Still here ...

Nothing much happening. Lots of news to catch up on though ... I haven't even finished writing about last Christmas yet.

So many things, so little time, so little motivation. I need to make this my project this year methinks.

Ah well, off to the first of many Halloween parties. I'm going as a witch. How original.

xxxooo

Gone crackers

As I nibble on free hommus (bought for a cancelled staff meeting) and cream crackers (left over from a previous staff meeting) - oh the small pleasures of admin staff! - I find myself following through a little ritual.

One picks up the cream cracker and holds it on the sides with the face of the cracker towards you. One carefully analyses the central lines of holes to see which bisector has so slightly longer holes along its length; only an amateur would think that all holes are made equal. One arranges the cracker so this ever-so-slightly-longer-holed line runs vertically between one's nimble fingers. The next step is pure art: gently move one's thumb (on the front of the cracker) and one's fingers (to the rear of the cracker) further towards the central line and when reaching the optimum point flex the cracker away from one until it releases a resounding snap. Experts in the field will be left with a perfectly broken cracker in two perfectly equal halves. Amateurs will have a crumbly diagonal line, or something that looks similar to the perfect break but with flaws only visible to the expert eye.

I'd been doing this for a few minutes without thinking, when all of a sudden the thought struck me: "my, that's a perfectly cracked cream cracker in two perfect halves!"

I had a number of theories, but have come to the conclusion that my much beloved Grandpa has finally handed his cream cracking expertise over to me. Every lunchtime when we lived together, or when I visited, he would shake his head in dismay at the sight of my layman's attempts. Patiently he taught me his trade; eagerly I watched him prepare his crackers for an onslaught of spam or tongue.

While I'm sure he'd be proud of my latest achievement, I have no doubt that his ashes will be turning in their urn .... "Hommus?!"

And then karma bites you on the bum

Yesterday evening I turned up very late (even later than usual) for dinner and ordered after everyone else. When the bill came, my little order wasn't on there and it looked like I might have been the lucky recipient of a free meal!

But after a millisecond or two, that 'never-was-Catholic-but-might-as-well-have-been' guilt complex kicked in and as we left the restaurant I stood patiently by the bar, holding everyone up and insisted that my meal hadn't been on the bill we paid, waited some more while the waitress did her best to find my order and then handed over my hard earned credit.

When I rejoined my friends their cries/whispers of "don't be silly, just leave!" had mellowed slightly to murmurs of "oh aren't you good then", but I knew that really they were glancing sideways at me with only one thought: "sucker!"

At the end of the day I would have loved a freebie especially as it was a £4 snack, not a full meal, but I would have felt guilty about it for days and above and beyond every other reason, that could convince me. Are sleeplessness, a constant little voice in my ear and butterflies of the not-so-nice kind in my stomach really worth saving £4. Considering the fact I got twitchy, even as I handed over the dosh, simply because I hadn't added a tip, I think not.

So perhaps my moral compass is a little less cerebral than most people's - doing something i don't believe in results in the physical manifestation of a guilt complex - but that's not the end of the world. In a life that's full of indecision (I've often wondered if I should aim for decisiveness as a superpower, but I haven't been able to make up my mind), it's almost nice to know that when I believe in something it's not even a case of thinking about it - I'll just feel it in a non-emotional sense and I'll know.

To finally get to the point, this morning all this thinking and gut-churning finally made it's very clear moral point when I scored two free theatre tickets ... worth much more, fiscally and emotionally, than that measly £4.

I really should have thrown in a tip.

Thinking time ...

is something I haven't had a lot of lately.

There's just so much pressure pushing from inside and without that I can barely find the time to laze on the sofa for hours in front of the TV.

The past week has found me fascinated with my ability to procrastinate. I've been left speechless with my ability to do nothing in times of great urgency.

I worry about my constant conviction that things will always be okay. Sure, they might be okay, but that friend who will only have the one hen night might appreciate you removing your head from under the desk and making some plans that somehow reflect how much you care about her.

Sitting in a group of designers tonight I found myself wondering why I'd never gone the whole creative route. Why I'd happily stayed on the sidelines bossing people around. Sure, it's because I'm bloody fantastic at telling people what to do and how I want them to do it. But perhaps it's because I never had to take the risk. I never had to fight for what I wanted. Though I may have had times when I didn't get what I want, I've never had to face any sort of real struggle.

A very good friend once said I made her feel comfortable about not having any siblings for her son. She thought I was a good example of a stable, confident, sucessful and well balanced only child. It'd break my heart to actually get around to telling her she was wrong.

And there ends my life synopsis. A grand reflection of what might have been if I could have been bothered.

Fuzzy Headed

It's not one of those instances when I'm thinking "Surely it was just yesterday that I was heading off to Atlanta?!" Right now I'm reasonably sure that I made that wonderful, hot, humid, soul-feeding trip sometime last year. And I'd also lay money down, convinced that the world has converted to a six-day working week.

But I have a feeling that's just my company.

I feel like I have so much more to say about the grey-tinted glasses that are obviously impeding my view of the world right now. I tell myself that if things weren't quite so grey, there would be paragraphs of eloquent prose discussing my current funk, an attainable work-life balance, plans for the future, visions of how life could be and how I could get there.

But the fog just keeps closing in, and I'm losing the ability to see even the plain and dismal.

I want to feel passionate about something again, and not just a passionate hatred.

And right when I can't take it any more I'm reminded of how things could be worse. How there are people suffering in much more vivid ways than my self-indulgent mope. That some people don't have the ability to get themselves out of the headspace I'm in. And then I get annoyed with myself. And then I get annoyed with myself getting annoyed with myself because even if my problems are completely first-world, middle class, white-collar problems, they are still mine and what's the point of being here if I don't listen to myself?

And then I think I should think less and just get back to work.

Leaving on a jet plane ...

3 months later and we're finally off to Atlanta!

Can't believe it's almost here ... starts tomorrow evening with a Lingerie Shower/Bachelorette Party, then a Bridesmaids' Lunch, Rehearsal Dinner and at long last the big day on Saturday.

I'm so excited to see Katherine & Ollie tie the knot and I'm really looking forward to the proper Southern knees-up.

Then it's a tour of the south full of BBQs, belles and beautiful balmy weather.

Bring it on!

Advance Australia Fair

Australians all let us rejoice ...

I'm more proud than I thought possible to announce that as of today I'll be rejoicing alongside my Mum! After 35-ish years of living permanently in Australia (plus a few years before she was married - sacrebleu!) my dear mother decided to become an Australian citizen! We've got no idea where she came up with the idea or what spurred her on, but after months of forms, references, police checks and finally today's citizenship ceremony she's a true blue Aussie. I'm so proud I could burst!

Her first text to me as an Australian? "Goodday" ... I had to do a little bit of training ... "I think you'll find it's 'G'Day' now. Learn the lingo Sheila"

For we are young and free ...

thanks to the hundreds of thousand of men and women who have risked and given their lives for my right to live in freedom. I'm a little ashamed to say that last Sunday morning was the first ANZAC dawn service I've ever attended that wasn't on a work day. In fact, I'd never attended a dawn service before I moved to London and prior to that I'd never been to a service that I wasn't forced to sit through at school.

I'm not really the sort of people who's eternally grateful for the life I get to lead - I tend more towards immediate emotional gratification. But for the last few years I've been waking up at the crack of dawn, hopping on the night bus and dragging my sorry self to Hyde Park Corner all for the 5am service (not just for the tea and biscuits)!

For the next 40 minutes I'm filled with this indescribable pride and a most unusual sense of history. From living in a country with a past as far back as you can imagine, in a city with buildings I walk past every day that were built before anyone in Europe even imagined my homeland existed, to giving thanks for sacrifices that occurred within my grandfather's lifetime, for those people fighting battles every day as I make my way to work.

It doesn't matter what I think of the wars that are currently occurring, only that I'm grateful that there are, and always have been, people who are willing to fight for my right to work my guts out in an office all day in relative peace.

I'm a proud little Aussie this week. Don't get me wrong, I sang 'God Save the Queen' with pride as well, but as the British national election draws ever closer I can't help but been a teensy bit more proud of those valiant Anzacs at Gallipoli.

We will remember them. Lest we forget.