Sydneysiders

My sunburn didn't give me too much grief on the flight to Sydney, thankfully. We landed at the airport - minus any sniffer dogs or customs incidents - and got picked up by the lovely people at Base Sydney.

Again, Base does very well with its accommodation - we even have an LCD TV this time. We were both feeling a bit tired and really hungry. Shin consulted the Lonely Planet for its recommendations in the vicinity. "Liverpool Street has a plethora of Spanish restaurants, Lis." "I'm always happy to eat tapas stuff and Liverpool Street is pretty close," I said studying the freebie map I'd picked up at reception. "Let's do Captain Torres Lis!" "Gladly".

We set off at pace to find the legend that was Captain Torres. We walked one block and discovered Kent Street had now met Liverpool St."OK Lis, he's number 73. Let's go." "Shin, Shin, he's there. Right across the road!" "Ha ha ha. This is perfect. This is a sign. We're going to love Sydney."

Captain Torres was small and busy Spanish bar/restaurant with a cavern style and rustic feel to it. We took our seats and smiled heartily over the menus. We got an excellent bottle of Rioja which turned out to be the second best bottle I've had on the trip. The best was the Frog's Leap Zinfandel from our first night in Vegas. I'm so tracking these babies down when I get back home. We ordered a good amount, polished it all off, and smiled all the way back to Base.

On Tuesday the weather was fantastic and we set off on our sightseeing walk. Through Darling Harbour, down to Sydney Harbour Bridge - which is massive, around the Rocks area which is really picturesque and has lots of lovely outdoor bars and restaurants. We continued on past the Ferry terminals and round to the Opera House. It's so cool seeing something that you've seen so often on TV and in magazines.

After that we walked round through the Botanic Gardens and past the big outdoor cinema. There were hundreds of people out running and exercising. They had little running groups with coaches and stuff. It was totally full on and was making us feel slightly guilty so we agreed that we were probably power walking and burning off lots of calories. I saw a billboard that said: 'You need to run 4K to burn off two chocolate biscuits'. It made me think about all the Tim Tams I scoffed in the Cook Islands ... and New Zealand. But it was lunchtime and we were heading to Fratelli Paradiso so I could unleash my inner squid monster.

We walked through Wooloomooloo and kept repeating it to each other in our 'Australian accents'. I popped into Wooloomooloo pharmacy to get some more solarcaine and then we headed onto Kings Cross - or the 'Prozzie zone' as Shin liked to refer to it.

At Fratelli Paradiso, we took our seats and tried to freshen up. I had the squid and Sinead had the risotto. I also broke with my own personal protocol and ordered a dry riesling (all that wine tasting in NZ convinced me that white wine is OK after all). The food was delicious and we felt recharged and ready to hit the shops.

We did hit the shops - about an hour later - but they were rubbish. We decided the shops only cater for Nicole Kidman types (6ft tall, 6 inches wide and earning more than 6 figures) or 14 year old Asian girls who want to dress head-to-toe in Hello Kitty stuff. The best we could get was the surfer dude shops like Roxy, Quicksilver and Billabong. But that was it. Thoroughly knackered after our 20 mile hike we went home, had showers and went back to Liverpool Street for more Tapas and wine.

On Wednesday we went down to the Rocks because a woman had told Sinead there was a Gap in the DFS Galleria. We got there to discover it was nonsense and the DFS Galleria offered only Louis Vuitton, Bally, Armani and Ralph Lauren. We walked across the road to the pier to catch the ferry over to Manly. It was a really nice trip and we got great shots of the Opera House.
Manly was lovely and we bought some more stuff from Roxy and headed down to the beach. I was keeping the thighs under wraps given their recently acquired 3rd degree burns, and Shin was trying to remedy the farmer's tanline around her neck from the previous day.

Sinead's cousin Derek was picking us up at 5.30 so, after an entire day spent lying in the sun and dousing ourselves in factor 30, we tried our best to freshen up. We felt thoroughly mingin' and laughed about how awful we looked. I had sand all over my neck and in my hair - stuck to the suntan cream that was in there too.

Anyway, Derek picked us up, gave us a little tour of Manly and took us home to meet his lovely wife Ails and their two adorably gorgeous boys. We had champers and guava juice - which is delicious - some nibbles, and hot showers - woo hoo!

Derek and Ails took us out for dinner and for drinks at the Wharf Bar. It was all great. Shin and I waved goodbye and took the ferry back to Sydney. It was almost empty this time so we stood up the front and marveled at the illuminated city.

Thursday was another hot one and we were going out to Bondi beach to meet up with Lisa T, who was starting her 3 week holiday here. We took the train from Town Hall to Bondi Junction and checked out the shops at Westfield plaza. Again, there were lots of designer shops but not much like H&M. I told Shin I was off to look in the chemist at their sunburn remedies. "OK, I'll go and look at the pies," she said. The chemist didn't have anything I didn't already have, but I was pleased to be able to go and look at the pies too. There was a huge selection at this place called 'Pie Face' and they all had little smiley faces on them. Cute.

We looked around at a few more shops and tried on ridiculous head gear in Meyer department store. I tried on an enormous hat. - "You look like you're in Dallas Lis. - and Sinead tried on a comedy turban with some jewels on it. We amused ourselves like this for about 45 minutes and then decided to go have some lunch.

After that we got the bus out to Bondi beach, walked on the sand, people watched, had ice creams and sat in the sun with a few beers. Lisa T showed up around five, having just flown into Sydney from the UK that morning! She said she felt out of it and showed us her swollen ankles, but after a couple of beers and some dinner, she said she felt better. We checked out the hombres and agreed that the specimens were of good quality.

Around seven o'clock a huge thunderstorm arrived and dropped big fat dollops of rain on us. We jumped in a taxi back to Bondi Junction where Lisa went up to her apartment to get some much needed sleep and Shin and I caught the train back to Base.

I had to buy an emergency bag to fit all my extra stuff in, but got a good deal from Magda the Polish woman in the bag shop. "Ah, Lisa, you are from Scotland. I am from Poland. We are neighbours." I would never have described Scotland and Poland as neighbours before, but given how far away Australia is and the fact that I have to sit on my ass for 24 hours!!!! in order to get home, I said: "Of course we are."

So, just that big flight home now.

Auckland taco trauma

We said farewell to cool Queenstown and flew into Auckland for a day and a half.

Sinead had booked us into Base which turned out to be ace backpacker accommodation - shiny clean, good linen, tv, hairdryer and our own private wet room. The only downside was that Sinead got to strecth out in the double bed and I was still stuck in a top bunk. Fairness was restored, however, when Shin kept banging her head off the metal frame above her bed.

We figured there's not much to see in Auckland, so we quickly decided to make this 'down-time'. We opened the balcony doors to let the air and sunshine in, then spent sometime lying on our beds in our pants watching TV. "You know what would really make this briliant Lis?" "No, what?" "If Oprah was on." Sinead started flicking through the TV channels.

Shin is obsessed with Oprah and has been talking about her ever since we arrived in Vegas. "Argh! All American TV shows is dramatic news or the bloody weather Lis. Where's Oprah?" We passed a newsagents and Shin spotted the National Enquirer announcing that Oprah and Steadman had split up. "Ha, ha. That's cause Oprah wants to go out with Gayle." I'm sorry to say I'm not up on my Oprah-knowledge so I had no idea who Gayle was. "Oh yeah, it's been a big rumour for years and Oprah even denounced it on her show." I suggested Sinead put a bet on Oprah and Gayle going public in 2008 when she gets back home, but she said she'd get poor odds it's so obvious.

When we were on our trashy celebrity tour in Hollywood and the driver pointed out Dr Phil's house. Sinead announced loudly "I think he's having an affair with Oprah." I told her to keep her voice down as saying anything against Oprah is considered blasphemy in the US. Anyway, there was no Oprah in Auckland and we were getting hungry so we got ready and went out.

Kiwis love their pies, and they have some strange combinations like steak and cheese, and mince and cheese. Back in New Plymouth with Jenny and Ben, we'd voiced our reluctance at sampling such a 'delicacy', but by now we felt we had to see what all the fuss was about. We agreed that we would head off in search of a quality pie. I consulted the Lonely Planet and found out Ponsonby Pies on Ponsonby Road was supposed to be good.

Auckland isn't all that compact and we discovered that Ponsoby is actually a separate area some distance from the City Centre. Then we discovered that Ponsonby Road is one of the longest roads ever. We walked up and down it twice before Shin popped her head into Sugar Brown's Bakery to ask where the Pie shop was. The girl said she'd been there before but couldn't exactly remember where it was. She told us it was on the opposite side of the road and back in the direction we'd come from. We still couldn't find it. "I should just write things down" I said. Sinead didn't answer. A short while later, she announced she was getting delirious and had to have something to eat NOW! So we stopped at this place called The Chapel. The waitress told us that the Fish of the Day was a 'Bluenose' and Shin looked at me with a raised eyebrow and said: "Well, we'll no be having that in the chapel." Ha ha ha ha.

Our sugar levels restored on some tapas items, we headed back into the city centre and down to the waterfront. We got ice creams and sat on a bench watching the commuter ferries departing.
We started the next day with tea and toast at Base. We discussed Margaret Thatcher and whether or not she'd get a state funeral. "Oh she bloody will as well," said Shin, "but I bet there'll be loads of protests. It'll be great." "Do you remember when she got totally quizzed by an audience member about the sinking of the Belgrano?" "Yeah, she was struggling to comprehend the fact that someone was challenging 'the Prime Minister." "Brilliant." "Let's You Tube it later."

We looked round the shops but they were in short supply, so we went to the cinema and booked tickets for a film that evening. Then we headed down to the waterfront and got some tacos for lunch. I asked for one with steak and one with chicken, but the guy made one with steak and one with steak and chicken. Hawkeye Shin had clocked this and said we ordered one with steak and one with chicken. The guy tried to say this is what we had, but it wasn't. The guy then admitted he'd made a mistake and put some steak in the chicken one and could we not just take it. The crazy fool was all gesturing and making pleading faces and thumbs up signs to Sinead. My heart sank and I started to walk away because I knew this was a mortal error. Sinead looked right at him then started speaking loudly, clearly and slowly. "One with steak. One with chicken. It's really not that difficult. I'm not eating that and I'd like you to make what was ordered in the first place. It's simple." The guy did as he was told. Who wouldn't?

Given the trauma of ordering the things, they were actually really tasty and we sat in the sun and washed them down with a couple of cold beers. Bliss. We continued on to the Market Square area and discovered an open-air Irish pub showing the tennis. We got 2 jugs of Pimms and watched Sharapova and Jankovic. "I'm lovin this Lis. This is great." We stayed there until the sun started to fade then we walked back to get ready for a night at the flicks. "Let's tackle the bags in the morning," I said eyeing mine ominously. "Agreed."

'Two shags'

is what John Prescott has been re-christened following the revelation of his two-year affair. This was one of two things that made me laugh out loud this week. The other was a Chinese takeaway menu that landed on the carpet beneath my letterbox on Saturday morning. Alongside the always amusing photographs of extravagantly yet unappetisingly displayed food (when was the last time your chow mein arrived in half a pineapple? And would you ever want it to?) were the words 'Alcoholic Takeaway' - brilliant. "I'll have one jakey in stained clothes and two neds 'oot their heids' on buckie please."

Following on from Jeff & Dev's Sunday lunch, Keith & Ashley hosted us last Sabbath day. Dinner was delicious and dessert was the most amazing banoffee pie I've ever tasted. My enthusiatic critique caught Keith's attention and he spent the duration of dessert apologising for his inappropriate comment. It really was good pie though.

Another heavenly pudding was sampled on Thursday night at
Black Bo's with Leanne. It was chocolate and chilli brownie with vanilla and hazelnut ice cream. Oh, it was class. Catching up with Leanne is always good. Whereas I give advice by way of endless analogy, Leanne can put things immediately in perspective with one sentence; and it's never a patronising one either. I don't know why, but I'm always surprised when my friends say something that makes clear just how well they really know me. It was like this with Leanne on Thursday when she said: "I don't think you'll get any answers from it. In fact, I think it'll do you more harm than good. But I know you're still going to do it anyway." Bang on the money.

I had a half day at work on Friday and took myself off to the gym at 1pm. I feel compelled to go every day since the instructor assessed my body fat situation and looked like she was amazed I'd managed to squeeze out the door of my flat. Needless to say, I could hardly move for the first four hours on Saturday morning (this was made worse by another visit to the gym). Mog and I had lunch in the sunshine followed by a big ice cream and a little walk.

At 7pm we caught the train through to Glasgow to celebrate Katie's birthday. It was a most ambient affair with generous helpings of curry and an excellent crowd. Around Midnight, we headed, quite literally, round the corner to a club. We walked straight in - sans entrance fee - and proceeded to have a cracking time. A night in da club wouldn't be the same for Katie and I without at least one dance-off. This time the tune was 'Don't cha' by the Pussycat Dolls and my demure wrist-flick sent someone's bottle of beer raining across the dance floor. Bonus points.

We headed home around 3am and Mog and I headed straight to bed. I was truly knackered and my muscles were truly aching by this point. The rest of the party stayed up chatting until 6 or so which meant Mog and I were annoyingly bushy-tailed the next morning. A truly scrumptious brunch of French Toast, bacon and Maple syrup was scoffed before Mog and I caught the train home.

Good times.

And pigs might fly

Ok, I'm totally tempting fate here, but having told everyone at Dev & Jeff's Easter lunch I figure I've already rowed all the way out on 'asking for it lake'. So here goes:

I've bought a flat - again, but will say no more about it until I have the keys in my hands. Although, rather sadly, I have already done two practice runs from the new flat to my place of work to establish timings. It takes 26 minutes (at 'this is as close as I get to running' pace), 33 minutes (at 'don't dare think you're worthy enough to speak to me' pace) and 41 minutes (at 'Flexi time means I don't need to be in until 10:30. Oh look, aren't the daffodils lovely? pace). I'm like one of those irritating couples who plan the drive to hospital when they're expecting a child. God, I hate myself.

Speaking of God, Dev cooked a pig in his honour last Sunday. It was undoubtedly the holiest ham ever to travel the well worn road that is my geographer's tongue. The pig of God (as it was christened on The Roquefort Files) had been cooked in Coke, and was so delicious that while I may never be fooled into buying the usual pig in a poke, there'd be no hesitation in buying a pig in Coke - even if said pig in coke was actually in a poke at the time.

Anyway, Dev's dinner was a triumph and the disciples dining that day were on top form, which made for plenty of hilarity.

New job, new jargon

It is official. I am a number. 698 to be precise.

Week one of the new job is now firmly tucked under my belt, along with the quality offerings of the cafeteria (in a somewhat less firm, tummy-jiggling way). On Tuesday afternoon I almost swan-dived from the third floor window from the sheer boredom of the induction, but by Wednesday I was getting down to some work and got back to chewing my pen rather than my proximal phalanx.

I must say, coming from a company employing 5 people to one that employs almost everyone in Edinburgh is something of a culture shock. I feel like I'm back at school - although this is most likely exacerbated by the fact that the cafeteria has big long tables and I've been washing down my lunch with a carton of milk. I actually felt 'shy' (curb your laughter please, it does happen to me occasionally) for the first couple of days.

I have to wear a security pass (with a photo that makes my hair look positively yellow and my complexion like that of a long-term heroin addict. The photo does, however, boast a particularly nice smile that detracts from the other stuff. Thank goodness for small mercies). I have to clock in and out at lunchtimes and use my security pass to pay for lunch. The first thing I did on day one was to check the intranet to find out what and where I get discount. It turns out I am now entitled to 20% off at my hairdresser - bonus.

All my colleagues are very, very nice and pretty darn funny. As of yet, no one has revealed themselves to be a nutter. They do all talk in acronyms though and I'm finding that a bit baffling. I imagine it's not too dissimilar to being in government during the FDR administration. Apart from that, I can't believe how much easier this job is than my last one and the fact that I'm being paid so much more for doing it - big fat bonus.

Last Saturday night was good fun (for the most part). Sam cooked dinner at his flat for me, Ali G, Ali Al-J, Helen, Antonio and Anabel. He made a top-notch cassoulet, and poached pears for dessert. The banter was very interesting and I felt somewhat overwhelmed by the intellectual content. I responded (as I always do in such situations) by drinking copious amounts of red wine. When the red wine ran out, I moved onto whisky - putting a serious dent in Sam's collection of malts. Never a good move. Flashbacks on Sunday lead me to believe I got so pished I attempted to "hold court" (cringe, cringe) and moved from topic to topic with the speed of a gazelle and the clarity of John Prescott. At 4:30 am I was challenging Ali G to a "whisky-downing" contest. Thankfully, Sam stopped me and put me to bed.

I woke up some four hours later in a thoroughly deep state of remorse (oh yeah, and sick as a dog). The post-binge self-loathing and guilt kicked in. Sam received a text about me being "an unholy mess of a girl(???)", while Mog got one that simply said: "I am dead. Charity donations to AA in lieu of flowers". By 6pm that evening, things were definitely better. Sam and I went to the Cameo to see Capote. It was excellent - definitely one of the best films I've seen in the last few years.

On Monday night, after my first day of work, I met up with Mog, Moranna, Laura and Jo for some eats and drinks at Sygn. Deb couldn't make it as her one good lung was playing up, which was a real pity cause I haven't seen her for ages. On Tuesday, I had my first stint of babysitting for Ella. Leanne and Craig took themselves out for a meal and a couple of drinks. Ella didn't make a peep all night (she is truly the best baby ever!) and I told Leanne this when she called at 11pm to ask for a wee bit longer. "She is still alive though, right?" she asked. I hadn't checked on her until this point and did so when I got off the phone. The bedroom was really dark and I couldn't see her cot so it took me quite a while to locate her. When I did she was making little baby breathing sounds (so sweet) so I went back to watching TV.

Cartons of milk, feelings of shyness and evenings spent babysitting - I do indeed feel like a 14 year old again. Next thing you know I'll be sporting an alice band.

(reluctant) Observations on Quincy M.E

My week of leisure found me, much the same as my student days, tucking into lunch in front of the TV. Most unlike my student days, the lunch I was tucking into comprised poached egg, parma ham and capers on a slice of sunflower and honey toast. To add gold leaf to such a luxurious scene, the egg was one of those pastel-coloured, free-range, organic affairs that they don't stock in Tesco Metro. Yes, I measure my progress in life by the food I eat and, on the whole, am happy with my development over the last four years. Today, it may be Laurent-Perrier and boudin noir truffles that take my fancy; you just never know.

Anyway, I was enjoying said lunch and reading the newspaper with the TV on in the background. Normally I wouldn't stand for having the TV on whilst reading but the remote control was all the way over on the other sofa and my butler had popped out to get some more pastel-coloured eggs. At some point TV won the battle for my attention (no I'm not proud) and I began to watch Quincy M.E. Whether or not Quincy had M.E is unclear, but he was markedly sluggish in all action scenes. The belligerent Californian (is that an oxymoron?) coroner is an old favourite from my uni days and I remembered him well. Each episode goes roughly like this:
Dead body turns up on Quincy's slab; Quincy suspects foul play and rushes off to play detective; Sam works 24hours in the lab to establish proof; Quincy fights with his boss; Quincy fights with the murderers/blase parents/reluctant eye witness; Quincy mulls things over on his boat; Quincy makes a pass at a barley-legal teen (optional); Quincy fights with his boss again; Quincy makes plea to young people of America to give-up the drugs/sex/alcohol/punk rock music; Quincy makes clear his suspicions and threatens to resign if he is not believed; Sam finds the proof; Quincy makes big declaration; Quincy is hailed as a hero; Quincy celebrates on his boat with many weeeeemin (although many wee-men would have been funnier, albeit politically incorrect).

The episode playing this particular day saw Quincy admitted as a member of the jury in a murder case (yeah, like that would ever happen. Everybody knows that people with medical or legal knowledge, or any hint of knowledge at all, are never admitted to a jury, duh!). Quincy asks expert medical questions of every witness (because jurors on TV are allowed to do that people) and nobody minds much for the first 20 minutes. The prosecution is, understandably, getting a little pissed off with the esteemed doctor and requests he be removed from the jury. The Judge appeases the prosecution by supplying a character reference for Quincy. She says: "I know Dr Quincy and he is one of the most objective people I know". At this point, I actually started shouting loudly at the TV (always a bad sign). "What are you talking about?" I asked desperately, "Quincy is the most subjective person I know. He becomes emotionally-involved in every single case he works. You don't know Dr Quincy at all. I move for dismissal."

I was so disturbed by the fervour of my response that I have decided there will be no more daytime TV for the remainder of my days off. Damn you Quincy!

Good week, bad driving

After one of the most hectic, stress-threatening yet undeniably exhilirating weeks since my university days, I am on a well-deserved high. Ridiculously tight deadlines all met (client suitably impressed), 'disappointed' boss somewhat happier (she returned my greeting of 'Good Morning' on three occasions last week), requests to do freelance writing in addition to my new 'day' job (extra cash potential is massive), good party on Friday night (the gang was all there), recovery on Saturday wasn't too painful, and Sunday was both indulgent and relaxing.

Driving home from work on Friday, I was waiting behind another car to turn off Leith Walk and into McDonald Road. The car in front had, in my opinion, overshot the junction. Everyone makes mistakes, so I didn't pay too much attention and continued singing along to 'Tennage Kicks' on the radio. The lights turned red to halt the flow of traffic coming down Leith Walk and we were free to make our move into McDonald road. Annoyingly, the car in front didn't move. Problem: when the lights turn red, you have mere moments before the other traffic starts moving and collides with you. The car still wasn't moving so I (not having overshot the junction) made a split second decision to undercut it. Needless to say, as I made my move the car in front started to swing back in and the driver, finding my car beside his in the same side of the road, slammed on the brakes and peeped his horn quickly and repeatedly.

Seconds later, I came upon the traffic calming measures on McDonald road. I, again, found myself behind another car as we waited for a break in the flow of traffic from the other direction. The car in front made its move and I followed only to be peeped at again by a car speeding towards me.

Two peeps in almost as many seconds. That hasn't happened since I crossed a road on a windy day in Leith wearing my ridiculously short charcoal kilt, black micro-fishnet stockings and red lacy knickers. Verdict: on both occasions I was asking for it.

Alasdair, Sam, Louise and Anotnio's belated Burns' Night celebration on Friday evening was a resounding success. The haggis, neeps and tatties were all cooked to perfection and the water of life flowed freely. There was a good turnout too and I found myself happily chatting with Tim, Keith, Alasdair, Zoe and Cedric before Katie and her new man - Marc - turned up and I chatted to them. I also met Katie's ex-boyfriend Kenny for the first time, as did her new boyfriend (Marc) - ooooh the drama! Alex was there too - talking about his sexual exploits and ex-girlfriends.

Saturday and Sunday were mellow and largely people-free. I did my own thing on both days with almost no interruptions. Sheer heaven!

Let's just hope my driving improves this week or Heaven may become an everyday thing.