Let's get nutcracking

“It won't be Christmas without going to the ballet,” they said. “Go see The Nutcracker."

Well, I think a few of my Christmases came at once with those gentleman ballet dancers and their shapely bottoms.

When the opportunity to see The Nutcracker came up, I jumped at it. I’m not entirely certain why I was so excited - I was more apprehensive that I wouldn’t enjoy it as dance is not normally an area of the arts that I am particularly fond of. But, when in Rome - or London, as it were - the ballet and The Nutcracker are synonymous with Christmas and so I ended up at London’s Coliseum.

You see, I was a ballerina, once. My poor long suffering mother has sewn thousand of sequins and battled yards of tulle to create my costumes. I think my stand out performance was the time I took to the stage as a duck.

Professional ballerina

So not only am I a skilled dancer, The Nutcracker is also one of my favourite suites of music. I studied it in high school, played it on the piano and as part of the orchestra on the cello. In all my time, though, I had never realised that the music and the ballet were devised together - that the ballet was not choreographed to fit the music, but that they were written as a whole.

And so, ticket in hand and friends at my side, we pushed our way through the crowd to take our seats.

The sheer strength, agility and precision of the dancers was incredible. The children, too, were impeccable, and I couldn’t help but think how much of their lives must be dedicated to dance.

When the two primary dancers took to the stage - I could see why they won the starring roles. Not even the slightest of wobbles when up on pointe (and please forgive me as my terminology will be completely off), legs at complete and perfect right-angles; not too high, not too low.

Granted, I was somewhat fixated on the gentleman dancer’s supremely muscular upper thigh region. They must pour themselves into those tights, or they are spray painted on. Either way… The ladies costumes were beautiful too, long flowing dresses for the first act, which moved to sparkly tutu-d numbers for the 2nd.

When it comes to the finer points; I cannot discuss these as I do not know enough. I was surprised at how much I had to concentrate (again, I’ll be honest, I was very tired and a little worried I may have to fight sleep). I had researched the basic premise and could follow well enough, but it was interesting to have to focus so strongly on the body language to know how the ballet was progressing. And another thing that I found, which is going to make me sound like an utter fool, is how much of a story there actually was. I guess I had always considered ballet…just…to…be…dancing? It had never crossed my mind that they are actually telling a story. 

And so I’ve been to my first ballet. I’m quite sure it won’t be my last, but I think I will stick to ballet’s where I know the music so I feel more of a connection to the dancers and storyline.

As the wonderful, late Robin Williams once said:

Ballet - Men wearing pants so tight you can tell what religion they are.

I can’t get their scrumptious bums out of my head.

xx

Christmas in London: Winter Wonderland

London does Christmas. In the lead up, I was told, “London..nah, nothing really happens at Christmas, they don’t really get into it.”

Whoever said that was an idiot.

(NB, I can’t remember who it was…so uh…sorry if I like you and just called you an idiot)

London does Christmas. As it is dark by 3pm (a slight exaggeration, it’s about 3.30pm), this truly is the city for Christmas lights. Even the littlest of county’s are decked with sparkles; the little orbs in Hammersmith are particularly lovely. The shopping centres are filled with massive twinkling tree-like structures and ice rinks - and I don’t know if it is because I am so over-excited for Christmas, but I have barely even noticed Christmas carols being played on repeat in the stores. 

Ugly Christmas sweaters. Christmas themed hand warmers, gloves, scarves and beanies (mostly a la Primark). Christmas socks, pyjamas, pants (that’s underwear for all you Aussie folks). Everything you could normally get, there is now a Christmas version of it. And it is all so delightfully wintry. 

In a Christmas bauble!

A foreign concept to a warm-weather creature such as myself. 

Winter Wonderland is a culmination of all things festive. Situated in Hyde Park, it spans a huge area full of rides, markets and food and drink stalls. It’s the Royal Adelaide Show, but free - and Christmas themed. I almost died of happiness.

Throw the ball, Christmas style!

I visited on Wednesday night; a night so chosen as to try to avoid a painful weekend crowd. Becki, Nicole and Cory in tow we met in the freezing night air all ready to go iceskating. I was alternating between clapping my hands with glee like a child and lamenting “Oh, what have I done?”. After some german sausage (everyone needs some german sausage), I skulled a mulled wine  (for confidence) and we made our way onto the ice.

Zoom, round and round

I approached the ice like a baby giraffe. I felt like my legs would go every which way, as I stumbled with shaking legs around my first couple of laps. I stayed close to a wall, skirting it so I could reach out to grab at the moment it looked like I were to go head over heels. Cory, Canadian, took to the ice like he’d been born for it. Becki, much practised, hands clasped behind her back swirled around the rink. Nicole, confident, zoomed past me.

To be fair, I hadn’t ice skated since my second knee reconstruction (or my ankle injury for that matter) so I was worried how my legs would hold up and, knowing me, if I did fall over I had the potential to do some serious damage (coz that’s just how I roll).

Lo and behold, there was not a single stack. Not one of us went arse-up. Soon, the mulled wine settled in and I gained in confidence, seeing how fast I could get around the loop, flailing my arms wildly when I started to wobble. The main problem was the sheer number of people on the rink - at times it bottle necked and with my wonderful ability to stop (read: I can’t stop) meant that I ran into the back of someone. 

I belted out the Christmas and non-Christmas tunes. I skated as fast as I could. I went cross eyed looking at the frost dragon of my breathing. The fairy lights above me. The tree decked out in the middle. The hubbub of the crowd around. 

Ice skating, outside, in the cold night air at Christmas time. Perfection.

***

I will miss my family and friends this Christmas, but between London and its sites and all the activities I have to distract myself, I think this Christmas will be incredible.

It’s not long now.

xx

Complete with Christmas sweater!

Ode to Autumn

Red as luscious lips the leaves have turned,

Only to fall from the sky, ending their lives

With the colour of passion and desire

Burning hot on the horizon.

Orange, the happiest colour, the 

hue of sunsets and sweetest fruits

Bathed in the afternoon light

on the trees and shrubs around me.

Brown and dry and crackly, they 

litter the ground

Perfectly crunchy under foot

As I hopscotch down the street.

Daisy-yellow and sunshine bright

Lining the streets, as far as the eye 

can see, brightening my day

with their sunny disposition.

The world around me, transitioned,

from one filled with colour to one

that is bare; naked branches,

no leaves rustling in the breeze

As winter approaches.

Is Wales a country?

I rolled over and checked my alarm. 9am. Perfect - a Friday morning sleep in. I pottered around, got myself some breakfast and a nice cup of green tea and started off the morning with a lovely Skype call with my beautiful family in remote Western Australia. It was Erin's birthday and it was great to see everyone's faces (even if they were mostly made up of 12 pixels).

After the call, I finished packing. I went to put my ticket in the front pocket of my bag. Wait, where's my ticket? I searched high and low. I messaged Cory.

Panic first, logic later.

It was time to set off for the station and begin the adventure to Wales.

***

Wales had been in the pipeline for a short while but was mildly cursed. Difficultly pinning people down. Finding the right date. Taking a day off. Finding accommodation. Where to go. What we should do.

It finally all came together, entirely with thanks to Cory and Nicole and thus 6 of us traipsed off to Wales for a weekend adventure.

***

4 of us boarded the coach, and we took our seats. 2 were missing. "Have they read your WhatsApp message yet?" Suddenly, on breezed Cory and Charlotte, flopping down into their seats. Naturally, I already had my phone out ready for the group-bus-we-are-going-on-an-adventure selfie.

The next 4ish hours…passed…slowly. Traffic was frustratingly packed. We passed Earl's Court station and Hammersmith station. "Seriously? Couldn't they have just picked me up from here an hour later?", I exclaimed. Frustrations aside, we spent the next few hours alternating between chatting, dozing and discussing bridges. Oh, and receiving death stares for talking too loudly and abrasively. I'm looking at you, lady.

I had a moment on the bridge crossing England to Cardiff when I realised it had been months, all the way back in Spain, that I last saw the ocean (that was not from the view of a plane). And just like that, we were in Wales.

1. The governments of the United Kingdom and of Wales almost invariably define Wales as a country. The Welsh Assembly Government says: "Wales is not a Principality. Although we are joined with England by land, and we are part of Great Britain, Wales is a country in its own right."

Wandering to the hostel, Nicole the Key-Bearer  collected the keys and we wandered through the main stretch of Cardiff to our apartment. Let me just say we were incredibly impressed with our lodgings. Top work, Nicole! Spacious rooms, comfy, enormous couch, fully decked kitchen with coffee, tea and hot chocolate - and dishwasher.

We spruced up and made our way out into the night. Cardiff reminded me a lot of Adelaide (interestingly, Becki said the countryside of Wales reminded her a lot of New Zealand. It seems to be a "remindy" kind of place). There was a large, no-cars-allowed strip mall (a la Rundle Mall), decked out with gorgeous fairy lights, big stars and Christmas trees. The night air was chilly but fresh, and we found a cool looking pub with illegible Welsh words and ordered our first drink.

I tucked straight into the local Welsh cider (potentially an error in judgement as it was very strong) over a hearty roasty dinner. After food we made our way outside to discover it was raining - and quite heavily. We rounded the corner and stopped, staring at an Aussie and a Kiwi flag - pinned up backwards. We asked the lady at the door why the flags were up and, more importantly, why were they backwards?

'If I had put them up, they wouldn't be backwards' she replied and invited us down the stairs into what turned out to be a very cool cocktail bar. We all ordered some fancy cocktails and sat and chatted for quite a while. Some selfies, cocktails and one concussion later (stupid lampshade getting in the way of my head) we decided to move one and find another pub.

Here's where it gets a little embarrassing. It was raining, hard. The night was dark and stormy. Not all were dressed appropriately for the weather - when suddenly, we saw a comforting sight.

Walkabout Cardiff.

Yes, my friends, we concluded the evening at the Walkabout in Cardiff. There was an…interesting mix of people within. But the drinks were cheap and the music pumping, so we got our wiggle on until we decided it was time to sleep and get ready for the hiking on the morrow. 

***

Saturday morning. I, for one, awoke with a headache. We donned our hiking gear and the girls wandered to the shops to get some breakfast. We left for the Brecon Beacons later than we had intended, but organising 6 people to mobilise can be a difficult task. The journey to the national park was relatively straightforward - a train and then a bus. Easy peasy (even if we did miss the bus by about 35 seconds the first time around).

Saturday was a glorious day in more ways than one. Wonderful people. Perfect weather (and by perfect I mean..perfect. Uncharacteristically perfect, especially for Cardiff). Beautiful scenery. Plenty of lols. Mud and sun and squelchy ground and waterfalls. We didn't quite follow the path as planned which resulted in climbing over a fence..and then over it again. The first to go arse-up was Nicole straight into a mud puddle. Good thing I didn't put an actual bet on because I was positive it was going to be me.

Up and over the fence..

Crossing plains and over mountains, we looked like the Fellowship. We were the Fellowship.

We took hundreds of photos. We posed, and posed some more. We sang Hakuna Matata at the tops of our lungs. We slipped and slid and washed off in the water. We admired the rushing rapids and the waterfalls and the beautiful scenery Wales had to offer.

We are the Fellowship.

At one point, Cory, Sam and myself went ahead up a very treacherous path and found a breathtakingly beautiful scene. The serenity was amazing, and we sat and took in the splendour as the sun was setting above. It started to get a little chilly and the sun was getting a little scarily low - we did not want to be out in the Welsh countryside in the dark, alone and freezing to death. We rejoined the group and together made our way back down to the bottom of the mountain, tired, cold but happy.

Stahp. You too pretty.

We had decided to have a night in Saturday night as our apartment was so amazing that we wanted to spend some more time in it. Back in Cardiff, we went on a group shopping expedition; and collected all manner of snacks (including a wheel of camembert that Sam baked - words cannot describe the deliciousness) and copious amounts of liquor and then went and found some dinner.

For the remainder of Saturday night we …. [Insert Saturday night here]

***

Funnily enough, I woke up with a raging headache and a belly full of woe. That'll teach me for mixing sangria, champagne and vodka. Sam and Charlotte were shining stars who made an enormous breakfast fry up for us in the morning - eggs and bacon and baked beans and french toast - marvellous! 

Bellies full, we checked out and said goodbye to the awesome apartment that had been our home for the last 2 nights. Checking out already! We were all very sad that the weekend had gone by so incredibly quickly. 

Today we were going to see Cardiff Castle, the castle in..Cardiff. It's kinda hard to miss, and at night they had it all decked out with enormous glowing stars and Christmas trees. It was a grey day, but dry and not too cold - we really did get the perfect weather. The clouds only added to the atmosphere. After purchasing our entry tickets into Cardiff Castle, a lyrically voiced young Welsh man asked if we would like to "watch the video". Charlotte piped up with an enthusiastic Yes! and the man, slightly surprised and pleased, led us into the adjacent room.

"When you leave, leave through the door on the other side," he said, before flicking a switch, which darkened the room and began the slow descent of a wide wide screen from the ceiling. What happened next was approximately 15 of the weirdest minutes of my life. It was an educational video about the history of Cardiff Castle…I think. What I do know is that I am none-the-wiser about the history of Cardiff Castle, except that in the year 1100 some modern girl went back in time (or did she hallucinate?) with a book…

We spent quite a bit of time exploring the castle, the battlements and reading the history of how the castle was used in the various World Wars. We look a lot of dramatic pictures, watched squirrels mating and climbed very tight, very high, very precarious steps to the top of the battlements.

Autumn colours

After we had finished exploring the castle, we were supremely hungry and we found a place for lunch. Lunch took hours, with our poor waitress receiving no end of troubles on her first day - wrong orders, dropping trays and then a whole party partaking in a dine-and-dash promotion.

The bus ride home afforded us some much needed sleep. It was now the end of our journey as the Cardiff Clan. We had drunk together, hiked together, laughed together and danced together. It was an amazing amount of fun and I look forward to another adventure with those smiley happy people.

Wales, you took me a little by surprise. Everyone had told me your weather would be dreadful, but our sunny dispositions brought the sunshine with us from London.

***

Footnote: After returning from Wales, we found some of our pictures from the Walkie had been uploaded onto the Facebook site. Noticeably missing was our one group shot. Immediately I thought we must have been so disastrously unattractive that we were unable to be posted publicly. Then I had a change of heart - we were, in fact, so incredibly good looking that we would have shamed and embarrassed the other patrons in that classy establishment, and thus the Walkie did not choose to post our picture for fear of making the clientele sad.

xx

Rushing rapids

The wishing tree

All the autumn colours.

All the happenings and the doings, from red poppies to gender bending

Old boss you was rite it was the left kidny i was goin to hoperate agin close to your ospitle just as i was going to dror mi nife along of er bloomin throte them cusses of coppers spoilt the game but i guess i wil be on the job soon and will send you another bit of innerds

Jack the Ripper

O have you seen the devle with his mikerscope and scalpul a-lookin at a kidney with a slide cocked up.

It was a dark, still night. There was a gentle drizzle falling and our hoods were pulled against the chill of the cold air. Hands in our pockets we stood, transfixed, as in the glow of a street lamp our tour guide described in gruesome detail the horrific murders by the notorious serial killer, Jack the Ripper.

Throat slashed to the bone.

Sliced open, guts removed and thrown over her shoulder.

Womb missing.

Positioned knees up, with her personal affects arranged around her bloodless corpse.

We stood where her body was found. She was just one; in each case the mutilations more gruesome. We retraced Jack's footsteps as he ran away from the crime scenes.

Luckily, I did not faint during the graphic retelling - we had been warned in case we were a sensitive nature. Now, I am of a sensitive nature, but I'm also horribly curious, and now I endeavour to research as much about Jack the Ripper as I can which will likely result in a month's worth of nightmares. Was it the Freemasons? Were they covering it up? Why only prostitutes? Was it a doctor - the precision of the slices…was it a mad man? Were the women being silenced? 

***

Of late I have been quite the little London tourist. Jack the Ripper tour, preceded by a delicious curry on the famous Brick Lane (butter chicken, naturally). 

A couple of weekends prior, I saw the fireworks at the affectionately known Ally Pally - Alexandra Palace - in (dis)honour of Guy Fawkes. I had to research this as well - why the bonfire? Why the fireworks? He was hanged. It didn't make any sense! The fireworks were lovely if very cold, and my attempts to warm up by drinking copious amounts of mulled wine and cider didn't work. Nicole and I had staked a place early in the day with barely a soul to be seen. Come 7pm, we had children tripping over us, people trying to sit on our blanket and just..people..everywhere. 

"Be as big as you can, Nicole!" I said, "Let's stretch our legs out."

At one point, I even tapped a man on the shoulder as he had moved directly in front of my folded legs. "Excuse me, but my legs go there." I'm such a bitch.

Remember, remember the fifth of November,
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
I see no reason, why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot

The Tower of London. I'm sure you all saw it in the news; over 888 000 ceramic poppies were laid in the moat to represent each of the lives lost in WWI. Thanks to Nicole and her friends, I was given a ticket to see inside the castle walls. It was a wet, rainy day. I was testing out my new raincoat, and it kept me nice and dry (£4, charity store - think it's a kids size). Naturally, London's underground was at a standstill due to engineering repairs on the tube lines". Damn you, London underground. I both love you and hate you and like you and loathe you! Grrrrr.

The amount of people visiting was unbelievable. We waited in the rain by the little clock symbolising that a tour was to start in 5 minutes, when it was announced that due to the weather, no tour would be running. No matter, we would read the signs - all of them!

The Tower of London has a very interesting and long history. We saw the bedchambers of age-old kings, and scratchings in the walls where prisoners were held. We saw artefacts and weaponry and the beautiful red poppies through the windows. At one point, we thought it would be a good idea to join the queue to see the Crown Jewels - the line is moving fast, right? An hour and a half later, we were at the front of the line under the "No photography allowed" sign. I'll admit, and I had wanted to see the Crown Jewels, that I was a fraction frustrated. Nevertheless, the jewels were beautiful, the crowns, tiaras, rings and sceptres, the beautiful gold workings on the punch bowls and other ceremonial dishes.

On the tube on the way home, I flipped to the news on my phone. "Huge crowds have been to see the Tower of London poppy garden despite warnings to stay away until after half-term and to avoid a Tube station closure."

Oops. That explains the sheer number of people, then. Typical ;)

Seeing as it has been almost a month since my last update, there have been a great number of little things that have happened too. Of course, I've seen another two shows; Forbidden Broadway (my face hurt from laughing so much) and Matilda - a masterpiece with obvious music and lyrics by the love of my life, Tim Minchin.

I attended a travel company's brochure launch, and slapped down my £10 deposit on not one, but two, half-price tours (the 2nd one may have been assisted by cider). I'm putting plans in place for my epic trip of next year once my contract is up. So far, the sketchy details are:

• A week (or two?) in Greece. I'm desperate to see the history and culture and I love the ancient mythology.
• 9 days in Egypt. Yep. That's a thing that's happening.
• A week in Italy, where I will eat until I look like a piece of pizza.8 days sailing the Croatian islands, jumping off boats and celebrating my 20-somethingth birthday (Still south of 30!)

And then back home to London where I will be well and truly broke and exhausted.

There has also been Halloween. Gender bending, I donned a beard and went as a lumberjack. Every girl needs a beard! When my beard became too itchy, it became my chest hair. It even became 80's bush for a little while… this is what happens when Sasha drinks too much cider, kids! I'm surprised at how big Halloween is here in London. Lots of kids trick-or-treating, and so many people dressing up! The BritBound Halloween was great fun as usual, and we sailed up and down the Thames with Big Ben and the London Eye as the perfect backdrop.

Oh golly. So much has been happening, and there is so very much to come. December will probably be the death of me. I love you all. Remember that, ok?

Exhaustingly yours,

xx

Happy Four Months to London and I!

Yes, I’ve been in [sunny] London for four months today. I arrived 23 June exhausted, emotional, relieved, scared, excited. Four months on, I’m still exhausted, emotional, relieved, less scared but no less excited!

I wanted to commemorate the occasion with a snapshot of things I’ve done and experienced to date. I am already a changed person from that terrified girl who stood staring at her two suitcases, backpack and a banana - positive she’d fail this expedition. You’re probably all sick to death of hearing about me over here, but I go on at length for two reasons:

1. I really enjoy being smug.
2. I truly did not think I was capable of this.

My life in three bags and a banana
 #letsgo #letsgettolondon #whatthefuckamidoing #weeeeee#adventure

I have proved my toughest critic wrong. I am stronger, smarter and more resilient than I could have ever imagined. I know thousands of people have done this adventure before me and thousands will after - and they don’t boast and brag quite like I do - but my faith in myself was so low that each time something incredible happens - I feel it double-fold. Once, because it was amazing. And twice, because I didn’t believe I would be experiencing it. 

I’ve learnt that I don’t need to rely on others; that I can muddle through on my own. Great and wonderful lessons are being learned every day on this adventure (my current life lesson is to HTFU and not sweat the little things) and I hope you have been enjoying following it with me.

Ok, enough of the corny stuff.  Time to be smug.

I like lists. So here’s a list of things that I have done, seen or experienced since arriving in London 4 months ago (that’s a whole quarter third of a year - yay! Maths):

• Seen many of London’s famous and historic landmarks and sites, such as Big Ben, the iconic red telephone boxes, Buckingham Palace, the various museums, Hyde Park, Piccadilly Circus, Tower Bridge, The Shard, floated up and down the River Thames, and more
• Eaten a lot of potato
• Landed myself a job at the number two university in the world. While it has it’s tough days, I’m still pinching myself that I got a job so easily, and a good paying job, with a good reputation
• Found myself a place to live. The added bonus is that my housemates are amazeballs
• Made a metric fuck-tonne of new friends
• Drunk a lot of cider
• Casually popped over to France for a weekend
• Devoured waffles and frites and chocolate and beer and mussels in Belgium
• Ran with the bulls in Spain
• Gotten on the wrong tube (this happened again more recently than I care to admit)
• Seen a variety of wildlife that has made me squee, including frightful foxes, sassy squirrels and bumbling bumblebees
• Turned into a theatre whore. I have seen: Phantom of the Opera, Warhorse, The Comedy of Errors, The Lion King, Wicked the Musical, The Book of Mormon, Evita and, not technically theatre but still shows: Kate Miller-Heidke and Dan Sultan. Coming up I have already booked in to see Matilda, Forbidden Broadway, Urinetown and The Nutcracker ballet.
• Drunk a lot of cocktails
• Selfied in front of Stonehenge
• Selfied in front of the Eiffel Tower
• Selfied in front of Big Ben
• Selfied in the square in Brugge
• Selfied..just..selfied.
• Crossed Abbey Road
• Started drinking my first Fosters and then stopped drinking it
• Spent an inordinate amount of time and money in Primark
• Busted both pairs of work pants, largely in thanks to all the potato
• Cycled through vineyards with friends in France
• Sat on the tube more than once in a ridiculous costume
• Drunk some of the worst coffee I have ever experienced in my life (I’m not even mad, I’m impressed!)
• Started to be come a Londoner. Excuse me, stand to the right!

Thank you to everyone who believed in me and who continues to do so!

Much love,

xx

Attack of the Bogan

bogan:
ˈbəʊɡ(ə)n/
noun AUSTRALIAN informalderogatory

an uncouth or unsophisticated person, regarded as being of low social status. 

"some bogans yelled at us from their cars"

We all possess a degree of boganity. To some, I may appear classy; I love the theatre, I play classical piano, I have a large vocabulary and am a wealth of interesting (and largely unnecessary) facts (and ok, I’m probably the only one that finds them interesting).

On the other hand, I pre-drink harder than you party, I swear like a sailor, and more often than I care to admit, I wear tights as pants. Heinous, I know.

So when I heard about Bogan Bingo, I was intrigued. Straight to the poolroom list of things to do before I leave London.

Last week, my opportunity arrived. My housemate Alice had not yet celebrated her birthday in [sunny] England, and Bogan Bingo was the obvious choice as she wanted to introduce her workmates to the “Australian culture”. Dress code: Bogan. Cue: flannie (as an aside, I love how iProducts autocorrect flannie to flange..lol), wifebeater, jeans (or in my case - jeggings worn as pants…) and our bingo dabbers at the ready.

Any Aussies who live in the UK and have not been to Bogan Bingo yet - do so immediately. It was one of the most hysterically funny evenings and made me so happy to be Australian - even though most of it was terribly bad taste. I had never played bingo before - I am now a convert - and thankfully the pace of Bogan Bingo was reasonably slow. When I had only one number to go, I had my hand at my crotch ready to spring to my feet to scream out, Bloody Bingo. Sadly, there was no winning from me but that did not detract from the experience at all.

The major prize each week is a holiday and remaining prizes range from the decent to the absurd (cue: coke and grass aka basil and talc powder).

At the conclusion of the bingo, big security guards swooped upon us all and swiftly packed up all the chairs and tables - and The Slug instantly transforms into a dance floor. My favourite part of the evening was looking at the few Londoners in the room who all had the same expression on their face: “what the fuck is going on?”

The only problem with Bogan Bingo? It’s on a school night. Either be prepared for a sore head and a sick tummy on the Friday (this may or may not have happened) or plan ahead for a day off.

Get on it, fuckers!

xx

Owyagoinmateorrite?

Sasha the Show Slut

Hello Blog Land. It's been a while. Oops. I have been incredibly busy and tired and then busy and tired...rinse and repeat. I have seen an awful lot of liver [edit: hilarious typo that I am leaving here because I think it represents what I've done a lot of in the last week...] performance in the last couple of weeks. I haven't quite hit saturation point yet; hopefully that never happens!

Tuesday, 30 September: Dan Sultan
At the Kate Miller-Heidke concert, Charlotte and I were thrust leaflets promoting a concert for Dan Sultan at Bush Hall. Charlotte, realising that she could get cheap tickets for working there, set about organising the night. We started off with dinner at the Bush Hall Dining Room (not much to look at from the outside, but oh my golly gosh, the food was amazing and the cocktails made with love). Here we met a crazy French lady (and I think "crazy" might be a polite way of putting it) who has travelled all around the world following Dan Sultan, including all the way to the sunny Land Downunder.

Now, I had never heard of Dan Sultan before ("He's Aussie," said Charlotte, "and a very good looking man") so in the weeks preceding I did a little bit of YouTube research and decided that I enjoyed his music (and yes, he was a very good looking man to boot). Tummies filled, cocktail buzz setting in, we wandered next door into the gorgeous Bush Hall and positioned ourselves close to the front.

The support act was a gorgeous girl and guy duo, I believe her name was Lucy Mason. Utterly mesmerising voice and another great Aussie talent. Soon, however, the main act took to the stage (with crazy French lady positioned front, centre) and Dan Sultan began to rock.

I only peripherally knew a couple of songs but I didn't even need to know that much. The vibe, the beat, the rhythm - there was no other choice but to get up and dance, mesmerised by his focused facial expressions and great guitar playing. The room wasn't packed but what he did have was a very loyal, very interactive fan base that I may just about become one of. It was a great night of country-Aussue-rock blend in the pinkly-lit Bush Hall, with great food, cocktails and company.

Good looking people all around!
Lady in red is the crazy Frenchie

Wednesday, 1 October: The Lion King
Holy moly, when did it become October? No I mean, like, seriously. When? About 12 days ago but..how? In my true style of not doing things by halves, the night following Dan Sultan I was out and about again at The Lion King.

I met the BritBound crew at the pub next door and ran into Kandis and we made our way into the theatre together. Fantastic seats, reasonably close to the front. I made my way to my seat, a row infront of Kandis and introduced myself to the other BritBounders sitting around us. The show started and winning - I had two empty seats directly infront of me so I had the perfect view.

Opening number...The Circle of Life. The smile spread across my face - here was childhood personified. The sets, the costumes, the songs all brought to life. While clapping and cheering the conclusion of the opening sequence, I spotted the little torch of the ushers and two people with enormous heads sat infront of me. This put a sour note on the rest of the show for me because I simply could not sit still for not being able to see. I'm sorry to those behind me.

I'm going to be honest and it is going to be an unpopular opinion, but The Lion King didn't wow me. I'm glad I've seen it, but I found it...messy. Too much going on, lots of running around, backwards and forwards and sometimes I couldn't quite understand the costumes. It was a great show, but I've seen better.

At the end of the night, the boy I was sitting next to (with whom trying to extract a conversation was like pulling teeth) asked which way to the Piccadilly train station and so I was stuck walking him back there as I was going in the same direction.

Ahh childhood :)

Monday, 6 October: Evita
All of the shows I have seen since arriving in London have been courtesy of BritBound. I've discovered that many of my workmates are theatre-goers and organise monthly-ish excursions to the theatre. Evita wasn't one of my favourites; I think I've only seen the movie (starring Madonna and Antonio Banderas) once and I only knew Don't Cry for me Argentina and On this night of a thousand stars from the score, despite it being an Andrew Lloyd Webber (he is so ugly).

But when the opportunity to get to know my workmates came up, I joined the crew and we were a party of 7 on a night out. We went for dinner first (wow - Busaba Thai is pretty damn incredible) and I enjoyed chatting and getting to know my workmates - in particular two newbies who are even newer than myself.

At the theatre, we made our way to our seats in row VV - having to chuck out two separate lots of people who were actually row V and one that was Row VV (obviously there was some confusion over two V's versus a W) and marvelled at how far from the stage we were. We had about 3 completely empty rows infront of us, and a perfect view of the stage as a result.

Which was probably not such a good thing. In a word: awful. Ok, two words: hilariously awful. I'm not even mad, I'm impressed. The others could pick out things they hated least, but for me the singing was woeful (piercing and largely unpleasant to listen to), there was a grand total of zero chemistry between the actors and the audience too was lacklustre. Also, I didn't really like the music (Andrew LW, how dare you make a piece of theatre I don't like?).

The best bit of the show was the end. And I don't mean because it ended. At the conclusion, half the audience got to their feet and proceeded to give this terrible show a standing ovation. Our group looked at each other in surprise.

"Did we miss something?"
"Did we just watch the same thing?"

We left the theatre and Abby turned to me, asking "What did you think?" I looked at her and gaped, opened and closed my mouth, unable to find politically correct words. The pause extended so long that we both burst into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. It was still a great night, just for different reasons.

Leaving the theatre was freezing and for the first time of the season, I donned my gloves (touch screen usable!) and was clearly the only Aussie on the bus, surrounded by locals still in t-shirts.

The theatre looked pretty cool from the outside...

Wednesday, 8 October: Wicked The Musical
I hadn't felt very well that day, and wasn't sure how I would go for the show. I stayed at work and made my way to the pub before hand to meet Nicole and the other BritBounders. I had asked my boss if I should research Wicked first so I knew the story line and the music, or if I should go in blind. "Definitely go in blind," was his response.

So not knowing the story, other than it being the story of Glinda the Good and the Wicked Witch of the West from The Wizard of Oz, I didn't know what to expect. Nicole and I took our seats - fucking amazing seats, might I add - and gaped at the amazing stage set. Perhaps Evita lowered my expectations, but already I was terribly excited about what was to come.

The easiest way to say it is: I have added to my favourite musicals. Wicked was, in a word, incredible. We had the understudy for Elphaba, but if she was the understudy you would not have been able to tell. The sets. The costumes. The atmosphere. The chemistry. The music! The laughter. The ninjas cutting onions near me and the rest of the audience (a quick glance around saw girls and boys alike dabbing quickly at their eyes). I was, and still am, in awe. I don't even know what else to write about it.

Speechless. Amazing.

Please don't ask me...

Open Day, Saturday 20 September 2014.

I volunteered my time and my limited knowledge because I was interested to see how Imperial ran and organised their Open Day. I arrived at work on Saturday morning, bleary eyed, and donned my lurid yellow t-shirt splashed with Ask Me. Oh god, please don’t ask me. I know less than you do.

It seems that Open Day’s are a bit of a farce, globally. Spotty, socially awkward teenagers dragged along by pushy, overbearing parents who thrust their child upon you with some kind of pre-scripted question which the afore mentioned pimply teen mumbles at you incoherently, all while maintaining perfectly zero eye contact. On the other end of the spectrum, you have the zealous, overachiever asking hundreds of questions requiring tiny minute details that a pleb like me simply cannot answer.

In many ways, the Open Days are the same – booths (largely with grumbly staff members who had to come in on a Saturday), waves where the people are overwhelming, and then times when there is absolutely nothing happening, the hour-before-closing-time-witching-hour-for-weird-people and those-who-are-only-there-for-the-freebies. 

I found the day utterly exhausting, it was a 9am - 4pm effort, directing students every which way and pretending to know what I was talking about. I told hundreds of students to go "up two flights of stairs", [makes the number 2 with fingers] "and turn left" only to realise at the end of the day it was only one flight of stairs even though it takes you to level 2. Oh well, I'm sure they made it in the end.

It was finally over, and I dashed off - that night we were celebrating our 3 month anniversary of being in London.

On the way home, I got myself an enormous energy drink and I believe it worked somewhat. I had so much caffeine coursing through my veins I was jittery. Good, that'll do. I threw on a pretty dress (purchased in Paris), my bolero (from the London markets) and set off for Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese.

I love this pub. Visited it on the pub tour and fell in love. Little alcoves cut out of the stone walls, really yummy food, cheap drinks. Here we had a group 11 strong, drinking and eating, getting to know each other. It was time to move on and move on we did..embarrassingly, we ended up at the Walkie. Many, many drinks and much dancing later, to was time for the 2am Maccas run before catching the Night Bus home (oh, Night Bus, you reek of shame).

I had a great time and it was just the pick me up I needed. The Sunday was spent pretty lazily (just an eye appointment for new contact lenses, he waived the appointment fee, #winning) and generally just pottering around.

It's fun to let your hair down (or in my case, put it up in a ponytail when the times-they-are-a-sweaty) and celebrate being on this adventure - we're all in the same boat and we all know what it feels like with the roller coaster of emotions.

Much love 

xx

SO VERY YELLOW 

I think we all come in at less than 6 months in London town.

Dancing and the lights!

Belated updates: Kate and Shakespeare and wonton wrappers

While in France, I had a recurring sore throat, but after the day at work and the night out at The Book of Mormon, life got too hard and my immune system gave way. I didn't get a single moments sleep that night as the pain in my throat was immense. I got up, got dressed, got the train to work, where I said to my boss "I haven't slept, I apologise if I'm very vague today." To which she simply responded, "Go home!" and so I did.

I had already bought tickets to see Kate Miller Heidke that night, so when I got home from work I crawled into bed and didn't leave it again until it was time to get ready for the concert. I wanted to see her on London soil as I had seen her so many times back home in Adelaide. At first, I was dreading having to socialise and be up and about with the pain in my head and my throat, but once I got moving my mood improved.

I met Charlotte at the Scala, an interesting rock/night club venue where Kate was to play. We grabbed some food and then joined the queue. This was Charlotte's first foray into Kate; my ninth (I think? It's somewhere around there). As usual, she was divine, with her soaring high notes and surprising quiet humour. The last few concerts of hers I've been to have been more new song oriented, and as I haven't followed her as closely of late, I don't know these songs so well. 

Friday, Saturday and Sunday were spent in bed. I was meant to go to Brighton with the folks but I made the decision, even though I had paid for the hostel, not to go. I was in no state. As sad as I was, this was the right decision. 

This is where things started to go a little haywire for me, emotions-wise. I was so sick - throat like razor blades,  to the point where I couldn't sleep from the pain, headaches to match - and the homesick hit. The proverbial "they" had said that "it's the hardest at the 3 month mark" and that was exactly where I was. I just wanted a hug. I felt terrible, both in body and in mind. I had to keep reminding myself of all the good things coming up, while I lay in bed, to exhausted to even go down to the kitchen to eat.

Sounds melodramatic, I know. I returned to work on the Monday and by the Tuesday I had a panic attack in the local Waitrose, an expensive supermarket. What triggered it? Wonton wrappers. Those fucking wonton wrappers. I simply could not find wonton wrappers anywhere. I was exhausted, forgetful, vague, sore, tired, homesick, sad and I melted down over wonton wrappers.

Wednesday felt a little better. Today, I looked up a Thai supermarket, rang them, and lo and behold, they had wonton wrappers. This improved my mood. I still desperately wanted a hug from someone, but things were going to be alright. I'm mentioning all of this because I want to remember it - it's been two weeks and I'm still struggling with the ups and downs - this is the first time I've felt down since coming to London (and the first time I've felt this down for maybe a year or two), and I have to remember all the amazing things that I have done already and the incredible adventures I have to come. I want to look back on this and think "Good on you, you're sticking it out. You're doing great. Keep going."

I bought my wonton wrappers, and life was looking up. (BTW, this is why I was looking for wonton wrappers.)

Thursday night I was booked in to see The Comedy of Errors at Shakespeare's The Globe, and I was seriously excited. After work, I donned my standing shoes (because who doesn't want to watch a play like the peasants of old?), met Cory at a nearby pub, ate dinner and then made our way to The Globe. We positioned ourselves as close as possible to the stage, forming a crescent behind two extremely tall gentlemen. 

I had already seen The Comedy of Errors before (back in Adelaide with my lovely workmates), so I knew the story. It was wonderful to see it in costumes of old, the slapstick humour as funny today as it was in 1500's. Before the intermission, I found myself gently moving from foot to foot, trying to relieve the pressure and discomfort that was building from standing so long.

I loved the occasional drops of modern humour, which gave the performance an edge, and also found the scene changes fascinating as the actors would come forth and sing a bridging song. I also absolutely adored the fact that we were exposed to the elements - there being no roof on the Globe, and seeing the moon above. The weather that night could not have been more fantastic, utterly balmy with a gentle cool breeze - we were not at risk of being rained on.

I left with a big smile on my face, feeling on top of the world again. Culture, lovely night, good company - things were going to be alright. Besides, the next day is Friday, and what's not to like about that?

***

To my newfound friends that I have met since I've been here - if you need a chat or a hug (my old friends back home can attest to the fact that I give excellent hugs!) please do not hesitate to ask.

Much love,

xx

The lovely Kate at Scala in London

Wonton wrappers are now going to be synonymous with melt downs. 

The Comedy of Errors in the open roof The Globe theatre

The Book of Mormon

Wednesday. First day back at work after Paris. I'm feeling desperately down; I have the travel blues and this sore throat just keeps getting worse. I have a terrible day, but tonight is a night I've been waiting for and I hope desperately that I can cheer up before the time arrives.

The Book of Mormon.

With excellently priced tickets a la BritBound, I snapped up the last available ticket for this performance a few weeks prior. And the day had arrived, and I was feeling shocking. We get to the pub early to grab some food. 

"Kitchen closed at 6pm."

It was 6.05pm.

"Right. Ok then, can I please have a glass of bubbly?"

"We only do it by the bottle."

I was seriously on the verge of tears after the day I had had. I took a deep breath and promised I wouldn't let myself ruin the night. I found some food elsewhere and a group of us made our way to the Prince of Wales theatre. I started to get a bit giddy with excitement. In the theatre, we realised how epic our seats were - right in the middle close to the front of the balcony - perfect view. To our left and right were large screens where the words for the whole show were to be displayed - fantastic! As all of the songs were new to me, this meant I could quickly cast my eyes to the side and work out what they were singing.

A doorbell rang, the curtain raised, and the musical began. I won't give anything away but suffice to say it was crude and rude, naughty, smutty, punny, hysterical, intensely clever and thought-provoking. If I mention even one of the themes it will give it away, but in case you don't know, the general premise is the story of two young Mormon men who travel to Africa to convert a remote tribe to the way of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.

Written by the South Park boys, I knew I would love it. They have a slight obsession with the Mormons, if some of their South Park episodes and Orgazmo are anything to go by, but the Church appear to have taken the poke in good fun even having a number of full page ads in the programme.

"You've seen the play..now read the book!" and "The book is always better" gave me a smile.

It is an obvious poke at the Church of Latter Day Saints but also at all religions - while at the same time as being surprisingly uplifting. What a paradox this play is! 

I left the theatre, my face sore from laughing and hope that I can catch it again before its run ends in London.

xx

Yes, I am doing a crotch jab.

Part 5 - Je ne parle pas français

7am, blinding light. Not again. I groan. I had thrown away my drink bottle and was completely parched. I had again gone to bed in my dress from the night before, and still didn't have a quilt. I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to have to get up soon and was adamant I would make it down for the included breakfast today.

We'll skip past the bit where I'm feeling rather shonky and go straight to what I got up to that day. Except I made an exciting discovery. I thought I had two incredibly soft, wonderful pillows. Turns out one was my quilt folded up underneath my pillow. This solved the mystery of why everyone else had a quilt and I didn't - it was...literally under my nose the whole time.

I checked out and put my luggage in a locker and made my way out into the day. Today I was going to do be doing something that I was incredibly excited about and was number 1 on my bucket list for Paris - I was going to the Palais Garnier - the Paris Opera House.

Floating, falling, sweet intoxication.

Touch me, trust me, savour each sensation.

Why was I so excited to see the Palais Garnier? 5 words: The Phantom of the Opera.

The Palais Garnier is the basis of the original book by Gaston Leroux, with its underground canals, ornate decorations and sincere beauty. I had to go here. And now I've been, I have to go back to see something, wearing a ball gown.

I am getting ahead of myself. I arrived at the impressive building and walked a full circle around it. Once inside, I bought my ticket and even decided to get the headset self-tour. I sat on the plush red sofa and soaked up the atmosphere. Following the instructions on the headset, I looked up at the ceiling. I looked over here, I looked over there. I walked through that door. I made my way through to the famous staircase, and in all honesty, I got a little teary. It was so beautiful, and I was so giddily happy to be here. I adored this place. I could stay here all day and come back again and again. I took photos of the incredible architecture and artwork. I selfied, of course. I followed the headset into the theatre, and saw rows and rows of plush red seats. I saw the famous chandelier, the painted ceiling. 

Lot 666, then…a chandelier in pieces. Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera - a mystery never fully explained. We're told, ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very chandelier that figures in the famous disaster…

I made my way around to Box 5 and then simply marvelled at the beauty of this building, much of which I had been completely unaware. I can't describe just how happy I was in here, but soon my grumbling belly got the better of me and it was time to move onto my next destination.

Which was…back to the Eiffel Tower! My meerkat had yet to have its photo taken. It was a gorgeous day and as I made my way back to where we had been two nights before, I noticed the fountain that had been dry was now not only full, but putting on quite a water display. I snapped a few photos before they abruptly turned off. Good timing, I thought. While here, I and my meerkat took the liberty of a few photos (putting my dignity on the floor with my handbag).

Still starving, I decided lunch would be nutella and banana crepes and so my happy giddiness continued: eating crepes while sitting in the shade of a tree, with a lovely view of the Eiffel Tower. At this point I decided I would take it easy. No rushing around to see more, but just soak it all up. And so I slowly wandered around and through and closer to the tower, ogling the line of people who were preparing to ascend, and popped out the other side where I took another seat in the shade and just relaxed. What a beautiful way to spend some time. I was very happy, but decided I would make my way back to the hostel to figure out how to get to the airport and home again.

So long Paris, you were an interesting, polarising place. I actually liked more of your touristy areas than your hidden spaces - I did not feel in the least bit safe outside any tourist destinations. I also did not enjoy being accosted on the streets by people wanting to sign their petition (read: opportunity for them to pick pocket you while you're signing). I will never hear "Do you speak English?" in the same way again. I will be returning to you again; I will climb the Tower, I will visit the Moulin Rouge, I will see an opera in the Palais Garnier. You haven't seen the last of me, gay Paris!

***

And so that concludes Paris. I was terrified coming back into Heathrow as I had heard that the government was cracking down on terrorism and as I rounded a corner in Heathrow, the people backed up was mind boggling. I'd never seen anything like it. I panicked, thinking that I would never get back into the country. After a few minutes of terror, though, I realised that they were all British/EU passport holders and I managed to push my way through to the other passports queue, which ended up moving rather swiftly. I couldn't quite figure this out but I was too busy trying to prevent a panic attack that I didn't dwell on it too much.

Finally it was my turn to be called forward and I instantly explained my situation with the two passports to one of the kindest men I have ever met. We had a bit of a chat about why Heathrow was madness ("It's the students, you see, they bring Heathrow to a standstill for a whole month!" to which I could reply "Oh yes of course! It's Freshers' Week soon!") and to my incredible disbelief, he checked my fingerprint scans and waved me on through. No little holding pen. No nothing. I basically ran through in case they changed their minds - this seems to be happening more often than not, although no one can still tell me what I should do about my passport.

And thus I was back in London, back home.

xx

Too many photos, sorry I'm not sorry.

Parlour for the Palais Garnier.

Stunning sculptures and you can see some of the
paintings on the ceiling 

At the staircase, I may not look that happy but I was so thrilled to be in here!

The famous chandelier

I could have lay down in the middle of the floor
in this room and just looked up for eternity

No Eiffel Tower this way!

A la fountains.

Nutella and banana crepes and the Eiffel Tower. #happiness

Not sure how impressed Meer was though.

Pretty flowers

Au revoir, Paris!