Apologies for the lack of a Sunday update. I'll try harder in the future.
Had a do at work on Monday. In the end I opted to forgo the tie. It was a bit of a mixed evening. Everybody was really canny and I finally found out what a Chicken Schnitzel Parmagiana is (rather disappointingly it's just parmo), but for some reason that I've still not identified beyond my traditional discomfort with large groups of strangers, I regressed a bit back into my teenage self. Thankfully this didn't mean my skin broke out and I thought about girl's botttoms constantly, but it did mean I found that I couldn't bring myself to make any other sound except a few squeaks and the occasional mumble. My normal recourse in this situation would be to take advantage of the limitless bar tab that the company had laid on, but I'm big enough and ugly enough to know that often does more harm than good and, besides, I was back in work the next day.
My sterling social performance put me in a bit of a funny mood for the first half of the week. Wont say I felt homesick. I don't particularly miss England, only a certain select group of English men and women. Midweek I went into the corner had a quiet word with myself and rallied somewhat. Actually did some writing on Friday, this despite looking back through the most recent chapters of the Great British Novel earlier and being shocked how crap it is.
I've been bouncing round the rooms of the hostel a bit. Summer's coming and as such the Blue Parrot's taking a lot of bookings and, as I'm the living embodiment of forward thinking, I neglected to book my old room sufficiently in advance. It's been nice seeing how the other half live. In room four I only had to share with five other people and room eight has it's own loo. Swish. I thought about sending the plebs in room seven a postcard, but I'll probably be back there before it reached them.
Sunday was meant to be a lazy day, but I ended going for a walk through the botanic gardens and to the Rocks with Aurore, who is a happy bunny now she's found a waitressing job that doesn't entail dressing as a ballerina and dealing with her boss (who as mentioned in a previous post, sounds like a massive, massive wanker). When we passed the Opera House, we found that they were organising free tours of the opera house. Not sure about the preponderance of concrete in the atrium, but the concert halls themselves are really nice and I can now say that I've been on stage at a world renowned concert venue (which I have, to the point that the joke has now been run into the ground). Afterwards we went to a pattiserie, drank (admittedly slightly shite) red wine and ate (actually very nice) cakes. It was nice, at least to the point where it made me think that the French might be onto something with the whole cafe culture thing. As we walked back we noticed a huge fire at one of the places we'd been to earlier. I swear it was nothing to do with us.
With Korbi managing to finally wrangle a labouring position yesterday, the last of the long term residents of the hospital now appear to be gainfully employed. Bob is being giving a different job role ever few days and has been promoted and demoted around five times this week. We're both getting slightly itchy feet, but for the moment Sydney's a good place to be.
Love and Fishes
Dave Denton
P.S. My old housemate, Mike Foster, has recently had a short story published. You should read it. Which you can, along with more of his work, at
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