Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
Girl, You'll Be A Woman Soon.
I love afternoons when days are sunny, I'm not committed to work or uni, Stephen Fry and hair dye, and Itunes surprises you with some of Pulp Fiction's best featured songs.
I mentioned last post that I have these big and bold plans to pack up my life and start afresh in the big city. In saying, I still have up to a year left until I hope to leave so I plan to make it fantastic.
In less than 3 months I will have completed my Bachelor of Professional Writing and Publishing. First grandchild to get a degree, or even go to university for that matter. With the exceptions of 8am starts, frantic hours scanning the campus for a park (and dreading the sinister parking inspector) and late nights (even weekend ones!) pouring over a computer in the Abacus labs, I have thoroughly enjoyed my time at Curtin. So much in fact, that perhaps I shall return one day. They say those that can't, teach - and considering the limited and competitive nature of the careers I'm approaching I may have to surrender to the position of university tutor. Which wouldn't be all bad, I love the uni life, and perhaps I can be one of those tutors we all adore that join their students at the Tav.
So, the next few months await my Aunty and cousin visiting, with a trip to Margaret River (as I've not even been), a festival filled summer and a 21st that will hopefully conclude in a girl's trip overseas. We've all got big plans and I'm looking forward to a chance to have an amazing trip together first.
I'll grab what I can from WA, 'cause you know, chances are I will miss it. :)
I mentioned last post that I have these big and bold plans to pack up my life and start afresh in the big city. In saying, I still have up to a year left until I hope to leave so I plan to make it fantastic.
In less than 3 months I will have completed my Bachelor of Professional Writing and Publishing. First grandchild to get a degree, or even go to university for that matter. With the exceptions of 8am starts, frantic hours scanning the campus for a park (and dreading the sinister parking inspector) and late nights (even weekend ones!) pouring over a computer in the Abacus labs, I have thoroughly enjoyed my time at Curtin. So much in fact, that perhaps I shall return one day. They say those that can't, teach - and considering the limited and competitive nature of the careers I'm approaching I may have to surrender to the position of university tutor. Which wouldn't be all bad, I love the uni life, and perhaps I can be one of those tutors we all adore that join their students at the Tav.
So, the next few months await my Aunty and cousin visiting, with a trip to Margaret River (as I've not even been), a festival filled summer and a 21st that will hopefully conclude in a girl's trip overseas. We've all got big plans and I'm looking forward to a chance to have an amazing trip together first.
I'll grab what I can from WA, 'cause you know, chances are I will miss it. :)
Dear Perth...
Dear Perth,
I've spent six years with you now, but lately you've left me flirting with the notion of another city. I spent my winter enjoying night's in cities within the depths of Europe, and I feel you're like the grouchy boyfriend who wants to be in bed by 9pm who I've returned to.
Perhaps it's your size. Perhaps it's the clothes shops (the whole three of them) that stack the same-same colour schemes and recycle cuts like the seamstress only mastered the classic A line at sewing school. Your girls fill the city donned in dresses of similar shades and settings, determined to set it apart from the girl across the room in an identical frock. The mission fails time and time again, and as the onlooker, I make note to scan asos.com and Topshop before purchasing in Perth.
Perhaps it's your hours. Forgive me, but I feel I must inform you that people below the national retirement age reside here. Therefore, we may be compelled to go out for a impulsive coffee or meal in the evening. But your kitchen's close at 7 or 8pm, and we're left with McDonald's Angus range for something A la Carte. It's simply not good enough Perth.
The freeway, or any road, is a daily dread when I have to head up to uni. It amazes me still that your driver's don't understand the roles of the right and left lanes respectively. I also feel a lesson on the importance of the indicator should be introduced in some form of a "life in Perth" manual. The constant weave of traffic may provide entertainment or the opportunity to throw in the delectable remarks we love to dish ("wanker!"), but it does disclaim your high death tolls.
We are isolated. Incredibly isolated, but it hasn't make us special. It simply shows no one else wants to live here. We're simply that far away from anything that it seems such a tedious task to move yourself away again.
The weather is what I'll give you. In summer, our beaches sizzle and soar with the sun's majestic rays, beneath which thousands of us throw ourselves into an ocean of the clearest of waters. But your winter, quite frankly, is merely an appetiser to a main course I've been waiting six years for. You get cold darling, near freezing in fact, but you never deliver us snow. I feel if you're going to tease us with temperature, you should at least make the torture of aching bones worth an afternoon of making snowmen, and drinking hot chocolate onlooking a winter wonderland scene.
You're pretty, Perth. The city from the banks of King's Park dazzles magically and the skyline impressed when the sun sets upon it. The coast is like an exotic paradise to the standard Brit used to pebble beaches. The streets are clean and widespread, a Ramsay St-esque living model. But I need more than looks. You're lacking culture, you're lacking wit.
But the people. The beautiful friends I have met and loved since I've lived here. You will always be what has made Perth my home for the last six years, and what will continue to be a big part of what I count as my home.
I should tell you who's stolen away my heart. It's London, I'm afraid. When I aim, I aim big. And I've set my heart on the biggest, and best of them all. The Mr Big of the world. And baby, I've got it bad.
So I'm pledging that within a year (hopefully), I will have sorted out my life and gotten myself a set up in London Town. Uni is hopefully on the cards, along with a quaint place to sleep and a job preferably filled with people oozing Cockney accents and delicious adventures to be had.
So Perth, I'm saying that soon, I'm going to leave you. You may be glad of the warning, but this is a promise to myself that I'll have the guts to pack up my life.
It's not you, it's me.
You've been good to be darling, but it's time to move on.
Yours, (for another year),
Abby.
I've spent six years with you now, but lately you've left me flirting with the notion of another city. I spent my winter enjoying night's in cities within the depths of Europe, and I feel you're like the grouchy boyfriend who wants to be in bed by 9pm who I've returned to.
Perhaps it's your size. Perhaps it's the clothes shops (the whole three of them) that stack the same-same colour schemes and recycle cuts like the seamstress only mastered the classic A line at sewing school. Your girls fill the city donned in dresses of similar shades and settings, determined to set it apart from the girl across the room in an identical frock. The mission fails time and time again, and as the onlooker, I make note to scan asos.com and Topshop before purchasing in Perth.
Perhaps it's your hours. Forgive me, but I feel I must inform you that people below the national retirement age reside here. Therefore, we may be compelled to go out for a impulsive coffee or meal in the evening. But your kitchen's close at 7 or 8pm, and we're left with McDonald's Angus range for something A la Carte. It's simply not good enough Perth.
The freeway, or any road, is a daily dread when I have to head up to uni. It amazes me still that your driver's don't understand the roles of the right and left lanes respectively. I also feel a lesson on the importance of the indicator should be introduced in some form of a "life in Perth" manual. The constant weave of traffic may provide entertainment or the opportunity to throw in the delectable remarks we love to dish ("wanker!"), but it does disclaim your high death tolls.
We are isolated. Incredibly isolated, but it hasn't make us special. It simply shows no one else wants to live here. We're simply that far away from anything that it seems such a tedious task to move yourself away again.
The weather is what I'll give you. In summer, our beaches sizzle and soar with the sun's majestic rays, beneath which thousands of us throw ourselves into an ocean of the clearest of waters. But your winter, quite frankly, is merely an appetiser to a main course I've been waiting six years for. You get cold darling, near freezing in fact, but you never deliver us snow. I feel if you're going to tease us with temperature, you should at least make the torture of aching bones worth an afternoon of making snowmen, and drinking hot chocolate onlooking a winter wonderland scene.
You're pretty, Perth. The city from the banks of King's Park dazzles magically and the skyline impressed when the sun sets upon it. The coast is like an exotic paradise to the standard Brit used to pebble beaches. The streets are clean and widespread, a Ramsay St-esque living model. But I need more than looks. You're lacking culture, you're lacking wit.
But the people. The beautiful friends I have met and loved since I've lived here. You will always be what has made Perth my home for the last six years, and what will continue to be a big part of what I count as my home.
I should tell you who's stolen away my heart. It's London, I'm afraid. When I aim, I aim big. And I've set my heart on the biggest, and best of them all. The Mr Big of the world. And baby, I've got it bad.
So I'm pledging that within a year (hopefully), I will have sorted out my life and gotten myself a set up in London Town. Uni is hopefully on the cards, along with a quaint place to sleep and a job preferably filled with people oozing Cockney accents and delicious adventures to be had.
So Perth, I'm saying that soon, I'm going to leave you. You may be glad of the warning, but this is a promise to myself that I'll have the guts to pack up my life.
It's not you, it's me.
You've been good to be darling, but it's time to move on.
Yours, (for another year),
Abby.
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