Won’t You Please Walk Along This Pretty Cliff With Me?

In the mornings here in Sydney, or more specifically, here in Bondi, there is a morning routine that most locals adhere to.

We get up and walk to the next beach for a caffeinated beverage.

If you live in Bondi you are within five minutes walk of Bronte, Tamarama, MacKenzies and Clovelly beaches. Every way you turn, any way you walk, you are smacked in the head with beauty and nature. There's no respite, it's just friggin' out of this world, redunculous, head-pounding, heart-breakingly beautiful.

It's the sort of beauty you need to share with people... so here, lovely ones, let me take you on a morning preamble, from Bondi to Tama, from morning to dusk.


Bondi from the window...


Australia, much?






Follow me... I know The Way.


Up, up, up....


...and around the corner.


One day I want to live in that building on the far left... I've been fantasizing about it for years.






My heart broke just before I took this blurry picture.


But these flowers made it whole again.


Ocean views? Location, location, location...


A perfect place to keep a pet.


Looking back at Bondi.


Looking east towards Kiwi Land.


Looking right..... to Mackers.


Home for a rest and a sit on the balcs.


Desk view from a salty-crusted window. Heading out for a gloaming gambol.


Wandering past MacKenzies to visit Brendon.


Tama evening surf... perfect empty inner city waves.


From Tamarama Life Saving Club to Bronte headlands....


And home again to play the fool.


Making faces before going out...


...til early morning hours...


..with dear friends...


...and brothers.


Do not trust this good looking man.


He is a pervert.


And he gets you drunk even when you've sworn into sobriety.

That's right. I'm hung the fuck over.

Disgusting. Horrendous. Revolting. Seedy. Bilious. Hung. Over.

And my arse hurts.

Don't ask.

x

8:46 PM - 35 Comments - 42 Kudos - Add Comment

Taking Your Knickers Off In Public And Other Ways to Almost Kill A Man.

Oh God.

No God.

Tonight is the launch of our magazine.

We're having a big party.

Seven hundred people or so.

I know 682 of them personally, and have probably slept with 681.

This is all good and well..... except that I have to WORK.

There's nothing more creepy than having to get your mic on in front of loved ones. I feel like I've woken up into that dream where you rock up at school with no clothes on.

I feel naked.

In every way.

Gah.

Film cameras, press, old agents, photographers..... all congregating at Hugos in post-skanky Kings Cross.

The last time I went to Hugos I took my knickers off on the dance floor.

It's true.

They were too tight and made me all squirmy.

In the process of removing said undergarments I almost killed my friend Gerry.



THE END.







































Damn. I'd love to leave the story there just to see what the comment section turns into... but I feel it probably needs some explanation. A huge pity, really.

It went like this... as I bent over to rip my undies off my ankles Gerry followed suit to see what I was doing. Big mistake. Somehow he managed to align his jaw with the upward trajectory of my head, which shot up hard, fast and victorious after my mission was accomplished. The final result? Me clutching my throbbing head in one hand, swinging my stupid thong above my throbbing head in the other, and an almost comatose friend lying on the scummy dance floor of a seedy Sydney establishment.

Just another night in the Cross, really.

And now I'm going back.

The difference this time is that I won't be drinking, and I'm sure it will be a much duller night as a consequence. I may be many things, but I am the most fun dipsomaniac I know, and there are going to be some disappointed friends on the dance floor this eve.

I shall take photos.

You will see them.


Oh yes. You will.


x

11:37 PM - 19 Comments - 31 Kudos - Add Comment

Home Is Where The Freaks Are (Falling In Love With Sydney Again)

Home is where your big l'il sister can win a seafood platter in a raffle at the Returned Servicemans League Club five minutes after she said she would.



Home is where, when you tell your friend you don't want to go home with her, she can reply with righteous indignation "Aw, fuck. Don't tell me I have to go home all by myself with a tray of cooked fish!" and you can all pee your pants laughing.



Home is where you can lose your friends and then find them just by following the fishy smell.



Home is where your friends steal you from business meetings by rocking up on mopeds with backgammon sets strapped to the back and devilish grins on their faces.

Home is the place where you can actually ditch a business meeting to go play backgammon and eat fish cakes.

Home is where you start the day by wandering along the cliff tops over the ocean and sit in a cemetery, surrounded by dead people, and feel really alive.

Home is where you can act like a perfect twat and still blend in with the locals. You are the same.



Home is where the smallest cheese graters in the world reside.





Home is where small humans want you to draw with them.



Home is where you slot back in and feel like you've never left, even after three years and much evolution.



Home is where midwinters days are perfect for sundresses, and where buildings shaped like sailboats decorate the view.


Home is special. The best part of home is that you don't have to live in it, but it's always there to come back to.

x

11:25 PM - 40 Comments - 30 Kudos - Add Comment