Endless Days

We have been in Adelaide exactly a week today, the strange byproduct of which being that we have experienced Queen's Birthday twice, once when we left Wellington, and a second time today. I'm not sure if I've already remarked on this but Adelaide is NOT the buzzing bohemian and cosmopolitan city that we'd idly hoped. Thus, the second Queen's Birthday has been pure torture... dead dead DEAD fucking town. During the week we bought a car, a huge Ford Falcon which we have named "the Lumbering Giant" and we've been using it to escape the clutches of Boredom as it lurks around this city like some kind of Arch Enemy of the Common Backpacker or Foolish Migrant. Today we went for a very long drive to look at the barren landscape outside of the city and there was horizon and horizon and some more horizon, sky everywhere. There has been a drought here for the last three years and you can tell how devastating this must be, looking at the "farmland": its like a desert with sheep forlornly nibbling at dry tufts of grass. We would have gone on until the South Australia/Victoria border but reached a "Fruit Fly Exclusion Zone" and decided to hold on to the bag of mandarins in the car rather than surrender them and keep driving. So I'm back at the hostel. The most exciting event this evening is likely to surrender will be watching Tomb Raider with a Canadian guy named Dave and a German girl name Katrina. IN OTHER NEWS... I have a job. God bless data entry? I forsee many blog entries about the meaningless of my job. I ask you my Adoring Public, should I just bite the bullet and find another hospitality or retail job? Or should I just stick to being bored at something different, that will involve me getting varicose veins from crossing my legs while sitting on my arse rather than from standing for far too long? And: we are looking for a house. Hopefully somewhere called Henley Beach, where I can have ice cream for breakfast and where it feels strangely like the set of Home and Away... And: I am reading Henry and June by Anais Nin. How much do I want to be Anais Nin? Paris in the early 1930s is surely the bohemian haven that I crave?