I went out for dinner on a Monday night

With Liz! From Adelaide! Can you even believe? Quite exciting that one... Went to Sweet Mother's Kitchen. I made two attempts to go to the bathroom, the first time I think the girl waiting ahead of me in line was too confused to try the door. Either that or the person in the bathroom had moved into that little tiny room permanently and was in the process of making some brand new curtains that would match their brand new paint scheme. On my second attempt I was foiled by not one person, but two, one of which was heavily pregnant (two and a half people?). I felt like pregnancy would make a difference to bathroom speed; maybe I was being unnaturally prejudice against pregnant ladies in bathroom queues. Or summat. Panic ensued. Issue was solved.

Anyhow, it was super fab catching up with Liz. Adelaide is a million years away... lives... Her new man is very sweet. And most importantly, is head over heels with her (as he should be). Definitely better than scary stalker guy... he was freaky. And slimy (to be honest, I still fear that he'll track me down through Fussybook one day, and message me to say that he's in New Zealand and on my door step and wants to have coffee *shudder*).

Now I am tired, and semi-waiting for the Boy, if he hasn't forgotten about me, which I suspect he has. I think that I will prepare myself to bed... a la Helen Lawson via The Valley Of The Dolls:

The phone jangled outside the door...

"I'll get it." Anne went to the phone.

"Hi girl..." Helen's happy voice rang out over the phone... "I just wanted to call and say good night... I've gotten undressed, washed my panties and stockings, creamed my face, set my hair, and now I'm in bed."

So now, if you'll excuse me, I have some inexplicable late night washing of delicates to undertake.

xx

Help me help My Stalker

Maybe he's not yet tenacious enough to be my stalker, but surely he's on his way there.

A friend of mine had a boyfriend when I was in Adelaide. When they were together, he seemed ok, I seemed to get on with the boyfriend fine. After Liz went back to Scotland, I kind of didn't see the boyfriend. And then, he became quite regular at ringing or texting me and asking me out for a coffee.

After a while, Andy said that he felt kind of weird around Steve, that he felt as though Steve was kind of flirting with me right in front of him, and that made him feel funny. And yes, by this point Steve also annoyed me.

Long story short, I hadn't seen Steve for six weeks before I left Adelaide. He text messaged me while we were road tripping around WA and I didn't reply. After I had been back in Australia for a month or so he text messaged me again and I didn't reply. Just then he called me and I answered the phone and had a moment of sickening realisation. For the first time in my life I praised the bad reception in our house as the phone cut out before I had to talk to the man (and now I've switched the damn thing off).

I haven't made any contact with him for over six months... I live in a different city, state and time zone. I feel stalked (I know I would have given up on trying to contact a person who hadn't returned any of my messages for six months). Is there anything more I can do but avoid the man? He seemed really nice to begin with, in a friend's boyfriend, I-don't-know-anyone-in-this-town kind of way, and got more and more Black Adder-like as time went on.

Home, home, home, home....

I'm at home! I've almost lost my voice singing eighties songs on my little brother's Christmas present, and have just had my social life organised by Bex over the phone. Looking forward to seeing Fran and Mon and Liz and am presently rating hot blooded revenge above cold blooded revenge. Life is good with half a bottle of red wine inside you... I was going to post photos of our holiday on this blog but my camera was stolen in Melbourne at the Arts Centre. A thousand curses on you, stealer of my camera. May quendas eat your face in the night and the face of your first-born son. May you catch many trains between Perth and Adelaide. May you be trapped in Adelaide indefinately with no hope of possible escape. Hex hex hex.

Don't Catch the Train

If only I had such words of advice before I boarded the Hell That Was the Indian Pacific. It's like the Hotel California of the rails. There was no escape. The food was awful, overcooked and congealing, grey watery flavourless overpriced. Worst of all, the seats were uncomfortable beyond comprehension, and we were expected to sleep in them for two nights. As a result, nobody slept for the two nights but rather spent thirty eight hours fitfully dozing, firstly chilled to the bone by the artificial air and then sweltering stickily in the Nullarbor glare as it heated up the metal carriage and cooked us through the windows. Andy and I theorised that it was all part of a sort of conspiracy to keep us sedated; constantly lethargic and lacking in energy from the ghastly food we were unable to complain about the fact we were treated like cattle. As a result, arriving in Adelaide was incredible and the twenty four hours we stayed made me have a whole new level of respect for the place. We ate fantastically well, drank awesome coffee. Slept. Today we drove nine hours to Melbourne and we fly back to New Zealand tomorrow evening. There is a German couple behind me giggling and its making me rather paranoid. Its 10.30 but it feels as though it should be a lot earlier. I've crossed three time zones in four days and my body clock is a little confused.

Here we all are in Perth, then.

I'm in Perth.

This morning we left Cervantes backpackers extra early so that we could see the Pinnacles (Rocks) in an interesting light, as recommended by the Lonely Planet.*

Later, we had a debate about which set of interesting rocks were the more interesting: the Pinnacles, or the Famous Remarkable Rocks of Kangaroo Island. A difficult decision indeed.

Helena used to take a lot of photographs of rocks and had a whole set of photos starring the Pinnacles and her car, Elvis. Maybe she posted some on her blog... To be honest I haven't checked. I could though.

I bought an hour of internet time and this place has a very high speed connection, so excitement given the connections I have been using are so freaking slow. How geek am I.

I bought a pretty dress. I feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman in it. Does Richard Gere drive a Porsche or a Ferrari when he picks Julia up at her place of work in that film? Andy and I talked about it and he was pretty sure that it was a Porsche but I thought that a Ferrari would have been much more fitting.

My dress is like something that Julia would have worn after the Makeover scene, to clarify this comment and in case you thought that I was wearing a sparkly blue minidress. Although, if I found a dress like that I might have to buy it too. Even if it was just for a wall hanging.

Tomorrow we rock on up to Andy's cousin's place where we plan to bunk down on their floor for a few nights before we have to catch the train to Adelaide on the 8th. We fly out of Melbourne on the 12th of January and then we're home for a month. HOORAY! I miss you little Wellitown.

*This is the first time the Lonely Planet has been correct, almost the whole time we've been on this trip. Because of one of its foolish mistakes, we ended up wasting three hours trying to get out of Adelaide and to Mt Remarkable National Park. In case you are naive enough to rely on that book, please take note of this correction: the entrance for the camping ground at Mt Remarkable is on the west side of the Park and not the east. That means that it will be faster to go up the A1 and not drive through rush hour in Salisbury and Elizabeth on a friday afternoon.

Shopping on Pension Day

Last week Andy and I decided that the lack of food situation was in fact completely untenable. Thus, we bit the bullet and went to the supermarket. Little did we know that it was in fact, PENSION DAY. Thursday morning in Port Adelaide sees us driving around and around a carpark packed with elderly drivers that insisted on stopping in the middle of the road for no apparent reason. After looking for a park for something like fifteen minutes, we admitted defeat and decamped to West Lakes... where we found a park but had to contend with thousands of elderly people milling about the supermarket, Christmas shopping. I don't know if mere words can express how intense this experience was for us.

In which Sarah Meditates upon the Role of the Kangaroo in Australian Society

I ate kangaroo for the first time the other evening. It was served with roast pumpkin in a roast garlic and red wine reduction, and very nice it was too. Freya told me that there used to be a restaurant in Adelaide that served kangaroo with a chocolate sauce, and the richness of the two flavours worked exceptionally well together. Kangaroo initially tastes rather gamey, is best served rare and is a very lean meat. I personally found it hard not to think about the worm and lice infested properties of your common wild kangaroo, but Andy assures me that the kangaroo served in restaurants is all farmed. There must be very high fences on kangaroo farms. It seems interesting to me that farmed kangaroo can retain their gamey richness when venison suffers so much in flavour when raised in the same way. Intriguing. I hope the kangaroos are farmed free range, and not fed other kangaroos, antibiotics or hormones. But I figure they must be. It was a very nice restaurant?!? Lately, I have also composed a song about kangaroos and my changed attitude towards them. I can't remember much of the first, second or third verses but the basic concept behind them was a sort of soliloquy upon the fact that I always thought that kangaroos were rather nifty and now I am scared to see them on the roads and kind of scared of the thought they might jump on our tent when we're camping. The chorus of the song, however, is etched upon my brain: They fuck up your car and they fuck up you! Kanga kanga, kangaroo. We booked a cross country train ticket (Perth to Adelaide) and we're travelling "Red Kangaroo Class" - economy to you and me. This gives us access to two reclining chairs, a television and a lounge in which "neat casual dress is required". We can also use a shower. Cross country train trips, such magic, such romance! Sarah and Andy on the Indian Pacific... and the adventures that followed them. 23 days till we leave Adelaide! Then two month of not working! Glorious unemployment is nigh!

Leaving sooner rather than later....

I have finally given my notice at Steve's Sea 'n' Surf 'a' Spresso and I'm due to leave Adelaide on the 15th of December. AND I've recently purchased a digital camera, so I'm hoping to post images on our road trip West. I am SO excited. There are no words. I have a little over five weeks to wait now. Five long weeks... and then... ESCAPE! The weather's nice though. Pretty ghastly to work in, but pleasant for going to the beach and strolling about in a summery fashion.

And now, finally, big news!

I'm engaged! How exciting is that? Of course, what makes it less exciting is that it's was such a spur of the moment thing that I don't have a ring or anything that makes it look as though there is anything different about me. Although, my boss gave me a nice bouquet of flowers to say congratulations. We are in the stages of planning aforementioned ring, which will be of obsidian and greenstone but given that we have no money at the moment, I'm not sure when or if this ring will eventuate. And yes, this will be a long engagement... long and aimless... kind of like this post, really. Otherwise, nothing going. The weather has improved. Today I had coffee at a cafe that was so packed I had to share a table with two other people. Later while eavesdropping on their conversation I gathered that they were hospitality people... THERE IS NO ESCAPE. There is only about six weeks until we leave Adelaide. We've worked out that if we do long drives we can leave SA in about two days. But given old Anonymous Voice of Doom in the last set of comments it seems that the likelihood of improvement is slim to none. With the exception, hopefully, of Margaret River. All the backpackers we've met have treated this place like the Holy Grail, and my New Friend Freya originates from the place and raves about it. Although, she's running away from WA... so... Also, we don't surf. At least its not Adelaide, right?

Phone box stories

I don't have a home phone at the moment, so whenever I need to make a phone call I have to traipse down to the nearest phone box, braving the various characters that tend to approach you when you are talking on the phone in a public place. The first character-encounter I had was when I was calling my mother in the early evening from a box in Henley Square. After I had spoken on the phone for something like an hour and a half, a youngish guy started lurking around. So I got off of the phone, apologised for taking so long, passed the phone over to him and then walked down to the dairy a few doors down (for chocolate, of course). I had to walk past the phone on the way back and he had just finished his conversation. It turned out that he had been body boarding near Henley Jetty and could see the phone box from the water and had waited for about three quarters of an hour in the water, waiting for me to get off the phone. Police officers had flashed lights at him so he had hidden under the jetty to wait. This made me feel bad... especially when teamed with the fact that there has been a number of great white shark attacks recently around this area and sharks feed at dusk... My second experience involved a different phone box by a Catholic church. Again I was talking to my mother, and she had just started telling me a story about her work mate who had recently been diagnosed with breast cancer. As she started to tell me a man pulled over a car and started lurking near the phone box. Mum finally got to a pause in the story and I asked the man if he was waiting for the phone. To which her replied "No, I'm standing here fishing" and then proceeded to rant about a rental car and needing to use the phone and how you were only "allowed" to use public phones for ten minutes. So, I hung up on mum and moved over... all the while being abused by a unwashed-smelling nutter, who accused me of gossiping about cocks when his rental car was overdue. God bless Adelaide. Third and final story involves me calling my family in the same phone box about my exciting news (it's worth the hype, trust me). As Andy was talking to his sister a man started lurking near the wall of the Catholic church. I asked him if he wanted to use the phone and we began chatting... and it turned out that he was from Mumbai and disliked Adelaide as much as we did. However, he heartily endorsed Mumbai and fed the desire to visit India that threatens to completely overwhelm...

Split Shift

I'm on a break between shifts. We've had a ludicrously busy day. I'm telling you, its been beyond a fucking joke. What do these people want from me, blood? Who do they think they are? Who do they think I am? I'm only one person... I cannot stem the tide of relentless harrying for food and coffee... I stand between the customers and their quarry of caffeine and fat and they care not if I fall to the wayside in their vanguard assault. "It's getting to me" she said, stating the patently obvious. I keep forgetting the names of everyday waiting items like 'Napkin' and 'Salt and Pepper' and 'Cutlery'. I've got tomorrow off. I need to get out of the Cocacabana and do something. I need to investigate Adelaide at large! I need to leave SA and move on to bigger and brighter things. Like WA.

The Gallery Cafe - Simultaneously the Best Coffee and the Worst Service in Adelaide

The Gallery Cafe likes to consider itself relaxed fine dining - good food, wine and coffee in a relaxed setting, but with more formal service. Thus the staff are expected to serve as though the cafe were a fine dining restaurant, with all the accompanying accoutrements that this requires but without the support and training that is normally given to the staff at fine dining restaurants. Result: very pretentious, brusque and abrupt service. Table bookings on a hot day resulting in people being turned away in the rudest fashion possible. Staff scrabbling to retain their composure while rushing around like madmen and looking flustered and stressed out in the process; all no-nos in fine dining, the aim of which is to move efficiently while making the work look easy. Imagine today... all I wanted was a coffee [sweet, sweet delicious coffee]. I wanted to sit at a table and read the paper and have two or three coffees, maybe a meal, maybe a glass of wine. I was told that I could have a takeaway coffee on the bench outside... as though I was being genuinely given an option rather than rudely turned away. Nice one. So, every trip to the Gallery cafe becomes a mammoth decision. Do I dare brace the hideous staff for a fine coffee? Is the pain of possible rejection, dismissal in the most patronising manner, really worth that much? It says a lot about the standard of coffee here that the answer in infrequently a resounding YES.

It's Mugaccinos all round at Steve's Sea 'n' Surf 'a' Spresso Cafe*!

At last I have escaped the Factory and returned to hospitality... and despite the disturbing prevalence of mugaccinos, I must confess that I am enjoying myself. Escape seems to mean Normality, and I am feeling the most normal that I ever have now since leaving New Zealand. My boss has proved to be pedantic to a laughably ludicrous degree, but has rapidly chilled out. Yesterday he even said that my coffees were as good as his! Amazing! All my aspirations fulfilled! Since reaching this peak, what more do I have to live for? So today is my day off. Its raining rather heavily given that SA is supposedly the Driest State on Earth (one of its many claims to fame) *Thankyou Fran

Freebase blogging - the joy of the internet cafe

I'm writing from an internet cafe that offers cheap gaming... ridiculously small computer desks though. Andy is sitting next to me, his ears are up by his head. So, nothing terribly exciting has happened lately with the exception of Andy's new job, which moves us out of the financial poo and definitively toward travelling away from what is increasingly becoming the grave for my soul. Today I applied for a new job... I would rather wait tables than process mortgages. By Friday last week I wanted to implode from boredom and the sense of despair that the rows upon rows of desks impressed upon me. And then, the piece de resistance, the conversation that signalled the absolute end of my tolerance... the assumption that I am a nice, quiet, conservative girl, who is frankly shocked by any admission of sexual danger. To be more specific: Nameless workmate (imagine the ultimate mother's boy, 6"7, fairly chunky with it, eats far too much junkfood, never exercises - diabetes just waiting to happen) discusses his love for S&M on a fairly regular basis, despite the fact he doesn't appear to be getting terribly much sex even of the more conservative type. On Friday he announced that his whip had broken (skin crawls). Other work mate comments that we ought to watch out, as "Sarah must be feeling a bit embarrassed, she tends to be quite shy and bashful. When she goes home she must tell her boyfriend how risque we all are!" I am speechless with shock and horror, that they would consider themselves as such! (and discuss it in a public place - does anybody honestly say such things, with no sense of irony whatsoever?) I believe that in actual fact we'll find that when I go home I bitch to my boyfriend how much I hate my job and how geeky all my workmates are... not geek chic, but geek in denial (like Jenny, my old flatmate). At any rate, for some reason, this conversation was the ultimate end. I cannot face going back to that place indefinitely. It is breaking my soul. It is making Adelaide even more intolerable than it all ready is. Cross your fingers so that I might get that other job. Clap your hands if you believe in fairies. Think about my soul with all your power... it just might save it. Maybe.

In which Sarah raves about: The Festival of Ideas

I was really keen to blog today: I had decided to close everything down because I hadn't been able to maintain it for so long... and then I read comments from my adoring public and saw the number of posts at the nicely round number of 50, and I couldn't. Sad really, isn't it? This weekend just passed I went to my first festival event in the city. Adelaide calls itself the "Festival City" - a strangely self-fulfilling prophecy as the name results in lots of festivals being held here. This particular festival was the "Festival of Ideas". So, imagine me if you will, terribly excited by all the talky-thinking that I was going to see. Lots of people ranting indefinately about postmodernism and the endless play of meaning inherent in (insert subject here). Unfortunately the majority of the lecture series were full of middle aged left wing intellectuals congratulating themselves on their left wing-ness. Don't get me wrong, I'm as much a raving leftie as the next post graduate, but these people were smugly preaching to the converted, anti-War and pro-Reconciliation. The theme of the Festival was "What is to be done?" and apparently the answer was "smugly sit around and recommend changes to society that will never impact on our way of life". My favourite part of the whole thing was when a "famous Australian" by the name of Bob Ellis stood on the stage during a panel discussion entitled "Making sense - representation and misrepresentation" and told us that there WERE facts, there WERE true and accurate representations - we just needed to find them. We needed to look in the right place (we needed to listen to him?) Que? There are NO accurate representations.... only endlessly different representations that play off one another, accurate for one reason or the other, but never whole and truthful in themselves. To think that this man was blindly preaching that we go out and find The Truth...? In defense of the Festival (or perhaps, in defense of middle aged left wing intellecuals?), I went to see Germain Greer speak and she was INCREDIBLE. Her topic was "Hunter-Gatherer values and the 21st Century State." The one and perhaps rather major thing that was negative about her concept was that in theory at least it had the danger of sliding into the kind of "noble savage" ideas that Rousseau amongst others ascribed to, and which helped to perpetuate the kind of oppression through representation that we still live with today. But I think that this is my inherent uneasiness rather than anything specific that she said. Essentially the argument was that Australia should stop fighting against it's environment and its extreme conditions and instead embrace the way of life that it necessitates. But it was much better, more elaborate, more entertaining than that sentence suggests. And: it appears that Andy has a job. No more house husband for me. And: I envisage my next post as a series of character sketches of the people that work around me. Oh, the banality! Oh, the irony!

I'm so short of cash, I'm sending mass emails to my blog

HELLOOOOOOO! I wish that I could tell you that the reason I hadn't written for so long is because of my massively exciting social life, but in actual fact it is because I haven't been able to get to a computer for so long. My job bites more that anything in the entire universe, but I guess you win some (ie: have money and a job) you lose some (brain, enthusiasm, ability to form complete sentences). I have had so many lovely emails from everyone and as soon as I get into some kind of routine (its taking a while, I know) I will make a concerted effort to write you all incredible detailed character studies of all the Australian Nutcases that I work with... In an effort to save our selves from the soul destroying dullness of Adelaide, Andy and I have been going away to various points of interest during the weekends. This means that we have seen much Australian wildlife (smashed on the road, often as not). The weekend just past we went to Kangaroo Island with a Scottish girl called Liz who I work with and her flatmate, an English girl called Helena. UK backpackers have rightfully gained their reputation. We saw kangaroos all along the sides of the roads, little tiny wallabies and penguins, koalas in the trees, lorikeets, galahs, an echidna by the side of the road, some kind of goose... We also went for a two hour walk to find platypus before discovering at the furthest point that platypus are rarely, if ever, seen this time of the year. Our flat is slowly becoming filled up with stuff - Andy found a tv on the side of the road and we have been given a bed and a sofa by aforementioned UK types, who live with hippy-ish Australian artists... so exhibition openings are nigh! We're going to see a premier of a new film by an up and coming Indigenous film maker on Wednesday and have been invited to watch a AFL game this weekend too. Its all soooo experiential. Lots of tight shorts. Andy is still looking for a job - apparently there is a veritable glut of chefs and not enough jobs. That and the parochialism of the South Australian work force.... I will endeavour to correspond more regularly. You would not believe how much I miss everyone and HOME! Feel tearful reading emails from home and love hearing from everyone, so please don't stop writing despite my lack of correspondence! I had a horrible experience the other day when this nasty woman at work told me I had a spot on my back and I ended up in tears because I was really tired anyway and SO homesick... one of the other temps has taken me under her wing and ended up sitting with me for a while. But this is the first time I've cried since I've been here, and that must be some kind of record? xxxxx Sarah

Things and stuff and more things

As I write this, there is a man break dancing to early Michael Jackson tracks in the lobby of the YHA.

So, having been abandoned by Canadian Dave, Andy and I have settled down in glorious Henley Beach, Adelaide.... where you can see the beach for miles in either direction. Clearly our arrival here has resulted in the immediate breaking of the three year drought as Adelaide has been having the worst weather lately... the most amazing huge storms which I have had to walk to the bus stop in (of course). I've never before lived as close to the beach as we do now and I LOVE it. Today the weather had finally dropped and I walked home from the bus along the waterfront - glorious, beautiful sunset and the water all foaming on the beach, white sand. La Factoire is TRULY appalling, row upon row of people mortgage processing. I cannot fathom how some people have worked there for so long. My contract is due to last for three months and I'm telling you that that is quite enough for me. I spend all day doing the same thing I did before but with different accounts, filling out form letters and faxing them off with title searches and authorities. My eyes roll back in my head and I foam at the mouth. There is much muttering under the breath. I am bored out of my fucking skull. And the air conditioning makes my skin all funny. I have worked there for two weeks at the end of this week. Two months, two weeks to go. I will work out how many days soon... another countdown won't hurt anyone. On the upside, my typing has improved tenfold, I'm much much faster and more accurate. Hence, better blog posts... and faster emailing time which is important when you're paying at internet cafes. Also on the upside, the fact that Adelaide is so dire has steeled us in our resolution to save, save SAVE - we shall escape the tentacle like arms of SA, yes we shall! As soon as Andy gets a job. The lack of TV has encouraged me to read a lot more, and write more. I've finished my Anais Nin book (Henry and June, very good, recommended) and am now reading Kerouac's On the Road. Reading books that are so concerned with their literariness is really good, and I am actually appreciating them for that quality for once as oppose to merely consuming everything as quickly as possible. Yes, moving to a place where you don't know anyone, have no furniture and can't get a good coffee sure gives you the opportunity to reflect on the finer things of life. FYI: Omar, Michael Campbell is indeed from Wellington, Titahi Bay in fact. But golfers don't really golf for their country, do they? And: Everyone else, I am doing my best to update. But its not easy getting anywhere in this town without a car, and at La Factoire the internet is not available to mere temps... And finally: I think this post is the same as the last couple that I've posted... must be more focussed when blogging. I'll longhand everything and then type it in from now on... No more freebase blogging for me...

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?

A series of observations - "Things that Blow my Mind"

1. There is a particular brand of iced coffee that gets more advertising space in Adelaide than Coke does. This is not an exaggeration - for some reason, this town is obsessed with flavoured milk. Admittedly it is very nice flavoured milk, but the size of its obsessive fan base would suggest that it was an orgasmic milk experience. It also comes in very large quantities - 600 ml cartons, which is a lot for one person to drink by themselves. I know because I just drank 600 ml of Iced Coffee, and I need to do milky burps.
2. The two dollar coins are tiny and heavy. The one dollar coins have different pictures printed on almost every single individual coin.
3. It is very difficult to do anything without a permanent address.
4. Backpackers are a very strange breed of people, who will eat anything as long as its cheap. They leave students in the dirt with their propensity for this.
5. There is apparently one million people who live in Adelaide. Where are they? The only time I have seen evidence of this population are the commuting periods where they scuttle, slater-like, from bus/car to building.* If this town was in NZ it would be one of the larger ones. As it is, it feels smaller and is less exciting than my own Wellitown (400,000).
6. Recruitment agents are the most insincere of all people. Including salespeople and real estate agents. They ooze oily insincerity as a default mechanism.

*I am aware this is not an original simile. But I only have twelve minutes left online. What are you going to do?

International Woman of Mystery

This post is my first from Australia. We arrived last night after a few days of complete insanity packing up the flat and saying goodbye and getting drunk and maudlin from the whiskey and impending life changes. By the time we boarded the plane I was desperate to go - no more final anythings, no more goodbyes! First impressions:

• Very warm, 24 degrees today compared with 11 degrees in Wellington when we left. Apparently this in unseasonal and is due to drop away in the next few days, but hell, we'll enjoy it while we can.
• HUGE sky. Seems strange that the sizes of skies are comparative, but there you are. The sky is definately bigger than the sky in New Zealand. Is this something to do with the distance to water?
• Adelaide is lovely - there is a huge food market here with the most beautiful coffee roasters and cheeses and fresh bread and fresh sausage and a huge free range chicken butchery. Andy and I were very excited cruising and perusing. We could probably spend the time there alone, set up in a corner and sleep on cardboard boxes and under newspapers.

Tomorrow I have a job interview at a temping agency - more dull work I know, but Andy is expecting to live off me for a while, given that he has essentially supported me over the last few years while I was studying.