, recklessly spendthrifty and unexplainably conventional. So much unnecessary fuss over one day, one day that besides is usually a let down. I already despise having to buy a single present each time someone’s birthday rolls around, and Christmas just tips me over the edge with the obligation to buy MULTIPLE presents; mum, dad, brother… oh and this year my family decided to throw in a Kris Kringle activity so I had to buy my “Secret Santa” victim something too! So basically on Sunday instead of doing something productive and exciting with life, I had to endure the first round of Christmas shopping pandemonium in Westfields. Yes, I’m totally and utterly a self-confessed Grinch.
Flower Power.
Lurking in the graveyard..
Back to Grinchyness, my dear friend Sophie miraculously lured me out of my cave and into my local park for the annual Christmas Carols. I lasted literally 3 seconds in the illuminated park before I turned around and walked back home (partly because the earsplitting sounds of happy children were driving me insane and partly because in the end I couldn’t manage to find Sophie amongst all the confusion anyway).
And to finish up what was quite an uneventful week in my life was our Tuesday night drinks in Halliday Park. Beer, mysterious jumping fish and magnums are what filled our delightful evening by the water…
My frost-bite-prone friends in glacial London town would instantly slap the living daylight outta me if they heard me whinge about the “downfalls” of living in a beach-infested, eternally sun-stricken city where you can’t escape the ultraviolet rays and where the brightest star of all constantly renders you lethargic. It’s true though! I spent most of this week looking and feeling like a shiny red lobster and trying to dezombify myself for I’d been baking in the potent sun at the beach for several days in a row and foolishly not wearing sunscreen out of pure laziness.
On Sunday mother duck and I went to our “family beach” at Nielson Park where we found all the usual suspects from Five Dock sipping on ¾ lattes and telling tittle-tattles.
And just for a change of scenery on Monday we spent the morning at the blue bottle infested Tamarama beach. I was already feeling knackered and cantankerous from the heat of the constant sun I’d exposed my body to so the last thing I needed that afternoon was to be stranded on the scorching hot pavement waiting for the NRMA to arrive because my genius mother had locked the keys in the car. She playfully laughed it off, but my eyes were fiery red and I’m sure there was steam fuming out from my ears over this inconvenient incident…
That evening I joined lover birds Tara & Jon and Carrina & Manny (my imaginary boyfriend’s outta town) at Hurricanes and Ravesi’s in Bondi for Jon’s boozy farewell dinner back to the land of the French where he resides on a full-time basis. Apart from mouthwatering steaks and a few prank calls to a supposed upmarket prostitute in Carrina’s college class, nothing of great significance occurred.
I came home that night to find Rampant Rosemary on the loose and fiddling with my one and only birth child…
On Tuesday morning I scared the living daylight outta the courier dude when I answered the door in a Slipknot t-shirt anddisheveled hair and unexpectedly shrieked in his face when I realized what was in the package he was delivering to me. I’d been impatiently waiting a long 6 weeks for this delivery. Sold out after popular demand, the British factories had to put their hands to work to custom-make me a pair of these kicks hence the long waiting period. Anyways, without further adieu I present to you… my CREEPERS!!!!
Masterpieces, huh? I know. I’m gonna be creepin’ all over town with these bad boys. Allow me to introduce myself, I’m PUSS IN CREEPERS.
On Wednesday evening Kara, Karlie, Mahla, Dean and I had a seafood sunset picnic in Henry Lawson Park. Equipped with delicious seafood platters and pear ciders, we snuck past the obese woman who Dean claimed would steal our food and set up shop by the water.
The only thing that was going to attempt to steal our food however, was the friendly black canine whom we time-sensitively named “Oprah” after our long discussion about the famous American do-gooder who had invaded our city.
Outnumbered and frustrated by us women, Dean quickly grew tiresome of us and began making excuses like “the mozzies are attacking me” and “you girls are too loud, the fat lady can hear you” so he could flee to the lonesome swingset. Our time at the park was limited as it soon became pitch dark and the lack of park lighting forced us out.
We passed the extremist Christmas house lights in Five Dock that looked like Barcelonian discotheques, had a flip through Kara’s family albums and got coerced into hearing her read out a collection of tween-aged friendship and hate letters from high school.
On Thursday evening I got to take my camera out for another spin as I was being contracted to photograph the Gorillaz gig at Sydney Entertainment Centre for Music Feeds (relax, didn’t earn a dime for it, but I did get to touch Damon Albarn!)
I lingered around the box office as instructed by the PR having an intense stare-off with all my competitors from music media outlets all over Sydney. I’ve heard all the gritty stories about vicious photo pits and really having to play the dirty game if you want that million dollar shot. I eyeballed all my rivals who seemed to be atleast 50 years of age, battle scars on their faces, leather gang jackets and tribal bandana’s haha perhaps I’m exaggerating a bit there but it certainly was evident – particularly through their array of insanely large and expensive DSLR cameras – that these guys had years of industry experience under their belt and meant business. Who the hell did I think I was, 21 year old amateur photographer with some midget camera in tow trying to roll with the big boys?!? Haha fuck it I thought as I followed the 20-strong photo gang into the pit right at the front of the stage.
The pressure was on; we were directed that we could only start shooting on song #3 until song #5 with no flash. As soon as Gorillaz launched into “Last Living Souls”, “19/2000” and “Stylo” we were all taking photos like our lives depended on it. It was so exhilarating!! I really got into it; pushing to the front, tying my hair firmly back and putting my game face on. Can I just say Damon Albarn is one megababe, reminds me of Jude Law except he’s the frontman of two internationally successful bands (Gorillaz and Blur) so that’s an instant 50 extra points for Mr Albarn.
He was singing right into my lense and hovering over my head, so close in fact 1. I couldn’t help but reach out and carress his leg and 2. I couldn’t fit him in my lens range. And what a spectacular entertainer he was too, in fact all of them put on such a great performance. In the end I got about 20 decent shots, the rest were complete duds, but hey it was more or less my first time so give me a bloody break!
On Friday indecisive Danielle whizzed past my house and collected myself and my Creepers for a catch up lunch that was well overdue. Not knowing what we felt like eating or where we felt like going for the first 20mins of the drive, we eventually decided on a light salad at the White Horse on Crown St. Funnily enough we bumped into Tristan and Elissa as we were creepin’ on the street, who later joined us up on the outdoor terrace where the tables were all reserved for a mysterious “Anita” ghost who never even showed up for her own par-tay.
Tristan ran us through some of his milestone stalker stories, whilst Danielle presented her latest ideas for silent films and controversial photo shoots and Elissa deconstructed the death of Ellery into simple form for us. Tristan came very close to making me heave back up my delicious mango and prawn salad when he revealed a collection of photos he’d taken of an extremely rotund woman prancing around the city… wait for it.. stark naked! Yes ladies and gentlemen, this whale-like woman had her saggy breasts and creasing vagina flaps out for all to see and worst of all absolutely no shame. Even as poor pedestrians tried to cover her genitalia with sheets and clothes she refused the offer and continued smearing her sweaty exposed skin over shopfront windows. If only I had the photos to show you…
Here’s a little “impromptu” photo shoot we had to conclude the day at the White Horse. Totally natural and unplanned, I promise…
Hello loyal readers! Yes, I’m still alive. Apologies for the delay in updating posts, I’ve been a busy bee over the past couple of weeks with live gigs, booze-fulled escapades, drag shows, pool parties, amateur photography, sleeping in and taking up residency at the beach. Ah the joys of unemployment..
Picking up from where we left off, on Thursday evening I joined Kara, Jordan and Matteo at the Beresford for a tame drink in the beer garden before we encountered the drunken disorderly Kelly Fedeli cavorting outside of Oxford Art Factory in her hocus pocus-inspired floorlength skirt.
The night was kinda spent wandering around the streets, taking midnight gothic photos by the church, spotting all the obnoxious cars sporting antlers and red Rudolph noses and contemplating what to do. To go out or not to go out, that was the question.
Whilst the rest of the bemused gang made up their minds Kara and I ducked into Arq Bar to catch the last segment of the midnight drag show. What a spectacle! I haven’t been in SO long. There was the usual horde of blonde-wigged, long eyelashed stiletto wearing queens prancing around the stage that night.
But much to our delight there was also a chick dressed as a hard-hitting man, donning a penned moustache whose stage name was “Leonardo Die Caprio”. Her song of choice was Linkin Park’s devastatingly melancholic “Numb”. So dismal yet so amusing! In the end (no pun intended) she didn’t win the crown, but she definitely scarred the audience for life.
When we got back and found the gang sitting by the petrol station in a confused state we looked at their faces and assumed they’d come to the consensus that “to not go out” was the answer, so we promptly took ourselves home.
I helped Kelly cure her hangover with Makoto sushi and lychee iced tea on Friday before heading to the comforts of home, bed and the dinner table.
The next morning I was back in Surry Hills for my first fill-in shift at Auntie Gabby’s café Il Baretto. I’ve never worked in hospitality and consider myself quite the hazardous clutz when it comes to serving food and catering to people. But my boss was not going to have any sympathy for this. She threatened to work me hard, make me carry three plates at a time and take orders straight up. My boss was none other than Kelly Fedeli; expert waitress at your service. Oh how I wanted to wipe the smirk off her face with my bare hands as she watched me struggle and humiliate myself! Anyways without boring you of work details I survived the day and was rewarded with a nice big plate of tuna arrabiata pasta courtesy of wizard chef Dirk.
I was rewarded once again that night when I went to the magnificently intense Korn gig at Hordern Pavilion with my brother. Lucas grew up listening to the death metal likes of Korn and Slipknot and I used to label him an emo freak and be concerned at the anger and misery it was undoubtedly instilling in. But now I realize how naïve I was and how truly talented and barrier breaking these dreadlocked musicians are. You can check out my KORN review by clicking here.
As you can imagine the venue was crawling with hardcore head bangers, but much to my surprise even despite the torturously heavy quality of Korn’s music the mosh pit was really tame and compliant. Might have been a disappointment for those looking forward to a dislocated shoulder or battered and bruised body but it suited me just fine! I was blown away by their recently allocated drummer Luzier’s pulsating solos – I guess it comes as no surprise though that Korn would only employ someone of true merit to provide the persistent back line of sound that supports them. Check out a segment of his extended solo piece here..
Monday was a good day. I started my first day as production assistant at an online fashion website that runs advertising campaigns and received a small package in the mail that I’d been anticipating for weeks. Called “Brands Exclusive” and located conveniently in the city, the clothing website where Sophie works took me on board for the week to fill in for another employee and worked from 8am – 6pm everyday. For a girl that has pretty much sat on her arse for 5 weeks and previously to that had an office job for a year located in a computer seat, running around manically on my feet all day managing inbound/outbound sample stock, steaming clothes and assisting models and photographers was a bit of a shock to the ol’ system. Twas rather nice to be able to have boozey lunches with Sophie everyday though and finally pop my “Sushi On Stanley” cherry!
So back to the mail package… it was Kassidy’s latest EP I’d ordered online weeks prior. I insist you check them out, you will not be disappointed! CLICK HERE NOW OR DIE. I’m slowly converting Sydneysiders into Kassidy fans one by one, starting with Sophie whose computer I forcefully inserted the CD into during work and stood over her with headphones for a week until she listened to the whole thing. Here is Kassidy’s latest film clip..
After three days of full-time, full throttled work at Brands Exclusive I needed a stiff drink and a night out with Fedeli. So on Wednesday evening I gatecrashed her apartment, raided the fridge for red wine and put my feet up out on the balcony to soak up what was left of the suns rays. Just as I was finally starting to catch my breath and relax Tenaya barged through the door and rounded us up like cattle, emphasizing we only had 10mins to get ready and be out the door. Christ!! Does life ever stop?! That evening we were attending her brother’s record labels’ party in Slurry Hills. I thought it would be a handful of older, disciplined industry people in suits drinking and discussing the politics of music in some uptown music hall. Boy I was wrong.
We entered the District 101 to find a spacious, white converted warehouse brimming with young, hip and exceptionally well dressed babes!!!! Free beers were flowing from the open bar, there was live music playing, fashion exhibitions and gorgeous photographers roaming the joint to snap up all the shots of Sydney’s elite party models. For the 2 hours that I was at this party I’d forgotten I was in Sydney, Australia. It truly felt like something only London or New York could pull off. Kelly was hyperventilating at all the “babes” in the room.
I personally couldn’t keep my eyes off the photographer who looked like the missing 5th piece to Kings Of Leon. Wow! The menu for live music entailed an 18-year-old rapper from Bankstown who just signed by Sony and a four-piece indie rock band that sounded like a combination of Vampire Weekend and The Klaxons, in other words very unoriginal but regretfully enjoyable to listen to.
On Thursday I made the best decision I had in a long time; I FINALLY invested in a Canon DSLR camera. From now on I can take advantage of photo passes for gigs so I can go straight to the front of the stage in the photo pit and take snaps of live bands. Now all I need to do is learn how to use the damn thing and all it’s complicated features. Watch out big shots, there’s an amateur shooter in town!!
My first victims to witness the wrath of my lens would be Jack Johnson and Gorillaz. We’ll get to that in a moment though..
Friday marked my last day at Brands Exclusive (for now anyway) and to celebrate Sophie and I attended a long lost school friend’s 21st birthday. Niqui was having a “sexy sports star” themed birthday at her new home in Homebush. I don’t quite find anything sexy about sport so we didn’t dress up according to the theme but it sure was nice to see some old faces and catch up.
Since the Caridad family had been shoving quick fuck shots and vodka-fuelled drinks down my throat, naturally I was a bit inebriated so instead of going home like I’d planned we headed over to a pool party in Strathfield.
In my moment of drunkness I think I successfully made the majority of the partygoers loathe me. I did this in the space of 10 short minutes when I incited a controversial conversation about atheism, my hate for the brainwashing nature of Christian religion and the futility of Jesus. Things sure got heated with all the devout catholics taking offense to my overt anti-religious theories. When the annoying electro house music came on and the tops came off in the cabana I decided it was time for me to make a French exit.
On Saturday morning Kara, Isabella and I went to the everso picturesque Red Leaf Sea Pool. Words cannot quite explain its beauty so I’ll let the photos do the talking…
Gillian, Venessa, Camilla and her friend came to briefly join us but since we were sitting on a slanted grassy hill (due to the lack of sand beds) they moved closer to the water where the creepy crawlies couldn’t reach their skin. The water was freezing that day but the heat too overwhelming to bear so most of the beachgoers were literally tossing themselves in the water rather than slowly walking in inch by inch to make it easier. As a young, slightly plump girl launched her body into the water near us and created a splash Kara accidentally and inconsiderately yelled “WOAH!” making the girl feel immediately self conscious and whale-like. Poor thing.
Later that afternoon we stopped off at Bondi Junction for a belated salad lunch as the Red Leaf café was running low in food options and hence left us starving and dehydrating. I kept complaining about how thirsty was, trying to articulate my thirstiness in words. The best I could come up with was; “I’m so freaking thirsty I could drink.. like.. FIVE whole DRINKS!” making the girls burst into pitiable laughter at my pathetic comment.
Keeping to the theme of seabreeze, seawater and sea sun my lovely mother cooked us a delectable seafood meal that night entailing one of my fave pasta dishes – spaghetti alle vongole!
After dinner I invited mum to come to the outdoor Jack Johnson gig at The Domain. Surrounded by the city skyscraper back drop, The Domain’s grassy enclosure is a truly scenic place for a gig, especially for the beachcomber sounds of Jack Johnson. It was the first time I’d be usurping my photo pit access and as I waited for a PR agent to escort into the pit outside I made friends with a young photographer named Tom who was working for The Brag. Right there and then I confessed I was a new shutterbug on the block with photography so kind Tom gave me some tips for the camera and advice on photo pit etiquette.
Unfortunately because we were talking so much and not paying attention we actually got left behind by the escort and instead had to rush through the mosh pit with our mega cameras in hand and battle the crowds who thought we were pushing in just as Johnson had started. So professional haha. By the time we reached the pit it was the end of the third song (you’re only allowed to photograph the first 3 songs of a set) and only got to take a couple of snaps before we were escorted back out. FAILURE!!!
Anyways I farewelled Tom and watched the rest of the set with mum. Whilst admittedly the gig was a bit tedious and repetitive, I enjoyed the bonding time with her and the beautiful balmy summer’s eve we were blessed with. How I adore summertime! You can read my whole Gigjunkie review of the show here. Johnson’s gig got interrupted by the fireworks that were exploding for Oprah’s Sydney presence near the harbour, which made him forget his lyrics and have to control his endearing laughter. What a sweetheart!
One dollop of Kelly Fedeli, a dash of Shannon Andreucci and an overly substantial serving of pungent white wine. In other words, these are the key ingredients for a rather hazardous concoction. It’s not often that the dynamic duo get the opportunity to team up for an evening of alcohol-fuelled debauchery and fun in Sydney, but on Thursday night we rediscovered our wild London party roots and had ourselves a ball.
We kicked off with some “champagne for the lady” (sensual man voice) on Kelly’s balcony that overlooks Hyde Park. Innocent enough, yes? We continued the wine revelry at Il Baretto (Kelly’s café) with a romantic dinner with Milla. Here are some tongue-wagging pics of our delectable meal…
So enticing those photos were actually (especially of the duck pasta), that we convinced ‘Duck Man’ to do a drive by of the restaurant just so he could get his fix of duck ragu.
After sampling the new to-die-for praline semifreddo dessert, we quickly downed those wine bottles and made our way deep into the realms of Surry Hills. First stop on the reckless train ride was the Shady Pines Saloon with Miss Sophie (who was overly paranoid about her whopping duffel bag). Here we stole an honest patron’s table and four chairs to accommodate our lazy arses whilst we sucked the life out of our faux apple martinis.
Not long after Kelly coerced us into an “impromptu” photo shoot inspired by milk crates in the outside alleyway and harassed a poor stranger about having “a wonderful arse!” He beamed at the compliment.
Our next destination was Oxford Arts Factory a.k.a “the cool kids club”. Ohhh the memories we have here; drunken dance parties, pretentious fashion club nights, boisterous gigs, The Killers’ after party. Unfortunately on this particular evening none of those exciting events were occurring. It was just a meager indie rock band making hopeless noise to an inattentive crowd.
We amused ourselves by inserting $8 into the photo booth machine and taking the following treacherous snaps of our unruly selves.
The next stop-off point was Brighton Bar. We were joined by the rest of the long skirt brigade; Ari, Tenaya and Amy (Milla and Sophie were also both donning floor length skirts). Kelly and I suddenly felt like the ones left out of this “new, hot trend” with our rather short attire in comparison. Fedeli tried to amp up her street style credibility by getting Milla to weave a fish bone into her hair, which ended up in an irreversibly disastrous knot that I had to come to the rescue for and violently unravel.
And the undulating train ride didn’t cease there for the night. The final stop before the inevitable pass out was at The Flinders Hotel. I was so relieved when we turned up no one was wearing tie-die t-shirts, flared jeans, floral headpieces, peace sign amulets and Lennon-inspired glasses. Somewhere, somehow Kelly had heard it was meant to be a 60s theme at the bar that night and only told me about it when I arrived at her house dressed and ready to go. So admittedly I was a bit devastated to hear I’d missed out on dressing up in theme for my favourite era of music. Luckily the theme was a hoax and everyone was just wearing their usual failed attempts at an ostentatious east Sydney hipster ensemble. And much to my pleasure the DJ was spinning The Doors, The Beatles and The Rolling Stones – three of my ultimate favourites.
So exhilarated I was by the music (and of course the alcohol too) I ended up dancing up a rock’n’roll/salsa-inspired storm on the d-floor with some stranger. Kelly was in hysterics standing on the wall and watching me fly across the room. Her friend Joel was in charge of the decks that night so we decided to invade and take helm of the DJ booth, raid the available vinyl collection and try to influence his decision making. It didn’t quite work. But we got away with smoking inside the club from our little hiding place since the owner was turning a blind eye so were happy with that small victory.
I remember drunkenly rummaging through the record collection and contemplating shoving a few favourites down my top. Somehow my sick mind thought no one would notice a bundle of large square shapes prodding through my chest??? I’m a bit of a hare-brain I know, but anyways I didn’t go through with it in the end.
Our livers and bodies gave in at around 4am and we dragged ourselves outta the Flinders and back to Kelly’s apartment. It was possibly the first legitimately fun night out in Sydney we’ve had since returning from London. Definitely more fun than the pure pain and agony I had to endure on Saturday that is…
I’m actually really ashamed to confess where I spent my precious weekend. Think pill-poppers, egotistical juiceheads, trashy fake-tanned whores in Supre cutout costumes and Tiesto addicts. It starts with Stereo and ends in Shitic. That’s right braniacs, I went to fucking Stereosonic Festival. If the pitiable line-up of trance masters, dub step dimwits and electrosexual house DJ’s wasn’t bad enough, to top it off it was held in Homebush of all places.. so basically all the hectic, vile scumbags of Sydney were assembled in the one venue for this sweltering hot day of non-stop electro beats.
Don’t let my deceiving smiles fool you.. I was actually contemplating suicide.
Thank the heavens above I did not waste $125 on a ticket. I got my paws on free tickets because I was reviewing the festival. And I instantly regretted it. After leaving the premises at 8pm I made myself a promise. I vowed to never, ever, EVER again attend another house music festival no matter what. I’ve obviously outgrown this whole scene that I was brainwashed into at the age of 17 and don’t understand the thrill of dancing in the sun like you have epilepsy to remixed and ruined tracks. This isn’t REAL music and this isn’t a REAL festival. A real festival brings you talented, inspiring BANDS from all across the globe that not only provide you with worthy, original and mind-blowing live music but also deliver a visible stage performance that you can stand and watch. That way you don’t have to be completely off your nut dancing with your equally as fucked up friends and chewing your lips off from the 6 pills you’ve swallowed to keep yourself entertained because the band supplies you with both visual and aural entertainment. Oh and they actually acknowledge your presence and interact with you. Okay rant over! It was fucking shit, let’s move on.
On Sunday the weather seemed to match my mood; grey, miserable and sodden. Lucky I had two pick-me-ups in the form of Kelly and Marie to look forward to. After a quick wonder around the new Pitt St shopping centre (that looks awfully like Bondi Junction’s maze of a Westfields) I headed over to Fedeli’s residence where Auntie Gab was preparing her revengeful attack and speech for Lord Mayor Clover Moore’s special appearance at their new apartment’s grand opening. She’s a woman on a mission and nothing is getting in her way.
At the same time as writing her speech she was also watching the “Dating In The Dark” show. Marie arrived just in time to give us a recap of the show’s objective (basically you go on a date with someone in a pitch dark room and only reveal yourselves in the spotlight after you get to know each other) and to comment that; “you must be soooo damn desperate to go on this show”. Funnily enough the two female contests on that episode’s show were called Shannon and Kelly. Go figure.
Anyways that evening we went for a lovely thai dinner at Prasits on Crown St where they are known for the worst service in the world but a brilliant food repertoire of curry and noodle dishes.Our intimate dinner and subsequent drinks at the Clock Hotel served to reunite and rekindle our longstanding friendship. Whenever we get together there’s always a typical trip down memory lane of our cherished but simultaneously embarrassing teenage memories. Over a glass of wine I got to say my signature line in my titillating, husky voice; “Champagne for the lady?”
Whilst at the Clock the charismatic security guard kept saying in an alarmingly serious tone; “excuse me girls.. (at this point we think we’ve done something illegal) you’re too attractive to be here” (he says that to everyone) and warning us of perilous bag snatchers and scheming homeless bums. A fellow Clock patron got the shits when we refused him one of our few cigarettes left. He immaturely offered to give us a dollar for one and flung it at the table, by which point we were just over his guilt trips and flicked him a damn cancer stick.
The sky was clearing and the night was still young so we decided to venture over to the Ivy Pool for some more drinks. Probably not the best idea as the weather conditions meant a rather slow night, but we still found it amusing just watching all the pompous Sydneysiders strut by in their clueless outfits. Fedeli was hoping to get Marie and I drunk and in the mood for some Sunday night antics in Kings Cross. I wasn’t buying any of it. Instead we made a pit stop at Marie’s family pizzeria in Paddington for a complimentary feed a la Nia. Kelly was equally satisfied with this decision.
Desperate times cause for desperate measures. We’ve all experienced this at one or many points in our lives. For me it was on Friday night; I was yearning to see some live music, willing to watch any band, anywhere, anytime! Just anything with some guitar riffs and a drum line to keep me entertained. So in my state of desperation.. I went to see… *drum roll*… Thirsty Merc at The Metro! I know, shame on me. But surpisingly it wasn’t as painful and demoralising as I thought it’d be. Naturally, Lucas wasn’t very impressed. Unless it’s a revolutionary jazz/funk/blues artist from the 60s or 70s nothing will satisfy him. He did gain satisfaction however, in scanning the crowd and playing “spot the attention seeker” with himself. His main victim was an oversized blonde bogan girl wearing a hot pink sequence top and dancing promiscuously whom he claimed was “having clear daddy issues”.
Anyway Lucas’ ridiculousness aside, I was happy rekindling my love for the Metro Theatre; it’s such a cool space and perfect for an intimate gig. I wrote my very first gig review for Lip Magazine on Thirsty Merc’s show. Click here to read it!
For all you music snobs who are still condemning me for resorting to a Thirsty Merc gig, I’m sure you will agree that the following musical experience compensates for my previous indiscretion. On Saturday morning Sophie and I embarked on a little road trip upto the Hunter Valley to watch none other than CROWDED HOUSE!
We packed everything we would need for an overnight stay in the valley; a picnic blanket, freshly made Panini and fruit, pillows and blankets, insect repellent and of course an esky with copious amounts of wine. What a beautiful drive through the grapevine infested countryside it was. Thanks to speed demon Sophie we got to Polkolbin in just under 2 hours. I don’t think I could have taken anymore of her Meat Loaf greatest hits compilation anyway!
When we arrived at the Hope Estate we were faced with 2 critical problems; where we would be parking our bed (Sophie’s car) that night and where we would set up our picnic for pre-concert drinks (inside was strictly NO BYO). Thankfully both problems were solved immediately; the free car park was open ALL night and there was a perfect area outside the venue that was in the shade and fit for a sunset piss up.
We cracked open the wine, pulled out the watermelon and strawberries and let the good times roll amongst grapevine valley.
Why some flamboyant trollops decided to pull up in a hot pink stretch hummer to an outdoor Crowded House concert in rural NSW completely baffles me… clearly there was a serious bout of midlife crises occurring there!!
This kick ass combi van made for a much better grand entrance!
Sky divers!
Needless to say the bottle of wine didn’t last us very long. That’s when Sophie got out plan B, our “big sheila baby”. Oh yes, I’m talking about the goon bag haha.
As the alcohol slowly but surely worked its magic in our scrawny bodies, we found ourselves doing kartwheels and jumping jacks in the sunny paddock.
At this point we realised we were inebriated enough to enter the premises. So at 7pm sharp we headed into the Hope Estate’s open-air arena and assumed our positions on the grass.
I was allocated a photo pass for the concert but never intended to use it because I only had a 30mm camera and was too embarrassed to shoot with the big boys in the photo pit who rocked 60mm+ professional cameras. Sophie however had no concerns or shame. She snatched that photo pass and sprinted straight into the photo pit amongst the pros!! I was pissing myself from the sidelines watching her artistically work all those angles during the first three songs of the set.
When she returned all starry-eyed and wound up, she adamantly stated that the bassist was giving her the eye and that “one way or another, we are getting backstage with Crowded House tonight!” I looked at her with deep concern and doubt and let out a bellow of laughter.
Drunken Sophie and I were dancing around the fields to the likes of “Don’t Dream It’s Over” and “Weather With You”, howling at the moon upon Neil Finn’s request and marvelling over the spectacular aftershow fireworks.
After the gig we embarked on a determined quest to find some entertainment; a pub to drink at, some friends to hang out with or just any general tomfoolery we could find! Some mid-aged wine addicts that pitied the fact we were sleeping in our car that night pointed us to the “Fishbowl”. When we finally arrived the security guard shoed us away saying; “Ladies, you can come in here when you stop wobbling”. Clearly that wasn’t going to be happening anytime soon so we just kept on wobbling to the next place! Unfortunately this next place never quite surfaced. We followed a dark, desolate and mysterious road that reminded me of “Stepford Housewives” by night and headed towards these bright blue lights we hoped would be a local pub called Harrigans. What we found instead was a private wedding reception, which we then decided to crash. Yes, we made friends with some hairdresser bogan called Corey outside, scabbed free beers and then ran onto the dancefloor for a stripdance and quick boogie before we were kicked out. They weren’t impressed.
The scary thing is that we didn’t even stop there – for some reason we thought we’d try to crash the wedding for the second time. Thank God someone kindly escorted us off the premises before we ruined the bride and groom’s first dance.
Feeling unwanted and abandoned, we continued walking down a creepily long and pitchblack road towards nowhere. Our only friend the full moon. I kept imagining a mutilated, monstrous rapist crawling out of the woods to attack us. This wasn’t helping our situation as we kept freaking ourselves out and falling into random puddles that would spray mud all over our legs. We kept walking and walking and the damn Google maps app wasn’t helping us one bit (probably because we were too drunk to function it properly). FINALLY we found Harrigans, this mythical pub that everyone kept telling us to go to. The security guard took one look at us and said; “Girls, do me a favour and as soon as you get inside please have a drink of water, no alcohol, just water!” By the time we entered, we were over it and wanted to retreat back to the car anyway. But it was oh so far away.. and we were informed that the wait for a cab would be at least an hour. So what did we do? We hitched a free ride with some friendly locals who were also staying at the Hope Estate.
This was our bed in the boot.
The next thing I remember is the sun blinding me at 7 in the morning, my body feeling completely dilapidated and dehydrated and the memories of the previous nights’ antics slowly gushing back. I looked around us, we were the only vehicle left in the parking lot. I couldn’t believe we actually went through with the whole sleeping in the car business. We systemised the car, freshened up as much as we could and stumbled to a café for a desperately needed breakfast before sluggishly hopping into the car for the long journey home.
I spent the rest of my lazy Sunday afternoon curing my hangover with icy water, semi-nudity and an epic “Lost” marathon.
On Tuesday I resurfaced and joined Kelly and Milla at North Bondi Beach. I thought it would be an enjoyable, cheap day out with the girls. Boy I was wrong. Enjoyable it was, but cheap it most certainly wasn’t. We all got hit with a hefty bus fine over an honest mistake, an absolute petty matter. The bastardous bus inspectors fined us all for Milla’s mistake in accidentally dipping a concession card instead of an adult card into the machine and then not having valid proof to support it. It’s not like we tried to scam the government out of any money – it’s prepay – the tickets have already been paid for, we just dipped the wrong one in.
Anyways moving on – I could rant on and on about the patheticness of Sydney’s public transport system but I don’t want to bore you – so we finally arrived at the beach by which point we needed a stiff drink. The Nirvana liquor store (what a great name) armed us with alcohol and we ventured down to the sand.
This wasn’t before Milla got stopped by the fashion police a.k.a a street style photographer who wanted her picture for the magazine.
Drinking alcohol on Sydney beaches is unpermitted as we all know – another reason why this city fucking sucks balls – but we risked being hit with yet another fine anyways and wrapped and disguised our bottles in our clothing.
It was Kelly’s first time at the beach in over a year. This was immediately visible. Not only because of her relatively untanned skin but because of her level of excitement. She was rolling violently around in the sand, practically doing somersaults in the water and praising the blue skies.
A few hours passed under the hot sun and we cooled ourselves down with some extra strength frozen magaritas and beach burrito before making tracks.
On Tuesday evening I found myself residing in the last place on earth you’d usually find me: in church. No I wasn’t praying, confessing my sins or drinking Jesus’ blood. I was rejoicing in the presence of The Temper Trap who were playing a televised gig for the new Live At The Chapel series in Newtown.
There’s something really exhilarating about watching a rock concert in a holy church, I suppose because I know it’s considered “wrong” to many people and I love the thrill of rebelling against what I personally think is a brainwashing, tyrannical institution.
Before the show whilst everyone was in the graveyard having a few pre-drinks courtesy of sponsors Russian Vodka, I got stuck talking to this bohemoth woman who’d won tickets for the show through Facebook. She kept telling me that music was her life. Then she recounted – or should I say bragged about – her cherised memory of being at the ARIA Awards and seeing the likes of Axl Whitehead, Paulini, Ricki Lee and Marcia Hines in the flesh. Oooohhhh what an A-list celebrity crowd – The Australian Idol rejects!! I was trying to hide my egotistical smirk.
Anyways I’ve already seen The Temper Trap before at a festival in the UK and wasn’t too impressed by them but seeing them perform in a more intimate venue with a highly enthusiastic crowd was a much better experience. I published my first gig review for Music Feeds with this show and you can click here to read it!
Believe it or not, we Sydneysiders often have to put a lot of thought and consideration in deciding what beach to vedge upon on a hot summer’s day. And sadly we’re restricted by a number of petty factors. For instance, you wouldn’t subject yourself to the rotten, rowdy youth that invades Bondi Beach every Saturday. Nor would you bother with the likes of Curl Curl for the vicious waves are an automatic death wish. Neilson Park is just overflowing with ethnic families and obnoxious kids. And then there’s Lady Jane, where you will undoubtedly witness a sea of old, wrinkly penises and ball sacks swaying from left to right, so you certainly wouldn’t step foot there!
With all this in mind we opted for Camp Cove this weekend; it’s small, it’s relatively quiet, the waters are pleasantly still and most importantly it’s penis-free.
I guess everyone had the same idea that day. It took 90mins just to get to Camp Cove through the ridiculous traffic. Lucas was clearly having a mental breakdown from the frustration and heat. This was evident in his relentless road rage and utterance of “I’m sweating like a fucking rapist here!”
Apart from that the rest of the day ran quite smoothly. We bathed in the refreshing blue waters, buried ourselves in the sand and burnt our bodies to a crisp.
That evening I had the gang over at my place for a few pre-party drinks and wardrobe styling sessions. I think my friends dislike coming to my house to drink because they know they’re going to be forced to listen to MY kinda music – which they’re not very fond of haha. Nevertheless it didn’t take long before the vodka kicked in and we were ready to hit the town. First stop was Lauren’s 21st birthday bash at Monkey Bar. Wowwww there sure were a lot of faces there that I hadn’t seen in months and months. It felt like a conjoint party; Lauren’s 21st and my welcome home party. Having arrived quite late, everyone was pretty wasted from the open bar tab. It didn’t take me long to catch up however, with Daniel constantly handing shots and vodkas to me.
After midnight I said my goodbyes and headed over to meet the girls at The Ivy. Here we spent the night drinking, drinking, dancing, drinking and dancing some more. I usually detest The Ivy but since I hadn’t been there in so long and was quite inebriated I managed to thoroughly enjoy myself. So much in fact that I was there until it closed at 4am or so.
I just remember Carrina and I psychotically imitating this poor soul who didn’t have one groovy bone in his body. His attempted d-floor moves were just priceless. Another thing that comes vaguely to mind is swapping shirts, bras and jewellery with Miss Sophie. How we managed that feat in public without exposing our privates is beyond me.
Needless to say we all felt like dog shit the next morning. Except Carrina who sensibly didn’t drink the previous evening. Everyone was craving Sushi – the greatest hangover food of all time – but all the local sushi suppliers were closed on Sunday. The ravenous hunt began. From suburb to suburb we scoured the streets in search of sushi. Finally we had to go to Rhodes shopping centre and eat sushi from the food court.. it was extremely unsatisfying!!!
The weather was looking a bit unpredictable and no one was really bothered to drive to the beach so instead we opted for the jacuzzi in Sophie’s backyard. Carrina refused to jump in for ages because she claimed it smelt like mould, so instead she sat in the sun performing aboriginal art on her body.
My taxi driver Lucas came to recollect me and was pleasantly surprised by all the new additions to Sophie’s house. Clearly he hadn’t been there in a very long time. “The last time I was here actually,” he cheekily claimed, ”I was vomiting my guts out all over your bathroom floor”. Ah yes, that sounds about right. He just grinned.
That evening Lucas shouted me dinner at a new pizzeria nearby. Nothing like some brother/sister bonding time! He promised me it was the greatest pizza in Sydney. I wouldn’t go as far as crowning it the best in Sydney, but it was pretty fucking great, especially the potato and prosciutto rocket pizzas. We topped the evening off with a “Lost” marathon – oh yeah, I’m involuntarily addicted to it now!
Meanwhile, Mother Duck and Father Franco were attending an old timer’s Italian concert in the city with all the inner west wogs.
On Monday night I dragged myself to the gym for another pilates session. These damn classes just get bigger and bigger. I can hardly see what the instructor is telling us to do from where I’m sitting all the way at the back. I’ve already been turned off Monday night pilates thanks to the obnoxious instructor who tries to crack jokes (keyword TRIES) during the lesson. There’s nothing funny about fitness..? And why on earth would she try to make us laugh when we’re trying to hold two legs in the air, touch our right ankle with our left hand, control our breathing and hold our core in at the same time?!?!! I wanted to wrap my yoga mat around her neck and shove my exercise ball down her throat!!
Lucas was walking around the household wearing a devilish smirk all day on Tuesday. When I curiously asked what he was so smug about he exploded into laughter and boasted about how he cheated the government’s voting system. My brother doesn’t like to “ride the wave of conformity”. This perception he has adopted manifests itself in extreme forms at times. He will protect this principle to the point where he will disobey the law or go against morality or logic. He feels so clever that he neglected to vote in the federal elections despite being on the electoral roll and got away with it with nothing but a yearly $5 fine. I wondered what life would be like if my brother were to become Prime Minister. I half-jokingly asked him what he would do if he were voted PM of Australia. His response was something like this: “Bring back the electric chair. Promote execution. Downsize population. Round up all the useless, underdeveloped, unworthy and criminally active people and throw them into the Grand Canyon.”
On Wednesday I decided to catch up with my crazy redheaded, childhood friend Kara. She picked me up in her bright yellow Volkswagen beetle and off we went on an op-shopping crusade.
We both had particular items we were in search of; Kara for vintage photo frames and me for music biographies and vinyl records. Both of us were relatively successful. She picked up a horde of old photo frames and I picked up Bill Wyman’s biography (I’d usually opt for Jagger or Taylor’s account of the Rolling Stones story but after all I did get to meet Mr Wyman in London this year so there’s a personal motive there!)
We got some sushi for lunch at everyone’s fave Japanese place in Five Dock and then returned to her house for some serious nail painting fun and bloggage.
One of many creative pieces made by Kara that are hanging in her vibrant, rainbow room.
Our good mate Zip!
Here was the outcome of our nails:
Pretty cool, huh?
We spent the rest of the afternoon surfing the internet for pictures for Kara’s new blog post. Here is her awesome Define Inspired blog: http://defineinspired.blogspot.com/
That night I went to visit my cousins Ray and Karina.. oh and their adorable puppy Jay Jay!!
I don’t know how or why but by the end of the visit I was holding a 12 gauge shotgun and running around like a mentally insane criminal.
Lucas was worse though. He was freakishly demonstrating his Five Dock Massacre a.k.a what he would do to the suburb of Five Dock if he ever got his hands on a loaded one of those guns. Luckily the guns were disarmed and I’m not on his “to kill” list (I think).
Loopy Lucas on the loose! What has my mother raised?!!
*Oh and p.s. just so we’re all clear here – my family are not involved in any mafia operations nor is my cousin a murderer aha. They have a big farm property out in Tullamore, in which they often retreat to for leisurely hunting trips!!
Honey I’m hommmmeeeee! Yes folks, I’m back in this hellhole we call Sydney. My body officially despises me for all the jet lag I’ve put it through lately and as punishment it ain’t letting me sleep, ever. Knowing this I didn’t even bother trying to recuperate any slumber when I landed in Sydney on Sunday and instead spent the sunny afternoon at The Palace catching up with Miss Sophie Oliver over some cold vodka concoctions and a painful acoustic performance.
On Monday evening I joined the three stooges (Carrina, Sophie and Tara) at Sackville for a quick bite.
It was a bit of a shambles really – it was raining heavily around us (supposedly this is summertime in Australia), the bar was empty, Carrina was chaotically scrambling around the floor in search of her lost rings and consequently shinned the table and bruised her leg. I just closed my eyes and pretended I was in lively London drinking warm tequila at a bustling Mexican bar in Shoreditch with the gang. Wake up Shannon!
Recently I learnt first-handedly that television addicts will go to great lengths to drag others down with them to the depths of their own disease. On Tuesday night I became hostage in my own brother’s room who was frighteningly forcing me to watch the TV show “Lost”. He has adamantly placed this so-called epic show on a pedestal. He had the victim room all set up for me – lights dimmed, play button ready to be pressed, couch methodically positioned and bottles of water on standby. So as soon as I naively entered the room because he had “something to show me” he slammed the door shut and locked it. I apparently have no choice in the matter – I must get addicted to this programme or die.
My kidnapper. Tell me those eyes aren’t pure evil?
I woke up on Wednesday morning feeling slightly anxious. Not because I hazily woke up with my mum’s enthusiastic smile right in my face at 8am but because of the words that came out of her mouth: “PILATES TIME!!!” I’d been dreading this moment for quite some time – my first pilates class in a year. I was in no physical position to be able to keep up to speed with all the gym junkies in there, the only position I was in was for pure and utter humiliation. My jaw dropped when I walked in and the pilates instructor said; “Okay I haven’t been working you guys hard enough lately so to make up for it, today we’re gonna have an intense, hardcore abdominal session. Get ready to sweat it out girls. Fire up those abs!”I wanted to fucking kill myself. So much for easing back into it slowly.
After that excruciating hour of power I headed over to meet Kelly in the city and had a gander around the shops on Oxford St and ate sushi. We attempted to soak up the last rays of sunshine on her rooftop pool deck but the sun quickly evaded us and left us quivering with goose bumps.
Dinner that evening.. uh huh!
Later on Sophie, Carrina, Tara, Dom and I went to Fringe Bar on Oxford St. The melted candle displays, black and white tiled floors, vintage photo frames, hanging bird cages and dim lights render it quite a quirky yet inviting bar to reside in.
I burnt my legs to a crisp on Thursday when I spent endless hours on the terrace lathered in tanning oil. I was busy reading from my new collection of music biographies and organising some upcoming gigs to review; Muse, Jack Johnson, Temper Trap and Crowded House to name a few. Needless to say it was a painful and much regretted afternoon bike ride with raw, red legs.
The majority of my weekdays have been dedicated to basking in the sunshine, job hunting, writing this blog and setting up my freelance work with Music Feeds, Lip Magazine and Oyster Magazine. All of that in itself is a full-time job and makes the day fly by.
Oh and here is my belated birthday present from Jess & Kelly. These bad boys finally just arrived from good ol London town!!!
And these are some late photos from my mini birthday dinner with the awesome foursome.
It sure has been a while since I’ve been publically abused by a notorious Five Dock freak. But alas, on Friday afternoon it was time. There I was on the 438 bus minding my own business and listening to The Yardbirds on my iPhone. All of a sudden I felt a tap on my shoulder and noticed a toothless bogan lurking around my shoulders. I took out my earphone and listened to what he had to say; “Have you seen a phone around here? I was sitting here just before and I’ve lost my phone”. I allowed him to have a quick look around my feet but then started getting uncomfortable by the thought of his dirty eyes peering all over my legs and down my shirt. I told him to get lost and moved seats. He didn’t stop there though. He came and sat right next to me and began accusing me of having stolen his phone. “You stole my phone and turned it off didn’t you?! Didn’t you?!” he alleged and yelled. “Why the hell would I steal your shitty phone when I clearly have one of my own in my very hands?” I fought back. Then I could feel him staring at me again. “I’m just getting a good look at you so I can report you to the cops” he said. I just burst out into laughter. “I’ve got photos of mi kid and all mi work stuff in there mate. I’m a single father and I’m desperate for mi phone y’know mate so just give it back to me.” He wouldn’t shut the fuck up. I even sarcastically emptied all my bags to prove to him I didn’t steal his phone but he wouldn’t give up. “Ahhh you’ll empty your bag but you won’t take your top off hey? That’s where you put my phone – between your breasts!” And that’s the moment I jumped off the fucking bus and caught a new one that was psychotics-free.
ANYWAYS… Annie, Kelz and I cabbed it to Cleveland St to dine at an ‘all the rage’ Spanish tapas restaurant called Porteno. So popular it is, that there was a 2 hour wait for the table. We decided to follow the hostess up to the cocktail lounge and drown ourselves in bottles of wine whilst waiting. Not sure that was such a good idea.
By the time dinnertime swung around my taste buds were too drunk to function. The food was delectable though, that I can gather from my vague memories. I also remember how chic and well presented the restaurant was. I didn’t feel as though I was in Sydney, it more resembled a London dining experience.
Annie’s friend Gabby, who has a striking resemblance to Alanis Morissette, joined us after dinner and entertained us with some “Ironic” tunes in the cab over to Good God. Unfortunately there was an opening launch night for a new gay event and we weren’t really in the mood to mingle and boogie down with 40+ year old homosexual men so we stayed in the front room bar with our jug of potent mojito mix and our packets of ‘Fads’. P.s I woke up the next morning with a million Fads packets and the silver cups we were drinking mojitos out of in my handbag… this is clearly Kelly the kleptomaniac’s influence!!
We topped the drunken night off at Civic Hotel – only God knows why. Not long after a little d-floor destruction Kelly and I made a French exit and escaped to the clutches of her bed to wrestle our impending hangovers.
Good God! Why is this feeling like London all over again..?
Bangkok was the last place I wanted to be after 10 days on the beachfront. Pollution, suffocating humidity, overpopulation and general hustle and bustle certainly didn’t fit the initial criteria I had in mind for this holiday. But you know what they say… when life hands you lemons, make lemonade. So we made the most of the situation by rampaging through the Bangkok streets on a wild shopping spree to fill our suitcases with clothes and accessories to make us feel better and occupy our time. I’m not an avid supporter of retail therapy and materialism; but I must say it worked a treat. I forgot all about our monsoonal disaster, “the great escape” and the fact I was missing out on another good friends’ 21st birthday bash back home.
When we weren’t busy spending our lives away, we spent a few hours lazing by the pool..
What a sour puss.. try not to look too happy Pat.
That’s better!!
But it wouldn’t be long before we gave up on the pool and gave into the charming clutches of the plethora of street markets, shopping centres and boutiques. Even at 10pm you’d find us still frolicking around the night markets.
This fish spa craze I will never understand.Why would you subject these poor fish to eating the dead skin, calluses, bunions, fungi and whatever the hell else you have on going on on your feet?!!
Here is us in our hazey psychedelic tuk tuk trip.
Bangkok is a very hectic, lively city. It was nice to be in a place where, like London, pretty much never sleeps and keeps its grateful inhabitants constantly entertained and occupied with music, culture and events.
Check out the bags under these eyes! Too much shopping, not enough sleeping it appears.
Notice how civilised the Thai people are when drinking? Even with oversized capsules full of beer flowing they still remain calm and composed and have a good time with friends, unlike the Aussie bogans who’d be running a riot, starting bar fights and crawling in the gutters at this point.
Bangkok may be good for it’s cheap shopping, fresh asian food and vibrancy, but one thing it simply cannot provide is good music. The below videos illustrate this well…
Welcome to the stage The Pussy Cat Dolls and Bruno Mars.. Brace yourself!
No surprise why the dance floor was empty.
Here are some shots from our visit to the Grand Royal Palace:
Twas beautiful yes.. But it’s certainly not St Peter’s Basilica.
Mum with her tablecloth skirt provided by the palace staff.. apparently wearing 3/4 leggings is too revealing. Too much ankle?
You should of seen all the overexcited Asian tourists who lost their shit and triggered a stampede when the marching soldiers came out. There were Canons, Nikons and Sony cameras flying from every angle to take a damn picture. Relax guys..
And that folks was more or less the end of our Thailand trip! Quite an eventful fortnight I must say. It’s now safe to say I’ve gotten the travel bug out of my system and won’t be leaving the country for AT LEAST 6 months.. unless prince charming comes along whisks me away to the French Riviera or something. That’s unlikely to be happening anytime soon though so you can rest assured Shannon will be stuck in Sydney for the near foreseeable future.
Just in case I didn’t make all you shivering cold Londoners and painfully bored Sydneysiders green with envy the first time ’round with my stimulating Thailand photos, here’s the next batch of sun-soaked images from our recent tropical holiday..
So where was I? Ah yes, day 4 I believe.
Thailand is a peculiar place weather-wise. One minute the sky is clear and the golden sun is fervently shining on you as you wade in the serene blue waters…
…Next minute there’s a temporary tropical rainstorm and you find yourself swimming in the ocean under the pouring hot rain. Not complaining though, what a wonderfully peaceful and blissful experience it is!
We found ourselves frequenting the massage parlour on a daily basis for traditional thai treatments, popcorn-tasting tea and the aroma of a thousand burning candles.
There are barely road safety signs in Thailand, definitely no signs warning swimmers of the potential dangerous water currents or deadly sharks.. but they do warn the public to “Beware of falling coconuts“. Go figure! How considerate and compassionate of them to protect our craniums from the fallen fruit of the forest.
This little bugger below may look relatively innocent.. but don’t be fooled by the wide, worn puppy eyes and sock paws.. this fothermucker is vicious! It spent the whole morning underneath my beach chair, I assume this served a dual purpose; shelter from the hot sun and my invaluable companionship. But the moment a Thai merchant came strolling down the beachside selling ice creams and singing a tune with his cheerful voice, the canine leaped out from underneath me and launched it’s tense body into the ice cream esky, snarling and revealing its fangs. One of the hotel staff later informed me that the local dogs here don’t like Thai men. If you take one look at the withered, dessicated and starving bodies of these estranged dogs you’ll immediately realise why that is.
We spent Day 5 in the company of my uncle Kick and his lovely thai friend Lee. The four of us visited The Cliff Bar & Grill for a light lunch and a beautiful view over the ocean.
The elephant resembling rock.
It sure was nice having a taxi driver for the day. Wouldn’t trust my mother driving a sturdy ute down the Thai highways nor myself on the back of a life threatening scooter.
The next two evenings were spent in Bophut, another beautiful beachy area in Koh Samui. Tuk Tuk was our preferred mode of transport and dinner was enjoyed at a traditional thai restaurant and a blues rock steakhouse respectively.
The epic bracelet hunt ended on our final night in Koh Samui. I’d successfully collected an assortment of costless threads and bands to adorn my alien-like wrists with and was rather satisfied.
That evening we hit the main strip of bars for the scariest night of the year: Halloween. But the scariest thing I saw was a chain of lady boys clad in leather slave bondage ensembles trying to lure men off the streets and into their pants. Not exactly the typical ghoul-filled, blood splattered, cobwebbed, “trick or treat” Halloween customs I’m used to but nevertheless.
Meet Bruno. A friendly, lonesome traveller venturing through Thailand and the rest of the world on his own to find his true meaning in life who decided to attach himself to our posse for the evening and join in on the alcohol-fuelled Fedeli reunion.
The final leg of our trip was spent on the island of Koh Pagnan. We wouldn’t be attending the Full Moon party here and after Mother Nature decided to curse and plague Thailand with extreme bouts of tropical storms and consequential flooding, it seemed we wouldn’t be doing anything else either.. I’ll explain shortly.
Arriving at the absolutely stunning Santhiya Resort in a remote, private part of the island we were transported to reception via a personalised tuk tuk service and greeted with complimentary coconut water.
Early morning breakfast by the cove.
The Library. Unfortunately all the books were written in Thai. Really helpful…
Luckily I came armed and prepared!
The view from our suite.. isn’t it just magical?
A lovely buffet dinner made with love.
All the above pictures look quite appealing and idealistic of a holiday, yes? Reading, relaxing, eating, sleeping in and exploring. But believe me when the weather is atrocious and you have three FULL days and not much to do.. these simple activities in life can eventually start to drive you crazy when repeated endlessly.
Long story short. Basically it rained relentlessly for days, causing flooding across the island and the only way we could get off in order to catch boats/planes back to Sydney we had to drive along a dirt track road to the boat port. Unfortunately that road had collapsed within itself and had a dangerous and deep water current running through it and no way to cross. The hotel began notifying all it’s patrons that NO ONE would be leaving the island for who knows how many days until the storms passed and the road was fixed or the flooding decreased.
Horrified by the notion we’d be stuck on a deserted island for an indeterminate number of days caused panic within the resort so a group of us devised a plan to drive down to the flooded road and try to swim through the rapid river using a rope. The plan was set. At 5am we would meet at reception and travel down in the pitch black dark of the early morning and try to cross with our luggage.
That morning the resort caught on and refused to allow us to go ahead with the master plan, for our own safety they said. Finally hours later we convinced them to organise a little troop to help us get the hell off that damn island. Thankfully it had stopped raining so they agreed and sent us down to the collapsed road in jeeps and vans. The Thai staff said they would be praying for us haha.
Here is 20 of us crammed in a 10 seater van – people laying on the floor in the aisle of the vehicle – Step 1 of The Great Escape!
After cruising along flooded dirt tracks, fearing that the van would roll over the edge of the high cliff or get stuck in a huge pot hole we made it to the mighty ‘Rapid River’ in one piece.
Here is what we were in for…
Step 2 of The Great Escape: After a debrief by the resort’s manager, one by one we began crossing over the massive tree that luckily had tumbled over during the storm and thus we were using as a bridge, with help from the kind Thai locals, lending their hands for support.
I was standing right behind the blonde woman in a black polka dotted dress. As you can see she is a bit larger than the average woman. Needless to say I was having traumatising premonitions of her breaking the tree, our only hope to cross the river, with her excessive weight and thus rendering me stuck on the island or even worse still, being eternally swept away by the rapid river.
EUREKA!!! We made it across safely. Phewwwww!
Step 3 of The Great Escape: Here we are in the back of our getaway jeep rushing to the boat port so we wouldn’t miss the last ferry out and over to Koh Samui. Luckily our hotel manager convinced the captain to wait an extra 10 mins for our luggage to arrive.
And this is the aftermath of the flooding in Koh Samui. Thank God we were getting out of here!!!
At the airport there were massive delays and stand-by lists, meaning we might have been waiting there for hours and hours or even for days in order to get our flight. But luckily my irresistable charm got us to the front of the waiting list and on the first plane outta there. Unfortunately it wasn’t quick enough – we still missed our flight home to Sydney so had to remain in Bangkok for 2 extra days. The adventure was not over yet.
October this year was quite the eventful, multifaceted month. First and foremost, it marked my long-awaited arrival home from London. Second of all, it marked the birthday month of two very special ladies; myself and my doting creator, my mother. For these two reasons it also marked the month in which the two of us would embark on a fleeting summer holiday to Thailand.
I know what you’re thinking.. How greedy of me.. I’ve just returned from the buzzing clutches of London and already am jetsetting off to Southeast Asia for a sun-soaked escapade in paradise. Who do I think I am? But God knows my sun-deprived skin was aching for a tan and my mum yearning some mother/daughter bonding time.
So here is the first batch of photographical hotchpotch and highlights from the land of Thai. Enjoy, my faithful readers!!
*P.s. I apologize in advance for the overabundance of arty farty ‘hipstamatic’ photo prints. As you can probably tell I’m new to the iPhone and slightly obsessed with the new camera feature.. I’ll get over it soon, I’m sure.
DAY 1: The first part of our tropical jaunt was spent on the island of Koh Samui. With a hotel situated right on Chaweng’s beachfront, this was esentially our backyard for a glorious 6 days..
Beach massages quickly became a daily morning ritual. Those magic Thai fingers sure did unravel the deep-set knots in my back.
And despite my initial vow to detox, I found myself splurging in fruity cocktails on a dangerously regular basis.
After a hard, strenuous day of laying on the beach, drinking bananaramas and indulging in massages I took the birthday girl out for a delicious seafood dinner.
Hmm.. where do you take a forty-something-year-old woman for her birthday in Thailand? I certainly wasn’t going to expose her to a disturbing ‘ping pong’ screening in one of the dirty street clubs nor was I going to corrupt and intoxicate her with potent double shots of alcohol at a happy hour bar. So instead I took her for a stroll along the scenic beach and to a civilised sandy bar for a candlelit after dinner drink. Here there was a string of illuminated bars, enjoyable music and lanterns floating up into the night sky.
And it wouldn’t be a happy birthday without a cake so our hotel kindly arranged one for us to share. I hope I didn’t ruin it all with my awful attempt at a ‘Happy Birthday’ solo singing performance. Love you mum!! x x
DAY 2: Repeat Day 1 basically.
Wild mother Patrice on the loose.
This book lasted all but 3 days.. I couldn’t put it down!
After dinner we decided to scour the shops on the main strip – my hunt for bracelets had officially commenced. My interesting encounters with local merchants also begun. One bracelet vendor picked up on our Australian accent and tried to ‘connect’ with us Aussies by saying to my mum; “Your daughter’s fully siiickkk mattteeee!” This is obviously the type of ‘Aussie slang’ the Thai people are hearing from our representative tourists. Great.
Whilst enjoying a drink at Ark Bar, another bracelet merchant approached us with a canvas board of cheaply made bracelets. Noni was his name. He was very polite and amiable at first. But when he tried to sell me 2 threaded bracelets worth 50 cents for the equivalent of $25 and I laughed at his offer, things turned ugly and he walked away.
DAY 3: To spice things up just a little bit on the third day on Koh Samui we decided to participate in a day tour of the island and familiarise ourselves with some of its key sites.
The “Grandfather” Penis Rock
The “Grandmother” Vagina Rock
Certainly wasn’t expecting to see any genitalia on this trip..
I was yet to see a school for human educational purposes, but I did get to witness the school for monkey tradesmanship.
The coconut collector in action!
Next we went to visit the fortune-telling ‘Mummified Monk’.. what a bad idea this was..
I thought I’d get into the spirit of tourism and participate in temple traditions by shaking a box, waiting for a numbered stick to fall out of it and collecting my fate on a piece of paper with that number. I drew out #8. Here is what it said..
A cheerless life. No happiness. No love. No lucks. So essentially.. the mummified monk is telling me to commit suicide? What a disheartening “fortune” this was. I’ve never seen such a blunt and pessimistic fate – I thought that was only reserved for “true” and private fortune-telling sessions.
I decided to leave my “no lucks” behind and continue on the adventure to the safari park and waterfall.
We hopped onto the top of a jeep – and when I say top I mean buckled ourselves into an open-air seat on the roof of the jeep – and made our way through the jungle on a dirt track towards the waterfall.
You can tell by her clenched hands and tensing toes that my mum was slightly frightened by this concept of travel!
Unsupervised, we climbed through the depths of the forrest, crossed over flowing waterholes with only a rope to assist and battled the mosquitos. For the view at the end of the road, it was totally worth it however..
..I told ya!
Next stop was the Big Buddha! And big it most certainly was.
The first thing I noticed (after it’s immense size of course) is that there was another of these “fortune-telling” temples. I decided to get a second opinion on my life and ask Mr. Big Buddha what he thought of my destiny. Perhaps he had a different future planned out for me?
So there I was on my knees shaking this damn wooden can and out popped the number 6 – which just happens to be my favourite number.
Here is what it said..
..Now that’s more fucking like it! I’m not doomed after all, in fact I have good “lucks” and a promising future ahead. Big Buddha, you’re cool, I like you man.
Feeling uplifted and motivated by my new and improved fortune I decided to give back to Big Buddha by donating money and contributing a ‘brick’ towards building a new temple for him.
Welcome to Four Weeks With The Queen – TheSydney Edition!
I can’t promise it will be as entertaining and stimulating as my anecdotes from London, but I will most certainly try to parade the perks and beauty of my beachy hometown Sydney.
As you can imagine I’m still suffering from jetlag and a paralysing feeling of detachment and awkwardness. It’s been great to catch up with family and friends, to bask in the eternal sunshine, go on bike rides in the burbs, eat delicious home cooked meals, be generally spoilt and to have a whole bedroom to myself… but admittedly I do already miss the lively city of London and my amazing friends that inhabit it.
I won’t bore you with the details of our gruellingly long flight home, it’s always the same story anyway; no sleep, shit food, swollen feet, mental exhaustion. Instead I’ll recount to you what I’ve been up to these past 10 days.
Day 1: We finally arrived at Sydney airport at 6am and were greeted by our overemotional, overexcited mothers who began the waterworks as soon as they saw us. Naturally, they didn’t loosen their loving embrace until we got into the car and buckled our seatbelts (perhaps out of fear we’d run off again).
When I got home I found my room in mint condition, only with a slightly different interior décor courtesy of my lovely mother.
How wonderful it was to be back in my own room – one that was clean, sunlit and most importantly MINE. I instantly unpacked my luggage, hurling all my clothes into the washing machine and engaged in an epic spring-clean in which I threw out everything in sight. My mother was petrified. I NEVER throw out old clothes/belongings. But as I looked around in my room I was confronted by pointless items that are sooo damn old I’ve forgotten what their attached significance/memory was.
That afternoon I went over to check out Kelly’s new pad at The Hyde apartments. Two words: Gossip Girl. It feels like your staying in a 5 star hotel and has beautiful views of the park.
Auntie Gabby took us for lunch at the Makoto sushi train down the road as a welcome home treat and we devoured those delicious, well-crafted seaweed rolls. Definitely beats the sushi from Marks & Spencers!!
We spent the afternoon swimming in Kelly’s rooftop pool, tanning on the outdoor decks and checking out the gym, which would soon become our new home.
That evening I ate my first home cooked meal. I’m drooling just thinking about how my tastebuds felt. I’d missed my mum’s Italian cooking sooooo much.
Unfortunately I couldn’t quite enjoy it properly because I had a horde of visitors bursting through my front door during dinner. First my cousin Raymond. Then my family friend Jordan. Then my best friends Sophie, Carrina and Emma. Then followed by Tara and Hannah. It was quite overwhelming!! But amazing to see everyone and attempt to catch up.
Day 2: On Friday evening I went to visit my second lot of parents – Meg & Steve. Many memorable stories from London were shared over a glass of wine. I also reunited with my old pal BAILEY:
Day 3: On Saturday we were supposed to go to my favourite place in Sydney – Tamarama Beach. But the extremely windy weather didn’t permit it so instead we spent the day in the city. Sophie, Dom, Huey, Emma, Carrina, Tara and I headed over to the Beresford in Surry Hills for a bite to eat and a few drinks. I couldn’t stop observing all the wannabe hipster Sydneysiders everywhere.
That night we all hit up King’s Cross – Sydney’s red light district, which is basically infested with drunken, trashy morons on a Saturday night. Thankfully we went to Piano Room, which was relatively civilised and ‘cool’ in comparison to the likes of Dragonfly, Soho and Favela. There was a little cover band entertaining the bar-inhabitants that evening which was a nice touch to the evening. At least it meant that instead of listening to instrumental, drug-fuelled house music I was able to dance to a bit of The Killers, Temper Trap and Blur. Plus the drummer was pretty fucking brilliant – though an arrogant asshole in person.
Day 4: On Sunday we were bestowed with a perfect summery day. Carrina and I took the opportunity to hop on our long lost bicycles and go for a revitalizing bike ride up through Concord. As we were cruising down Majors Bay Rd we realised there was a street fair going on so obviously a lot of people on the footpaths – particularly obnoxious tweens. Within 5mins of riding down the street we got chastised by 12 year olds with the following comments:
“Sorrrrryyy we’re not as cool as you.”
“Your bikes are shit!”
“How about you hop off and walk girls?!”
I’m telling you these teenagers in Sydney are ruthless and WAY too big for their boots. I just want to wrap my hands around their neck and squeeze really hard.
Anyways.. we decided to stop off and visit Sophie who was at Dom’s house chilling by the pool.
Funnily enough my parents have known Dom’s parents for years and years and apparently I used to go over to their house as a little girl. Very small world. Dom’s mum being the stereotypical loving, hospitable Italian mother kept bringing out drinks, snacks and fresh fruit all afternoon.
Carrina decided to give me a much-needed manicure – black of course!
Day 5: Okay.. promise you won’t get angry. On Tuesday my mother and I booked a 10 day holiday in Thailand for this month. I know, I know.. I just got off a plane, have barely unpacked and am the last person on earth who needs yet ANOTHER holiday right now.. but how can I decline a birthday present like that?!
Uncle Kick came over for dinner that night and purchased my flight for me.. how very kind of him!! That evening I went over to Sophie’s house and even though I promised myself I’d detox and lay off the booze for a while, there I was with a bottle of wine, a lot of time on my hands and a lot deep and meaningful conversations to engage in. Later on the infamous Mr. Meho came to join in on the fun. The whole time he was pretty much on his iphone ‘Fraping’ Sophie however. He thoroughly enjoys inflicting psychological pain on others haha. Soph’s friendly neighbour Daniel also came over to chill out with us.
Day 6: I surprisingly still wasn’t getting much sleep thanks to a severe case of jetlag and so kept waking up at ridiculous hours in the morning. Since I was already up at 6am on Wednesday morning I decided to join my dad on an early morning walk by the bay – a bit of father/daughter bonding doesn’t hurt!
Later on I joined Danielle and Zalihe at Sackville Hotel in Balmain for lunch and to see what had been going on in their worlds in the past year. As with everyone, there was a lot to catch up on but instead of dwelling on what had been missed in the past we quickly established there would be a lot of great times and fun nights to be had in the future.
That afternoon Carrina and I went for another bike ride and discovered a beautiful new track that follows the bay and is relatively deserted. We’re sick of constantly being told off by grumpy residents, impatient vehicles and police whilst on the roads and street pathways so I think this new bike track will be the way to go!
Day 7: On Thursday I had lunch with my friend Patrick a.k.a. Duck Man who is kind of helping me to get a foot in the Sydney journalism door. I met him at Martin Place in the city and sat roasting in the sunshine for a good two hours over food and beer, talking about the industry here and reminiscing about London. Patrick works for Cream Magazine and has kindly offered to set up a meeting with the editor to see if I can do some freelance work/an internship.
After my little networking session I went over to Kelly’s house to give her my weekly love life counselling services and to watch cheesy television shows. That night I decided to hassle my brother for guitar lessons. I’ve done this about 10 times before and each time I get restless and eventually give up. But this time I am determined.. I think.
Day 8: After a week of being phoneless and unreachable I finally decided to put an end to this madness. I’ve had my eye on the iPhone 4 for ages but unfortunately all the stores are sold out. However, Kelly did help me to discover an alternate master plan in which you can instantly get an iPhone 4 – line up at the Apple store at 7am. It worked a fucking charm!! By 10am I had my new phone, with a great plan all set up and ready to go. My life has changed forever.
After my ritualistic afternoon bike ride with Carrina I headed over to Kelly’s house again – this was not without hassle though. I waited 20mins for a bus. Yes that’s right, 20 mins!!! It’s times like these I really miss the efficient, reliable tube system in London and the buses that come every 3mins. The next hurdle was buying alcohol.. I just couldn’t seem to find a liquor store anywhere. Where is a fucking off licence when you need one I kept thinking to myself.
Kelly was joined on her panoramic balcony with a good friend Blake – whom I’ve never met – but kept insisting that he’d met me at Chingaling? We spent the first part of the evening downing wine bottles, inciting a karaoke session and entertaining each other with YouTube clips. Blake was definitely in party mode; sporting a mature clubbing shirt and some hot 70s dance moves under his belt.
That evening we went to Good God – a ‘cool’ bar in the city where we soon met Tenaya, Ari and their girlfriends for a boogie and a few drinks. It certainly wasn’t London. Oh how Sydney sucks!
Day 9: For those who thought I was only a GigJunkie in London.. you were wrong. I’ve been feeding my addiction from down under too, starting with a music festival in Newcastle that I attended on Saturday. My musical sidekick brother Lucas kindly accompanied me on this road trip up to Nobbys Beach in which we spent the day amongst the crème de la crème of youthful, obnoxious Australian bogans. Cannot explain the psychological strength that was required in order to endure 10 gruelling hours of being surrounded by inebriated, barely clothed skanks and vulgar, dishevelled boys. I saw youngsters passed out on the grass outside the festival gates before the music had even started inside.
The road trip was great though – just me, my trusty brother, The Doors’ greatest hits and the open, sunny road. What else could you ask for?
I was only at this festival to see two acts really – Tame Impala and Wolfmother. Tame Impala alone was a good enough reason for me to travel 3 hours to Newcastle. And they certainly didn’t disappoint. Since it was quite a small festival and the feral patrons were all too busy getting drunk at the bar and having dry sex on the paddock – the crowds weren’t too big so I was right at the front for most of the shows. And since Carrina had kindly lent me her SLR camera I managed to get some pretty decent shots despite my lack of photography knowledge.
I was actually really blown away by Ice Cube’s performance believe it or not. I loathe rap music but I was highly entertained by him as was Lucas.
I love all my mum’s cooking, everything she cooks is delicious. But if I had to choose a favourite, it would without a doubt be her homemade pizza. She surprised me on Sunday with a lunchtime pizza fest – and this NEVER happens! Pizza is strictly reserved for dinner.
That gem of a mother even made zucchini pizza – my absolute favourite!!!
I think she was just really excited because it would be her last day in the kitchen before 10 days in Thailand in which she wouldn’t have to worry about cooking.
After being cooped up in the house all day I decided to join Sophie and the gang at Daniel’s house for some late night vodka, Slash interviews and a round of snooker. So as you can see.. Sydney isn’t AS exciting as London was. Unfortunately it never will be. But for now I’m making the most of it and enjoying the time off with my friends and family. I’m sure as we slide deeper into summer there will be many exciting adventures and drunken antics to come.
The time has come.. The moment I’ve been dreading for months.. Our last weekend in London. Sure, we could have easily gotten completely obliterated with alcohol and run rampant through the city streets on our last few nights in London.. but then we wouldn’t remember a damn thing would we? So instead we decided to preserve our memories, livers and dignity and spend some quality time with our beautiful friends whom we’d miss ever so dearly.
On Saturday we had Annalisa come over to our humble abode as we promised to cook her a nice, simple pasta for lunch. Oh boy, if there’s one thing I’ve learnt from living out of home this year it’s that I really can’t and probably never will be able to cook a decent meal. Our mums would be so disappointed in us – we’re certainly not going to be carrying the ‘Fedeli/Andreucci amazing cuisine‘ legacy through the generations.
We spent the lazy afternoon conversating in the sunshine, drinking tea and peacefully dozing off as we lay scattered across the loungeroom floor.
That evening Jess joined us for a romantic ‘double date’ dinner at one of the Vietnamese restaurants in Shoreditch. We cracked open the Veuve champagne Annalisa brought me for my birthday and made a toast to the end of a great era together, to new beginnings and to the hope we will all meet up again in the near future.
After dinner we stocked up on red wine and chocolate and all cuddled up on the loungeroom to watch X Factor. This was probably the first time we’d switched on our TV for months, and if it weren’t for Annalisa’s overwhelming enthusiasm to get us hooked onto this show we certainly wouldn’t have bothered turning it on. Well, her plan worked. We were addicted; particularly from the moment we witnessed the captivating charm and swagger of Cher Lloyd. Such impressionable minds we have.
Later that evening Jess sent us on a wild search party through cyberspace in pursuit of discovering Fiddy’s old metal rock band from the 90s. Thanks to my remarkable, investigative internet skills I managed to track down his old band – Smooth Man Automatic. We were in absolute stitches reading their wikipedia page and finding out their history. But it was when we found – or thought we had found – a picture of Smooth Man Automatic, fronted by a shaven, pink-haired Fiddy that we burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter. Thank the Lord it was the wrong band. That would have been the end of Fiddy’s reputation and standing in the Jersey Shore house. We subsequently decided to launch our own hardcore metal trio – it would be called Wyld Mexican Stallions.
We awoke to clear blue skies and unyielding sunshine on Sunday morning. It was a miracle and we simply could not turn down this good omen and opportunity for a beautiful stroll through Hampstead Heath and a picnic at Kenwood House. Annalisa, Jess, Kel and I met promptly at Wholefoods to stock up on fresh goods for the epic picnic; cheese and crackers, organic dips, mixed fruit, sicilian olives, semi-dried tomatoes and bottles of pear and carrot juice. We hadn’t thought about the fact we’d have to haul these 2 rather heavy shopping bags on a 45min trek through the vast leafy fields before actually getting to devour it.
Nevertheless we jumped on the 393 towards Kentish Town and from there begun a long, invigorating walk through the glorious English heath. None of us had the appropriate footwear for this journey so consequently had our ‘designer’ sandals or delicate boots trashed with mud.
It’s great to see that Hampstead Heath is more a paradise for local joggers, families and general Englishmen rather than a touristic attraction. It is also quite clearly one of the wealthiest areas of London, if not the most affluent quarter of all.
Don’t be fooled by the seemingly ‘naturalness’ of these photos. I struggled getting out of this awkward straddle position on the tree haha – I had my foot caught inbetween two trunks and being the great friends they are, Annalisa, Jess and Kelly left me there to wriggle and squirm out of it alone.
An hour later we finally arrived at Kenwood House, where an infamous scene from Notting Hill was filmed.
We found ourselves a dry, blossoming patch of green grass to lay our picnic blanket down on and took off our shoes and stockings, allowing our restricted legs to breathe and bask in the warm sunshine. We spent the afternoon eating til our hearts were content. Jess was taking more porno pap photos of Kelly, whilst Annalisa read her book and I lay sloth-like on my back staring at the clouds and loving life.
At around 4 we went for a little wander around the house’ grounds, deciding to queue up in a rather long line for an ice cream. Poor Kelly was devastated to realize at the end of lining up for 15mins that there were only 2 flavours on offer – hokey pokey and clotted vanilla. “What ice cream shop only has 2 flavours?!” she kept complaining. We all opted for the caramel-infused Hokey Pokey, but this wasn’t before Kelly made her point about the unsatisfactory nature of the lack of ice cream flavours through a plethora of sarcastic jokes.
Annalisa tried to find us a shortcut to get back to Kentish Town as we couldn’t be bothered for the hour-long trek again. Instead we ended up getting lost in the Hampstead/Highgate streets where we found a string of very majestic houses and properties. On the way we kept ourselves entertained by observing all the dogs along the way. It seemed everyone in the heath owned a dog and they all came in different shapes, sizes and colours. Dog watching was vastly distracting from the long walk ahead. Nothing was more distracting however, than when a mammoth grey wooly dog with a peculiar patch of white hair on his head came bounding on over towards us. It was the ugliest canine I’ve ever seen. It looked like a cross between Albert Einstein and a High Court judge – I had to leap out of the way to avoid it’s nauseating sight.
Monday was our last ‘full’ day in London. Oh how the time has flown… cannot believe 9 months ago I came here with an intention of staying only four weeks. Where has the time gone?! Anyways that day we went into Jess’ salon in Shoreditch to get our ‘hair did’. On the way however, Kelly riskily jumped on the 149 bus without paying and with our impeccable luck the fucking revenue officers burst through the doors just a few stops before we were meant to alight. For a moment we got a bit concerned but then realized … wait a minute… we’re leaving the country, they can’t track us down! As the officer approached us we just burst into laughter. Kelly partly because she was embarrassed, and me because I realized I recognised this familiar face – yes, it was the very same man that fined me months ago for not having a bus ticket! What an odd coincidence, it was the same officer, on the same bus, at the same time of the day. We now call it the ‘14Fine’ bus. Anyways, Kelly ended up giving him the wrong address details and as he was checking it against the system he let us alight at the stop we were meant to get off at. Phew!!
Over at Jess’ salon – Hayley, Randi and Jess focused all their love and attention on colouring Kelly and my hair. We basically just went a bit crazy with bleach and threw in an ocean of beachy blonde foils. The girls know their shit and did an awesome job of it. How I will miss having a personal and most importantly FREE hairdresser at my fingertips to bring all my fantasies to fruition.
We dashed out of the salon around 2pm, rushing towards Soho for Kelly’s manicure appointment at the Sanderson Hotel. Luckily we made it on time and as she got pampered in the lavish beauty/spa room, I went for one last stroll down good ol’ Oxford St and baught some new clothes. I also found my next pair of shoes to purchase. CREEPERS. Ohhh how I adore these!! Very much remind me of Hayley and Randi who wear them to death and look effortlessly cool.
An hour or so later we farewelled Oxford St – the strip we’d spent lots of time and money on. We said bye to our favourite store Topshop but didn’t dare enter, knowing the high risk of credit card thrashing if we did step foot inside it’s walls of glory and glamour.
That evening was our farewell dinner, and being a Monday night, it only made sense to have it at Pizza East. We’d celebrated many momentous occasions at Pizza East – our first dinner out with Jess, Fiddy’s bday, Kelly’s 22nd birthday and now our final sendoff.
Surprisingly Kelly and I were actually on time for once – but got beaten to the table by Jason and Haya. Ahhhh it was so lovely to see them, especially Jason who had been unforgivably MIA for the past few weeks. Soon enough Georgie joined us, along with Jess, Hayley and Randi and then little late Lynsey. The table of 9 was complete, the prosecco and red wine was flowing and emotions running high across the table. I was so relieved we were allocated a round table so we could see and conversate with everyone equally. I spent a lot of the night reminiscing over our London highlights with Jason running from February to now.. quite a hilarious timeline it was. Such memories include:
Awwww SIMPLY GINGY!!!
The Attack of the Chavs!
Dixie Chicks on Dalston!
We ordered a feast of 8 pizzas between us all, it was MORE than enough and only cost us 15 quid each (thanks to our Monday night membership keyrings). To top of it off the everso sweet Lynsey baught me and Kelly the cutest cupcakes for desert but since I’d eaten myself into a coma I decided to reserve it for the next day’s breakfast. On our way outside of the restaurant Randi stopped to admire by new top – she observed and said “I love everything about those shoulder pads!” Highly confused I looked down and patted my shoulders – I wasn’t wearing any shoulder pads – no, it was just my manly, broad Suzie O’Neill shoulders hahaah Kelly and I were in hysterics and poor Randi was so ashamed.
Next stop was Casita – a little tequila bar in Shoreditch. Lucky us, we had the whole bar to ourselves and hence the attention of the waiter whom Randi quickly nicknamed Trace the Straight Shooter. We ordered a round of tequila shots – yes I finally gave into it. Thanks to the coriander flavoured chaser shots – it tasted bloody amazing. Unfortunately Jason got a bit excited with his coriander shot and sprayed it all over Kelly’s face so it came dripping down through her finely haired eyebrows.
For most part Jason was on his iphone playing with his new dating app ‘Grinder’, where you can view profiles and even the exact location of other gay guys. We managed to track down a good looking guy that was situated only 435m away from us so we invited him on over.. but he never showed haha.
Randi started recounting us the history of the Sami eskimos in Norway or something and was yodeling their traditional songs. It was bloody hilarious but her volume and intensity was starting to bother poor Trace the barman. We were ALL just sooooo rowdy – I suppose it was all the tequila shots we carelessly downed.
Kelly was shoving whole oranges down her bra and handing out ‘special drinks’ of which the contents were a mystery, Randi was imitating our Australian accents and impersonating ‘Jizz’ (Jess) and Jason started up a fiery karaoke session full of Mariah Carey’s discography.
Soon after Hayley, birthday girl Steph and their crew joined. Hayley was feeding us ‘birthday’ jager bombs.. probably not the best idea! I was already so damn drunk but didn’t care as I was having an absolute ball surrounded with some of the greatest friends one could ever ask for.
Outside Jason, Kelly and I had a heartfelt moment, reminiscing about our unforgettable times together as a trio. Jason and I danced under the moonlight as he serenaded me with a Celine Dion marathon of songs and then went twirling rapidly down the street like an ill-mannered ballerina.
It was here that we had to say bye to Jason, Haya and Georgie. Kelly’s tears started running.. I on the other hand clearly have a black heart and can’t bring myself to tears, though on the inside I was definitely crying. Atleast it was comforting knowing we’d see them all back in Australia within a year and Jason was sending us hilarious ‘last ever UK messagest’ to keep our spirits up.
The walk over to Old Blue Last was a sad one. Kelly, Jess, Lynsey and I walked tearfully arm in arm refusing to let go and dreading having to say bye to Lynsey, whom we’d become so close to over the past 9 months. What an amazing girl. Hopefully she will come visit us in Australia soon. She came for one last drink at the pub with us where I also said bye to the coolest chick Hayley who I’d thankfully be seeing up at Byron Bay for New Years Eve and then eventually in Sydney when she moves back there.
Kelly’s waterworks broke out again when we farewelled Lynsey. Again for me, not even a drop, but inside I was soooooo upset to be leaving my fellow rock chick. She sent us the fucking cutest message whilst on the bus “I feel like I’ve just broken up with a boyfriend. I’d say I’m going to wear all black as though I’m a widow in mourning but you guys already know I only wear that colour anyway!” Ohhh Lyns.
Tuesday was perhaps the most difficult of farewells however. Our last ever day in the Jersey Shore house with the greatest roomie and friend in the world – Jess. It was so weird seeing our room completely bare and empty and our suitcases – though clearly overflowing and exceeding weight limits – packed neatly on the loungeroom floor.
We just didn’t know what to do with ourselves!! We had our last ever lunch on Church St at Blue legume and reminisced about how amazing the past year has been for all three of us, all the hilarious moments we shared together and how lucky we are that we all got along so smoothly. I’ll miss Jess the most – my JWoww, my porno pap, my Neville bartoss, my big sister.
Annalisa came over to farewell us too and we handed her over the house keys, as she’d be taking up our place in the house from thereon in. At 4pm we all jumped nervously at the sound of the cab beeping outside and looked at each other in despair. The time had come…
We hesitantly dragged ourselves out of our beloved loungeroom, down the stairs I’d fallen down so many times, and out of our bright pink Rasa doors for the very last time. The black tears I’d been holding back started flowing as Kelly, Jess and I shared our last Stokey family hug and watched Jess get smaller and smaller as we drove away waving mournfully.
Goodbye London.
You will be dearly missed, as will all the beautiful friends we made along the way.. ❤
I hate birthdays. The high expectations, the awkward abundance of attention, the hype and fuss your friends make over a party, the unnecessary disappointment when anything goes wrong, the cringeworthy birthday song, the over-the-top slideshows and speeches and the present receiving process. Nothing encapsulates these facets more than ‘The Big 2-1’. For reasons unknown to me, the 21st Birthday is brimming with hype and anticipation and for many years turning 21 has been probably one of my biggest life fears. For these reasons I cleverly decided to ‘skip over’ my 21st birthday and have a rather low-key celebration with a handful of my close friends in London. That way I wouldn’t have to throw a massive party in a hired out venue, invite a bunch of stangers I don’t even like and pretend to be having an amazing time.
This is how I went about it…
The day before my date of birth I met up with Esther for a sun-drenched breakfast at one of the many cafes in Highbury & Islington. I hadn’t seen her in what felt like months so it was quite lovely to catch up over coffee and croissants, especially just before I was destined to leave for Australia in but a few short days. Hopefully on her round the world trip she can make a pitstop in Sydney and visit. After a long conversation about holidays, the ‘Doghouse Weekender’, London time highlights and festish sex club communities we made a rough plan to meet up for drinks that night as a final farewell – I neglected to tell her it would be my birthday.
That afternoon I swung by the GigJunkie office where I immediately noticed a bit of an Aussie makeover happening – what with surfboards leaning on the wall and most staff members walking around in flip flops – it appeared the boys were already missing my Australian aura and trying desperately to reinstore a ‘Bongo Sheila Dingo’ vibe back into the office that disappeared when I left. Eddie, my bosses Oli and Marc and I went for a few drinks round at the local Southwark pub where I was presented with my long, glowing reference for the work I’d completed with GigJunkie and we sat and contemplated my future in Sydney.
Next we headed over to Marc’s apartment where he set himself up in the kitchen and got busy preparing us all a nice dinner that he’d been promising me for months. While Marc was cooking up a storm, the rest of us kept ourselves busy in the loungeroom with a neverending flow of white wine that was going straight to my head, Youtube clips and competitions of who had better music on their iPod playlists. I know, we’re such a fun bunch. Suzie and Rachel came to join the party just in time for Marc’s dinner, which turned out beautifully!
Shortly before the clock struck 12, just like Cinderella I dashed out of there to meet Esther in Soho. At this point I was quite inebriated, don’t remember a lot except Eddie escorting my reckless self to the bus stop and taking hundreds of ghastly photos.
Quite proud of myself that I actually made it into the city smoothly – without falling asleep on the bus, making out with a fellow homeless bus passenger or stacking it in the middle of a traffic-stricken road. Esther and I started running, literally running, around Soho just for the fun of it and ended up at Soho House where our friend Stephan works. He gave us a grand tour of the private members bar/lounge – it’s just a multitude of spacious, elegant rooms and bars all on a rooftop level of a west end building, quite snazzy if I do say so myself. Esther and I plonked ourselves in a booth outside on the terrace and didn’t move from there. At midnight I foolishly decided to let it slip that it was my birthday and then all the fuss that I loathe began. Before I knew it I had strangers wishing me a happy birthday and buying me lychee-flavoured cocktails and champagne. I just went with it. In the end I had an awesome night with Esther as always and with the assemblage of random friends we made, one who courteously paid for my cab journey home.
Most girls treat themselves to a new designer bag, a pampering spa treatment or an expensive pair of shoes. My 21st birthday present to myself was a lethal hangover. I woke up feeling and looking like Pete Docherty.
I had certainly peaked way too early and wasn’t sure how I was going to survive the rest of my birthday plans. Luckily I had Kelly by my side to nurture me during the day. She took me for lunch at Ottolenghi in Islington, which proved to be the world’s greatest hangover food – I felt 60% better within a few bites of the mouthwatering snow peas, aubergine, sweet potatoes and spinach quiche. There was no way I was having a crack at their rich cakes though. Besides, that would be TOO typical of a birthday now wouldn’t it?!? We spent the sunny afternoon absorbing the rays of sunshine from the comforts of our loungeroom and watching ‘Midnight Express’, a classic film about tyrannical imprisonment and the downward spiral into criminal insanity. It made me stop complaining about feeling ill and made me appreciate my everso priviliged life in comparison.
That night we met the girls at Café Pacifico in Covent Garden for a lavish Mexican feast. Lynsey, Hailey, Randi, Jess, Kelly and I had a sea of exotic, fruity cocktails swimming over to our table as ‘appetisers’.
Kelly and Lynsey were absolutely ravenous and kept trying to snatch the food out of the waiter’s hands as they came out of the kitchen holding other people’s dishes. When it was their turn, they devoured their food so damn fast that they wound up with really sore stomachs. That’s what you get for being impatient! My meal was divine – marinated beef fajitas – and I slowly and smartly enjoyed it.
I suppose it’s only normal that when having dinner at a restaurant with a group of your girlfriends on your birthday, you really can’t sneak your way out of a birthday cake, so I had to endure a painfully cringeworthy ‘happy birthday to you’ moment. The lights dimmed, the vocal chords warmed up and out came the cake illuminated with candles, followed by the eyes of everyone in the restaurant. Before I knew it everyone was singing happy birthday to me, there were cowbells ringing and lights flickering. I felt my cheeks burning up, my forehead crinkling and my foot getting a cramp aha.
After dinner we hopped into a cab and injected ourselves into the midst of the West End and into the queue for Whisky Mist. Just as we were about to get conned by a group of deceptive, leacherous club promoters out came Dj Marie Claire to the rescue, who had already organized our guest list and private table inside. She escorted us into the flashy nightclub and to our table, which I later found out is worth 10,000 pounds for a night. Yes, there are actually disgustingly wealthy people out there who will pay 10,000 pounds to have a private booth at this club with free drinks flowing. Give that money to a charity in Africa for fuck sake. Luckily, we got this table plus bottles of vodka all for F R E E.
Over at our table was our other half of partygoers for the night; Annalisa (who was also the birthday girl that night), Tessa, Steve and Holly. It didn’t take long for us to gulp down the complimentary vodka and once that had disappeared into the depths of our demanding livers we moved from our highly positioned table and on to the next private room we had set up on the dancefloor.
Tessa chivalrously bought Annalisa and I a bottle of very expensive Veuve champagne, which was naturally delectable. Shortly after Annalisa sat us all down and told me she had a surprise for me. A couple of minutes after a man donning a red blazer and an owl mask came out holding a silver goblet the size of a 10 year old girl containing the most exquisitely tasting watermelon and strawberry alcoholic concoction I’ve ever had and copious long white straws. I’ve never seen a drink so big in my life. It was VERY impressive. Within seconds we thrusted our faces towards the chalice, clutched the straws vehemently and slurped like our lives depended on it. We looked like a pack of thirsty vultures.
Once we’d exhausted all our complimentary drinks there we decided to spice the night up and change party destinations. Actually I was contemplating going home at that point but Annalisa and Tessa peer pressured me to stay out because “it’s your birthday!!” I’m glad I gave into their influence. We headed back into our area of Stoke Newington where conveniently right on our street there was an awesome underground party going on, with a dj set by Primal Scream’s very own Bobby Gillespie.
The downstairs basement of our local pub was fucking rad – I can’t believe I never knew it was there. Dark, dirty and heaving – it was everything I love in a bar. That’s where we found Anna, Jess, fellow birthday boy Stevie, Mr Smyth and his 2 Aussie friends. Tessa and Anna kept introducing me to all these unfamiliar faces in the bar; I soon realized it was Bobby Gillespie and Kevin Shields from My Bloody Valentine. Never knew that Stokey attracted such rock stars.
The night didn’t end there. Oh no, when Anna and Tessa are involved, the night never ends. We stocked up on more alcohol and went back to Tessa’s apartment, which just happens to be right across the road from my house. Anna was in the kitchen slicing up the lime, whilst the rest of us made ourselves comfortable in Tess’ gorgeous living room, lit up the fireplace and got the tasteful tunes out.
Anna was positioning the ‘birthday people’ as in Stevie, Annalisa and I in the middle of the floor for a photo, which came out looking quite creepy.
I don’t remember a whole lot of the night as I was quite intoxicated by this early hour of the morning. But what I do remember was pausing for a moment to look around me… there I was surrounded by a wonderful bouquet of friends on my day of birth, having a genuinely great time in a positive atmosphere and realizing that birthdays aren’t so bad after all.
On Friday morning a.k.a the aftermath – Furlan, Fedeli and myself peeled ourselves out of bed, blinded by the intense light of the sun that had decided to flaunt itself that morning. Feeling famished and drained we dragged ourselves into Blue Legume. I wasn’t too sure that it was actually legal to saunter in there wearing what I was wearing and looking how I was looking… but I just rolled with it anyway. Coincidentally we found Tess and Annalisa in there, clearly they’d had the very same idea as us so we pulled up a chair right next to them and began unraveling and discussing the night’s previous antics bit by bit.
A round of vegie burgers, poached eggs, pancakes and coffees later we were feeling more than satisfied and whilst Kelly dragged her sorry ass home, Jess and I decided to take advantage of the unexpected sunshine and get our much-needed fix of Vitamin D as we lay across a log in Clissold Park. I spent the rest of the afternoon sound asleep on the couch… ah the beauty of unemployment. Nothing to do, nowhere to be, no one to see, just free to sleep ALL day.
Our beauty sleep did have to come to an end towards 7pm however, as Kelly and I had a highly anticipated gig to attend… SUBLIME!!!!! One of our all-time favourite reggae/ska/punk bands from the 90s that we’d been waiting for weeks if not months to go and see. For those that don’t know, Sublime’s front man Brad Nowell passed away in 1996 and only just last year the remaining members invited Rome Ramirez to join them as their new leader and formed ‘Sublime With Rome’, a sort of tribute band but one that has entered the studio to record new material. I recently interviewed Rome and you can check out that interview here….. INTERVIEW: Sublime With Rome.
Anyways, the gig was fucking amazing. So nostalgic. They played all the Sublime hits we know and love including Santeria, Ebin, Date Rape, What I Got and Wrong Way. The crowd was so fervent and enthusiastic and not one body remained still in the everso intimate, theatre-like Shepherds Bush Empire. Looking around the venue, we couldn’t help but notice the abundance of dreadlocks, tattoos and joints being smoked. Over in dread city some hardcore hippies were so fucking stoned they were trying to climb off the balcony and float on to the stage or something. Twas hilarious. Unfortunately Bud and Eric didn’t say so much as one word throughout the gig but the down to earth, energetic and humbly confident front man Rome made up for it. I think he did a brilliant job. It was however, very endearing when Bud and Eric jumped down into the crowd to hug their adoring fans and hand out drumsticks, picks and other props from the stage.
Kelly and I have turned into night owls. We can’t sleep until at least 3 am lately. So when we got home from Sublime around midnight we snuggled up on the couch for hours and watched the Russian mafia movie Eastern Promises. It was fantastic. The smouldering hot Russian men certainly kept us awake.
Some people can lock themselves in the comfort of their homes for days or weeks in a row, vedging out on the couch and watching futile television, stalking people on Facebook, painting their nails and counting the clouds as they float by their bedroom window. I’m definitely not one of those people. Two days cooped up in the house and by Monday evening I was climbing up the walls with boredom and frustration. I just HAD to get out. To keep myself entertained and sane I went and met Lynsey and Jess at the Hawley Arms in Camden for a few drinks and to watch her salon friend Rod’s gig. Little did we know this seemingly laid back bar was soon to transform into a fully fledged circus freak show.
We made it just in time for Rod’s band of miscellaneous musicians that he’d apparently assembled but a few short hours beforehand and amassed a gaggle of instruments to produce authentic pirateship-like sounds. The crowd were getting anxious and impatient for them to start. Their biggest fan – which came in the form of an obnoxiously inebriated, balding fat man – was screaming at the top of his lungs with arms wide open; “start the fucking music already!” His enthusiasm and vulgarity just heightened as the music progressed.
Soon after I could hear another pair of rowdy people behind me yelling comments of encouragement. When I looked over my shoulder I spotted none other than Amy Winehouse and London muso Kristian Marr. Friends of Rod’s, they’d come down to support him too.
After the show as we headed upto the ‘VIP bar’, which looks like my messy bedroom only more antique and full of couches, Jess got stopped by one of her socially awkward clients at the salon who’d clearly had too much to drink and grabbed her arm demanding “Say hello to me! You know me!” The stalking had just begun and there was nothing she could do about it. Poor Jess was startled and confused to say the least.
Upstairs Amy Winehouse was on the jukebox, propping up her fake hair and flaunting her stick thin legs. We went back down for some drinks on the terrace where Lynsey and I encountered yet another circus freak. This time it was “Mollo”, one of Rod’s eccentric toothless band members, who was trying to gain our attention and ultimately probably our affection. We desperately engaged in a strictly one-on-one conversation about the Big Day Out 2011 line-up to exclude and evade him before he got the point and shyly slunk away.
Meanwhile, Kelly was over at her Ottolenghi staff party in Soho where she too was surrounded by a sea of colourful freaks. However at least these people had an excuse for their peculiar behaviour and choice of attire – it was a fancy dress party. With the theme being ‘New York’, Kelly went as Madonna and Jason as Andy Warhol a.k.a Andy Ginghol.
Here are some snaps from their wild party:
Back at The Hawley Arms, it was swarming with party people on this lively Tuesday evening and naturally when Amy Wino and Kristian got up on stage for an impromptu jamming session everyone forwarded into the main stage room for a peek. Lynsey and I crawled up on the benches, risking burning our long manes of hair on the lit candles to get a glimpse of it. It was a pitiable attempt. Amy sounded like a male wailing cat, they kept starting and stopping and only got through about 3 songs in the space of 25mins. Nevertheless there were paparazzi everywhere and naturally the musical duo were featured in the next day’s papers and online music websites.
We had a few more drinks with Rod afterwards, who kept taking off his ragged shoes for he claimed his toes were broken and telling us comical tales of his nomadic life. What a character!
On our way to the tube station we were almost mobbed by a potential thief who swooped rapidly past Lynsey and then we were stalked yet again by Jess’ creepy client who kept directing bizarre hand waves and gestures towards us and was incessantly appearing left, right and centre of us down the streets of Camden. Jess was getting extremely weirded out by his odd behaviour and made us start running for the tube in fear that he was going to follow her home. Only when we arrived in the comforts of our own, locked households did we feel safe from the horde of lunatics that had pervaded our night.
We’ve been saying for almost 9 months now that Jess, Kelly and I would make the daytrip down to Brighton seaside. It took us 9 months to get our acts together and actually go. I suppose the 2 hour travel time always dissuaded us. I see why now. Our 73 bus trip was really painful. We had a toothless singing jukebox on board the whole freaking way – dishing out Lionel Richie, Rihanna and Nelly tunes with his ear-aching voice and dedicating them specifically to us. At one point I’d had enough and bluntly said to him: “Can you please shut up?” He smiled and said to me “For you, I’ll do anything you ask. I’ll get on my knees if you ask me to.” I had the perfect window opportunity to reply: “Would you jump off a cliff if I asked you to?” He just smiled and kept singing. Also on the bus was a voluptuous woman who was allowing her big hairy dog to lick and salivate all over her face and then another woman who was wiping her partner’s profusely sweaty and balding scalp. What the fuck?!
When we finally arrived at ‘Brighton Shore’ the first thing we did was hit the boardwalk and let the Jersey Shore references flow. There we were Pauly D, JWoww and The Sitch creepin’ on the grenade free boardwalk, strolling past the juicehead gymnasiums where we’d conduct the first step of our GTL process and commit the robbery at Klutch and Tantra nightclubs. Unfortunately the vibe at Brighton isn’t the same now that we’re going into winter but we could definitely see the potential for fun and entertainment in this beach town. This was my first glimpse of the ‘ocean’ in almost a year, and despite the sand being composed of pebbles, it was still beautiful to see.
We went and grabbed some fish’n’chips and headed into the Fortune Of War bar for a round of sweet ciders.
We also took the opportunity for a friendly photoshoot on the beachfront and as we were attempting to take a photo of all three of us through a mirror, out popped a young, hot buff man from behind those very mirror doors (which happened to be a gym) who said: “Hey ladies would you like me to take the photo for you?” How handy! Bless him he didn’t even know how to take a photo using an iphone haha.
Brighton very much reminds us of Lords Of Dogtown – the destructed piers, the smooth boardwalk, skating pits, the old Californian-like amusement park, diehard surfers and beachy culture. Peralta, Jboy and TA were there in spirit. For that one day we were the LORDS OF BRIGHTOWN dude. England’s very own Skating Gods.
After lunch we made our way over to ‘The Lanes’ where we found a multitude of male vintage shops, vegetarian shoes and a not-so-mad madhatters shop. Basically, we were a bit disappointed with the quality of the stores on offer. The Lanes themselves however, are very cool, unlike Kelly’s frameless glasses. Didn’t she see ‘being a dickhead is cool’ video?!
Down ‘cat alley’ we went next, encountering a plethora of stray cats on the way. I fell in love with one particular cat perked up on a fence that was called Gideon!
Back in London that evening we had a romantic dinner at Cay Tre Vietnamese in Shoreditch. Jess and particularly Kelly have a bad habit of people watching and were absolutely fixated with a particular couple over on table 5 that were ordering the whole menu and then taking quick breaks outside inbetween meals to pash. We downed our wine that was served in glasses the size of a fishbowl and made our way over to Green & Red Cantina Bar for ‘Tequila Tuesday’ with the gang. On our way there we noticed the ground had been tattooed with a name we are all too familiar with…
It seems Steve Smyth, the midnight guerilla graffiti artist, is making his name known on the streets of Shoreditch!
We met Annalisa, Tessa, Anna, Jess and a few others for some watermelon magaritas and tequila shots.
Me and Kelly’s night ended in the hip, dim-lighted beer garden across the road but the rest of the crew partied on til all hours of the morning. “Are we boring?” we asked ourselves as we waited for the bus at midnight. No. We’ve just partied ourselves out here in London and are more or less ready for an intense detox and relaxing few months back home in Oz. Never thought I’d say this, but I actually can’t wait to get home. The countdown is on.
Patience. Resistance. Self-control. These are three things Kelly and I seem to lack. The eve of Friday 1st October was long reserved as the night we would celebrate our very last day of work with an alcohol-fuelled night, in which we wouldn’t suffer the consequences for we would actually get to sleep in for once in our lives. But there we were on Thursday evening jumping the gun with our lips glued to our wine glasses, killer heels hanging off our feet and an anarchic night out with the girls planned ahead of us. From the moment that rebellious cousin of mine brought home that wine bottle I knew we were setting the rollercoaster in motion and setting ourselves up for disaster.
The night started off relatively innocent and civilized. We went to The Borderline over in Soho to watch a Californian indie band I’ve recently fallen in love with – The Morning Benders. Their music is so warm, inviting and melodious. It wasn’t long before they’d cast their dreamy spell upon Kelly too who melted away at their gorgeous indie pop sound. We were pining to hear a particular song called ‘Excuses,’ which they reserved for the very end and then surprised everyone by hopping down into the crowd to sing it TO us. So lovely!
After the show we hit the bar up for some more double vodkas and contemplated our next move. Didn’t have to think for long as we got a prompt call from Annalisa luring us to the Phoenix Bar that was apparently around the corner from where we were situated. 1st signs of our intoxication: We got lost on the one same block for about 15mins. When we finally found Phoenix Bar, which literally was around the corner, we met our crew of midnight party animals; Anna, Tessa, Annalisa, Jess and a horde of young, bubbly ladies.
After a few more unnecessary drinks there Annalisa decided she’d attempt to blag her way into getting all 15 of us into the extremely private Ivy Club with her one membership. It worked a charm, we all forwarded straight in and upto the top level bar with no issues. 2nd signs of intoxication: My brain didn’t register where we were and the fact it was actually the playground of the very rich and famous.
Strangely enough we were the only ones up there on this fine Thursday evening so had the undivided attention of all the barstaff – probably not a good thing. 3rd signs of intoxication: My eyes were playing tricks on me and so not being able to read the cocktail menu I just picked the first on the list. Luckily it was a succulent choice; prosecco fused with white peach. The prosecco hadn’t quite quenched Kelly’s thirst so she ordered another glass of champagne. Tessa was kind enough to put all the beverages on her tab. We were celebrating afterall; celebrating the fact Annalisa got an amazing acting agent and was now in a contract which would open the doors for great acting opportunities.
At around 1am Anna and her lovely ladies made a wise choice in calling it a night as she had an early start for work the next day. Kelly and I should have followed in her footsteps as we too had work early in the morning the next day (and it was to be our last day, so any normal person would want to be fresh, sober and presentable for this), but what did we do instead? Decided to wreak more havoc upon the city with Tessa and Annalisa who were in dangerously enthused moods. Down the glass elevators we went and back through the Ivy’s foirs, we poured into the Soho streets and fled in a cab further into the depths of the West End towards Whisky Mist. Here Annalisa used her irresistible charm and handy connections with the resident DJ to get us all in. At this time the club was swarming with rich hipsters and Swedish businessman. We found ourselves a private booth and helped ourselves to the constant bottles of costly champagne Tessa had courteously coming to our table. There was no way I was getting out of this looming hangover, I was absolutely doomed for the morning.
Annalisa’s friend Marie Claire was on the decks spinning some great tunes that kept us dancing unremittingly all night – whether it be on the dancefloor, in our booth, on the couches or for some of us even on the floorboards haha. At one point I remember Marie leaving her DJ booth for one moment, leaving Annalisa to mind it and then Kelly and I sneakily trying to infiltrate it and flick all the switches and spin the decks. Thank God Annalisa stopped us from doing so – what a disaster that would have been.
For obvious reasons I can’t remember what time it was when we finally decided to leave or what time it was that I got to bed. I do remember however, searching for cash machines and food which both equally failed. And I certainly remember waking up at 9am with a splitting headache and the shock of realizing I was already an hour and a half late for work. In my panicked stated I then woke Kelly up who realized she too was extremely late for work – 2 hours to be exact. We were dead. We lay rolling around in bed in agony, cursing ourselves for having overdone it the night before and at the same time laughing at how manly our voices sounded. We woke sleeping beauty Jess up with our grizzly bear voices and confusing commotion. Kelly called her boss with an everso apologetic and innocently regretful tone – luckily her boss loves her ass and was very understanding about it. She simply told her ”take your time, have a shower and come in. I was SO worried about you!” Knowing I wouldn’t get the same reaction I started sending suicidal messages to Eddie who as usual just pissed himself laughing at me. “Bongo you have your whole life to live. What do you want for breakfast you flamin’ kangaroo? I’ve got plenty of biscuits if you want comfort food!” Haha good ol’ Eddie – such good intentions but it was going to take more than a few biscuits to cure this deadly hangover.
Kelly and I decided to get the bus together – I feel so sorry for all those passengers who had to endure our boisterous antics. We were still very much drunk. We were also bipolar it seems. One minute we’d be on the verge of tears for how awful we felt and the next we’d be laughing in hysterics at ourselves and at the whole situation. But nothing made me laugh more when Kelly went to get off the bus and her body failed her, causing her to hopelessly topple ALL over the man sitting next to her, landing in his lap. Let’s just say he wasn’t impressed. In her moment of pure humiliation she came to lean on me for support but I too was so embarrassed and dying of laughter that I simply pushed her out the door. The rest of my bus ride was quite awkward as I noticed all the angry faces shooting disgusted glances my way. Then Kelly called me in hysterics, recounting to me how she’d started jogging so she could get to work faster but again her limp, useless body failed her and she fell straight to the ground like a heavy brick. I couldn’t control the thunderous bout of laughter that took over me.
Needless to say my last day of work was quite painful. I somehow managed to get everything done though. I couldn’t believe it was my last day after 8 months. I will definitely miss GigJunkie and all the great people I worked with along the way. Couldn’t have asked for a better job – with all the great gigs, festivals, events and music-related opportunities I got, with all the control I was bestowed with and the very easygoing work atmosphere. I wish there was an equivalent to GigJunkie in Sydney that I could work for – but unfortunately there is not. They have asked me to continue writing gig reviews from Australia however, and hopefully when they branch their site out to my side of the world I can become more involved from there.
At 5pm we all went down to the Southwark Rooms for my leaving drinks – yes, I had to stomach more alcohol eventhough it was the last thing I wanted to do. Tim, Eddie, Pete, Oliver, Marc, Oggy and Nayan forced alcohol down my throat for a good hour or so and then Marc decided to humiliate me with a photo he’d taken of me on my very first day, back when I looked ‘innocent’ he claims. Well any innocence I had was certainly diminished by their bad influence haha – it was the GigJunkie crew encouraging me to drink at gigs, stay out all night and take advantage of my youth haha. And when I complained of being tired or hungover they’d simple shake their heads and say “these youngens just can’t handle the partying anymore!” Awww bless ‘em!
I farewelled the GigJunkie gang after our last thankyou’s, well wishes and hugs. Back at home Kelly was slumped over the couch, having survived her last hungover day at work too. When Jess got home we were all ravenous and lacking energy so we went for a quick dinner at the new tapas restaurant on our street, inviting Tessa and Annalisa along. They were feeling as equally as putrid as Kelly and I was, having had a long day of work that day too. We got seated at the reject table right at the back corner of the restaurant, hidden away from everyone. We just ordered a big meze plate, of which we were rather disappointed with, and had to cancel our main course for it simply just took too long to come out.
After dinner we came home and cuddled up on the couch with the bag of Ottolenghi goodies Kel had brought from work to watch the next installment of Jersey Shore before hitting the hay. How glorious it was the thought of being able to sleep in and having 12 days off!
On Saturday morning after a well-deserved 11 hour sleep we woke up to a rather gloomy day in London and decided to hit the streets of Soho. We made the dreaded busy Saturday morning bus trip to the city and after almost an hour on public transport had developed quite a hunger. We ventured into China Town and over to our fave Chinese restaurant for yum cha lunch. Moment after they took Kelly’s name down for a waiting list I’d regretted not giving them the name ‘Situation’. 10mins later we were escorted to our table upstairs and got down to business with ordering prawn dumplings, Chinese broccoli and squid. Hmmmmmm!
This was the first time we weren’t hit with an overly hyperactive MSG attack after a yum cha lunch. We were however hit with an overwhelming sense of anxiety and depression that in less than 2 weeks we’d be back in Australia. I’m so over feeling nervous about it – can October 12th just come already and be done with it?!?
After lunch we went over to Seven Dials to find the Kiehls skincare store where Kelly got a face analysis by the very smooth and sensual dexterous dermatologist who introduced her to her new life involving a meticulous skin caring scheme. Honestly don’t think she will stick to it for very long. Nice try though doc!
Next we fell in love with this amazing shoe shop stocking all the latest Acne and Opening Ceremony treasures. Ohhh how I wish I had 400 pounds lying around. Tried on the most marvelous pair of Acne shoes which I wanted to take home there and then.
Over in Australia’s very own Mimco store, an Aussie sales girl was playing some Tame Impala tunes. Ah yeah representin’! We went for a wander down the seven streets of the dial, past Monmouth café where we refused to cue in the ridiculously long line for London’s best coffee and then eventually over to Oxford St. This wasn’t before somehow getting completely lost. Despite the numerous times we’ve been in the city we still managed to lose our bearings. Bizarre. By the time we got anywhere near we wanted to be we started following our noses to Princi for some delectable square pizza slices. I’d forgotten how obnoxious the Italian waiters are in there – they’re sooooo nosy and always asking you where your from, if you are Italian, if you’ve been to Rome etc.. who freaking cares?! Let me pay and get the hell outta here.
Next stop was the everso dangerous Topshop – I let Kelly run wild with clothes as I dragged myself behind her with exhaustion of the overly populated and chaotic store. Hours flew by in there and before we knew it, it was 7pm and certainly time to go home. The 73 bus was packed as usual, didn’t get a seat the whole way home and was falling all over the place thanks to the frenetic bus driver turning all the corners with a vengeance. I was then faced with the question; Grinderman gig – to go or not to go? It would mean leaving the house straight away, battling the persistent rain and traveling an hour by myself to stand amongst a horde of rowdy people to watch an energetic rock show. Hmmm.. I had to pass on that one unfortunately. I’d already seen Grinderman live at Later With Jools Holland the other week so I suppose I wasn’t missing out on a lot, despite knowing it would be a phenomenal performance.
Instead we decided to cuddle up on the sofa with watermelon and honey roasted nuts and watch Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure. I just fuelled my love for the 80s Californian scene all over again. Woahhh dude! This is most excellent! Bogus. We ill have a most triumphant time. Be excellent to each other! Woahhhh historical babes! Hahaha so damn good. And a young Keanu Reeves.. ohhh man.. can’t go wrong there.
After another splendid 12 hour sleep we all woke up on Sunday morning feeling… even more fucking tired. It was raining outside – again – so our plans to hit Camden Markets went down the drain. Instead I decided to start doing a bit of a spring clean and packing up all my knick-knacks ready for next week’s dreaded departure. Didn’t realize how much stuff I’d collected over the past 9months here from gig memorabila, to CD’s, to business cards, photos, magazines, posters, 3D glasses, jewellery and other bullshit. I’m a very clingy-to-my-belongings person though so I refused to throw it all out.. just yet. Mum’s not going to be very happy when I bring back all this shit and fill my room with it. Ma, I apologise in advance…
Mexican feasts, tequila shots, 40 year old rockabillies and Matrix-esque trench coats. This pretty much sums up our Saturday night to celebrate Jai’s last evening with us in London town. We got a little gang down to The Big Red rock’n’roll bar over in Holloway consisting of; Jess, Jai, Tessa, Hailey, Steph and myself. After scouring the bar for an empty booth and having no luck, out of desperation we had to stoop to low levels and infiltrate a couple’s romantic date and squeeze into their booth with them. The romance was definitely killed. Not only did we order huge plates of intoxicating food, crouch on their personal space and blow out their candles – with all the shots we were ordering it was inevitable we would turn into a rowdy, obnoxious lot. Oh well!
From our booth we had a great panoramic scope for people watching, and boy were the people in there that night well worth observing. The Big Red is where all the leather-clad rockers, mullet-loving gods and trashy middle-aged women come out to play. It seems floor length leather trench coats are all the rage this month. I felt like we were in The Matrix, having to choose between the red and blue pill.
Tessa later pointed out to me a peroxide blonde, 40-year-old woman wearing a tight leather bustier and underwear, flashing her varicose veined bare legs and enormous breasts. At the particular moment I chose to glance at her she had her legs up in the air, wrapped around some old rocker dude and her hair swinging on the floor. What the fuck.
Soon after Lynsey, James and JD came to join the party. Lynsey had just gotten off the plane from a glorious month spent in America and had a load of photos to show us – particularly from Vegas where she’d visited The Howling Bells in their studio and said that their new material is sounding amazing – and I certainly trust Lynsey’s judgment in music.
I didn’t even recognise JD at first, who’d gotten a haircut from Toni & Guy that he absolutely hated and urgently tried to hide it under a brand new hat. He’s brought a friend along with him, who looked no older than 23, yet firmly claimed to Jess that he was 35. Yeah right! Why would you add 10 years to your real age, especially when you can’t get away with it?! She was unimpressed to say the least.
We called it an early night around midnight – Jai had an early plane to catch up in the morning after all and after almost missing his flights to London, Paris and Gothenberg lately I’m pretty sure he wanted to be in the right, sober frame of mind and on time for this one. We hopped in a taxi home whilst Jai revealed his secret to getting around London so easily – Terry. Little did we know, Jai our secret social butterfly here had sneakily become best friends with a cab driver called Terry who drove him around privately, invited him to his holiday house in Istanbul and even offered to cook him a chicken when he wanted. Tezza and Jai BFF’s for life!!!
On Sunday morning Jess and I had a lazy one around the house. The weather has turned to shit here in London and winter is well on its way so going outside to face the drizzle isn’t very tempting at all. The only time we stepped outside of our warm household parameters was to check out the new cafe ‘Homa’ for a quick lunch. Well, quick it sure wasn’t. The service was soooooooooooo slow it was making me restless. Food was average too. Knowing that they’re all native Italians running that cafe in there I was pretty disappointed with the quality.
That night we held an emergency Jersey Shore meeting and caught up with all the new episodes. We even went to the extreme of paying for the internet – yes we paid for once – just to ensure high speed streaming time and perfect quality for our cinematic experience.
Monday was a sad day. It marked the beginning of my very last week at GigJunkie. Can’t believe I’m still here after 7 months, if I hadn’t gotten this job I would’ve returned to Oz back in February when I was meant to. The amount of free gigs, festivals and events I’ve been to and the bands I’ve gotten to interview thanks to GigJunkie is actually just ridiculous. Sad times…
On Monday evening we rounded up the gang for Pizza East Club. It’s hosted every Monday night where we get together for a meal of which our membership key rings entitle us to 50% off from. Hayley, Randy, Steph, Jess and I were fortunate enough to get a table for an hour that night; it was absolutely packed! Lucky we had Randy there who can order a whole course for everyone in a heartbeat. Bang! Bang! Bang! Everything was ordered in a flash from entrees to salads to pizzas to a never ending flow of red wine. We shared scary stalker stories, Randy told us about her styling sessions with the Norwegian pop star and Jess fooled us all into thinking she’d gotten an oriental, floral tattoo on her neck.
The most engaging and fascinating of all conversations though, was Steph’s stories about her life as a coroner. Yes, she performs autopsies on the deceased. She’s quite a young girl and must have such a strong stomach to be able to cut up dead bodies every day. Not only is it hard witnessing a corpse itself, but imagine when it’s a 15 year old rape victim, a little baby boy, someone in a horrible car accident or a victim of murder and sick mutilation . Those kinds of corpses must be hard to face. I admire her. She told me about a recent ‘client,’ an overtly obese woman who’d died on her toilet seat and been there for 3 months before anyone discovered her. By the time she had the autopsy performed, there were maggots crawling out of her throat and breasts. Probably not the best story to share before the food has arrived on the table…!!!
Dinner was amazing as always. Pizza East never let us down! And after red wine, rocket salads, deep fried squid, olives and almonds, garlic bread and pizzas – with our club key rings the total cost was 10 pounds each. Yeayahhh! After witnessing the pure magic of this key ring Randy chased up the waiter and demanded one at once. It didn’t take long before she was officially inaugurated into the Pizza East Club.
On the bus home Jess and I were tormented by this young kid that looked like he was wearing his dad’s suit and was using his hands free phone feature. It’s a pet hate of mine. I can’t stand when people have these long conversations to what appears to be themselves and use elaborate hand gestures and facial expressions. It’s just silly! Looked like he was on an important business call to Tokyo at 10pm closing a major deal or somethin’. Twat.
On Tuesday evening I had probably my very last Sydney visitor before I myself go back home. Twas none other than my dear university friend Hayder. He’s over here in Europe doing some martial arts fighting competitions with his team. Even though he made me wait 20mins in the freezing cold outside the tube station, it was very lovely to catch up with him.
We went to Hard Rock Cafe where they were having a ‘Q The Music’ night and hosting The Charlatans on the renowned stage. Upon early entry we quickly grabbed a table before they all got full and ordered our complimentary white wine (well I was the only alcoholic of the two us actually, so Hayder stuck to his diet coke). We had the perfect position for the horde of free mini burgers and chicken tenders that were flying out of the kitchen and being served on silver platters by the friendly waitresses. Eddie was there with his girlfriend and he and I had been talking and dreaming about this night of free unlimited food and booze for weeks!!
I talked Hayder’s ear off last night, poor thing. Just so much to catch up on I suppose! Didn’t even end up watching The Charlatans. We saw about 3 songs but I got bored of it and decided to keep drinking and talking outside. They sounded like a bad version of Oasis, which is odd seeing that Oasis were probably influenced by the likes of The Charlatans as they’ve been around for quite some time. If I’m correct, I believe the drummer of The Verve stepped in last night because the drummer of The Charlatan’s is in hospital after having collapsed during a recent show and is being treated for a brain tumour unfortunately.
Outside I was on a roll making friends with those in the ‘industry’. Just so many producers, press and egotistical publicity personalities and industry folks around. One woman who rattled off about a million TV stations she works for has invited me to the football on Sunday, quite a big match actually, and though Hayder said he’d disown me if I didn’t go, I think I’ll have to pass.
Anyways so kept drinking outside even after the gig – got Hayder to teach me some lethal Tae Kwon Do moves that I completely nailed haha. Once I’d had enough of my mortal combat training session though, we left the premises and went for an aimless stroll around town before I made my way home on the tube.
Australia has Rove Live, America has Saturday Night Live and here in England it’s all about Later… With Jools Holland. The waiting list to be in the guest audience for this show is never-ending and practically impossible to get access to. On Tuesday evening Kelly and I were blessed with an invite to be in the audience for the Later… With Jools Hollandb at the renowned BBC Studio. We actually couldn’t believe we were getting this opportunity, it was like a dream come true and it was all thanks to JBoy who was working there as Brandon Flowers was one of the guest performers, along with Grinderman, Scissor Sisters and Rumer.
We made our way over to the iconic studios at 7:30pm, got our wristbands and were escorted through the artists’ dressing rooms and straight to the front of the line by JBoy. This meant we got first pick of where to stand in the audience. Yes, we had to stand. We weren’t properly dressed for standing in this sauna of a studio with heels, long sleeves and jackets. We were boiling within the first 5mins! I totally forgot what TV land was like and that being part of the audience meant you had to be highly enthusiastic in your applause and be mindful that cameras can be on you at any moment. Christ! The warm-up guy was fucking hilarious though, making sure everyone knew what to do and cracking jokes every 2 seconds.
Jools Holland doing his live intro!
Basically all the bands performed a few songs. My highlight was definitely Nick Cave with his new band Grinderman.. fuck they are so damn cool!
Brandon Flowers was of course the audiences’ favourite though, but I’m quite skeptical towards his new album. His backup singers were so cringeworthy too – with their dramatic and unnceccesary facial expressions.
Rumer, the new band, sounded like music for a toilet paper advertisement.. it made me want to fall asleep. But anyone who loves Norah Jones (i.e. our mothers) will absolutely adore it!
It was very entertaining watching Nick’s reaction to the everso camp and flamboyant Scissor Sisters performance. Everytime the camera was on them for their song – Nick Cave would murmur “piece of shit” under his breath and then leave the studio wearing his bold black shades until they’d finished. So hilarious!
There was another guy performing on piano who for a second we thought was Terry from True Blood but soon realized he just had a striking resemblance to him.
We were mortified when they decided to record the Scissor Sisters interview right infront of us, meaning there is a 90% chance our ugly faces are going to be on the show. Great! We were desperately trying to hide from the camera as the overtly gay singer spoke about his how his suitcase was full of sex toys.
Jools Holland himself though was great to watch, it was so surreal being on this show that has had over 250 episodes and staged some of the greatest acts and significant interviews to date.
After the recording of both the Friday night show and the live show Kelly and I headed through the dressing rooms (where we spotted Nick Cave) and to the bar for the post-party and took advantage of the free alcohol. Soon after Jeremy joined us for a short amount of time, their tour bus was about to leave for Dublin and this would be the last time we’d see Jboy. Awwwww! We love him.
On Wednesday night I met Kelly and her friend Annabel from Sydney over in Hoxton Square for a few drinks. As usual, it was buzzing and they were holding some weird hip-hop rave in the back room. Annabel warned us about how boring Sydney was… making the thought that we’re leaving in under 3 weeks even more excruciating. They’d spent the day in the West End drinking tea, Topshopping it up and roaming the city streets, whilst I’d been slaving away at work.
On Thursday evening I convinced Kelly to come out to a gig with me, which is usually always an ordeal. Luckily she did agree to come though because it turned out to be a star-studded event and an amazing show. We went to see I Am Arrows (Razorlight’s ex-drummer’s new band) at the 100 Club, which is an iconic music venue in London that may face shutting down before Christmas because the rent has increased significantly.
The band have some great summery, indie pop tracks under their belt and even invited up Editor’s singer Tom Smith on stage for a duet cover of ‘Wonderful Life’. That was definitely a surprise!
Yet another surprise unfolded when we walked towards the bar for our third double shot of vodka and spotted The Kooks!
After the show we did a bit of bar-hopping before jumping in a cab to meet the Kassidy boys, who’d driven down to London for some press-related engagements. Just to show you how drunk we were by the time we got to Paddington, we somehow ended up in the completely wrong hotel despite the specific instructions we’d been given by Lewis. It was only when we got in the lift, pressed ‘5’ and learnt that ‘level 6’ didn’t even exist at this hotel, that we realized we’d ventured into the wrong building.
It seems infiltrating their residency is what we do best. They were probably expecting a quiet, tranquil and early night’s sleep. But they should know by now that when Kelly and I are around, and particularly when we’ve been drowning ourselves with alcohol, that this is unrealistic.
The evening flew by as we spent it having drunken conversations, watching humourous YouTube clips (not so humorous of the disgraceful Rolf Harris) and being traumatized by Kelly’s poor musical DJing tastes (an onslaught of Mumford & Shit songs) and her fixation with being a paparazzi.
I’m 98% sure Barrie hates us now after our livers ‘borrowed’ his bottle of red wine and we kicked him out of his bed at 3am only to accomodate ourselves. This was completely unintentional and innocent however. We hadn’t planned on sleeping over, especially since we both had work at 8am the next morning.
It was with pure luck that I heard Kelly’s alarm go off at 6am – usually I can sleep through the loudest, most obnoxious of sounds – but I think my body was so anxious and conscious of the fact we HAD to get up for work that I managed to react to the alarm clock. At 6am it was still pitch black and after about 1 hour of sleep and an impending hangover brewing up inside, getting out of bed and finding a cab was the very last thing we wanted to do. But alas it had to be done.
I desperately tried to get as much sleep time as possible by dozing off in the foir, in the cab and then cheekily squeezing in a quick 30min nap at home before grumpily peeling myself out of bed, throwing on socially unacceptable clothes and going to work. Somehow I got there on time. But this didn’t excuse me from being humiliated upon entrance in the office. The boys took one look at me; my disheveled knotty hair, my lack of make-up and ‘I don’t give a fucking shit’ outfit and died of laughter. “Big night Sheila?” they questioned. I meekly grinned, nodded my head and buried my face in my hands. I’m so proud of myself for actually making it through the day but thank God it was Friday and hence I had the weekend to catch up on sleep. I slept like a log for a glorious 15 hours that night and felt like a million bucks the next day.
August and September have proven to be a deficient time for live gigs in London. All the big tours stopped in July and are starting up again in November (coincidentally just when I have to go back home to Sydney!!) so I haven’t had much to review. My gig drought was broken this week however when I headed down to Dingwalls in Camden to check out Cherry Ghost.
They’d been recommended to me by a friend and I was not disappointed by them at all. It was a nice intimate venue, with great sound and a responsive crowd. You can check out my GigJunkie review here… REVIEW: Cherry Ghost @ Dingwalls, London.
Cherry Ghost even published my review on their official website, which was really flattering and nice to know! You can see that here.
After the gig I went to meet up with Lucy and co. who were out on a pub crawl in Camden to farewell Lucy who would be moving up to Sheffield to start her first year at university studying Journalism. It’s very customary here in England for students to move out of home and live on campus at their chosen university, which is usually a few hours away. I imagine the university life is much better here too, with an excess of great gigs, ridiculously cheap drinks, themed parties and appealing events to go to all the time. When I think about how painfully boring and inexistent ‘university life’ is in Sydney, I can’t believe Lucy is dreading going to hers so much.
Lucy, Chris, Egle, Lucy, Becky, Lewis, Charlotte and I just went for a couple of drinks at The Earl Of Camden and Dublin Castle, put a few records on the jukebox and made origami out of metal gig flyers.
On Thursday evening when I got home from work Kelly was flicking through her Ottolenghi cookbook with stars in her eyes and a smile from ear to ear. This could only mean one thing; Kelly was in homecooking mode. She couldn’t have picked a worse night to drag me into her gourmet gastronomy jaunts – I was feeling a bit off colour from exhaustion. Nevertheless there we were in wholefoods buying a horde of exotically random ingredients to make our courgette, hazelnut and pecorino salad with sweet potato cakes and coriander yoghurt sauce.
This is what is was meant to look like:
This is what it turned out to be:
Dinner was doomed from the start; Kelly put too much flour, my heart wasn’t in the sauce I concocted and we didn’t even follow the instructions right. Poor Annalisa, Jess and Jai had to be the guinea pigs of our cooking experiment, and though they tried to cover their disappointment with hesitated smiles and half-truth sayings that “it’s amazing!” we knew the truth – it was horrible haha.
At least it was nice having company and sitting around on our Turkish-inspired floor table.
This weekend was possibly THE most boring weekend I’ve had all year. I did absolutely nothing. Partly out of laziness and partly because since everyone is out of town, there just wasn’t much to do. On Friday I had a phone interview scheduled with the new singer of Sublime whose name is Rome. But that failed because he was calling from America from a cell phone and the connection was really bad so I couldn’t hear him. Instead Kelly and I spent the evening rekindling our love for the show ‘Vampire Diaries’ which had a new season out. It was fang-tastic!
On Saturday I went down to Clissold Park with my laptop and sat in the sunshine blogging.
That night when Kelly got home we were in a bit of a silly mood and started playing dress ups and recording a video, which I cannot reveal for it is simply too embarrassing. Maybe another time folks!
Sunday was spent at home alone, once again, and by this time I was getting restless, unbelievably bored and slightly depressed. I can’t stand being at home for long periods of time.. I start going mental. So mental in fact, that I had the following videos on repeat ALL DAY and was literally laughing for hours by myself:
Later when I’d calmed down, I devised a master plan for my working situation in Sydney where I want to continue what I’ve been doing here. I’ve been in contact with some music magazines and pr companies who want me to write live gig reviews in Sydney so basically free gigs and bylines are secured for me back home yayyyy 🙂 !
Jess was working at London fashion week for Acne that day and kept me updated with backstage photos and footage of the show. Looked amazing!
Later that evening my long lost friend Jason gave me a call and updated me on life in a cave. Where has he been all this time?! Not out partying with us, that’s where.
On Monday evening Annalisa decided to return the favour from the previous night and generously cook us a nice homemade plate of carbonara pasta. Didn’t take long to convince us! We were out of the house and up in her kitchen in a heartbeat.
We pondered over how The Bells are doing in Vegas with their new album, heard about Annalisa’s upcoming movie projects and Tessa’s master plan to move to LA. Then Tessa and Annalisa gave me some ‘bad good advice’ and an enlightening, inspiring lecture about my life and what to do with it. I walked away from the conversation with this life lesson: Live in the moment. When you find you have momentum with something, seize it and run with it! In other words drop my law degree and pursue music journalism, if that’s what I love. Hmmm… a lot to think about there!
On Tuesday I did an interview with Plain White T’s drummer, which you can view here – INTERVIEW: Plain White T’s.
When we filled out our travel cards at the Parisian airport we’d indicated that our reason for traveling was ‘visiting friends’. We’d spent an alcohol-fuelled party night with Beejan, Jess had waved hello to her imaginary friend on a bicycle Vivian and we’d arranged a romantic dinner evening with Thibault for the night. On Monday morning – our last day in Paris – we went to visit our good friends Mr Jim Morrison and the lovely Edith Piaf at the Pere Lechaise cemetery. This graveyard was overflowing with bodies and ashes of some of the ‘greats’ of our time.
We didn’t have time to pay our respects to all of them so we just narrowed it down to two people and began what turned out to be a wild goose chase looking for their graves. Naturally, there were many tourists crowded around Jim Morrison’s place of rest, so that was quite easy to find.
I was so pleased to see a very simple, very honest gravesite – no elaborate statues of angels or gargoyles and no gold-encrusted tablets. It was of course, filled with flowers, letters and paraphernalia by the thousands of fans who come to visit.
It wasn’t that easy to find Edith however, and we almost gave up in our endeavour to locate her gravesite. Jess is a dedicated fan though, so encouraged us to keep looking. Meanwhile Kelly was getting freaked out by a woman whom appeared to have been following us all around Paris and kept popping up in the same places as us.
After spending the morning in the face of death we decided to head down to the more lively Le Marais area and recharge with breakfast. Kelly and Jess were eager to go to the café ‘Le Loir Dans La Theiere’ (which they wrongly thought translated into Alice and the Teapot).
The décor of this place is great. Miscellanous comfy couches, unmatching table and chair sets, Alice in Wonderland murals painted on the walls, books and CD’s everywhere and just a generally chilled out atmosphere.
Jai fell in love with the waitress who was serving us and demanding he make our orders so he could show off his French language abilities. We ordered a round of delicious quiches and salads and were very pleased with the food.
At one point I was admiring the collage of random French posters behind Kelly and couldn’t help but notice the striking resemblance to her in one particular picture. I had to rub my eyes twice, by golly they looked like identical TWINS!!
It was only natural that we ordered dessert – especially after setting eyes on the mouthwatering display of cakes on offer upon our entrance. Jess had already selected the massive meringue cake from the moment she step foot in the café. For reasons unknown we ordered TWO of these bohemoth servings of cake that were bigger than all our hands puts together plus a plum tart. Yes, they were amazing but we foolishly ate ourselves into comas.
After another 30mins of drinking water, heavily breathing, reclining back in our chairs and complaining about having eaten too much we finally peeled ourselves off the table and went for a stroll around the area.
I dragged my body around hesitantly as the three of them hopped in and out of all the shops, purchasing shoes, clothes and luxury candles.
Once they’d had enough we decided to take Jai to see the Eiffel Tower, after all it was his first time in Paris and it’s certainly something you have to see when visiting the capital. Even just as something to tick off your travel list. The problem was we couldn’t find a cab that would take us there. Not because it was peak hour and not because our destination was too far away, but because for some freaking reason cab drivers in Paris don’t allow passengers to sit in the front seat. It’s apparently reserved for their beloved suede jackets and satchel bags. Hence the maximum passenger amount is essentially three people, if you have four then tough luck! I can’t tell you the amount of cabs we pulled over throughout our whole stay in Paris who took a look at the four of us, pointed down to their stupid bags that were occupying the front seat and then drove off shaking their heads. It was ridiculous!!! Why are they declining money and wasting a seat on their belongings which could quite easily fit on the floor, in a compartment or in the boot?! Jackets take priority over people.
Luckily we managed to find ONE cab driver who wasn’t fixated with taking his man bag for a cruise and allowed us the privilge of utilizing the front seat.
After a nice plesant drive along the River Seine we arrived at the Eiffel Tower and found a nice patch of grass by a flowerbed. The sun was shining, the green grass was everso snug and the park was peaceful so logically we squeezed in an unintentional catnap underneath the stunningly tall tower of love.
That evening we miraculously caught a cab to St Paul’s where we had arranged to meet Thibault and his friend for dinner. Whilst we were waiting (as he was running a bit late) we just marveled at all the extremely stylish young French people roaming around. Everyone was skinny, well-dressed and just effortlessly gorgeous. Nothing like London or Sydney. Our people watching was disrupted however, when a homeless bum approached us and we couldn’t understand what it was he wanted from us. Jai stepped in after a while and asked him to be on his way, but he refused and got a bit aggressive calling Jai a cunt and saying “this is my town!” Even when Thibault arrived and we greeted him and started walking towards the restaurant the homeless guy was STILL following us screaming. Gahh!
Thibault and his lovely friend Clements (don’t know how to spell her name!) took us to a nice French restaurant nearby and we were so thankful that we would have native Frenchmen helping us order off the menu. Jai spoiled us with an expensive bottle of champagne to celebrate our final evening in Paris and everyone was satisfied with their food.
After dinner we farewelled Thibault and Clements and headed over to a bar down the road where we kept the wine flowing. All the hipsters were surrounding us and all tables frequenting a deck of cigarettes, making us feel horribly inadequate.
We started trying to fit in by speaking French but our tipsiness, Australian accent and our obsession with saying “Rue Du General Blaise” took over.. This is what ensued:
We made our way over to a cab stand yelling “Rue Du General Blaise” the whole way, along with “Meet Blade, Laser, Blazer and my workout consigliere MiChelle!”
Knowing very well the thorny cab situation in Paris, we ensured that the first cab in our sight was NOT getting away without transporting us home.
We flung the door open and yelled “Take us to Rue Du General Blaise please!” and hobbled on in – but not before I took a photo of Kelly and her twin on the cab door haha.
Back at the hotel we were hoping to have a long, peaceful slumber so as to be bright and fresh for the early flight home in the morning. But this wasn’t going to happen thanks to a group of rowdy Spaniards across the hallway who were making a ruckus at inappropriate times of the night. None of us could sleep and so an agitated Kelly jumped out of bed, swung open the door and told them all to shut the hell up. Some Spanish lady started screaming back in jibberish language and as soon as Kelly saw a kid picking his toe jam in the corridor she just asked them again to keep the noise down and slammed the door. You go girlfriend!
Tuesday morning was a sad occasion having to farewell ‘ma’ at reception. We were quite happy to be returning to London though, despite our beautiful three days spent in Paris. Of course we were 10 minutes late for the pre-ordered cab and of course he had already begun running the metre. Fed up with arrogant cab drivers we started being smart asses and asking if he was sure Jai could take up the front seat where his beloved satchel should be comfortably resting and his drycleaned jacket hanging off the hook. Luckily he didn’t understand what we were saying.
Thankfully there were no deportees, wandering security hands or burger king stops on our flight back to London. Everything went smoothly and for once we arrived on time. Jess had forgotten the number of our local mini cab service ‘Sam’s Cars’ however, so had to call a phonebook directory from the payphone. The operator obviously couldn’t understand what she was saying so she had to spell out Sam’s Cars for them. This is what she said: “S for Sally, A for Andrew, M for…errr… Mayviss!” Mayviss?!? Wtf. We flung our heads around and shot curious glances at Jess. Who the hell says Mayviss?!? What does that even mean.
If it weren’t for the radiating sun burning my eyeballs, the stench of alcohol and cigarettes infiltrating my nostrils and Jess excitedly bouncing up and down about wanting to go to the markets that day.. I woulda slept in ‘til dusk.
I heaved myself up from under the orphanage covers and let the hangover take over me. After all, I’d done it to myself. On Sunday morning we kissed our ‘ma’ goodbye (the minx at reception who by this time we were referring to as our mother a.k.a ma) and we made our way over to the Porte de Clignancourtmarkets. At first the metro seemed like the quickest, easiest way to get there but once we set eyes upon the slum conditions of the Parisian underground system we swiftly changed our minds. It was quite simply scary. Crammed, hot, dirty and swarming with hoodlums the metro really isn’t Paris’ prettiest asset.
The markets weren’t any better either. It was more or less the ghetto. With sleazy merchants undressing you with their eyes and trying to allure you into buying cheap, tacky stupidities. Once we’d gotten through the rough part of town we happened upon some great vintage and antique stores.
We also happened upon a freaky lady that had purposely penciled in a mono brow (because that is OH so attractive?) and an extra pair of eyebrows to go with it (because CLEARLY you can never have TOO many pairs of eyebrows!) In his moment of fascination, Jai asked her if she would get in a photo with him. Sadly she declined and shied away at our every honest attempt to snap a picture of her bizarre facial features.
We stopped off at a café for lunch and again were faced with the difficulty of ordering food off a completely foreign menu. We really needed a translator at this point. Lunch was average, much to everyone’s disappointment. And the service was even worse! This poor café was really understaffed and getting slaughtered by impatient customers like ourselves.
Kelly and I were in a bit of a hyperactive mood that day. When a guy with braces walked past us and said “sexy!” We thought to ourselves “We’re not gonna let this fool get away with that, let’s fuel the situation and embarrass him!” From thereon in came the incessant laughter and “brace face” comments as well as warning Jess who was walking infront of him to “watch out for the sex boy!” He got really nervous and ashamed and walked faster away. Mission accomplished.
Next we tried starting wars with French gangs by laughing at them and yelling out French words of which we didn’t know the meaning, let alone if they were in fact part of the French vocabulary at all. Luckily we didn’t say anything unintentionally offensive.
Jai almost got into a fight when he tried to shoe away these kids that were harassing us at the metro, relentlessly surrounding us and trying to sell us faulty tickets. They wouldn’t leave us alone and it was getting quite intimidating.
Our Orphanage Photo That Failed.
The next destination point was the beautiful Montmartre. What a gorgeous area. There were buzzing markets, packed cafes and random street performers everywhere.
Interesting fellow in the leopard leotard and high socks here..
We made our way over to the Sacre Coeur after stopping many people for directions and making friends on the way. What a panorama! We had such a great view over the Parisian city and sat on the stairs with beers to take it all in.
Meanwhile we were being entertained by capoeira dances, ever so talented football fanatics and of course, our favourite singer/guitarist who delivered a choice selection of classic rock hits from the 70s and 80s.
The audience was in for a treat when he started inviting up members of the crowd to request a song and sing it themselves. First up was “a guy from France” (as he introduced HER). In his defence though, she did look like a man as she had short cropped hair, baggy clothes and a hat on. The sweetheart dedicated ‘Imagine’ by John Lennon to her mother, an elderly woman who sat teary-eyed in the crowd whilst the proud father stood up with his handy cam and recorded the whole thing. The weird thing was though, that she barely sung the song and instead let the guy with the guitar do most of the work. Being the cruel human beings we are, we were laughing throughout most of the performance but the video below will reveal some of our more tender, appreciative moments…
Next up was Nancy from Canada. We were expecting another failure but no this one blew us away when she belted out “Ain’t No Sunshine” with finesse and fire. She was getting REALLY into the performance, with dramatic hand movements, a pre-song band meeting to discuss which guitar chord they’d start with and even a little tiger-like growl that culminated with a firm fist clench. “Bring it home Nancy!” we yelled as we laughed hysterically. The guitarist surely felt a bit intimidated by her and didn’t know what the hell to do when she crumbled under the pressure to perform a second song and stormed off stubbornly because she couldn’t make up her mind as to what to sing and he didn’t know any of her songs.
That afternoon we went for a stroll down the River Seine, which was still being illuminated by the glowing sunshine.
We stopped at every little stall by the water to marvel at the vintage vogue magazines, French culture posters, rock’n’roll paraphernalia and antique novels.
By chance we happened to stumble upon Le Marais – the “cool” area that we’d been meaning to head down to from the moment we touched down in Paris. It was indeed very trendy, artistic and appealing. Kelly and Jess were in fashion heaven for a moment as they scoured the streets for all their favourite labels. *Unfortunately these photos don’t do the area any justice so don’t expect anything groundbreaking to come from them..*
We didn’t feel like going to another French menu where we wouldn’t be able to read the menu again so instead we opted for the Turkish restaurant that had customers lining up around the corner to get in. Jess got amongst the hustle and bustle and blagged a table for us inside.
The face of this Falafel shop was Lenny Kravitz. Photos of him frequenting the restaurant and biting into a kebab were everywhere, you couldn’t escape them it was like Lenny-mania. It seems Mr Kravitz was quite an afficionado of these falafel wraps so naturally we followed Lenny’s advice and went for the falafel wrap.. we were not disappointed! Thanks Len! Never let us down.
Kelly tried to be helpful to the waiter by handing over her plate for him to clear but when he saw that she’d stuck her fork upright he shook his head at her and said; “In China this is VERY bad luck!” Ermm… “If I’m not mistaken here, we’re in France right now, this is a Turkish restaurant, we are Australian and there is no way you have Chinese blood in you,” I thought to myself. Crackhead.
After dinner a hunt for desert ensued. We all had a massive sugar craving after all that red wine and the carbs. We found a cute French café over in St Paul’s and ordered banana splits and crème Brule. Wowwww! They were to die for.
A Matt Damon lookalike was serving us and when we first entered the place and neede assistance with the menu we asked him “Do you speak English?” He simply replied “No” followed by “Good luck!” We were a bit taken aback by his good luck remark and then started stressing over the foreign words before us. We gave the waiter our orders and once we’d gone to all that effort of getting our message across in a mixed, made-up French/Australian language the cheeky little bugger smiled and said: “Can I get you anything else? A drink perhaps?” What could we do but laugh? We got f**king punked!
Needless to say from all the ice cream, sugar, fruit and cake we were all on a bit of a high. Jess especially had her ‘Crème Brule Goggles’ on when she kept pointing out supposedly ‘hot’ guys who really were not as eye-catching as she’d described at all. One thing she did get right though is that there’s something attractive about Parisians with big noses. This became a popular topic of discussion for the rest of the evening.
Still riding on our sugar high we piled into a cab (after much hassle to actually find one that would take the four of us) and the poor driver had to put up with us quoting scenes from ‘Chopper’ and reading out all the French street names in a thick, bogan Aussie accent. Our favourite was our very own street ‘Rue Du General Blaise’ and Jess a.k.a Neville Bartos absolutely nailed it.
You know you’re in trouble when you can barely make it up 4 flights of stairs without huffing and puffing.. by the time we got to our hotel room we were all hyperventilating. What has become of us?! Jai started making beached whale noises and asking me to pass the snags (smokes/cigarettes), Jess was staring upside down at a grasshopper on the ceiling and Kelly was marveling over our orphanage beds that had been made for us. “We love our bed, we love our butter, but most of all we love our MA!” we chanted before hitting the hay. It had been a long day.
Lesson #1 about going to Paris = Never catch a red-eye flight.
Going to Paris was meant to be a serene, quixotic and inspirational experience. But with a 5am flight and an immense lack of sleep and organizational skills, naturally we were off to an awful start. Jess, Kelly, Jai and I dragged ourselves out of bed at the latest minute possible (which was still a ridiculously early hour of the night) and thrusted ourselves into the cab to the airport. Of course, we got the world’s slowest driving cab driver who was practically crawling his way there despite there being absolutely no traffic at this time. Jai soon snapped and said; “Excuse me brother, we’re kind of in a rush can you step on the gas and if there is anyone you can possibly overtake, please do it”.
Here comes the irony. My peculiar roommates made a fuss about running late due to the cab but then happily took 20mins to order a greasy breakfast meal from fucking Burger King. Where is the sense in that?!? The poor cashier at Burger King had to deal with them three making complicated orders and changing their minds constantly so she had to call the manager in for assistance. Lesson #2 about going to Paris: Never rely on my roommates to make sensible choices when there is food around.
The next hurdle came at the security gate. Of course I chose the line where EVERYONE was beeping through the scanners and being searched, further delaying me. And then of course I beeped too and had to get violated at the hands of security. Lesson #3 about going to Paris: Never wear an obscene amount of jewellery or shoes for that matter at an airport. Once we got the green light Kelly and I realized that the plane was departing in like 10minutes so started sprinting to the gates. This wasn’t without us laughing hysterically down the hallways, Kelly’s shoes falling off and me dropping my bags 100 times haha. If only someone had filmed us.
Luckily we made it just in the nick of time thanks to a couple with a pram or something who held everyone up. When we got on the plane after all that morning rush-time stress all we wanted to do was get some shut eye and reenergize ourselves for Paris. Ha! That wasn’t going to happen. As we strolled down the aisle looking for vacant seats, from a distance I heard something that sounded like a dying bird or a crying baby. It turned out to be a fucking grown man, a deportee from Paris who was screaming at the top of his lungs “Ahhhhhh!! Ahhhhhhh!! I don’t wanna go! I don’t wanna go!” And the big baby didn’t stop his useless tantrum for a good 45minutes. I wanted to drive a sharp trident through his skull.
Thanks to this imbecile who was being strapped down by three huge guards and obnoxiously shouting “This is discrimination!” no one on that plane got ANY sleep. When we complained to the air hostesses, to calm our nerves they just merely said “hopefully he will lose his voice soon..” Oh gee thanks that’s assuring. That’s what you get for a fucking red-eye flight; a deportee-filled mental hospital hell hole.
As we touched down in sunny Paris and hopped into our cab, the battle with a foreign language begun. But suddenly Jai broke out in what seemed like fluent French – he’d neglected to tell us he’d once done a course in the French language. Sweet!
We were in for yet another surprise when we pulled up at our Parisian hotel in the 11th arrondissement. Typically, you expect to be greeted by a tall, well-presented man in a professional suit at the hotel reception. Well, no. At our brothel-like hotel the face of the hotel was a scrawny dinosaur-aged woman with a yellow afro wearing a push up bra and a feather boa. Moulin rouge anyone?
I was seriously waiting for her to start doing this…
The pure sight of her wrinkly old boobs being holstered up where no woman’s breasts should ever be made me want to vomit. Hey at least she was very welcoming and talkative even with her complete lack of English language!
The first hurdle came when she couldn’t find our booking name on the list and we thought we’d be back on the street. The second hurdle was that we’d arrived at like 9am and wanted to crash and sleep a bit but check in wasn’t til 1pm. And the third was that when we asked about the park right across the road she told us it was closed, yet when we glanced over it was clearly open and swarming with children and liveliness. Lesson #4: Never trust old French women wearing push up bras and feather boas.
We decided to have a stroll around the area and grab some breakfast. We stopped at a nice local cafe for our first coffee and croissant (or ten in our case), which was delicious.
Walking through the streets and getting our bearings, we got a feel for our the area we’d call home for the next 3 days; a drunken man with penguin feet who’d forgotten to put his pants on, Gainsbourg’s childhood doppelganger and all the neighbours walking through the streets with a baguette in hand. It seems everyone in Paris carries a compact baguette around and stops to have a nibble at every corner. Lesson #5: Always be armed with a fresh baguette in the streets.
Everyone also has a dog. Dogs became a hot topic of conversation throughout the trip; mainly Jess crooning at all the ‘cute’ scruffy, mangled dogs she saw and Jai the cat-lover contrastingly threatening to kick them all. Lesson #6: Lack of canine companion is basically social suicide.
Lunch was a bit of a struggle when we couldn’t understand the menu and consequently had no idea what we were ordering. Fortunately we all selected well and were happy with our meals. Jai and Kelly went for the beef tartare (raw beef with a cracked egg on top).. as gross as it sounds, they loved it and it would quickly become their dish of choice for the rest of the mini holiday. At lunch a woman on a bike cycled by and for some reason Jess thought it was her French friend Vivian and impulsively yelled out “VIV!!” Of course it wasn’t actually her and so Kel, Jai and I were left in hysterics at Jess’ overt rejection.
When we got back to the hotel the friendly feather-boad minx finally let us up to our room, which had 4 orphanage-like beds perfectly lined in a row, and we passed out for a good few hours…
Upon awakening from our slumber our Parisian friend Beejan came to greet us. Kelly and I jumped all over him with joy and praised his swish outfit and diamond-encrusted sneakers. He got out our map and circled a few key places to visit and restaurants to dine at. Lifesaver!!
Meet Beejan!
That evening we went over to Rue Du Oberkampf (which we nicknamed Aubergine St to help us remember). On the way we passed through Rue Du Pasteur (here on in known as Pastry St) and went to Cher Justine (pronounced Shay Justen in a bogan aussies accent) for dinner. It was a cool, buzzing little place with possibly the hottest waiters known to man. Kelly and I were having difficulty keeping our eyes to ourselves and putting our jaws back into place that had dropped to the floor and started drooling over the splendor of these fine men. Lesson #7: Prepare to happen upon your ‘dream man’ at least 5 times a day.
Kelly ordered another steak tartare (I warned you about this obsession earlier). All I recognised on the menu was the word “poullet” which was very similar to the Italian word for chicken for “pollo” so I ordered that not realizing they were going to bring me out an actual whole fucking chicken. Lesson #8: Always bring a portable French interpreter friend to dinner with you.
We washed our meals down with complimentary vodka shots, which were surprisingly quite nice and smooth.
Jai made friends with the hot waiter outside who pointed us into the direction of a cool rockabilly bar down the road. Inside we found an all-girl rock band performing with the coolest chick drummer out. Too bad it was a sauna in there and we had to step outside shortly after. Here we met a French/American dude wearing a feathered hat (what’s with Parisians and their feathers?!?) who was marveling over the fact we were from Australia – I don’t understand what all the fuss is about. Yes we live on a big ‘paradise’ island on the other side of the world, get over it, we’re humans too!
On our way back to the hotel we walked past a drunken French man who started yelling out; “Hey sex girls! Move your sex body!!”I modestly assume he meant “sexy”. Lesson #9: Don’t naively think that just because you’re in luxurious, perfectly manicured Paris, that there aren’t homeless, intoxicated and peverted freaks lurking in the shadows.
Unexpectedly Jai and Jess crashed to sleep when we arrived to our orphanage bedroom – it was only 11pm. Just when I thought all hope was lost of having a wild night out on our first night in Paris, Beejan called us and told us to come meet him in the west end. After much deliberation, Kelly and I got dressed, poured our vodka pineapple concoction into a bottle and cabbed it over to their swanky hotel in the heart of Paris. What a gorgeous cab ride it was – we saw all the illuminated sites all in one drive.
At the hotel we met Beejan’s godbrother Steve and let the alcohol pour over some tunes. We labeled our warm alcoholic mixture ‘Bravo’ for that was the brand of pineapple juice that we used. At 2am, after a few too many Bravo’s we headed over to Le Baron (another of these private members celebrity-swarming clubs reminiscent of London’s west end scene). Beejan was having difficulty deciding weather to wear his hipster no-lense glasses or not. It seemed he made the right choice in wearing them as they helped win over the big bouncer ‘Bac’ to allow us in – only 1 “couple” at a time though. Beejan and I left Kelly and Steve outside as we forwarded in to this intimate, dark, red-lighted room where we found some awesome music and drunken models of both sexes dancing all over the couches. It was fucking rad. Steve bought us all a couple rounds of expensive champagne with vodka and strawberries, which were delectable. Beejan recounted to us tales of seeing the likes of Kate Moss and Lucy Liu partying in this club.
We spent the night drinking and dancing away, meeting a tattoo artist from London, devising plans to steal Le Baron cups and eating lollipops and before we knew it, it was 5:30 in the morning. Much to my surprise the club was still very much buzzing but we desperately needed to get home and sleep so we could function properly for Day 2 of Paris. We stumbled back into the hotel at 6am, found all the front doors unlocked (great fucking security!) and had to wake poor Jai so we could get into our room because we were to drunk to manage using a key by ourselves.
Lesson #10 about going to Paris: Don’t get absolutely wasted on your first night in town and stumble home at 6am.. The next post will explain why…
Some wise old bearded man once said at some time in some place that,‘All good things must come to an end’. Well, that mind-bending proverb was certainly definitive of this week, which saw the long-dreaded parting of many of our closest friends. It all ended with ‘The Last Supper,’ a sad and somber occasion which I will come back to after telling you all about the week’s climatic lead up to it.
On Monday evening I nonchalantly walked into the house after work, expecting to find Kelly lazed across the couch watching Star Wars as usual. Instead I almost had a heart attack when a strange potential burglar man jumped out from the bathroom. I’d totally forgotten that Jess’ childhood Australian friend Jai was moving in that day to stay with us temporarily. Let’s just say, it wasn’t the smoothest of introductions but it all went uphill from there.
Kelly was in her extraordinarily antisocial, hermit mood so I left her in bed watching god knows what whilst Jai and I made our way to Pizza East to meet Jess, Hailey and Randi. For those who haven’t met Randi… woah… she is one crazy, loud, boisterous girl. I love her though! She frenetically ordered our whole meal within minutes, demanding extra servings of the meatballs. Apparently the last time she’d been there, it was her birthday and their table (consisting of only 3 people) were the loudest, rowdiest in the restaurant and received complaints from other patrons (mainly a conservative lesbian couple) so no wonder the waiter recognised her when he came to take our order.
Jai certainly didn’t get a tranquil, smooth initiation into London life on his first night there, especially with the onslaught of red wine bottles that made their way over to our table and Randi’s colourful self who already invited him over for her infamous ‘Come Dine With Me,’ for a traditional Norwegian homecooked meal courtesy of her.
On Tuesday night I dragged Kelly out to the west end to see a private film screening of the Rolling Stones’ 1972 concert, which has been restored and re-released for the first time since it’s inception in the 70s. She was extremely late due to the inconvenient tube strike that was occurring that day, but luckily when we arrived at the cinema in Soho the film was yet to start. I instantly regretted not wearing something a little more ‘cool’ that day at work especially when we saw all the young hot hipsters and old swave rockers waiting around for the screening to start. As I was treating my hot date Kelly to some popcorn and coke, we overheard the cashier saying that Bill Wyman was actually in the cinema now and would be watching the film amongst us all. What a nice touch to the evening.
Anyways the concert doco was rad! Although there wasn’t any backstage footage and very limited interviews, it was really interesting to see how gigs were filmed back then; with limited angles, no shots of the audience, dark and dim lighting and lacking any special effects. It was just the music and the raw performance of the band, which in the Rolling Stones’ case was amazing. Jagger was such a compelling front man and particularly entertained Kelly and I with his sexy pelvic gyrations and flamboyant costume changes consisting of full body suits in all colours of the rainbow and glittery eye make-up. We also kept laughing at inappropriate moments because of our fixation with pointing out old long-haired men that look like us; I was assigned to Mick Taylor whilst Kelly was labeled Ronnie Wood.
Kelly’s alter ego
Shannons’ pseudo twin
After the film as we were standing in the foir we caught a glimpse of a trendy older man donning a beige leather jacket and rocking a pair of black shades. It didn’t take us long to gather it was the bassist Bill Wyman himself and we strode over to him to get his autograph. Knowing our luck we didn’t have a pen and either did he so we had to do the whole awkward search for a pen, taking up his precious time haha. Luckily he was a lovely ol’ chap and more than happy to chat to us and bestow us with his legendary signature.
We went for a little stroll around Soho, declaring our love for this beautiful city called London and whinging about not wanting to return to Sydney as usual. For dinner we were craving yum cha but obviously at this time of night it isn’t on so we just had standard Chinese instead. On our way to the restaurant Kelly told me she had this really intense, disturbing story to tell me but when I asked her what it was she said, “Oh no wait till we get there, I’ll tell you over dinner”. Oh great thanks Kelly, reserve the distressing, gory stories about 17y.o muslim girls being gang raped before thousands of men, stoned to death and mutilated for when I’ve got food on my plate and trying to enjoy my meal – makes lots of sense! This brought on the whole deep and meaningful ‘the world is fucked and we’re so lucky and take it for granted’ conversation.
On the bus ride home just as we were winding down and dreaming of bed, we got a phone call from Jess who was on her way out to a bar in Shoreditch with the gang and was inviting us to join them at the Mercury Prize Award Show After Party at Soho House (pretty much the area where we had just come from). The xx had won, which is Fiddy’s band that he’s been working for so we were all invited to a night that was sure to be amazing. This is the problem with London – there is ALWAYS something great and highly tempting on and even when you just want to go home sober and sleep on a Tuesday night for once, you find yourself contemplating whether to thrust yourself right into the party circuit and drink til you can’t think or not. In the end, after much deliberation we decided it was best not to go since it was already quite late and after all we had a pretty big night planned for the next evening.
On Wednesday Fiddy, Jai and myself headed over to the Relentless Garage in Islington for Brandon Flower’s super secret warm-up gig for his solo tour. We met Juanita and Jboy out back who walked us right through backstage where I unexpectedly bumped into Brandon himself who was looking everso handsome. We wished him good luck for the show and assumed our position up back, it was an absolute sauna in there so front row amongst the jam-packed crowd wasn’t looking too appealing. The show was great, nothing groundbreaking or mind-blowing but you know, Brandon Flowers is a fantastic frontman, he has a great voice and it was certainly a nice change to see him performing from up close in an intimate, simple venue rather than on an immensely large world arena stage.
After the show we encountered a bit of a problem in the form of a slightly unbearable, clingy hanger-on called Cecile. This woman will talk your fucking ear off and she happens to pop up anywhere that we go. Surprise surprise she rocked up at the Brandon Flowers gig and wanted to hang out with us so we needed to devise an escape plan. One by one we said our goodbyes, pretending we were going home and ran around the corner to wait for a cab. Mission successful.
When we got to the Sanderson Hotel where the after party would be, things were a bit slow to start. Whilst Juanita, Jboy and Anna had dinner with Brandon and the band, the rest of us had to endure a handful of obnoxiously inebriated silver foxes who were convinced that Steve Smyth was from the Killers and wanted him to perform for them. They also treated us to a foot tapping dance extravaganza and kept buying us rounds of drinks. Oh and guess who found us there? Cecile! What a lovely surprise.
Finally the afterparty bar with an unlimited alcohol tab opened so Steve and I took advantage of the private space and full attention of the waitstaff and got a friendly game of snooker underway. I haven’t played pool in years but much to my surprise I did pretty damn well and even leveled with Mr Smyth right at the end. Unfortunately Mr Flowers and entourage came into the bar and interrupted our game – there was NO way in hell I was playing pool in front of him.
Flowers was being snapped up by paparazzi with his host of celebrity guests including Mark Ronson and someone from Duran Duran. Mr Ronson brought his slutty French ‘model’ girlfriend who ensnared all the mens’ attention with her outrageously large and emphasized cleavage that was just spilling out of her ridiculously tight dress. Not only that but she was crawling all over the pool table trying to ‘be sexy’, even when the security told her not to, which was making things uncomfortable for everyone in the room.
Kelly arrived quite late from her traditional Jewish New Years dinner and we got talking to the band for a while, who were just so lackluster and straight.
The afterparty was pretty average actually, these things never are very exhilirating, especially when your dealing with Brandon the morman who made a sneaky French exit about an hour later and left all his guests to indulge in the free flow of champagne in this tiny bar that resembled the cellophane glass staircase from Beauty and the Beast.
And now we arrive back to ‘The Last Supper’, our last official evening with the WHOLE London crew before we all part our separate ways. A time and location was set for 8pm Vietgrill in Shoreditch (had to keep it in our local east end hood of course!)
Much to everyone’s shock, Kelly, Jai, Jess, Fiddy and I were the first ones at the table for once in our lives, followed by Glenn, Brendan, Annalisa, Tessa, Adam and Anna. Last but not least were Juanita and Jeremy and the only ones missing were Lynsey (who is currently traveling in the US) and Steve who was nowhere to be found. Tonight we would be farewelling The Howling Bells who were off to Las Vegas to record their highly anticipated new album, after months and months of being screwed around by mainstream record labels. We were so proud of them and thrilled to see them doing things their own way and making the new record happen on their own terms.
We also wouldn’t be seeing much of Jeremy anymore for he would soon embark on Brandon Flowers’ solo tour through Europe. It would also be our last night with temporary roomie and party animal in crime Fiddy who was returning to San Diego and wouldn’t be back in time for our final depature to Oz.
There was no denying that Fiddy would miss the ‘gossip girl’-esque drama that we would bring to the household and the weekly breakdowns over our wardrobe crisis. “Oh my God I have nothing to wear! I’m not going anymore! I look like a disgusting fat man!” he sarcastically yelled out, imitating our conversations every Friday night.
When he saw the state of our chaotically disorganised bedroom Fiddy absolutely freaked out and made way for the door, but not before Kelly launched a pair of silicone fillets at his face hysterically screaming “Fiddy! Think fast!” Hahaha as if he isn’t going to miss us?!
As we were waiting for Jai in the shower so we could go to dinner, Fiddy had a sneaky cigarette over our windowsill and just as he flicked his cigarette saying “I always worry that when I flick my cigarette out like this I’m going to hit someone.” Just as he finished that sentence the lit cigarette landed on directly on some poor cyclists head and we jumped back faster than I can say vegetable.
Dinner was delicious (except Kelly’s whose measly mango salad left her starving to death and feeding off our leftovers), but unfortunately we were all feeling a bit zombie-like from the night before and Kelly and I especially were feeling nervous and overwhelmed about having to say bye to everyone. After dinner we all started prompting and probing Kelly to make a toast and speech at the table, to which she shyly declined. To incite a bit of encouragement we started banging on the table with fork and knives in hand, screaming “speech, speech, speech!” before Juanita incited a ‘Happy Birthday’ song to Kelly. The restaurant caught onto this and actually believing that we were celebrating a birthday started flicking the lights on and off and getting excited. Golden moment.
The waterworks were switched on outside when Kelly and I said a teary-eyed bye to Juanita, who had become like a big sister to us over the past few months in London and had been so wonderful to us. We didn’t let her go until she promised she would spend New Years in Sydney with us and make effort to come visit regularly.
The rest of the gang went for a few drinks at Prague bar whilst Kelly, Annalisa, Tessa and I got into Bren’s rental car, which smelt of rotten ass and went home. The next night, after a few drinks with Lucy and work colleagues in Southwark, we invited Bren and Annalisa over for dinner by Jai (which due to miscommunication they didn’t end up eating). This was so we could farewell our dear cousin Bren who’d be joining his band in Vegas to record and would probably never be returning to Australian soil. Sad times.
Oh well, just like that old wise bearded man once said at some time in some place, ‘All good things must come to an end’ and they certainly are here and now in ol’ London town.
Some wise old bearded man once said at some time in some place that, ‘All good things must come to an end’. Well, that mind-bending proverb was certainly definitive of this week, which saw the long-dreaded parting of many of our closest friends. It all ended with ‘The Last Supper,’ a sad and somber occasion which I will come back to after telling you all about the week’s climatic lead up to it.
On Monday evening I nonchalantly walked into the house after work, expecting to find Kelly lazed across the couch watching Star Wars as usual. Instead I almost had a heart attack when a strange potential burglar man jumped out from the bathroom. I’d totally forgotten that Jess’ childhood Australian friend Jai was moving in that day to stay with us for a whole month. Let’s just say, it wasn’t the smoothest of introductions but it all went uphill from there.
Kelly was in her extraordinarily antisocial, hermit mood so I left her in bed watching god knows what whilst Jai and I made our way to Pizza East to meet Jess, Hailey and Randi. For those who haven’t met Randi… woah… she is one crazy, loud, boisterous girl. I love her though! She frenetically ordered our whole meal within minutes, demanding extra servings of the meatballs. Apparently the last time she’d been there, it was her birthday and their table (consisting of only 3 people) were the loudest, rowdiest in the restaurant and received complaints from other patrons (mainly a conservative lesbian couple) so no wonder the waiter recognised her when he came to take our order.
Jai certainly didn’t get a tranquil, smooth initiation into London life on his first night there, especially with the onslaught of red wine bottles that made their way over to our table and Randi’s colourful self who already invited him over for her infamous ‘Come Dine With Me,’ for a traditional Norwegian homecooked meal courtesy of her.
On Tuesday night I dragged Kelly out to the west end to see a private film screening of the Rolling Stones’ 1972 concert, which has been restored and re-released for the first time since it’s inception in the 70s. She was extremely late due to the inconvenient tube strike that was occurring that day, but luckily when we arrived at the cinema in Soho the film was yet to start. I instantly regretted not wearing something a little more ‘cool’ that day at work especially when we saw all the young hot hipsters and old swave rockers waiting around for the screening to start. As I was treating my hot date Kelly to some popcorn and coke, we overheard the cashier saying that Bill Wyman was actually in the cinema now and would be watching the film amongst us all. What a nice touch to the evening
Anyways the concert doco was rad! Although there wasn’t any backstage footage and limited interviews, it was really interesting to see how gigs were filmed back then; with limited angles, no shots of the audience, dark and dim lighting and lacking any special effects. It was just the music and the raw performance of the band, which in the Rolling Stones’ case was amazing. Jagger was such a compelling front man and particularly entertained Kelly and I with his sexy pelvic gyrations and flamboyant costume changes consisting of full body suits in all colours of the rainbow and glittery eye make-up. We also kept laughing at inappropriate moments because of our fixation with pointing out old long-haired men that look like us; I was assigned to Mick Taylor whilst Kelly was labeled Ronnie Wood.
After the film as we were standing in the foir we caught a glimpse of a trendy older man donning a beige leather jacket and rocking a pair of black shades. It didn’t take us long to gather it was the bassist Bill Wyman himself and we strode over to him to get his autograph. Knowing our luck we didn’t have a pen and either did he so we had to do the whole awkward search for a pen, taking up his precious time haha. Luckily he was a lovely ol’ chap and more than happy to chat to us and bestow us with his legendary signature.
We went for a little stroll around Soho, declaring our love for this beautiful city called London and whinging about not wanting to return to Sydney as usual. For dinner we were craving yum cha but obviously at this time of night it isn’t on so we just had standard Chinese instead. On our way to the restaurant Kelly told me she had this really intense, disturbing story to tell me but when I asked her what it was she said, “Oh no wait till we get there, I’ll tell you over dinner”. Oh great thanks Kelly, reserve the distressing, gory stories about 17yo muslim girls being gang raped before thousands of men, stoned to death and mutilated for when I’ve got food on my plate and trying to enjoy my meal – makes lots of sense! This brought on the whole deep and meaningful ‘the world is fucked and we’re so lucky and take it for granted’ conversation.
On the bus ride home just as we were winding down and dreaming of bed, we got a phone call from Jess who was on her way out to a bar in Shoreditch with the gang and was inviting us to join them at the Mercury Prize Award Show After Party at Soho House (pretty much just the area where we had come from). The xx had won which is Fiddy’s band that he’s been working for so we were all invited to a night that was sure to be amazing. This is the problem with London – there is ALWAYS something great and highly tempting on and even when you just want to go home sober and sleep on a Tuesday night for once, you find yourself contemplating whether to thrust yourself right into the party circuit and drink yourself silly or not. In the end, after much deliberation we decided it was best not to go since it was already quite late and after all we had a pretty big night planned for the next evening.
On Wednesday Fiddy, Jai and myself headed over to the Relentless Garage in Islington for Brandon Flower’s super secret warm-up gig for his solo tour. We met Juanita and Jboy out back who walked us right through backstage where I unexpectedly bumped into Brandon himself who was looking everso handsome. We wished him good luck for the show and assumed our position up back, it was an absolute sauna in there so front row amongst the jampacked crowd wasn’t looking too appealing. The show was great, nothing groundbreaking or mind-blowing but you know Brandon Flowers is a fantastic frontman, he has a great voice and it was certainl a nice change to see him performing from up close in an intimate simple venue rather than on an immensely large world arena stage. You can check out my GigJunkie review here……………… REVIEW: Brandon Flowers @ The Garage, London.
After the show we encountered a bit of a problem in the form of a slightly unbearable, old clingy hanger-on called Cecile. This woman will talk your fucking ear off and she happens to pop up anywhere that we go. Surprise surprise she rocked up at the Brandon Flowers gig and wanted to hang out with us so we needed to devise an escape plan. One by one we said our goodbyes, pretending we were going home and ran around the corner to wait for a cab. Mission successful.
When we got to the Sanderson Hotel where the after party would be, things were a bit slow to start. Whilst Juanita, Jboy and Anna had dinner with Brandon and the band, the rest of us had to endure a handful of obnoxiously inebriated silver foxes who were convinced that Steve Smyth was from the Killers and wanted him to perform for them. They also treated us to a foot tapping dance extravaganza and kept buying us rounds of drinks.
Finally the afterparty bar with an unlimited alcohol tab opened so Steve and I took advantage of the private space and full attention of the waitstaff and got a friendly game of snooker underway. I haven’t played pool in years but much to my surprise I did pretty damn well and even leveled with Mr Smyth right at the end. Unfortunately Mr Flowers and entourage came into the bar and interrupted our game – there was NO way in hell I was playing pool in front of him.
Flowers was being snapped up by paparazzi with his host of celebrity guests including Mark Ronson and someone from Duran Duran. Mr Ronson brought his slutty French ‘model’ girlfriend who ensnared all the mens’ attention with her outrageously large and emphasized cleavage that was just spilling out of her ridiculously tight dress. Not only that but she was crawling all over the pool table trying to ‘be sexy’, even when the security told her not to, which was making things uncomfortable for everyone in the room.
Kelly arrived quite late from her traditional Jewish New Years dinner and we got talking to the band for a while, who were just so lackluster and straight. The afterparty was pretty average actually, these things never are very exhilirating, especially when your dealing with Brandon the morman who made a sneaky French exit about an hour later and left all his guests to indulge in the free flow of champagne in this tiny bar that resembled the cellophane glass staircase from Beauty and the Beast.
And now we arrive back to ‘The Last Supper’, our last official evening with the WHOLE London crew before we all part our separate ways. A time and location was set for 8pm Vietgrill in Shoreditch (had to keep it in our local east end hood of course!)
Much to everyone’s shock, Kelly, Jai, Jess, Fiddy and I were the first ones at the table for once in our lives, followed by Glenn, Brendan, Annalisa, Tessa, Adam and Anna. Last but not least were Juanita and Jeremy and the only ones missing were Lynsey (who is currently traveling in the US) and Steve who was nowhere to be found. Tonight we would be farewelling The Howling Bells who were off to Las Vegas to record their highly anticipated new album, after months and months of being screwed around by mainstream record labels. We were so proud of them and thrilled to see them doing things their own way and making the new record happen on their own terms. We also wouldn’t be seeing much of Jeremy anymore for he would soon embark on Brandon Flowers’ solo tour through Europe. It would also be our last night with temporary roomie and party animal in crime Fiddy who was returning to San Diego and wouldn’t be back in time for our final depature to Oz.
There was no denying that Fiddy would miss the ‘gossip girl’-esque drama that we would bring to the household and the weekly breakdowns over our wardrobe crisis. “Oh my God I have nothing to wear! I’m not going anymore! I look like a disgusting fat man!” he sarcastically yelled out, imitating our conversations every Friday night.
When he saw the state of our chaotically disorganised bedroom Fiddy absolutely freaked out and made way for the door, but not before Kelly launched a pair of silicone fillets at his face hysterically screaming “Fiddy! Think fast!” Hahaha as if he isn’t going to miss us?! As we were waiting for Jai in the shower so we could go to dinner, Fiddy had a sneaky cigarette over our windowsill and just as he flicked his cigarette saying “I always worry that when I flick my cigarette out like this I’m going to hit someone.” Just as he finished that sentence the lit cigarette landed on directly on some poor cyclists head and we jumped back faster than I can say vegetable.
Dinner was delicious (except Kelly’s whose measly mango salad left her starving to death and feeding off our leftovers), but unfortunately we were all feeling a bit zombie-like from the night before and Kelly and I especially were feeling nervous and overwhelmed about having to say bye to everyone. After dinner we all started prompting and probing Kelly to make a toast and speech at the table, to which she shyly declined. To incite a bit of encouragement we started banging on the table with fork and knives in hand, screaming ‘speech, speech, speech!’ before Juanita incited a ‘Happy Birthday’ song to Kelly. The restaurant caught onto this and actually believing that we were celebrating a birthday started flicking the lights on and off and getting excited. Golden moment.
The waterworks were switched on outside when Kelly and I said a teary-eyed bye to Juanita, who had become like a big sister to us over the past few months in London and had been so wonderful to us. We didn’t let her go until she promised she would spend New Years in Sydney with us and make effort to come visit regularly.
The rest of the gang went for a few drinks at Prague bar whilst Kelly, Annalisa, Tessa and I got into Bren’s rental car, which smelt of rotten ass and went home. The next night, after a few drinks with Lucy and work colleagues in Southwark, we invited Bren and Annalisa over for dinner by Jai (which due to miscommunication they didn’t end up eating). This was so we could farewell our dear cousin Bren who’d be joining his band in Vegas to record and would probably never be returning to Australian soil. Sad times.
Oh well, just like that old wise bearded man once said at some time in some place, ‘All good things must come to an end’ and they certainly are here and now in ol’ London town.
For reasons unknown, everytime we go out for an alcohol-fuelled night we seem to start demanding a hotel party in the dark hours of the evening. After months of hyperbole, we decided to put an end to these empty promises and actually organised for a hotel party. The location was Sanderson Hotel, the room was Jboys and the time was 9pm. We all arrived sharply on time and heavily prepared – armed with vodka bottles and killer heels.
I should probably rewind a bit first and tell you about our bus ride over there. After the cashier at the off licence held us up in there with his awkward fixation with the number 3, constantly saying “here’s 3 plastic cups, for 3 beautiful girls going on the 73 bus” we finally escaped his clutches and got on the damn bus. When I walked onto the public vehicle I felt like I’d stepped into a scene from ‘Dream Team’. Everyone on that bus was just fucking weird, wacky and off the wall. From the cross-eyed bogan on the back seat to the one-toothed homeless reciting poetry at the front to the ‘big issue’ preaching man that had a fat ginger cat on a leash wrapped around his neck and smelt like rotten ass, the bus was swarming with seventy-freetards and there was just nowhere to run.
I could breathe again when we finally made it to the Sanderson and by then a vodka cranberry or four was well overdue. Juanita gave us a quick tour of their lovely suite, pausing in the lavish bathroom to give us some goss. It wasn’t long before Jboy interrupted our tittle-tattle session and dragged us back in the room to socialise. That’s when I encountered an eccentric character who was a good friend of Brendan’s and got sucked into a deep, philosophical conversation about life and politics. Kelly later bestowed Brendan with a gift she’d generously purchased him that day. It was a vintage French prison shirt from Church St that had his name written ALL over it. Much to her delight he adores it and has been wearing it almost everyday since.
Anyways.. so much for a hotel party. Ironically we gave up on that idea within about 30mins of drinking and decided to head downstairs to the long bar. Here we found a host of ‘top end’ prostitutes and Indian suits swooning over ridiculously expensive cocktails. We never get bored of playing ‘spot the slut’. We all agreed to treat ourselves to one drink, which ended up being enough as they were pretty potent.
Yes, you read correctly – £490 for a 70-year old whiskey cocktail.
Next stop was Cuckoo club further in the depths of the west end. We were chaperoned through the club and over to a big table where in the dark I could see a group of young men dining and drinking. As we approached the table and took our seats, I looked up and realised we were sharing a table with none other than Brandon Flowers and his new all-American band. Jeremy introduced us to everyone and the conversations started flowing over the absurdly large bottles of complimentary vodka that kept coming our way. This was going to get dangerous. Ermm.. so, as you can probably guess I don’t quite remember much from this evening, it flew by pretty quickly but I’m sure everyone had an enjoyable evening. I do remember Brandon Flowers though, who was dashingly handsome but unfortunately is extremely shy and left the club after an hour or so. Good move I suppose, I wouldn’t wanna be hanging out in Cuckoo club either!
Needless to say on Sunday I was struck by a deadly hangover and spent most of the day complaining about wanting to end my life. Turns out all I needed was some freaking food in my stomach and once I’d stuffed myself with a wholesome vegie burger from Blue Legume I felt like a million bucks. Kelly and I looked like the biggest dags whilst in this cafe but in our state we just couldn’t care less. We’d more or less strolled in there with our pyjamas on and this is pretty much social suicide in our area, especially on a Sunday when our street gets inundated with pretentiousness as all the rich families, snobby cliques and chic couples come out for their poshy brunch and coffee clubs. Whatever!
After ‘brunch’ we staggered back home and made ourselves comfy on the couch, ready for a movie marathon. All of a sudden in the corner of my eye I could detect some suspicious activity across the road. I looked up and there was madcap Glenn scaling his balcony, hanging out the window like a monkey and waving his hands frantically to get our attention. Turns out all he wanted to know was whether we were going to Brendan’s BBQ that evening. After several minutes of contemplation and procrastination I decided to join in on the Sunday evening social festivities while Kelly curled up in bed like a recluse and watched Hocus Pocus.
Over at the Brennalisa residence, Brendan had a mouthwatering feast cooking on the ‘Barbie’.
Everyone was pairing off one by one to socializing about their weekends, their jobs, their homes and their lives. I was still hungover and thus a bit incapable and too lethargic to engage in any deep conversations with humans. Sitting alone on the couch contemplating my next move, I glanced somberly at the doorway and there he was, my knight in shining armour, the one I’d been waiting a lifetime for, like Cinderella for her Prince Charming. Time came to a standstill, the room was suddenly illuminated and I could feel the pure magic in the air as this dark, handsomely gallant figure strode towards me with a smouldering smile gleaming across his chiseled face.
Everyone meet Nacho, the love of my life!
What I’m trying to describe here folks is a bit of love at first site. From the moment I lay eyes on Nacho I couldn’t take them off him and spent the entire evening with my arms wrapped around him.
What a cutie!!!
Notice how petrified my lover looks in Glenn’s arms..
And the same in Annalisa’s..
Anyways the only things that distracted me away from little Nacho that night were 1. The food and 2. Steve Smyth’s dazzling spontaneous performance that mesmerized us all.
We decided to call it an early one so Anna, Glenn, Steve and I hopped into her car and made our way home not long after. But first we had to make a quick pitstop at Kings Cross so that party boy Glenn could get the night started with some American female companions, he kept getting offended when we’d yell out the windo “Bye Creepy Uncle Glenn!!!”
For reasons unknown, everytime we go out for an alcohol-fuelled night we seem to start demanding a hotel party in the dark hours of the evening. After months of hyperbole, we decided to put an end to these empty promises and actually organised for a hotel party. The location was Sanderson Hotel, the room was Jboys and the time was 9pm. We all arrived sharply on time and heavily prepared - armed with vodka bottles and killer heels.
I should probably rewind a bit first and tell you about our bus ride over there. After the cashier at the off licence held us up in there with his awkward fixation with the number 3, constantly saying “here’s 3 plastic cups, for 3 beautiful girls going on the 73 bus” we finally escaped his clutches and got on the damn bus. When I walked onto the public vehicle I felt like I’d stepped into a scene from ‘Dream Team’. Everyone on that bus was just fucking weird, wacky and off the wall. From the cross-eyed bogan on the back seat to the one-toothed homeless reciting poetry at the front to the ‘big issue’ preaching man that had a fat ginger cat on a leash wrapped around his neck and smelt like rotten ass, the bus was swarming with seventy-freetards and there was just nowhere to run.
I could breathe again when we finally made it to the Sanderson and by then a vodka cranberry or four was well overdue. Juanita gave us a quick tour of their lovely suite, pausing in the lavish bathroom to give us some goss. It wasn’t long before Jboy interrupted our tittle-tattle session and dragged us back in the room to socialise. That’s when I encountered an eccentric character who was a good friend of Brendan’s and got sucked into a deep, philosophical conversation about life and politics. Kelly later bestowed Brendan with a gift she’d generously purchased him that day. It was a vintage French prison shirt from Church St that had his name written ALL over it. Much to her delight he adores it and has been wearing it almost everyday since.
Anyways.. so much for a hotel party. Ironically we gave up on that idea within about 30mins of drinking and decided to head downstairs to the long bar. Here we found a host of ‘top end’ prostitutes and Indian suits swooning over ridiculously expensive cocktails. We never get bored of playing ‘spot the slut’. We all agreed to treat ourselves to one drink, which ended up being enough as they were pretty potent. Next stop was Cuckoo club further in the depths of the west end. We were chaperoned through the club and over to a big table where in the dark I could see a group of young men dining and drinking. As we approached the table and took our seats, I looked up and realised we were sharing a table with none other than Brandon Flowers and his new all-American band. Jeremy introduced us to everyone and the conversations started flowing over the absurdly large bottles of complimentary vodka that kept coming our way. This was going to get dangerous. Ermm.. so, as you can probably guess I don’t quite remember much from this evening, it flew by pretty quickly but I’m sure everyone had an enjoyable evening. I do remember Brandon Flowers though, who was dashingly handsome but unfortunately is extremely shy and left the club after an hour or so. Good move I suppose, I wouldn’t wanna be hanging out in Cuckoo club either!
Needless to say on Sunday I was struck by a deadly hangover and spent most of the day complaining about wanting to end my life. Turns out all I needed was some freaking food in my stomach and once I’d stuffed myself with a wholesome vegie burger from Blue Legume I felt like a million bucks. Kelly and I looked like the biggest dags whilst in this cafe but in our state we just couldn’t care less. We’d more or less strolled in there with our pyjamas on and this is pretty much social suicide in our area, especially on a Sunday when our street gets inundated with pretentiousness as all the rich families, snobby cliques and chic couples come out for their poshy brunch and coffee clubs. Whatever!
After ‘brunch’ we staggered back home and made ourselves comfy on the couch, ready for a movie marathon. All of a sudden in the corner of my eye I could detect some suspicious activity across the road. I looked up and there was madcap Glenn scaling his balcony, hanging out the window like a monkey and waving his hands frantically to get our attention. Turns out all he wanted to know was whether we were going to Brendan’s BBQ that evening. After several minutes of contemplation and procrastination I decided to join in on the Sunday evening social festivities while Kelly curled up in bed like a recluse and watched Hocus Pocus.
Over at the Brennalisa residence, Brendan had a mouthwatering feast cooking on the ‘Barbie’. Everyone was pairing off one by one to socializing about their weekends, their jobs, their homes and their lives. I was still hungover and thus a bit incapable and too lethargic to engage in any deep conversations with humans. Sitting alone on the couch contemplating my next move, I glanced somberly at the doorway and there he was, my knight in shining armour, the one I’d been waiting a lifetime for, like Cinderella for her Prince Charming. Time came to a standstill, the room was suddenly illuminated and I could feel the pure magic in the air as this dark, handsomely gallant figure strode towards me with a smouldering smile gleaming across his chiseled face.
Everyone meet Nacho, the love of my life! What I’m trying to describe here folks is a bit of love at first site. From the moment I lay eyes on Nacho I couldn’t take them off him and spent the entire evening with my arms wrapped around him.
Anyways the only things that distracted me away from little Nacho that night were 1. The food and 2. Steve Smyth’s dazzling spontaneous performance that mesmerized us all.
We decided to call it an early one so Anna, Glenn, Steve and I hopped into her car and made our way home not long after. But first we had to make a quick pitstop at Kings Cross so that party boy Glenn could get the night started with some American female companions, he kept getting offended when we’d yell out the windo “Bye Creepy Uncle Glenn!!!”
Usually when you’re camping in the great outdoors, you’d expect to be woken up by sweet songful birds, the fresh aroma of morning dew or the luminous sunlight gently pattering your eyes. Well, I was awoken from my deep slumber by raspy Rabbi Rob screaming his lungs out at the crack of dawn for everyone to get the hell up. He’s like their very own personal, portable, walking & talking alarm clock. I hesitantly looked at the time – it was only 8am. On that note I collapsed back into my sleeping bag, trying to salvage any last minutes of sleep possible before Hamish told me it was really time to get up and outta there. I farewelled all the boys, thanking them for their open arms over the week and wishing Chris a happy birthday. It sucked having to say bye.. again!
Ginger Ninja the sweetheart sent me on my way with some kind last words of wisdom; “Mind and keep protected in the bush”. Naive, innocent little me thought; well in Australian context that would be a sign of care and concern from one friend to another – as in be wary when you go back into the Aussie outback that’s infested with venomous snakes and spiders – right? No, not right. That’s not what he was saying at all. The dirty-minded little boy actually meant make sure you have protected sex when in ‘the bush’. Greattt!
Anyways much to my pleasure, the journey home was quick and uncomplicated. I was back in the Jersey Shore house by 10am, which gave me plenty of time to unpack all my muddy clothes, brag about my week’s adventures to mum on Skype and have a much-needed, lengthy snooze on the couch. When I woke up in the afternoon the house was buzzing – Fiddy and Jess were cooking up a storm in the kitchen and Kelly had just arrived home from work highly excited for the night’s big party. Big party?! What big party I thought to myself. Little did I know, while I was away these sneaky Londoners had been organising a birthday bash for ol Fiddy and it just happened to be tonight. Sleep time was clearly over. I started trying to conceal the heavy bags underneath my eyes and adorning myself in half-decent clothing. It was no use.
That evening we got the whole crew together at our beloved restaurant in Shoreditch – Pizza East! This would probably be the last time we were ALL together, as one by one we would all be leaving London for one reason or another.
Attendance list:
Fiddy
Jess
Kelly
Brendan
Annalisa
Juanita
Jeremy
Lynsey
Anna
Tessa
Steve (yes, he actually arrived relatively on time!)
Shannon
Dinner was delicious as always. The service however, was uncharacteristically poor. I think I ordered a glass of wine three times within the time period of 40mins and got it after an hour – they just kept forgetting about me! 😦 We all sat around the table taking photos, catching up on the week’s goss and listening to Anna’s stories of being on tour with The Libertines.
After dinner as the smokers went outside for a quick after-meal-puff, a few of us remaining inside huddled together and devised a master plan for singing Happy Birthday to Fiddy when the cake came out. We all knew how much he hated the spotlight, and in particular being sung Happy Birthday so we knew we had to make it as cheesy and cringeworthy as possible.
Once everyone was back inside at the table, we waiting for our cue – the cake! We sung the Happy Birthday song in usual form, as loud as possible and Jeremy and Lynsey hollered “Birthdays was the worst days, now we sip champagne when we thirst-ay” (Biggie Smalls – Juicy lyrics) before Brendan stood up and started beatboxing, laying down the phat beat so that Kelly, Jess and I could start rapping “Go Fiddy, it’s your birthday! We’re gonna party like it’s your birthday! We’re gonna sip Bacardi like it’s your birthday and you know we don’t give a fuck it’s not your birthday!”
Needless to say with that outrageous performance Fiddy was mortified and humiliated beyond repair. Our job there was done.
We all dug in to the monster of a cake that Kelly kindly brought from work. It was fucking amazing. Mudcake smothered in hazelnut icing cream, with milk chocolate shavings strewn on top and hazelnuts sprinkled on the surface. Yummmmm! We couldn’t finish it all so we gave it to our fave waiters at Pizza East to share amongst them in the kitchen because we are just SUCH nice people. Once we’d recooperated from the cake overload, we presented our I ❤ Pizza East club keyrings so as to get a whopping 50% off – that’s how we roll!
After dinner was the moment everybody, well mostly Kelly anyway, had been waiting for – the moment that we finally get to go to Shoreditch House! Annalisa had hooked all 15 of us up on the guest list for a party that was happening up on the rooftop pool. It was even nicer up there than I had expected. The drinks, however, were just as expensive as I had anticipated. We all forwarded into our own little area by the fireplace with our alcoholic concoctions and danced away to the retro/reggae/hip hop tunes under the hut.
Gingy came to join us by the rooftop pool too and we huddled underneath the heaters that were sheltering us from the cold and watched the catwalk trainer across the other side who was giving us an entertaining dance performance. Brendan joked about busting some moves and initiating a vicious dance off with him from our side, it never actually happened though. We started making plans for our upcoming hotel party at the Sanderson where we would be recording the film clip for Juanita’s dancefloor pop hit song “Shut The Fuck Up”. She wants us girls to make up a dance and film it for the clip and naturally we are only happy to do so.
When the clock struck 12 we decided to head home and continue the party there with a few bottles of wine. We’d happily ticked Shoreditch House off our ‘things to do before we leave London’ list. When I realised that I was the only one who had work the next day I sensibly decided to call it quits and went to bed. The rest of them stayed up til who knows when, even heading over to Anna’s crib for some more drinks and partying whilst I snoozed away in bed. I woke up the next morning next to a frantically restless Kelly who lay next to me with eyes wide open complaining that she hadn’t slept a wink. She did manage to verbalise that “Shoreditch House was everything I’d dreamed it would be and more!” Lame ass.
On Tuesday evening I came home after a long day at work to find a Mexican feast awaiting me in the loungeroom. It seemed the hungover trio Fiddy, Jess and Kelz had whipped up a ogre of a meal with guacomole dip and corn chips, tortilla wraps and beans. Score.
Wednesday was Lucy’s last day at GigJunkie, which meant that I was the very last intern there and would have to take over a four-man job alone for my last month. It meant I really had to knuckle down and manage a plethora of daily tasks. That day I had a phone interview scheduled with Mystery Jets – they were at Topman having a styling and press day. What a lovely bunch they were to speak to! We spent most of the interview talking about the highlights and lowlights of Reading Festival and bitching about Blink 182’s shocking performance. I was pleased to hear that they absolutely loved Tame Impala too. I’ve recently put in requests to interview Hot Hot Heat, Born Ruffians and Tame Impala too so fingers crossed those plans go through.
That night I met Lucy in Shoreditch for a quick drink at The Dragon whilst we waited for the rest of the gang to arrive so we could head to The Last Days Of Decadence for Steve Smyth’s gig.
We’ve seen him play a handful of times but this gig would be extra special because it would feature Glenn on drums, Teddy on bass and an enchanting duet with the dazzling Juanita. It sounds amazing with the added electric power and we filled the venue with a host of our close friends. Everyone was blown away by the duet with Juanita, we’d forgotten how angelically beautiful her voice really was.
Here’s a clip of their performance:
Glenn and Steve would be heading to Glasgow the next day for a special gig with CW Stoneking at King Tut’s. This made Kelly and I exceptionally jealous because our beloved Barrie would be attending that show and we wanted nothing more than to be back with them in Glasgow.
After the show we had a few drinks at the bar whilst Jess got stuck talking to an older woman who ensnared her into what seemed like a neverending conversation. Despite our efforts to steer her away from the woman’s clutches it was no use. Poor Jess! Lucy had missed her last train home so she came and stayed the night at ours, the poor girl had to witness our insanity on the hyperactive bus ride home to Stokey.
On Thursday night Kelly went out with her Ottolenghi crew in London Fields, whilst Fiddy, Jess and I contemplated for hours on end as to what to eat for dinner. We ended up walking up and down Church St until we finally decided on Italian cuisine at Luigi’s. Forgetting it was a Thursday night, we found the place was packed but luckily they squeezed us onto a table that had just been vacated. Fiddy made a fuss about where he would sit because he claimed he needed his back against the wall otherwise he would feel nervous and edgy. I gave up my ‘priority’ seat and sat wedged between two tables for the whole evening. Over dinner Jess told us that some international rapper called ‘Acorn’ was staying over at the Sanderson hotel. Acorn? Who the fuck is Acorn Fiddy and I pondered to ourselves. After interrogating Jess for a bit we realised the clueless clutz meant AKON. She was embarrassed of her silly mistake to say the least.
Friday night was a write-off. None of us could be bothered going out so we sent our slave Fiddy to pick up some thai food for dinner and watched a bit of Scary Movie 4 and The Usual Suspects. We finished neither of the films for we were too tired and delirious to concentrate and just went to sleep.
I didn’t get to go to Glastonbury this year, nor did I secure tickets for Isle Of Wight or Secret Garden Party. So there was nothing stopping me from going to Reading Festival – one of the landmarks of outdoor musical history – especially with an arresting line up like that!! I’d had a good run in terms of my free festival tally, but this would be my very last one for the season, so I had to make it a good one.
When I heard that Guns N Roses were an hour late on stage and sucked balls, I was extremely relieved that I had missed out on the opening Friday night and comfortably made my way down on Saturday morning instead. In comparison to the catastrophe that was V Festival, everything about Reading was so straightforward and convenient. It only took me an hour or so to get there, picked up my press pass with no cues or problems at all and the campsite and arena were in very short walking distance from one another, so I didn’t have to walk a marathon this time. Perfect!
There’s always one downfall however, and this time round it was the gluggy ever-present mud that had terrorised the site. Thank the heavens above I was wearing my wellies! My docs would not have survived that 10inch mudfest.
When I arrived at Lucy’s campsite – where I’d originally planned to camp overnight – I was informed that their site had been stricken with vomit by the obnoxiously drunken and repulsive boys in their posse. I started devising a new sleeping plan immediately in my apprehensive head.
Charming young men..
As per usual at a music festival, the drinking started quite early before we headed out into the arena to catch some gigs. I saw Band Of Skulls, Modest Mouse, The Invasion Of and The Maccabees first up – none of which really blew my mind. You can read my GigJunkie review here- FESTIVAL COVERAGE: Reading Festival 2010 Day 1 & 2.
In the afternoon I ventured into the VIP/guest area to check it out and met Anna for a quick drink before heading back to the campsite where I found Lucy, Egle, Becky and Lucy drunk outta their minds haha. The girls were gearing themselves up to see The Libertines on the main stage. There was a lot of hype surrounding this performance as it was their ‘reunion show’. I still can’t get my head around the fascination with this band but oh well. Lucy coerced me into buying a vegie burger from ‘wraps and baps’ – ohhhmmm it was amazing! Best purchase I made all festival.
Our Reading Gang!
Around sunset The Libertines came on stage to a roaring crowd, the girls were slowly pulling me to the front and after about half of their set I surrendered and squeezed my way back out to the campsite. I wasn’t in the mood for bodyslamming and sweat collecting. I grabbed my bag of belongings and sleeping gear and went over to the VIP campsite to meet the Kassidy boys who’d kindly offered for me to camp with them at their cleaner and quieter site. I found Lewis and Thomas absorbed in a silly game involving a stick and a cup, Barrie naturally with a drink in hand and the rest of the boys crammed in their warm tour van just chilling out.
After reserving my spot in Hamish’ tent, I dragged them back into the main arena to catch headliners Arcade Fire, who were really amazing! Definitely the highlight of Saturday’s performances. Review here: FESTIVAL COVERAGE: Reading Festival – Arcade Fire
I was f-f-f-freeeezzzingggg so as soon as Arcade Fire finished their encore, we headed straight back over to the van and all leaped in. Here I was treated to a neverending string of spontaneous songs by Kassidy, hilarious rap rhymes courtesy of Lewis and his ‘pitch of a terradactyl’ and a very special preview of a beautiful song Barrie wrote that he’d ideally like Juanita to duet with him. I fell in love with the song instantly and have made it a personal assignment to be the matchmaker for this delightful tune. In the van I was subjected to a horde of Australian-based jokes thanks to Lewis’ flawless Aussie accent that he let loose everytime I was around.
A cider or two later, we all hit the sack, the boys had to get up early for their midday show after all. It took me a while to fall asleep because I was shaking like an epileptic from the cold but apart from that it was a pleasant slumber. The next morning I went and woke up all the peeps at ‘Vomit Central Campsite’ and heaved Lucy, Egle and other Lucy out of their tents and over to the Festival Republic stage to watch Kassidy.
Needless to say, after that awesome performance I officially converted the girls into Kassidy fans.
Here is a funny little video Lewis crafted from their Leeds/Reading Festival experience:
After that I sheltered myself from the drizzling rain by watching The Joy Formidable in the NME tent. Wow! What a fierce front woman. She demolished her guitar into pieces within the very first song and threw the ruins into the crowd.
The rain decided to plummet down heavily just as we had to make a trek trip from the camping spot to Lucy’s dad’s car that was outside the festival site.
We whinged and complained the whole way back about the shitty weather that crept up on us, luckily I had a shirt with which I could sacrifice and defend myself from the rain. I got talking to Lucy’s quirky friend Lewis who more or less told me he was a poet and was recounting to me about how the previous night he’d fallen into the lake near our campsite. When I actually saw the state of this lake I was mortified for him – it was crawling with food scraps, beer cans, vehicle tyres, a trolley and 2 day old vomit – you name it, it was in there! Poor Lewis.
O Wise Lewis Shakespeare
We ran under the NME tent for shelter and caught a bit of Wild Beasts who were boring me to tears. Thankfully the sun decided to emerge again shortly after so we promptly escaped the tedious music and headed over to the main stage to catch none other than LIMP BIZKIT. If it weren’t for my younger brother’s teenage obsession with this band and their CD being on repeat throughout my household years ago, I wouldn’t know nearly as many songs as I did when I watched this nostalgic set. It was actually a fucking great performance and the crowd was going wild as you could expect – girls were taking their tops off and launching their bras left, right and centre. Even I found myself inescapably immersed in the keep rollin’, rollin’, rollin’, rollin’ song haha Christ!! Check out my review here – FESTIVAL COVERAGE: Reading Festival 2010 Day 3.
Next Lucy and I went to the guest bar to refuel ourselves with alcohol, where we found the boys socialising and drinking away in the sunshine. I was adamant on catching Tame Impala’s gig over at the Festival Republic stage, I’d been looking forward to their show for weeks! Barrie was the only shrewd one who was keen on joining me, but the rest wanted to go crip walking with Cypress Hill on the mainstage instead. We left the gangsta wannabes behind and I guided Barrie safely and soundly through the crowd and to the stage. Tame Impala, WOW. I was spellbound. The dreamy psychedelic sounds that were oozing through those speakers were so entrancing. Finally something musically brilliant comes out of Australia! I just cannot believe how young they are.
Anyways about halfway through the set I felt a tap on my shoulder. So just who had decided to join us? Ohhh it was Hamish and Thomas of course, regretting their former choice to see Cypress Hill, admitting their bad judgment in music and redeeming themselves by catching the rest of Tame Impala haha.
It was the first time I’d seen the Perth-based band play material from their debut album and I was beyond impressed, as were the rest of the boys who were seeing them live for the very first time. It was great to hear the indie pop gems from Tame Impala’s EP too, that made me fall in love with this band in the first place. I might get to interview them for work, which needless to say I’m over the moon about!
After the show, it was drinking o’clock again. Barrie and I hit the bar, where he was on a roll with the ladies. All the female bartenders were giving him the eye, asking for his name and dishing out cellular numbers. Haha go bazza!
Weezer were playing on the mainstage next to us and when I heard my favourite song ‘Island In The Sun’ blasting through the speakers I hurriedly dragged Barrie out to the crowd with me just to listen to it. He had no choice in the matter.
Between Weezer and watching Blink 182 I basically witnessed Thomas getting inebriated and getting into a fight with a behemoth girl (his words) that broke his cherished necklace – should have seen that coming though, especially since he’d been walking around with a bottle of jack down his crotch all afternoon haha. Barrie and I took him for a quick excursion down to the petrol station to withdraw some $$ and laughed as he kept complaining about the supposedly long walking distance (about 50m tops!)
Upon return I met up with Ginger Ninja and Kieren to go watch Blink 182. I thought it was going to blow my mind and return me to my 14 year old reckless teenage self – but instead the brainless cringeworthy banter that front men Tom and Mark were engaging in every 2 seconds completely ruined the nostalgic experience for me. Grow up guys! What are you 40 now?! The only entertaining thing about that set was Ginger Ninja screaming the lyrics in an obnoxious American accent at the top of his lungs and Travis Barker’s epic drum solo on a raised, rotating and upside down platform. Pauly D and Kieren got to meet him backstage earlier – lucky bastards!
A bit of green-eyed monster here..
As we were heading for the guest bar, where we knew we’d find ol’ Barrie I almost walked straight into a very humiliating situation. I spotted someone at the bar who looked EXACTLY like Barrie; long brown hair, black cowboy hat, fur/leather jacket, skinny jeans and boots. The only wrong thing in the picture was a handbag, but knowing that Barrie is very much a ladies man it didn’t really surprise me. As I started walking over to jump on him I sensed some suspicious behaviour to my right – Ginger Ninja in hysterics. I took a closer look and realised that it certainly wasn’t Barrie, it was just a female that looked uncannily like him. Thank fuck I didn’t approach her.
When we found the REAL Barrie he was with Thomas who at this point was demanding full-sized limes from the bar, slicing them open with his thumbnail and dunking them in his jack and coke haha. Meanwhile Lewis was unleashing some imposing Ninja moves on us and Hamish was in denial about his sexuality, constantly putting the moves on Thomas.
Barrie and I got harassed by this twat claiming to work for Universal who had clearly lost all his friends and was trying to chime in on our conversation. He kept talking about whales and shit? Gahhh.
Towards midnight half of the guys went back to chill in the tour van, whilst the other half ventured backstage to continue partying and getting upto more trouble. This left Hamish and I in the guest area still drinking away and hitting the indie rock dancefloor amongst a highly enthused crowd.
Drunken midnight hand art?
The second he left my side to get a burger I was harassed by a man in a monkey suit that was giving me the absolute creeps haha. I’d had enough at that point and we headed back to the campsite. This wasn’t before attempting to sneak into the VIP entrance to the silent disco but being barricaded by a country midlands hick man that Hamish claimed “fucks all his sisters for a living”.
I think it’s safe to say everyone had a bit too much to drink that night.
So the foreseen hangover wasn’t as bad as I’d anticipated. I hadn’t had the pleasure of sleeping in for what seemed like forever though, so there was absolutely nothing and no one that could drag me out of bed on Thursday morning. I was content lying down half asleep and being entertained by Ross who was bouncing off the walls in the morning, loading up funny Youtube clips and combing through Hamish’s wardrobe in search of clothes to adorn himself with. He ended up with an odd rainbow ensemble and jeans that didn’t fit.
All of a sudden a phone started ringing in the room, and the ringtone was but all too familiar. It was Kassidy’s song ‘Stray Cat’ and Ross and Hamish inquisitively rushed around the room in search of the phone, eager to find out which doomed soul had this as their ringtone. It was none other than their innocent friend (whose name I’ve inconveniently forgotten) who as a result got absolutely thwarted with humiliation when they called him up laughing manically and singing the song. Poor thing!
Hamish was adamant on heading out into town that day and showing us a bit of Glasgow and the infamous ‘Armadillo’. Little did he know that Kelly and I had fully intended on having a lazy getaway trip consisting of chilling, drinking, watching movies, eating and sleeping. All the simple things in life. But when the whole crew decided they needed to go into town we had no choice but to follow.
We got dressed and cabbed it into the city where the boys took us to their frequently visited local retro/vintage store. Barrie wanted to buy us each an item of clothing to apologise for disappearing with a lady friend for the majority of the previous night. We humbly declined the kind offer. We were taken aback by how fashion-conscience they are and curiously observed the impressively cool items they picked out of the racks. Kelly and I found a flattering beige button up shirt that had Barrie’s name written all over it and succeeded in getting him to buy it. But when we half-jokingly tried to coerce Hamish into buying a 60s beach Hawaiian shirt, we failed miserably. Kelly singled out a pink cotton jumper that resembled fairy floss but I refused to allow her to even contemplate purchasing it. The boys were in there forever scouring the clothes and looking for a bday present for Chris, even Kelly and I had become exhausted with the place before they had. In-ter-est-ing!
Next we went over to the vegetarian café/bar ‘Mono’ where we ordered a horde of gigantic meals, that no one managed to finish, except Lewis (who usually lives on cashew nuts and orange juice) shocked us all by obliterating the whole plate in minutes.
Back at the house Barrie attached himself to the Harley Davidson motorbike that was outside, patting it affectionately and telling us how this would be the very first purchase he would make using his paycheck. Hamish then invited me to witness the ‘behind the scenes’ of his social networking task whilst chomping on carrot sticks like rabbits. Everyday he sits on Kassidy’s facebook page and meticulously replies to all the fans comments and queries.
When we went back down stairs to see what everyone else was doing, to no surprise we found Kelly glued to the playstation control still trying to beat the Crash Bandishit level that she’d been stuck on since yesterday. She was really starting to worry me with this fixation.
Meanwhile Barrie was in the rehearsal room having a bluesy jam session with Thomas. We peeled back the curtains to have a peak, before invading the room ourselves to film him. These were our findings:
Whilst Barrie was busy doing his thing, Kelly and I sneakily locked ourselves in his room with a texta and began etching out our love note on his wall. Our blood, sweat and tears went into creating this masterpiece of a message.
I kept rushing in and out of the room to pick up creative apparatus, which was driving Barrie mad with curiosity. “What are you girls up to in there?” he questioned. “It’s a secret!” I’d yell everytime as I whizzed past him. Our final touch to the message was hot pink lip kisses because he’d previously told us pink was his fave lipstick on a girl. The fact that we actually kissed his mysteriously dusty and cobweb-filled walls with our own lips not once, but multiple times, just serves to prove our sheer dedication!
Needless to say he absolutely adored it, especially the montage of lips, though he did warn us; “I wouldn’t kiss these walls”. Our piece very much stands out and will be the first thing anyone sees upon entering his bedroom 🙂
I swore I wouldn’t drink again, but there I was with another beer in hand at 8pm, all thanks to Barrie’s bad influence of course.
The boys were having a long band meeting in the rehearsal room to which we weren’t invited so Fedeli and I continued with Crash Bandicoot in the quiet lonely loungeroom, sipping on our beers and minding our own business. We got bored quite quickly and began to feel like a pair of stray cats ourselves. Then hunger called and the two of us decided to order some home delivery pizza from trusty Domino’s. We whacked up the website and created our own personalised pizza, which was delivered in no time and similarly devoured in minutes. We had broken the ‘Barrie-diet,’ which means no eating at all. How they all survive on no food and no sleep just baffles me…
After the ‘big bosses’ had left the building, the boys kindly invited us to sit in on their band rehearsal – they were practicing their set for the upcoming Reading/Leeds Festival on the weekend. There we were in the centre of the dimly lit room, surrounded by guitarists, a bassist and a drummer listening to the new and improved sound of Kassidy and melting away. It sounded truly amazing.
I was content just tranquilly listening away to the music but then Thomas got me to get up and press some buttons for him during the set so he could check the sound. I probably fucked something up haha.
After the rehearsal session the boys went for a quick excursion down to M&S to pick up random snacks for the house. Being the lazy cows we are, we offered to ‘mind the fort’ and remain cosily on Lewis’ bed playing Crash. Upon their arrival we were treated to an impromptu fashion catwalk by Lewis who draped himself in a Shania Twain-esque floorlength fur coat and Kieren who put on a pair of John Lennon-like spectacles, making him look uncannily like the legendary Beatles singer himself.
Thomas kept freaking me out when he would jump in my face and with a stern voice yell “I’m gonna need some FIRE girl!” He was referring to the lighter and had developed this obsession over the past few days with getting me to light his cigarette for him.
That evening Kelly got her three minutes of fame when she featured in Kassidy’s tour date video created by technical genius Lewis. In the video below you will see 10 familiar froggy fingers that belong to Kelly herself.
Ginger Ninja came in and showed us a news clip on Youtube of some Aussie bogan that got attacked by vicious dogs or something. His strong accent and psycho barking imitations sent the boys into hysterics.
Then Kelly and I tried to entertain them with a preview of ‘Trent from Punchy,’ a classic firecracker of a clip within the Australian community. It failed. Didn’t even get a giggle out of them. I suppose they just don’t understand.
We started to watch Bruno and Cool Runnings, but just like with every other movie we attempted to watch that week, we never actually finished them. I could feel my eyes closing and the previous night’s lack of sleep creeping up on me so went promptly sleep.
I spent Friday morning procrastinating about getting out of bed, despite knowing very well I had a plane to catch and a horde of clothing to find and pack first. I entertained myself by braiding Hamish’ hair and collecting grungy bracelets and shirts from his room. When I realised it was 12 and very much time to leave, I went downstairs and to my shock found Kelly still fast asleep. I woke her ass up and the rushed packing process begun. Lewis and Hamish kindly drove us to the airport and got us there right on time 🙂 We had to do the whole awkward goodbye thing in the carpark, which we were dreading. We really didn’t want to leave Glasgow as we’d had such an enjoyable time there and the boys were so hospitable of us.
The return journey home wasn’t as easy as it’d been on arrival – instead of forking out another 50 pounds for a cab home we opted for a bus into the city, which took about 2 hours. What a nightmare! Luckily I slept through most of it. When we arrived back home in Stokey we found our adoring roomie Jess waiting for us with hugs and kisses. We went out for a nice romantic dinner and recounted all our Glaswegian tales to her, which only made us miss the boys more. Why do we have to go back to Australia, WHY?!?
“Grannyyyy! Only 3 stops til we get to Glasgow Granny! Ayeeee!” This was pretty much the only sentence in our vocabulary the week before we were scheduled to visit our favourite Glaswegian boys in Scotland.
Kelly and I peeled ourselves out of bed at 6am on Wednesday morning in order to catch our early flight from Stansted. We kissed our Australian visitors Kara and Jordan goodbye and left them snoozing away on our lounge room floor before hopping into our getaway car. On the way we approached some heavy traffic, which caused the driver to shake his head and say, “Oh no, oh no! Not good, not good girls. Won’t be making it on time.” This rang alarm bells and we began fretting that we would miss our flight. 5mins later all the traffic and delays that he foresaw magically disappeared and then he shyly slunk back into his seat and silently drove us there, obviously feeling embarrassed for making such a big fuss over absolutely nothing.
Okay so fast forward over a pretty average, boring flight and we arrive in sunny Glasgow! Clear skies, glowing sun and no sign of rain.. so far so good. Lewis was the designated picker-upperer and chirpily met us at the central station. He looked relieved to see us, not because he was excited for us to be there, but because our arrival saved him from a kooky homeless lady called Abbey who had been verbally harassing him for the last half hour on the street. There began our hunt for a liquor store so we could stock up on alcoholic supplies for our two-night stay. You’d think that Glasgow – a city renowned for its heavy drinking culture – would have bottle shops on every corner. Wrong! We actually struggled to find one and when we did we were denied service because Lewis (who with his impressively elongated beard looks at least 32 anyway) didn’t have identification on him. So we jumped in the car and turned to good ol Tesco – they’ll never let you down! As Kelly and I were purchasing large bottles of vodka and Jack Daniels, sensible Lewis stuck to none other than his beloved Tropicana orange juice. Bless him! On the whole way home instead of being given a guided tour of the Glaswegian city, instead we were subjected to Lewis’ unbelievable dolphin-like noises and wacky sense of humour. Now that is entertainment.
When we reached the infamous Kassidy lair where as they say, “all the magic happens,” instead of being welcomed with cardboard signs, balloons and a lavish banquet, we tiptoed into a silent ghost house and found all the boys antisocially fast asleep in their bedrooms.
Lewis whipped us up a nice warm Tetley tea, which he had to pour into a multitude of plastic cups to keep us from incinerating our hands. We sat cosily outside on the pavement basking in the sunshine drinking our tea, well Kelly did anyway, I kept spilling mine all over me and burning my tongue because I’m an incompetent retard.
When we got a mini preview of the house (as in Lewis’ room and the kitchen) we were absolutely mortified. The kitchen was beyond inoperative and Lewis’ bedroom was so messy that Kelly actually got the dust buster out and started vacuuming it. There was no way she was sleeping in that room with it being in that catastrophic state she exclaimed. Naturally, he was over the moon about her giving his room a makeover.
The first and possibly biggest mistake we made was presenting Kelly with the Playstation control and the original Crash Bandicoot game. The two of them were inseparable for our entire trip there. She was a woman possessed and was on an unstoppable mission to complete the game. Admittedly, I too was extremely excited to be reunited with one of my favourite childhood games and got quite into the thrilling challenge of it all. And Lewis thought he was a mega Nintendo nerd… ha! He had just met his match.
In an attempt to distract us away from Crash Bandicoot, Lewis offered to show us a game where a particular character looked uncannily like him. The diversion succeeded temporarily and we became fixated with styling Lewis’ avatar. This was the outcome of our virtual makeover:
We took charge of our personalised avatar and made him wreak havoc in the cyber world, directing him to walk up to other people in the game and allege rape and do a juvenile dance.
What else did we do to entertain ourselves? Oh, we read out Kelly’s life destiny on the iPad’s tarot card game, feasted on sherbet lollipops, eavesdropped on Lewis’ conversation with his highly talkative mum and watched the beginning sequences of about 3 different movies, of which we never actually finished.
Eventually one by one the men of the house began to descend down the stairs and participate in the group hangout. Hamish gave us a grand tour of the two-level household, first showing us probably THE messiest bedroom that belonged to none other than Barrie James and whose walls were overflowing with written messages and photos. One photo that particularly caught our attention was that of our dear friend Juanita Stein, front woman of The Howling Bells who Barrie just adores. How cute! We seized the nearest texta immediately and wrote “BABE” underneath it. Then we cornered off an empty space on the wall, reserving it for our very own personal heartfelt message, which we would write the next day.
Next we followed Hamish into his room, which was surprisingly very organised and tidy. I think he reserved his for last just to emphasise the extreme difference in cleanliness levels between all the bedrooms. He triumphantly grinned as we showered him with compliments.
Kelly and I presented Hamish with a bottle of Jack Daniels which we’d brought as a small birthday gift and he was quick to place it in his brand new fridge, that he was purposely filling with random food items just to make it appear complete.
Next came down Barrie who gave us a quick preview of their touring van. He slid the door open and I could swear I saw flies soar out of it. That’s only to be expected though when you’ve got rotten rock melon skins and a maze of clammy haberdashery in there, I guess. There was no way Kelly or I were cleaning that vehicle for them.
The Kassidy boys were preparing for Chris and Hamish’ birthday bash that night and had organised for a few of their friends’ bands to perform so one by one a horde of scruffy looking blokes came over to the house to rehearse and prepare for sound check at the venue. We made our way over to the Admiral Bar and whilst the boys systematized themselves, bad influence Barrie tried to coerce us into having an early afternoon drink. “If you’re gonna be in Glasgow, you gotta act like a Glaswegian and that means drinking at 4pm,” he insisted. On that note we grabbed a beverage. Lewis and Barrie disappeared into another room for a bit where they were being interviewed by a Scottish journalist and came back jokingly claiming that she’d called them all ugly, much to poor naïve Hamish’ dismay.
After eating our first and only meal of the day – a light salad – we went downstairs to watch the sound check. There we found Lewis and the 99-dreadlocked Thomas giving us a taste of what would be a uniquely amazing performance. Quirkily titled ‘Honky Lynch’ the talented duo were going to paint their faces black and white and play the drums, bass, harmonica and sing all at once.
Everyone started talking about their planned outfits for the night (it was an 80s movie themed party) and pulling out pieces of their costumes. Kelly and I slowly started regretting not having made the effort to devise a costume for the night. We were going as our gothic-London-selves and that was just going to have to suffice.
When we got back to the house Kelly was intent on fitting in a disco nap before the party, even though we were meant to be there in less than an hour. Barrie and I left her to attempt dozing off and cracked open the vodka to get the party started over some Nirvana tunes. I think I found someone who loves Nirvana almost as much as me, almost.
Once sleeping beauty had awoken we began getting ready – but not only did we have to pretty ourselves up, we then had to help Lewis/Thomas with their face painting and also blacken Barrie’s eyes with eyeshadow, eyeliner and mascara. He was taking advantage of the ‘dress up party’ to live out his long-fantasised grunge goth make up dream. We made him look fierce!
So just to give you an idea of how drunk we were when we arrived at the party Kelly fell down the stairs upon entrance. We just love making a grand entrance don’t we?
We glanced around the buzzing room and took immediate notice of all the elaborate costumes; someone was wearing a pizza suit, there were The Lost Boys, Superman, Madonna and even the Karate Kid to name a few.
The bands had already started playing and all put on a great performance.
The standout however was undoubtedly Honky Lynch. Everyone was blown away.
Barrie and Rob got up on stage for a rendition of ‘Hover Car’ too. We kept the drinks going and going and had an amazing night. In hindsight I’m so glad I didn’t give into the peer pressure to do shots of tequila, knowing very well that it’s my absolute lethal drink and I would have been on my ass if I had touched it.
During the night the boys decided to take advantage to the plethora of video screens scattered around in the venue and put on some light-hearted porn as a joke. This didn’t go very down with the crowd however, as the next day there was a wave of complaints, threats to report the ‘inappropriate’ behaviour to the newspapers and demands to apologise to the owners of the bar. People just don’t know how to have fun and take a joke anymore?! Come onnn!
After the party we all cabbed it back to the house – I almost had a heart attack when the boys jokingly said they were heading to another bar for more drinks –I’d definitely hit my limit on alcohol at that point. A handful of stragglers followed us back to the house expecting an after party but Hamish sensibly sent them home. He, his friend Ross and I went up to the room and put on some Tame Impala tunes and started gawkily dancing around wearing a selection of ‘silly hats’ that Hamish had floating about in his room. I put on a pair of baggy jeans that were pretty much falling off me and was jumping on the bed not realising how low the ceilings were and consequently hitting my skull. I was trying to keep up with Ross’ groovy dance moves but I just couldn’t top his skills.
At that point it was time to call it a night and hit the sack. The party was a success and we had immense, all-consuming hangovers awaiting us in the morning.
*To refresh your memory: I had just had an unnecessarily drunken evening out with the gang in Shoreditch and woken up to an estranged cat unexplainedly roaming through my bedroom.
So at 9am, despite being extremely hung over I had no choice but to drag myself outta bed so I could get ready to go to V Festival. I thought it would take me an hour and a half tops to get there, boy I was wrong! I ended up at the wrong train station to start with, then my tube decided to terminate at a random station halfway, then I lined up for 20mins for the festival shuttle bus (all on my own by the way so you can imagine how bored I was) and then had to find my way to the guest list box office and line up there for my press pass. What a nightmare. It ended up taking me 3 grueling hours but I finally made it and met Lucy and her friends in their campsite. This would be my first festival camping experience so I was quite excited, yet nervous of what was to come.
I made my way over to the ‘red’ camping site where I found Lucy and her friends Lucy (yes I know, confusing!) Sophie and Charli hanging out amongst the rubble and remains from the previous nights antics. Not long after I settled in with my measly sleeping bag and backpack full of clothes that would inevitably be ruined, the star of the weekend made his flamboyant entrance. The one and only Christopher King came striding on over ‘pissed as a fart’ (as he would say) and the first thing that came out of his mouth was “Fuck my mother! I just snogged a fat fucking welsh man in the men’s cubicles.. he kisses like a fucking granny!” I burst out into tears of laughter and knew instantly that he and I would get along just fine.
The five of us started chugging down the warm ciders with extra strength blackcurrant juice, whiskey cokes, vodka apple juices – basically whatever concoctions we could think of! Some of them pulled out “poppers” a.k.a amil nitrate and started self-inducing headaches.. I passed on the offer. I had a quick look around me and swiftly discovered that I was in chav central; there were fake tans, blonde extensions, dirty trackpants and trashy tank tops everywhere. I also couldn’t help noticing the tent next door to us that read; “BLOW JOBS 2 POUNDS.” Charrrrrming. Oh and how can I forget witnessing a grown man take a public dump in the woods under the glistening sunshine?!? Ahhhh V Festival.
P.S These brilliant photographs are courtesy of GigJunkie’s photographer Matt Richardson! Not taking any credit here 🙂
The Coral
My experience was only dampened by the fact that the crowds were so rowdy and felt the need to throw cups full of beer, urine and who knows what else everywhere so by the end of it I was saturated in human filth. I began to realise I had really taken the civilised concertgoers in Australia for granted. I will never complain about sweat or water being thrown ever again after what I endured at this festival.
The Courteeners
In between all the gigs we were running back and forth from campsite, carpark, festival arena, toilets, food stalls and guest bar. All the walking wouldn’t have bothered me if everything wasn’t miles away from each other. I’ve never walked so much in my entire life! Lucy and I also got into an argument with the head of security at the campsite Frank because for some unknown reason he wouldn’t allow us back into the campsite where all our tents and belongings were and made us go on a wild goose chase to change our wristbands. God he made my blood boil.
Paul Weller
Once the night fell upon us the alcoholism started to kick in and before we knew it we were running around rampant in the fields, tormenting the ‘Po Po,’ Lucy H and Chris were wrestling each other on top of the tent and the other Lucy M was gagging on the floor as per usual. This would be the first time Lucy H had seen Kings of Leon, but she was still adamant on not missing a second and being in the front row to watch them. Chris and I decided to take advantage of her drunkenness and torture her mind by pretending KOL had already started playing. This made something click in her mind and she began sprinting towards the stage, we all straggled behind her pissing ourselves laughing.
Kings of Leon played a typically sturdy, gripping show and even threw in a lot of more obscure songs for the diehard fans like Lucy. Throughout the entire set we were screaming for the band to play the track ‘Trani’. Now I don’t know if this was just pure coincidence, but we could swear that at the end of the set as we were demanding for ‘Trani’ they got into a little group huddle and played just that. This whipped us into a frenzy and the cameras came right into our faces and focused on us for the song whilst we went mad and sung all the lyrics.
After the show we all headed back to the campsite to drink some more. Are you surprised? Chris began telling us his tales about ‘Deal Or No Deal,’ which he went on and won an undisclosed amount of money. Not sure if you’re aware but here in England they get the contestants to dress up in ridiculously thematic costumes for the show and lucky ol’ Chris got to dress up as a ball of seaweed. Here is the 5 star shot of him on Deal Or No Deal.. Prepare for laughter:
As you can imagine we weren’t the only ones drinking ourselves silly into the night. The whole of V Festival was. One particular bunch of wankers were roaming through the campsite calling out for their missing friend ‘Alan’. The name Alan became the trademark of this festival by the end of Day 2. They were screaming it out for so long that it caught alight amongst all the people and by Sunday night everyone was drunkenly saying Alan all day and all night. Even the big screens on the stages that allowed festivalgoers to submit text messages onto the screens were swarming with ALAN references. Yes, it was hilarious at first but then it just got unbearably obnoxious.
I don’t have many dreams and I rarely remember them. But this one particular night at V Festival as I froze to death in the clutches of my sleeping bag in a broken tent that was letting all the cold air in, I certainly remember this dream I had to endure for what seemed like hours. I kept dreaming that people were out to get me, males in particular, who were roving around the campsite looking for female victims to sexually violate. I think this was just my paranoia of the fact I was sleeping in the outdoors alone amongst a bunch of drunken fools and I wasn’t used to camping. Anyways, I kept hallucinating about strange faces popping up in my tent and men screaming around my tent “let’s go find some chicks to shag” (And NO. I wasn’t on drugs just in case you are wondering!)
I was relieved to say the least to wake up fully clothed, still alone and untouched the next morning.. the only thing I woke up to was a wet tent because mother nature decided to wreak some rain upon us in the early morning.
One by one we all got up and once we’d brushed our teeth and gone to the toilet the drinking start all over again. Chris had devised a master plan to stay in his tent, listen to the love of his life Paolo Nutini and get drunk by 3pm whilst the rest of us went out and watched some gigs. First up was Seasick Steve who is a hobo turned famous musician and he was absolutely amazing! He was playing with homemade guitars composed of hub caps, broom sticks and logs of wood. Seasick Steve the sweetheart got a young girl to come up on stage and he sung to her. It was a shame she had the band name ‘Madness’ branded across her forehead that was even misspelt.
I took a particular liking to the drummer who had a long white beard and was donning a shirt that read ‘GO TO HELL’. Fucking cool as shit. I was highly amused when he pointed the microphone to the floor and started sweeping the stage with the broom to create a brush-inspired beat.
Seasick Steve
Next up was the band Madness who I found sooooooooo lame. I couldn’t understand why the crowd loved them so much and were dancing like monkeys and screaming all the lyrics. I stared in awe at how such a ridiculous band could earn such a great reception. Heavy alcohol consumption I guess. The fact that it started to rain down really hard, I was half naked and had nothing to shelter me from the cold didn’t help my bitter mood either.
The next act on the bill was Paolo Nutini, whom I’ve lost all respect for. I find him so mind-numbing and tasteless now. I’ve outgrown the pretty boy appeal and heartthrob smile that once drew me in.
I much preferred The Kooks who for me, were a highlight of the festival. I’d never seen them live and am a big fan of their music. Looking forward to the new album, of which some of it was previewed during the gig.
The Kooks
After that show Lucy and I encountered yet another hiccup in the festival experience when we needed to pack up our gear and walk 30,000 miles to pack it in her dad’s car. What a hassle it was! We were relieved to get back to our drinking patterns before we geared up to watch headliners Kasabian on the main stage. It was an awesome show. I regret not having watched them at T in the Park back in July.Though the front man was a complete narcissistic twat in his sequenced blazer and black shades constantly pouting and making a fool of himself, the performance itself was highly entertaining. I was familiar with many more songs than I had originally thought.
It was just a shame that it was still kinda raining and freezing cold. An even bigger shame, and embarrassment, was the fact that I got drenched in what I am 95% sure was human urine and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I made the guy next to me smell my clothes and he turned to me and said “that was either tea or piss”. Knowing very well that no one at a festival drinks fucking tea, it pretty much confirmed for me that it was indeed urine.
I can’t tell you how happy I was to get back to Lucy’s house after the festival and have a long hot shower to meticulously scrub away the grime that had devoured my body. We stayed up in the kitchen eating toast and talking to her parrot that Lucy is bizarrely allergic to. Unfortunately I was ill prepared to stay at her house that night (as in lacking clean clothing) because I had naively thought I would just catch a bus, train and cab home after the festival (thank God I didn’t have to do that covered in urine!) I slept on the couch in her hot pink silk pyjamas and woke up the next day feeling like roadkill but having no choice but to drag myself to work. Everyone in the office laughed at me when I slithered into work looking like I’d slept in a garbage can for a week. No sympathy at all!
The arrival of my dear friend Kara Otter couldn’t have come at a worse time. The one night that I severely needed to crawl up into bed and sleep for at least 30 hours, she was touching down in London and wanted to ‘party’. Yeah fucking right. I was actually really sick that evening with a flu, fever, cough – the whole kit and kaboodle. All I remember is being jumped on at 1am by Kara and Jordan who cabbed it over to our house from the airport to sleep over and they told me I looked wasted.
The next day I called in sick to work and spent the day recooperating. I managed to get dressed and grab some quick lunch with Kara and Jordan at a new café on our street before sending them on their touristy way in the city. I tried to warn them that the food in England was horrible but they wouldn’t believe me. That evening on their last night we just went to have some dinner and drinks down at Luigi’s Trattoria (you’d be happy to know I didn’t touch an alcoholic drink myself) and just caught up with everything. We were the loudest in the restaurant, which was making me feel very self conscious.
We were even louder when we got back to the apartment and Kara started showing us her Italian cousin’s wedding/facebook pictures that sent us into hysterics by how tacky they were. Fuck we’re mean.
I felt really slack that we weren’t able to take them out in London properly but a mixture of the fact we both had work, I was irreversibly ill and that we had a plane to catch the next morning and a busy week ahead prevented us from doing so. As I said before – bad timing!
Spiritual awakenings and ghostly experiences, junkie masturbation in Redfern and Spring Break. These were the hot topics of conversation sparked over a round of drinks at Prague bar on Tuesday night. Fiddy was sharing his finest ghost stories of the past that involved quigi boards, torturous spirits and levitating bodies – none of which I believed of course. Meanwhile us Sydney girls reminisced about junkie central in Redfern and the several disturbing encounters we’d had with homeless, troubled human beings (if that’s what you can call them) who have no hesitations with pleasuring themselves in public. Prague bar was buzzing – many hip Londoners were surrounding us, as well as American electro group The Klaxons and their entourage who took one look at us and for reasons unknown yelled out, “SPRING BREAK!”
Wednesday was reserved for a movie night at home. Just to give you a bit of background here, for the past few weeks Kelly has been begging us, to no avail, to watch the psychological thriller ‘CUBE’ that she claims is a blockbuster of a film. The description she’d given us – a bunch of strangers trapped in an evil cube – didn’t appeal to me in the slightest so naturally I always refused to watch it. But on this evening, when she pitched her idea to Fiddy and he gave in to her convincing argument, we were left with no choice but to sit through the ‘CUBE’.
Within 5mins we were all yawning and Kelly slowly but surely started to realise that her predictions and high appraisal of this movie were wide of the mark. It didn’t take her long before she admitted, “Okay.. maybe it wasn’t as great as I thought. Should we watch something else?” Thank the lords above. Instead we decided to watch the comical classic ‘Dream Team’ which was much more successful and entertaining.
By the way here are some of my latest reviews/interview from GigJunkie this week. Haven’t been to a live gig in ages so have kept myself busy by interviewing bands:
My drunken roommates cooking up an Italian storm at 2am.
Fiddy gets offended when he realises I’m spying on him and recording them in my underwear haha.
On Thursday night Kelly and I sat lazily around the house contemplating what to eat. We had the genius idea to order some home delivery so called up the mouthwatering Turkish restaurant that’s about 10mins away but to our dismay they didn’t do home deliveries. After much procrastination we decided to get up off our lazy asses and just catch the bus down there. As usual, it didn’t disappoint and we stumbled on home more than full and couldn’t bring ourselves to leave the house again, even though we’d made plans with the gang to go out for drinks. We figured we could probably do with a temporary detox anyway, especially since we or I anyway had a big weekend coming up – V FESTIVAL!
Okay scrap that idea. On Friday night I gave in and ended up getting wasted. It all started at home where Kelly and I decided to sport our ‘shirts before going out shirts’ and start drinking pineapple coconut cocktails at 7pm in the spirit of Jersey Shore. It wasn’t long before we were well on our way to inebriation and started to make our way to Shoreditch to meet the gang. Just as we got in the cab those cheeky little buggers decided to play a prank on us and pretend that they’d decided to bail and go home for the bar was empty. We didn’t buy it for even one second and came to the conclusion they were playing this trick on us because we were running 30mins later. We decided to dish it right back and just abruptly and stubbornly reply, “Whatever. We’re going to go meet other friends out instead!” This rang the alarm bells and had them all desperately calling and texting us, to which we obviously rejected haha.
We met Jess, Juanita, Jboy, Glenn and Steve at The Great Eastern for a few more drinks, which we clearly didn’t need and got a delightful preview of Steve’s new and improved debut record. We also established that we’re dragging all our London crew back to Sydney for NYE and throwing one hell of a bash.. hmm wishful thinking! Since the bar was closing and we were far from done with our alcohol affair, we moved over to our favourite lobby whose bar never shuts down on us – The Hoxton Hotel. All I remember from here is me having a Vanilla Kiss cocktail and Tessa coming over to join us around 2am which was a nice surprise since we hadn’t seen her for a while.
Next thing I knew I woke up in the early morning to some strange meowing noises. I ignored it for a while but then realised those cat-like sounds were coming from within my very room. I popped up and there before my eyes was a fat black and white cat on top of my cupboard meowing at the windowsill. If it weren’t for my everlasting love for felines I would have definitely had a heart attack. How and when the hell did that stray cat get into our house I have no idea?!? When I grabbed my phone to notify Kelly I found a horde of missed calls and text messages from her warning me that there was a feral cat in the house and she’d been too scared to get it out. I was still drunk and needed my beauty sleep so I simply shooed the cat out of my bedroom door and allowed Jess to deal with it who inevitably got the cat safely outside.
Homesickness. I’ve been stubbornly preventing it from creeping into my system for months and months now. On Saturday morning I sat coiled up on my cold living room floor underneath the dark, ethereal, rain-filled clouds that were persistently hovering over my London apartment, missing the eternal sunshine and crystal clear beaches of my birthplace Sydney, missing my friends and family and missing the comforts of home.
Why am I talking like an overly morose lunatic awaiting the imminent apocalypse? Because I was feeling sorry for myself on this particularly gloomy morning haha. I was tired, hungry, probably still hung-over, had been deserted by my roommates who were working and I was skyping two of my closest friends from back home who were filling me in on the latest tales of their lives that I’ve missed out on and urging me to come home.
After this touching cyber session I decided to peel myself up off of the dusty floor and started to prepare myself for a yet another big Saturday night out in London town. And it all starts again…
I met Esther down at Bow Rd in the afternoon where we were attending an all night BBQ/nitrogen oxide-fuelled ‘farewelling the house’ party at an impressively grand residence called The Rectory (cleverly nicknamed The Wrecktory by its owners and aficionados). Basically they were throwing one last epic three-day party for they had been given notice for the house they occupied and inevitably trashed for four years prior. Upon arrival I got the grand tour of the gothic-like building, whose number of rooms never seemed to end. There was just bedroom, after bedroom, after bedroom – it felt like a hotel. There seemed to be an apparent theme running through all these bedrooms; they were all inundated with creepy collectibles and freaky figurines like the evil clown from Saw and an assortment of gruesome gremlins. In-ter-est-ing…
It was only 4pm when Esther and I arrived but there were plenty of guests roaming around and an abundance of alcohol being willingly consumed all over the household. The typical English BBQ was going outside in the grossly vegetated garden and nitrogen oxide bombs were being passed around for pleasure in the living room.
Twas lovely meeting all of Esther’s colourful friends but I had another party to attend to over in the east side that evening.. Glenn’s Welcome Back! I slowly but surely made my way over to Dalston – fuelled up on the bottles of wine I’d previously been downing – and met my favourite crew at The Haggerston. I may have been drunk but I certainly blended in with the crowd because so was everyone else for a change! Everyone was there; Kelly, Jess, Hailey, Juanita. Jeremy, Brendan, Annalisa, Lynsey, Anna, Steve and of course the man of the hour himself Glenn.
The only one missing from the pack was Fiddy who is off touring the world somewhere and will be back in a few days just in time for his biweekly welcome home party.
I told you everyone was drunk..
…Yes, even JGirl!
A-ha! Looks like we’ve got a bit of an awkward leaner on our hands!
As you can imagine I can’t quite remember the fine details of this evening. I just know we were all having a dandy time at the bar drinking and chatting away and then we randomly gate-crashed someone’s house party around the corner (well, apparently Bren knew them but to me it felt like a complete and utter intrusion of property). Here I remember Juanita and Jess hoola-hooping in the garden, Jeremy doing his barmaid dance for us, being paparazzi’d by Kelly on the street and that Steve and Glenn the eternal players were in creep mode. Haha so maybe I do remember a lot in that case?
‘The Barmaid Dance’ – always a crowd pleaser.
Me and my trusty minions in the back streets.
Kwow and Pauly D representin’ the JShore fist pimp!
At a relatively decent hour we decided to make tracks and jumped in a cab to our cozy Stokey abode. We had a visitor staying with us that night in the form of an Australian cowboy named Glenn. He, Jess and I stayed up talking bullshit for quite some time whilst Kelly climbed into bed trying to get as much sleep as possible before getting up for work the next morning. Geez that musta sucked! Meanwhile I was trying to coerce Glenn into cooking me pasta as I hadn’t eaten dinner. I was almost victorious – he had ALL the ingredients out ready to go – but then suddenly he changed his damn mind and revoked the offer. Shit. We left Glenn to set up shop on a tiny little mattress we have folded up in the living room and a sleeping bag. Mind you, that little mattress has had some great reviews by its past users. Jason Monaghan, aged 28 from Broadway Markets for example once called it: “The best sleep I’ve ever had in London”. Now that’s a big statement!
On Sunday Jessy and I had a much-needed late lunch at The Blue Legume in the enchanting conservatory. I was ordering drinks left right and centre from pear juice to water to a banana smoothie to try and rehydrate myself… all I ended up with was a stubborn stitch though. We sat at the table eating our focaccias and haloumi salads, conversating over life in general and aimlessly staring at some strange insect, which was pollinating. We must have looked like a pair of real dead beats.
Jess looking very innocently frightened in a school photo shot.
After lunch we grabbed the SeventyFree bus to Islington for a stroll through Camden Passage markets, a frozen mango yoghurt and then to meet Kelz and Jase in the park for a brief afternoon picnic. We should have known better than to meet up with Kelly and Jason straight after they’ve clocked off from work for 2 main reasons:
All they do is bitch about their workplace Ottolenghi
Jason is dangerously on the prowl and draws out a lot of ‘strikes’
The two of them, especially Kelly though, kept on complaining about the apparently unsatisfactory staff meals they’ve been receiving lately courtesy to the new chef Ed, whom they’ve amusingly nicknamed The Edge. Kelly sulked and whined about how instead of gourmet pizza, homemade lasagne and luscious beds of salad, they’ve been getting served bland meat from underneath a cow’s rib cage. Thanks for the trivia Kel.
As Kelly was whinging, Jason suddenly lost all concentration and dazed off into the centre of the park with a calm expression wiped across his face. “I just love a guy in uniform,” he dreamily whispered. We all poked our heads over our shoulders to glance at the man in question. I was expecting a manly, robust fire fighter or a noble policeman or even a smoulderingly sweaty builder.. but what did we witness instead? A bloody pansy of a gardener donning an unflattering alligator green full-body getup, holding a plastic watering pot in one hand and a bag of soil in another. Crikey Jason!!!!! WTF.
The Gardener’s Playground
As the time crept closer to the 5pm mark when our movie was going to be starting, Kelly started to get a bit nervous about it and was questioning me, “Did you get good seats?!” No Kelly, I thought about saying, I made sure we are all dispersed separately across the cinema, one of us situated front row left corner, one of us behind the curtains and another with a heavily blocked view of the screen. C’MON! Where is the faith? On that note we fare welled Gingy who was awaiting his hot date with Yonatin, a fellow colleague at Ottolenghi who has triggered a war between Kelly and Jase in regards to his undisclosed sexuality. It’s getting quite nasty, but entertaining nevertheless.
The film we were going to watch was TOY STORY 3. As you all know this was in 3D so we required the Ray Ban-inspired glasses and as we entered the theatre to collect them Kelly reached into the basket and plucked out not one, but two pairs for herself. “Why did you get 2 pairs?” I curiously asked. “Just in case one of them are faulty Shannon.. Nothing is getting in the way of me and a high-quality 3D experience today!” Okayyyyyyyyyyy then.
Okay so needless to say the film was amazing and we were giggling like children the whole way through. We instantly established that our favourite character was by far the Ken doll. BUT I was extremely disappointed when the film that apparently reduced thousands of male viewers to tears, didn’t wring out a single tear from my eyeballs. I was really looking forward to a bit of a film-triggered cry, a little sobbing session. Jess did! Kelly did! But no I didn’t get one tear in my black hearted eye ducts. All I got was a constant kick in the back of my chair by these two obnoxious little kids behind me. Luckily my personal bodyguard Kelly came to my rescue and whipped around in the middle of the film to shout “Oi! Stop it you little brats!” She’s my hero.
That night we spent about 500 hours on not-so-easyjet trying to book our plane tickets for Paris. (Yes we’re going to PARIS everyone!!!) I don’t know who put Kelly in charge but she kept screwing up the process by accidentally entering our destination as Madeira or entering the incorrect dates. With our slow internet connection, we can’t afford to make mistakes like these! My card kept getting declined as well and so eventually after contemplating throwing my laptop out of the computer and losing my hair I decided to go to bed. When I entered my room towards midnight I found Kelly standing up on top of our wardrobe clutching a handful of haberdashery and fiddling with the window. “What the fuck was Mr Handyman up to now,” I thought to myself. “I’m putting an end to this Shannon. I’ve just had a stroke of genius and we are finally going to get the sleep we deserve tonight.. I’m making a curtain!” Oh boy.
I helped salad fingers construct this manmade curtain, and I must admit at first I didn’t think she could pull it off but my golly she did it! She bloody did it! It may have been scummy looking blind made of dirty towels, a complimentary Qantas blanket, a hoodie and an oriental hand-woven cushion, but it certainly did the trick in blocking out the sunshine that pervades our eyes each and every morning.
Ta-Daaaa! Ain’t no sunshine comin’ through these babys !!
Want to know the ironic, unbelievable thing about all this? On the one night that I was scientifically meant to get the best night’s sleep of my life – finally having a blind to block out the sun in the morning – I did not get a wink of sleep! For some unknown reason, I laid wide awake in the early hours of the night/morning (who freaking knows what time it was!) and consequently went to work the next morning running very low on energy and concentration levels. Go figure! Of course, Kelly the mastermind behind the blind slept like a log and woke up feeling like a million bucks. What did I do to deserve that?!
1. the sum of unpleasant physiological effects following heavy consumption of alcoholic beverages.
I’d recently forgotten the definition of a hangover and the paralyzing sensations it can bring until this week when I was struck with a mother load of them all on ‘school nights’. I suppose I’m the only one to blame. Not too sure if reading about my excessive alcohol consumption and consequent hangovers will necessarily be appealing or entertaining for you but here goes…
Starting with Monday evening:
Here we found ourselves back at Gingy’s apartment enjoying some quiet drinks with Haya and Jason’s lovely roommates. It was more or less a repeat of the previous night; facial photo swapping, bitching about Ottolenghi, listening to mellow music and responsible boozing. Kelly and I were struggling to drink our iceless vodka cranberries whilst the rest of the gang enjoyed their fresh, crisp champagne.
We decided to duck around the corner for a quick drink at a pub in Broadway Market but rather than finding people huddled around a bar like civilized people, we found them all sprawled across the gutter outside – typical London Fields for you! What could we do but jump on the bandwagon? We grabbed ourselves some pints/voddies and made ourselves comfortable across the pavement, trying to blend in haha. Kelly made some friends to her right by attempting to communicate to a handful of foreign fellows in Italian but they quickly detected her dodgy accent and evaded us.
Just as the night was getting interesting with Kelly sending inappropriately scandalous text messages to certain colleagues of hers, the bartender came around pretty much snatching our drinks and telling us the bar was closed. We didn’t let him break our stride though, we just took the cider party into the park where an epic sing along session commenced and I kept myself warm by running laps around the field.
I always manage to capture Jason on film when he is most vulnerable. Here he is with pouring his little heart out with an ever so sincere dedication to Crowded House:
Pass that dutch!
Eventually the concept of drinking in a park with Gingy was becoming all too tedious for us and the night was still young, so we needed a new plan. The new master plan came in the form of crossing over to the west side to meet up with three scruffy young lads from Glasgow a.k.a Kassidy! We found them dawdling out the front of a salsa club in Notting Hill after which we made our way over to their friends apartment for some more drinks (except for Lewis who remained faithful to his Tropicana juice for the entire evening). But this wasn’t before we temporarily sat by the canal asking each other to name our price for entering the water (at this point it really was feeling like a repeat of the previous night).
Only three more stops GRANNYYY!
Back at the apartment we assembled in a circle of love around the living room in movie director-like chairs, listening to Nirvana’s Unplugged album and reminiscing about our first encounter with the boys at T in the Park in Scotland to which they admitted feeling a tad bit nervous around us and thinking we looked like overly melancholy people haha. It was probably all the black we had wrapped ourselves in across the three-day festival. Barrie kept us entertained with his commendable American accent whilst Lewis busted out his good ol’ Aussie slang for us.
The time passed, the wine was devoured, conversations were flowing and before we knew it, it was 4am (keep in mind I was meant to be working in 4 hours time..) At that point a responsible, rational adult would have just gotten up and gone the hell home to sleep.. but what did we do instead? We kept drinking and went on over to the hotel in Paddington. Hamish was intent on catching a cab, even though we all knew this wasn’t going to happen and eventually ended up walking the whole way over. During this search for an inexistent taxi we all engaged in a bit of an impromptu street photo shoot.
Back at the hotel we crammed five bodies into a small room that was lined with 3 orphanage-like beds. Barrie whipped out the guitar to serenade us but didn’t last long before Kelly was snatching it out of his palms and trying to learn three measly chords haha.
THE TROUBLESOME TRIO:
I was clearly in denial when at 6am I still thought I was going to make it in for work. It was only when I woke up at 8am feeling dazed and confused that reality sunk in.. I was calling in sick for the day and that was that. In the early morning hours Lewis, Kelly and I went on a wild goose hunt throughout the hotel room in search of my necklaces that had gone missing before we saluted our sleepy friends and made our way out the door and back to Stokey. Oh my what a painful journey ride home and day in general that was. And Kelly the witch made me get out of the cab in the rain and do the walk of shame in my heels and previous nights outfit in public to withdraw money.
So hung over we were, that we couldn’t get to sleep despite our obvious need for some shut eye. Instead we sat like lifeless vegetables on the couch watching unforgivably bad TV and eating unsatisfying salads until it reached 1pm and our bodies finally allowed us to sleep for a good 5 hours. When we awoke from the dead we found Fiddy and Jess downstairs watching Curb Your Enthusiasm. They took one look at us and laughed, knowing very well we’d had a big night beforehand. Mischief was written all across our usually innocent faces. Don’t know where we got the energy from but we made our way over to Jess’ favourite Turkish restaurant in Dalston for the tastiest lamb skewers and salad I’ve ever consumed. Everyone found it highly amusing watching me stare at my glass and limply stir my diet coke around and around trying to keep myself awake. Clearly it was time to go home to bed and bury myself in the sheets for a prolonged period of time.. and that is exactly what I did.
As if I hadn’t learned from Monday night’s alcoholic antics.. on Wednesday night what did I do? I went and got myself yet another hangover, this time 10x worse than the other. I couldn’t get out of this one though – we’d had a big reunion planned with the gang for over a week, couldn’t bail now. Sooooooo to hype ourselves up Kelz, Jess and emulated the spirit of Jersey Shore 2 by cracking out the vodka cranberries (pretending they were exotic cocktails) and hung out in our bras (pretending they were men’s wife beaters). Just before we went out the door we had a bit of a spur-of-the-moment photo shoot in the living room, which hasn’t been done in a very long time. I don’t think Kelly managed to take even ONE photo that she was remotely happy with and eventually gave up, just staring down the camera lens with a blank expression. Hahaha Jess and I told her she was purposely trying to look bad in the photos.. not sure if that was meant to make her feel better?
Nevertheless here are the results:
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
‘THE LONDON CREW REUNION PARTY’
Location: Aces And Eights bar, Tufnell Park, London
Time: 8pm – August 11
Reason: What else is there to do on a Wednesday night?(and Fiddy’s biweekly welcome back party)
Dress: Anything and everythingblack.
*WARNING: Kelly may drunkenly demand a wild hotel party with body shots!
Attending:
Brendan
Annalisa
Juanita
Jeremy
Steve
Lynsey
Anna
Jessica
Kelly
Shannon
How lovely it was to have all our close friends in the one rockn’roll bar surrounded by a blend of Jim Morrison posters and vintage pornos, gnawing on delicious pizzas and guzzling hard liquors haha.
We’d come prepared with our bottle of vodka stashed in a bag.. so we paid no more than £5 pounds for drinks that night.. cheaters! My newfound obsession for ‘wet pussies’ (I mean the alcoholic drinks everyone not the genitalia!!!) as in the vodka, peach schnapps and cranberry thing manifested itself that night and shortly after an abundance of these I found myself irreversibly drunk once again.
Lynsey the poor thing was absolutely knackered from her day that involved an exciting photo shoot for Cradle Of Filth’s new album, which we all can’t wait to see the photos for! For that reason, she left us quite early. The rest of us continued drinking, catching up on lost times, gossiping in the bathroom and taking terrible photos.
It wasn’t long before the inevitable happened.. Kelly announced a hotel party with body shots! And as usual, no one was up for it and started making tracks for bed haha. Even Fiddy our party animal in crime was bailing.. this was very unlike him! Twas only Kelly, Steve and myself that were still up for a party so having the house to ourselves we climbed into a cab and headed on over with a bag of alcohol and set ourselves up in the lounge room.
THE LAST ONES “STANDING”:
Here we spent an unnecessary amount of hours drinking into the daylight, declaring our love for Barrie on Facebook, trying to peer pressure Steve into a round of chat roulette with us and having deep and not-so-meaningful conversations. Again, I was the only one who had work and this time I wasn’t going to be able to pull out the ‘sick’ card. So there I was the next morning with a measly 2 hours sleep under my belt and a consequential excruciating hang over, stumbling into work where I spent the whole day being harassed and humiliated by my colleagues, pledging never to drink again and wishing I could crawl up and die. Eddie took one look at me and said: “Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time Bongo!”
How long do you think I will last without a night of drinking? Yes you’re right, not long.
Sundays are traditionally for curing your throbbing hangovers, reading the newspaper and endlessly sleeping amongst the warmth of your dishevelled sheets.. not in our house! I was up bright and early to go meet my Gingy at Columbia Rd for the Sunday flower markets. How splendid it was strolling through the streets in the sunshine smelling fresh, vibrant flowers.What wasn’t splendid was when we encountered Jason’s ex-lover Anil who had purposely followed Jason down there after reading his Facebook status. There he was purchasing a monstrous banana plant for 3 pounds and when he realised that Jason had company (me) he skedaddled quicker than lightning haha.
We lined up for some morning coffee as Jason recounted me a tale of two obnoxious, pretentious Australian chicks he’d witnessed earlier.. ohand what do you know, they popped up again right across the road!
Once we were done amongst the colourful vegetation and the mysterious venus flytraps (not having bought anything) we made our way over to Brick Lane to meet up with Jess, Jboy an Juanita. I picked up some fresh, lip-smacking watermelon juice that I never wanted to end. We wandered aimlessly around the markets, quickly growing frustrated by the mass of people scrounging around for bargains. It was then that our hunt for an outdoor terrace bar began.. it was a massive failure for the first hour.
On the way we caught about 30secs of the most annoying musicians outdoor set and of course Jason caught onto the catchy lyrics, repeated them and had the song stuck in all our heads against our will. Finally we discovered The Boundary that had a rooftop bar, sofas, gourmet food and complimentary straw hats! It was gorgeous up there. Steve Smyth soon came to join us on the sunny terrace as we chatted away over pear juice and ciders for a few hours.
We didn’t get much time to chill at home before we were up and out again on Sunday evening. This time Gingy had invited us over to his pad for some chicken a la Gingy. Poor Jase realised at the last minute he was broke and couldn’t provide us with the complimentary home cooked meal he had promised us, so we made a quick stop at Wholefoods to donate to the cause. Dinner was a success! Gingy sure knows his chicken. We spent the night being traumatised by dudesnude.com (see below), taking photos and swapping our faces using an iphone app (these horrendous photos I refuse to reveal) and drinking sweet, sweet wine.
THE PHOTO FACEBOOK MISTOOK FOR JASON.
Jason was fixated with this idea of going to sit by the canal with our drinks and would not stop til we followed his plan. We made our way over to the canal and as I looked up to the dark sky and then to my watch which read 8:55pm I thought to myself “the summer is so over”. In the London “summer” it would still be light until 10pm.. that is clearly changing now as we slowly head into the season of autumn. Anyways there we were sitting in the dark watching the mysterious ripples form along the surface of the apparently still canal.. we all looked at each other and said the same thing; “What is making those ripples in the water?” We all took turns in brainstorming and throwing around some ridiculous ideas as to what was lurking beneath:
Jason – Trolleys, spray cans and an old smelly boot.
Shannon – radioactive dolphins
Kelly – dead bodies and fingers.
Jess – An indie, hipster Loch Ness monster wearing Ray-Bans.
I think Jess takes the cake on this one. Our fascination with the canal didn’t end there however. We moved on to questioning each other how much we would jump in the filthy canal and swim to the edge and back for. Kelly reckons she’d do it for 100 quid.. if only we had the money on us to take her on! So beguiled by this life question, we even stopped a stranger walking by to ask him, “Would you jump in the canal for 100 pounds?” Of course he was Spanish and didn’t understand what we were saying so we had to resort to sign language and body gestures to which he responded “Ahhhh.. NO!” Sorry Kelly, looks like it’s only you here.
After that Kelly instigated a lengthy, intense conversation about life, death and the universe when she pointed out that the tall, thin man walking past us “looks like the neighbourhood serial killer” and gave us all the creeps and got us thinking about death and reincarnation. That eventually evolved into a discussion about space, evolution, the first humans, the beginning of the world and the concept of infinity. Jason was offering his extensive knowledge gained from a lifetime of documentaries to us, as we all debated these puzzling questions to which no one knows the answer. Talking about death by a dark, mysterious canal housing a Loch Ness monster and drinking straight whisky in the presence of a serial killer is certainly not how I had envisioned my Sunday evening would be spent.
Serge Gainsbourg and his new kooky, biographic French film has been all the rage over the past few weeks so we decided to round up the gang and see what all the fuss was about. On Wednesday evening we all met at the Baker St cinema – a small intimate, indie movie theatre in the city. Thanks to our dear Lynsey we were all getting free admission to the film. Here I was thinking it was a girls only affair so I came pretty much in my pyjamas, only to find that the boys a.k.a Fiddy, Timmons and Jboy had infiltrated our ladies night. As we waited for our 8:30pm screening we ordered some wine at the bar and popcorn (which Jess and Timmons decided to eat with chopsticks).
Holy cow that was a long film! It really drags on towards the end, which bored many of us to tears. Admittedly I thought the beginning of the film was brilliant and quite enjoyed the depiction of his early childhood, but as he descended into a downward spiral of conceited fame, alcoholism and desolation it all got a bit too tedious. And although there was a constant string of drop dead gorgeous women appearing in the film, a lot of them seemed like they were simply trying too hard to fill the shoes of the characters they’d been allocated to portray.
Thursday night was reserved for the official screening of JERSEY SHORE SEASON 2!!! The moment we’d been waiting so long for had finally arrived. “I’m going to Miami bitch!” hahaha. Round 2 of the Jersey Shore juiceheads and guidettes was in no way, shape or form a let down and they didn’t waste any time getting to the scandalous drama that we know and love.
After this Kelly developed an obsession with tracking down Vinny on Twitter so she created a new account and is currently stalking the whole Jersey Shore crew.. we get updates by the hour now.
It’s been raining/drizzling for the past week or so in London (and this is meant to be Summer..pfft!) so it’s been perfect weather for snuggling up at home and watching movies. Friday was yet another chick flick night in our household. This time we treated ourselves to the outstandingly hilarious Just Friends film. Oh my.. we were rolling on the floor with laughter. Anna Faris is genius in it and Ryan Reynolds in his fat suit is just out of this world hahaha.
“Shakes come and go but friends are furrr-ever!”
On Saturday morning I rescued Jess’ Asos parcel from a dishonest she-devil who was trying to take advantage of the delivery boy and get her dirty paws all over it. I was spying and eavesdropping on the conversation through the keyhole when I heard the sneaky little witch say, “Is the parcel to be signed for? Here let me take it, I’ll pass it on to the girl, we’re friends” HA! That’s when I made my move and flung the door open to claim my rightful parcel.
In the early afternoon I went to meet Juanita in Shoreditch for a little ladies day out. We spent most of the afternoon wondering around the shops, eating almond cake samples in a vintage store, drooling over some Hackney designer’s amazing jewellery collection and visiting Jessy at work. We stopped off at an Ottolenghi-esque café for a plate of salads, watching the rain fall down around us and talking about life, love and all things in between. Walking through the drizzling, damp streets with a nice hot chocolate in hand we contemplated getting our nails done and witnessed a chavvy London girl snap back at some hobo that was perving on her friend and making crude comments about her behind. These London girls don’t take crap from anyone and aren’t afraid to scream in the streets to protect the rights – you go girl!
That night we did the unthinkable.. we went back to our detested Il Bacio’s.
We’re getting so predictable about it now. I just hate walking in there and seeing them grimace in satisfaction at the fact that we have crawled back into their lair, even after how much we absolutely hate it there. As always the waitress was retarded and couldn’t speak any English.. they still don’t know that Kelly and I understand Italian very well and so when Kelly asked her a question about one of the dishes and she didn’t have the capability to explain it in English she started rattling off in Italian and swearing quite inappropriately. Dieeeee!
The girls had a quiet one in that Saturday night but I on the other hand was ready to party. I called up Hailey and to no surprise she was getting ready to have herself a hell of a night at Work It in Dalston. I jumped on that wagon straight away and met her down there around 11 for some cheap drinks at the pub. She was with her sister from Australia and a friend, both of which were very lovely. Hailey made my night and possibly my year when she handed me over the long equivalent to a ‘wet pussy’ – a drink that does not seem to exist in London, well under that name anyway. I’ve been dying to know the ingredients of a wet pussy so that when I want a shot that isn’t going to make me projectile vomit I can order that (I suppose I could have always just googled it but that all comes down to laziness). Anyways, now I know! Vodka, peach snapps, cranberry juice and fresh lime = amazing.
As always Work It was a fucking sauna and was absolutely packed. I wished I had my homeboys Kdog, Gingy and Jwow with me as we were getting down and dirty to the oldschool tunes we love – but I still had a blast with those girls anyway!
P.S. SORRY ABOUT THE BORING BLOG POSTS – I NEED TO START TAKING MORE PHOTOS !!!
If you’ve ever had the pleasure of living in this wonderful, sleepless city you would know that the words ‘London’ and ‘boring’ will never appear in the same sentence. On this particular weekend, however they most certainly did. Let me see.. on Friday night I slept, on Saturday I cleaned and slept again and on Sunday I grocery shopped and slept some more. This was thanks to the fact all our ‘friends’ were either out of town or working. zZzZzZzzZzzZ.
It was only Saturday night that we had the pleasure of Haya’s company in her cool warehouse for some drinks of vodka by candlelight. We were meant to go to Field Day to see Phoenix but that plan fell through. Nevermind that, it was lovely to catch up with Haya and meet all her new roommates that kept coming in and out of the household. Accompanying us in the large living space was also George, the cat with aids and the ever so obnoxious dog (whose name I’ve forgotten) that kept barking hysterically at us for no particular reason.
The night ended up being a bit of a failure when we went over to Alibi in Dalston after cueing in a ridiculously long line for what seemed like months, only to find a dingy underground bar with no fun factor vibe whatsoever. I actually quite literally fell asleep in there. What have I become?! I couldn’t keep my eyes open and the sight of me was probably beginning to freak some patrons out so eventually we just called it a night.
On Sunday I got a painful reminder of what it feels like to study.. something that I have buried deep into the back of my mind after having deferred my university course for a glorious year. I spent most of the afternoon and evening doing my ‘homework’ for my forthcoming Uncut Magazine work experience. It basically involved a bunch of researching British musicians from the 60s and saving that extensive information into my brain, ready to give a presentation and a feature article pitch the next morning.
I can’t be bothered explaining into deep detail what the week-long work experience at the sister magazine of NME was like so I’ll put it in dotpoint form with the pros and cons.
PROS:
Getting to sleep in and stroll into work at 10:30am
Working on the John Lennon special one-off issue – I’m now a Lennon expert after all the research I did
Having an amazing boss who unlike the inattentive peeps at Dazed and Confused was extremely friendly, informative and supportive of his work experience volunteers. He was there to guide me through the whole thing, teaching me all I need to know about the history and behind the scenes of the mag, giving me album reviews and news articles to do and most importantly giving me constructive criticism and feedback on my work. Was also quite impressed with the presentation I had prepared for him ☺
Learning how to use InDesign, seeing how magazines formulate each page and being able to myself contribute to this meticulous process
The magazine itself was really cool and dedicated to more country, bluesy, classic, punk rock from the 50s-90s rather than the up and coming indie rock bands that are promoted in the likes of NME. It retains a sense of Britrock heritage and has some amazing franchise features –I really dig what they’re doing there.
Discovering the cafeteria in the large modern building where you can get gourmet pasta and salad for a total of £3.60.
Being told to “take an hour or two or whatever you need for a lunch break”
CONS:
Having to sort through the mail and personally deliver it to each employee (can be hard on your first day where you’re bound to forget everyone’s names!)
Getting lost in the photocopying room and making a mess of such a simple task.
The hideous photo the receptionist unexpectedly took of me to create me a security pass for the week.
The fact the IPC Media building I was in was RIGHT across the road from the GigJunkie offices so I had to travel the same hour and back everyday that I normally do
It was slightly disappointing to see no females working at this magazine – although the dudes that work there totally know their shit when it comes to music and have been in the industry for yeeaarrrrrssssss.
So as you can see, weighing up the two there are many more pros, rendering this experience a really rewarding and positive one – unlike other work placements I’ve endured – won’t name any names!! I was there for just a week and felt like I really learned a lot about the magazine and my writing style and the guy who was overseeing me, the production editor, even asked me to come back to help out further with the John Lennon issue they are putting together which was nice but unfortunately I simply can’t afford to ‘offer my services’ for free haha.
On Monday evening Kelly and I ate ourselves into a food coma at Ottolenghi. I’m not joking we actually felt ill from all the food, wine and dessert we consumed. After sitting in a gutter for a good 30 mins waiting for the pain to pass we went over to the George & Dragon in Shoreditch to meet out long lost suicidal friend Jason who had emerged from his cave of occupational nightshifts. There wasn’t much going on there i.e. a black and white foreign film being watched by an audience of 5 people, one of them including a gay sailor. We purchased our drinks and sat outside as Gingy recounted some everso juicy tales and secrets of his life that kept us highly entertained for the hour to come. My lips are unfortunately sealed on these however. What I can divulge is that he revealed to us what he had been doing for the last 2 weeks that he’d been sitting at home late at night after working like a dog.
JASONS DOUBLE LIFE: Welcome to Sin City!
Is everyone familiar with Sim City? The virtual ‘life’ computer game where you create an avatar and an essential fake life for yourself. Yes guys, this is what Jason had been up to for the last fortnight to compensate for the life that his work had stolen from him. Since he didn’t have the time to actually go out and live his life, he was living through this game – even building a house for himself, starting a family and finding new employment. Jason’s name in this cyber world was CHAVEL TORRENZ, his boyfriends name was TONY MARONI and wait for it.. his childs name was DUSTED TORRENZ. What the fuck!? Mr Torrenz is a professional athlete, whilst Tony Maroni is a scientist and Dusted a burgeoning novelist. We simply could not contain our laughter as he described his ‘new life’ to us with such a serious tone. SIN CITY is what I called this place that had snatched our friend from reality.
On Tuesday evening the gang ventured over an infamous music venue called the Borderline in support of our good friend Steve Smyth’s gig. Kelz and I met Fiddy, Jess and Timmons at the Hoxton Hotel for a quick pre-drink. I of course ordered the Vanilla Kiss cocktail – my favourite! Over at Borderline in the west end we met Juanita and Jboy who had just gotten back from a trip to LA so there was much catching up to do. Steve Smyth’s gig was enchanting and absorbing as always. Big fan ☺ Even though his early slot meant there was not a huge audience he had a great reception from the crowd.
If you ask me he definitely should have been the second opener, instead of that Irish old man strumming his banjo and producing post-punk, pirateship like music that made me feel seasick. It was the most unsettling, bogan music I’ve ever heard and his strong accent coming through on the vocals was highly obnoxious.
Check out Stevie’s new video here!
Anyways we all got some drinks into us at this intimate bar and it wasn’t long before the cat got out of the bag that we would be having a celebrity guest soon – one that being an acquaintance of Steve Smyth was meant to come down to see him perform but in typical Hollywood manner was extremely late. Our eyes were curiously peaking at the doorway every few minutes, anxiously awaiting her arrival. Soon enough a tall, blonde skinny figure with a famous face emerged into the dim bar. Drum roll please… it was none other than The OC starlet Mischa Barton.
Yes, that is correct. Marissa from the OC was among us and with her manly voice spent the night complaining about how ‘bad of a day’ she’d had. I find that REALLY hard to believe Mischa dear. Must be so hard frolicking around London town in private cars, partying at exclusive clubs, dating a DJ and spending outlandish amounts of money on clothes. There she was relentlessly taking shots and disappearing to the bathroom as we all tried to keep out cool around her. Kelly got right in there and put the ‘lets be BFFs’ moves on her, I think Jess was a bit more successful however as she got a personal invite by Mischa to do shots at the bar, but our sensible mama bear who had also grown really tired declined the Hollywood princess’ offer. Kelly and I however, being the party animals we are, were ready to get the party started and were demanding shots at the bar with our partner in crime Fiddy.
After the main act of the night CW Stoneking (an Australian blues act) which was really amazing by the way, we all went for a bit of a bar hop from Crow Bar to Garlic + Shots to some Artroom Bar in Soho. The first two bars were failures because being a Tuesday night, everything was a bit slower than usual and also because Jboy refused to allow us to pay a 2 pound entry fee haha.
We were happy dancing away, eating pizza and drinking ciders at the arty farty underground bar however and decided to call it a night after that.
Four Weeks with the Queen. 
