Postera Crescam Laude

I have given into temptation and bought one extra-large, navy blue hoody with the university of Melbourne logo proudly brandished across it. The pricetag was kinda scary- $100!- but my mother said she’d pay for me to get one, so I’m trying to see past that. I am painfully aware that in two years I will most likely purchase an Edinburgh equivalent and thus my collection will be complete.

Hoody aside- it’s too warm to wear it- I am very sorry for not having updated y’all (I know for a fact that both Spanish Daniel and my parents are reading this, and so it’s ‘y’all’ and not ‘you both’) since Saturday, but in my defence, I have new friends now and y’all seem kinda dull by comparison.

Yes, O-week, the exchange students’ freshers week, has begun and has bought with it the chance to talk to people without seeming precocious. So far, I’ve met Will, who I’m seeing as the Universe’s way of balancing out Esmond’s infidelity as he’s from McGill, Jason, a quiet home-schooled New Jersey-ite, Daryll, a Korean illustrator and fellow nerd, Clara, a contemplative Spanish biologist and Bastian, who’s Dutch and that’s all I really know about him. In terms of actual ozzies, there are Logan and Aspen- who I feel have to be mentioned together, so inseparable are they- Victoria, Elle and Ben. I don’t really know any of these people tremendously well, but they are at least people who I can count amongst my acquaintance and speak to of an evening. It seems the place to go in the evenings is the second floor rec room, there to be found are assorted nerdly activities like playing playstation 3, monopoly, minecraft, magic: the gathering or trying to solve the tetris cube.  It’s noisy but friendly, and I’m working up the courage to step in there on my own one of these days.

As to the events themselves, they’re rather self-conscious, but can be quite fun. There was a poorly-thought through scavenger hunt which wended too far from the building and that no one really completed follow by a barbeque which everyone without fail completed. There was the casino royale night, which boiled down to one in ten people in suits, playing poker, dissolving quite early but leading into another night in the second floor rec room. Then last night there was ‘christmas in July’, which frankly was just an industrially cooked roast dinner in the cafeteria with some Christmas decorations put up. I’d love to say that by leaving at 7.30 I was ducking out early, but I was one of the last to leave. I was really tired so I skipped the rec room and went to bed. There’s nothing on tonight, as far as I’m aware, but I’m hoping I’ll find some activity to latch onto, as I finished my book today and if I start another one tonight I’ll feel like a harlot.

One phenomenon I need to remark upon is that old people feel they can eavesdrop on one’s conversations and then give their revered opinion- it happened to Jason and me on the bus yesterday and Emma, Esmond and me a couple of weeks ago and I only mention it cos they’re discussing spiderman at the next table and I really want to weigh in, but I can’t cos I still have all my original teeth and they’ll (justly) think I’m rude and weird. Alas.

Is there anything else to say? Um. I’ve been passing my days by going into the uni campus and should really start venturing out to the rest of the city soon- I did go to a pawn shop and Aldi with my yarra friends yesterday, but that doesn’t feel adventurous and I can’t imagine why. Once I find someone to explore the city with, hopefully, I’ll have more to write about and I’m also looking into finding some way of taking photos. Watch this space. 

A splash of colour

Just now, I had genuine, spontaneous contact with two people my own age. It was glorious.
They were a young couple. I was at the train station, see, near Yarra, but I didn't know the way back, having walked an overcircuitous that morning to the next station over. I overheard them discussing what they would have for dinner- he wanted a hamburger, maybe a pizza, she, fish cakes with onions (maybe making them into a sandwich- well, it takes all sorts to make a world.)
Well, they didn't seem the mugging type, so I screwed my courage to the sticking place and asked for directions. I told them I was looking for NMIT as people don't seem to have heard of Yarra House; it turns out they were walking the same direction, so they escorted me part of the way.
The girl reminded me a little of Ramona from Scott Pilgrim- a comparison she would have cherished, judging by the steampunk goggles proudly displayed atop her head. I commented on them and she was delighted to meet someone who knew what steampunk was. The man was more reserved, but he still managed to get a laugh about my obvious Britishness. He was an engineer and physicist, studying at RMIT, she a environment scientist and international study...er at Deacon. From what I gathered, they knew each other from the rural idyll they both came from. I didn't get either of their names, not that it would have helped since I don't have facebook, but I may meet them again on the public transport to which I am now enslaved.
For the sake of thoroughrority, I should say I returned to the games room last night to find the same man there. His name is Michael. He is quite nice, from what I can gather and asked me (yet again) what I wanted to watch. I noticed Back to the Future on the tivo. We watched the entire trilogy together. The only reason this does not count as contact is that over the course of six hours, we exchanged five lines of dialogue. Of course, going by this rate of increase, by Wednesday we should be married.


This is not related to the rest of this post, but I want to record it anyway- the principle difference I have noticed between Australia and the UK so far, excepting currency and accents, is the birds: the ones outside my window sound like monkeys and look like magpies on steroids. And today, as I was walking back, I glimpsed a beautiful, Macaw-like thing just sitting in a tree. It was like a rainbow had perched on the branch and I was awe-struck. I have no idea what it was, but I hope there are more of them because there is nothing like that just flying around in Edinburgh.

Hello from the future

It's five in the morning on July 13th here (my first real day in Australia is Friday the 13th, oh dear...). I have officially been beaten by jet lag, and cannot get back to sleep; my current plan is to exit yarra ASAISA (As Soon As Is Socially Acceptable), and go explore the city, taking time to do all those jobs one must do once one moves- open a bank account, get a new mobile, acquire some friends.
Ah yes, the eternal search for companionship. Once I'd finally settled in, had the tour and unpacked (I am now the sort of person who unpacks- deal with it), I was faced with a choice; either try and get some sleep, or go out there and meet my new comrades. Now, bear in mind I'd been travelling for 36 hours and had slept an estimated 6 hours during that time. I'll admit it, I was irritable. I was scared of what I might say, and how this may affect future friend-making. Case in point: I had gotten the 546, as instructed, but did not alight at the correct stop. *cue sad trumpet* I crossed the road to the bus stop opposite, where the same bus would pick me up and take me in the opposite direction. Soon after, a woman plodded up and I promptly asked her the time, she gave it to me, and then I foolishly asked her directions to Yarra house, lest I should be able to walk. She had never heard of such a place, but told me she thought the bus driver would have.
Forty or fifty times.
Not in a row, you understand, but interspersed with telling me her family history (no joke, one time her dad delivered furniture to Buckingham palace) asking me which suburb I wanted to go to, and interrogating me as to which university I was attending (she herself was a LaTrobe graduate). These conversational curiosities also bore repeating, in her eyes.
I nearly punched her.
She was the most insipid woman I had ever met, to paraphrase Austen, and I am not Elizabeth Bennet, I am not Emma Woodhouse and I am certainly not Fanny Price (heh heh, Fanny). Now, as anyone who knows me will attest, I am the most sweet-natured and kind soul you will ever meet- but beneath that burns a fire, which takes very little kindling to reach white hot terminal combustion. And this woman was piling on the logs like there was no tomorrow. She is lucky to be unharmed.
So, clearly I was in no state to meet my new best friends for life, and I decided to nap before heading for the trenches. I slept for four hours and then set off to the games room. Empty. I tried the recreation room. Empty. The kitchen? Empty.
I returned to my room, trod down the growing feeling I was going to be alone for a year, and circled back upon myself, where I found a man sitting in the games room. Success? I wish. The man was not unfriendly, don't get me wrong, but he was very happily watching TV and didn't need a new English friend. He asked the room at large (there was someone else there, asleep) what we wanted to watch, and, since it was on, I suggested the film 'Hanna'. This somewhat reminds me of the time I tried to seduce someone by showing them 'Batman Returns'.

Ladies.

This is not to say Hanna is a bad film, but it does not generate discussion- it's just too bizarre. The only thing one can think of saying is 'wha-huh?' Especially if you haven't seen it before. Alack.

So, once the film ended, I shot the man a smile and retreated to my room. I woke up four hours later, and broke a glass I had on my bedside table. Smooth. 

So, in conclusion, I've had 14 hours' sleep over the past three days, I broke the glass I was so kindly given by the RA, I've failed to meet anyone and I'm on course to live some kind of nocturnal existence while here. But, not for me the furrowed brow, tomorrow I can woo them all with my James Bond-style charm. Watch out Oz, the British are coming.

P.S. On the second leg of my journey, I was once more sat behind a baby, who screamed his lungs out the entire time. Guess how many mommies he had? That's right, only one. Give it up, breeders, gaybies are just better.

Plane-talkin'

I currently sit in the free wifi lounge of Seoul international airport, South Korea. This is officially the farthest I've ever been from 'home', wheree'er I choose that to be, the first time I've been out of Europe, the first time I've been to a country where I speak literally none of the language (I think 'Incheon' means 'Seoul', but personally I think it sounds like a new pokemon).
On the flight, I was seated in the mid-row seat, right behind a baby, so, as you can imagine, I was in for a fun ride. Except, neither proved an issue- the woman to my left was very talkative, but not overly so; she was also quite picky with her food, so I got two cakes and an extra omelette at breakfast (I had to choose between pre-made omelettes and pre-made porridge; is there no god?!); I don't think the man to my right spoke English, but he didn't get huffy when I accidentally elbowed him so I've decided I liked him. The baby was actually a delight- only two short bursts of tears, quickly allayed by one of her mothers (I took her stoic silence as conclusive proof that gay parents raise the best kids) or one of the stunningly beautiful women who sashayed up and down the aisles, bows in hair and water jugs in hand. They really were very acommodating- as far as I was aware, I was the only one awake on the plane at one point and one of them still thought to come and offer me refreshment. The in-flight movies were also not to be sniffed at- I caught up with The Lorax, Wrath of the Titans and Friends with Kids, so I'm pretty solid for next year's Oscars, I imagine. The one problem was, as previously alluded, I Could Not Sleep.
It was frustrating.
I was too hot.
I was too cramped.
I was too vertical.
I wanted to find out if the Lorax ever restored his beloved forest.
Kay, a creative writing teacher at Warwick University, who also happened to be the woman to my left, dozed off as soon as she wished. Same story with the wee bairn in front of me. Just like in Sleeping Beauty, I watched everyone else fall into a deep and magical sleep whilst I stared at what I presume is the Korean for lavatory. Then I played Pac-man, but the controls didn't work. Then I played Street Fighter but I always sucked at that game, so I gave up. I have some sleeping pills (sadly inaccessible during the last flight, which I have now stuffed into my trouser pocket, so hopefully the next journey will not expand my filmic horizons so broadly but will leave me feeling less like a punching bag with a bladder problem. But I may stay up to watch  the last five minutes of Friends with Kids, sadly stolen by the inconvenience of landing- I really hope Julia and Jason get together- they've earnt it.

Google (per)plex

When I was coming to University, I remember vividly counting out the number of pairs of socks I had- even allowing for odd ones, I am not heterophobic-and it totalled eight. I now have eleven, so it's nice to have a solid way of measuring how much I have grown in two years. Since google is as unforthcoming with the number of pairs of socks that the average person owns as ever, I have no idea where this puts me in comparison with my fellow human being, but I like to think this is somewhat less, if only cos it makes me seem less materialistic. Alack.
In other news, Esmond came, saw, conquered and departed, a teary farewell on Telford Central station ensuing, culminating in me running after the train, arm outstretched, as he looked on, embarassed, his fellow passengers raising their brows at the weirdo on the platform. Emma is still here, though, and so my final four days in Britain will at least be spent in company. Things are naturally heating up on the preparation front, and today my mother actually gave me Marks and Spencers' vouchers she'd been saving since her birthday so I could buy some smart looking trousers (in the hopes of securing employment in the antipodes). Tomorrow we go trawling through TK Maxx for discount sun glasses and 'evening shoes', whatever they are. I'm sure google could inform me, but he's in a huff after I asked him that question I didn't know about the socks.

The Parting of the Ways

I bid farewell to Mel and Travis today- that's my second oldest friendship now sealed for a year and put into the back of the wine cellar to mature (one can always hope). I don't know if I'll even get to see Dan, my longest-running friend, before I leave, as he's off sojourning in Brum, which I'll admit is hardly, oh I don't know, 10505 miles away but we're not close enough for me to travel more than a mile and a half (i.e. the distance between our houses) to see him. So, I like to think I've hit my nadir in terms of sadness; Esmond and Emma are both coming over the next few days to keep me company, but for some reason these have the feeling of a joyous celebration, like the prospect of a sleep over with my friends when I was twelve, whereas visiting Mel felt very much like the end of something- not to say I didn't enjoy her company, but we both knew that the friend ship was going to be moored for a while (see what I did there?) I think part of this might stem from the fact that Emma and Esmond are coming to me, while I had to go to see Mel- I wonder if they'll arrive filled to the brim with lugubry to find me wearing a party hat and carrying a bowl of warm water, a mischevious glint in my eye. Travis certainly displayed no outward signs of lament as I hugged him one last time and helped tuck him into bed. Then again, he's two, so mayhap he should not be my role model.

I had a shenanigan once; most uncomfortable twenty minutes of my life

I really wish my life were a page on TV tropes, because boy do I have a subversion of the classic 'zany scheme' I've read so much about. See, there are so many TV shows (Will and Grace, Ugly Betty) where the resident gay's parents are coming and, hilarity of hilarity, he's told them that one of the female leads is his girlfriend! Cue laugh track galore, lots of improvisation and a web of lies so big that Charlotte could have written out the first five chapters of Silas Marner upon it. Naturally, the truth does out (as does the gay) and there's tears, recriminations and a heartfelt hug, with a moral about tolerance and openness and getting your story straight before undertaking any big lie. Roll credits, tune in next week.
But here's where I get all post-modern and give it a twist: my parents already know I'm gay. On Wednesday next week, an old friend will come and stay. Now, this friend is a redblooded heterosexual, but also a bloody good actor. The scheme is simple- I tell him that I've told my parents that he's my boyfriend to get them off my back about being single; we'll play the part of the couple until it all falls apart in a huge set piece involving someone getting hit in the face with a piece of cake.
Whilst that all sounds wonderful, I can't imagine why I would do it, except to subvert expectations, cause shenanigans and generally spice up what is a dull and lonesome place (my parents' house). Also, I've already had a grilling from my loving progenitors about my utter lack of a significant other, so I wouldn't even be maintaining an illusion. Ah well, I'll just have to settle for decapitating some more chickens to enliven my hometown.