One way ticket

We have our one-way tickets booked. 


In three months, the dog, the husband and I will fly to England where we will spend the summer eating bacon sandwiches, hanging in my parents' garden, walking the dogs on Salisbury Plain, going to the pub, wrestling with my brothers, baking in my mum's new kitchen, seeing faces that we haven't seen in nearly two years, and planning where to take the VW van.


Pant-wettingly-excited does not cover it.


I'm starting packing TODAY.

Lunch for one

It's not that I don't love my husband, it's just that somedays I reeeeally like making lunch for me-me-me while he's at work. 

And listening to Dean Martin whilst I eat my lunch.

And perusing Etsy whilst listening to Mr Martin and eating my lunch.

All without a metal cutter or welder within earshot. Ahhhhh.

Wollondilly video

Do you remember me complaining/rhyming about all my housemates leaving me whilst they did the Wollondilly?


Here's the video from that day, created by my clever friend Jonathan Davis:

Pride and prejudice?

I've started a new temporary job. 


Yesterday morning, a very smiley man in the corridor said 'Hello!'. He was very welcoming and about a head shorter than me and had Down's syndrome.


An hour later, he cheerfully helped me with a printing issue.


A bit after that, I went to make myself some tea in the communal kitchen and heard him crying at the other end of the room. 


I became very British and left him to it. Actually, it's probably as much personal preference as Britishness because when I'm crying I find it really annoying when people notice it and don't just let me get on with things. 


Another tea drinker entered the kitchen.


'You alright there?', he asked matter-of-factly whilst boiling the kettle.


Big gasp of air. 'Yes, thank you, I'm just a bit upset', answered the man genuinely and politely.


How unusual, I thought, that he didn't rationalise his crying. 'I'm just having a bad day/sick of my boss/tired/broke up with...' Most people justify their emotions even though you can rarely adequately explain what it is that has overcome you. 


Or people answer by dismissing the gravity of being upset: 'Oh, ignore me, I'm being silly'.


'Anything I can do to help?' asked the kettle boiler neither kindly nor unkindly.


'No. Thank you.'


We two tea drinkers added milk and left the kitchen feeling we had done what we could. I know at least one of us thought that the crying must in some way be related to the man's syndrome, and I strongly suspect we both did.


I later found out that the cheerful, polite, crying man had lost a friend that day.

Tallest at the back

Last week I saw a photo of four surfers stood on their shared veranda in Northern NSW. 


It was a great shot, but it occurred to me that half of what was great was that the photographer had asked them to stand for the portrait. They would never have regularly stood like that, in a line, in front of their house. 


I don't think I've been asked to stand in a group like that since a team photo, and before that, a school photo. It's lame at the time but when else do you get a photo of a group like that?


So I've bribed some of our friends to come over today for a BBQ and some cake providing they come and have their photo taken on the veranda beforehand.


I know it's going to bring on all those awkward posed photo feeling, but I also know I'm going to treasure this photo.

The Brickpit

I went for another exploratory jog yesterday. 

I would like to clarify that between the last jogging-themed post and this, I have been doing completely un-sporty things like eating cheesecake and caramelised figs, so don't think I've turned healthy or anything of the sort.

Yesterday I began at Sydney Olympic Park and worked out a route to Parramatta train station. Turns out that avoiding Parramatta road and the M4 is hard even on foot. It's an extra 1.5km of jogging to avoid that hole.

Almost immediately, maybe 400m into my jog, I come across my first hurdle: that damn Easter Show. Although it's in its pack up stage, the thing is still taking up all of Australia Avenue.

In hindsight, I then should have turned left, not right.

To the right, the road turned into a building site very quickly. Just beyond, however, there looked to be grassy fields that I hoped I could just cross and get back on route pretty easily. 

There was an annoying fence in the way with some equally irritating barbed wire. Total overkill, I thought.

For the next kilometre or so I pretty much just stared at my feet and tried not to wrench my ankle in some unidentifiable and completely inaccessible srcubland.  

When I finally looked up, this is what I saw:

That's weird, right? And that photo is actually less surreal than at twilight when the sun is setting behind it and the orange and yellow panels are glowing...

When I jogged a bit further, I realised that the fences had probably-maybe been to stop people falling into the quarry.

I've since discovered that this old quarry is called the brickpit and many of the bricks that built Sydney in the 19th century would have come from here. When the Olympic Park was being built, developers discovered the Green Bell frog, which is apparently a big deal, so it couldn't be built on. 

Then in 2006 a walkway, 18m high and 550m wide was built over the quarry. 

I don't know why. To scare stray joggers presumably.

Lessons learnt

This week I finished up working at my job in the CBD. 


For the past 15 months I have worked with some incredible people, many of them ex-refugees, who all have tales of separation and pain. And amazingly, they all think their stories are nothing special. They know they are only one refugee out of millions in the world who have left their homes for safety elsewhere.


With such traumatic histories and such inspiring biographies, you would think that I learnt some life-changing lessons from my refugee colleagues.


No. What I have learnt would not be considered life-changing in the Dr Phil, self-help, ta-dah-it's-all-new sense.


But that's not to say I haven't learnt anything. 


For example, I have learnt that a Kenyan putting the phone down on you without saying 'bye' does not mean they are unhappy with you - goodbye is just unusual in Swahili. 


And if a West African is an hour late to a meeting, you shouldn't take offence. One girl told me that when she found out that in the Western world being late to an engagement meant you didn't respect the other people attending, she was horrified. It had never occurred to her.


Another lesson: in the Western world, we might avoid talking to someone if we've forgotten their name. In Africa, not knowing someone's name doesn't stop a conversation. 'Sister' or 'brother' can suffice as a first name for years.


But the biggest thing I have learnt is that the little things count. 


Like meaning what you say.  It's often not the words you choose that affect someone but how you say it. Be sincere for goodness sake - it costs nothing and is so rare.


And finally, saying thank you and truly, deeply meaning it, is a beautiful thing and you should never underestimate how much it can touch someone. Everyone wants to feel appreciated. Everyday.

Running for the train

I got a backpack out again this week.


I was contemplating running from work in the CBD to Strathfield station. I haven't fitted in anything longer than a half hour jog for a while and I wanted to go further.


Then I put a friend's backpack on to see if I could fit my work things in it and whether my plan had some logistical chance of success.


Once it was on, I was decided. There is NOTHING like a backpack to make you feel adventurous.


I printed out a map, pulled on my runners, ignored the smell of my socks, and set off. Avec backpack.


By the time I got to Anzac bridge I was lost. Well, I knew where I was (under the bridge) and where I wanted to be (on the bridge) but I didn't know how to get up there. I now know there's a huge spiral ramp. You just gotta know where to look.


When I found that ramp, I felt SO pleased with myself. That's what I love about running a new route, wherever it is; it's all those mini navigational challenges. Everybody else on the ramp clearly used it everyday. They were not congratulating themselves.


Eventually, I made it to the station. I was beginning to question my sense of direction right at the end when I'd followed a few dark, trafficless suburban streets. And then suddenly it was there - all lit up. It's only a train station but the way it glowed after all those dark streets really emphasized that I'd completed a little journey.


After an hour and a half of jogging and map reading, I climbed onto a train. I then sat still for 40min. Then I got home and sat on the couch for an hour whilst eating Ben's amazing pasta bake. Then I slept for 9 hours.


Can you see where this is going?


Note to self: try warming down if you want your limbs to function the next day.

Monsoon Madness 2012: Australian National Whitewater Boatercross and Freestlye Championship from Raybot on Vimeo.

Clap clap

I had a fantastic weekend. Not least because I went to see Love Never Dies at Capitol Theatre. 


I was struck at the end of the show how odd clapping is and yet so right at the same time. The audience was moved by the performance to make noise with their hands. Bizarre yet natural.


When was the last time you clapped your hands together because something impressed you or made you happy? 

I think before this weekend, the last time I involuntarily clapped something was when Kynan crossed the finish line in his last race at Oceania. I was on a hill, on my own, but that deserved applause. 


No wait. 


I applauded a cocktail at the weekend.