Marketing spiel of the day

The system fulfils the sophisticated requirements of the hospitality business in a very easy-handling way, you just need to dream.

So dream on and all your hospitality dreams may just come true…

Virginia Creepers Club

Went to Virginia Creepers Club with John (maddog) on Saturday. Great night, like a Goth-Swing (not swingers) club. Everything is high-tailed glamour, pointy shoes and quiffs everywhere. Betty Page, Johnny Cash and The Cramps. Photos here.

Friday was our company meeting. Not sure what to say about that. Extremely dull and loads of lies told. All about teamwork, 'talk the talk, walk the walk,' yada yada yada. Spent afternoon txting Kev. His msg reads: 'So bored I want to weep all the blood out of my body'. I second that verdict.

Saturday got up for big shop for clothes. Got so frustrated at lack of range, amount of shite, that I bought pirate shorts. I hate pirate shorts. Look a bit like Avril Lavigne in them too. Why did I buy them? Further, why am I wearing them?

At the end of my day I found a shop that made me want to drop to my knees and pray. Pout. My personal heaven, a shop that stocks every single lip gloss in the world... very 40's glamour, and English Rose. Love it!!! Bought some pump it up lip gloss.

Busy

Today I'm as busy as a horny squid in a cephalopod orgy.

I miss my tutu

This month I've lost my:

* Luggage - twice. Returned to me on both occasions.
* Good pair of black interview trousers. Accused G of sleep-eating them.
* Brand new elf hat. Oh, it pains me to think about. Oh elf hat. Where are thee?
* Sobriety. Too many times.
* Dignity. Tied in with loss of sobriety.
* Memory. See above. Maybe they should be one bullet.
* Tan. Winter's a-comin'. Working on the moon-tan.
* Fear of relationships and commitment. Maybe. It comes and goes.
* Job prospects. Nothing in the pipeline.
* Creativity. I blame the vampiric and soporific effect of this job for draining me of imagination/will to live. It's become so bad that I've written this sentence 3 times.

On work, thought I'd share these two anecdotes with you.

New client supplied list of marketing vocabulary to be worked into case studies. Linst includes: "Organic", "Strategise" and, my favourite, "aha". The Aha! factor. And it's not 'Take on Me'.

Secondly, the last sentence of case study from France that I had to repurpose recently.

"Thanks to the efficiency of the technicians, every member of staff
were in their new working environment by the Monday of that week - and
they began to smile again..."

Back to writing about mainframes and plastic pipe distributors. Masturbating makes you blind, which is why we gimps get paid to write wank for these short-dicked evil little monsters.

Croquet

I have a discovered a love for croquet. Considering my paltry skills in sport, I suprised myself by being quite good at it. It's like golf, but you don't need the strength, and play is far more strategic. Maybe I should join a croquet club. Pity it has such a nerdy and unsexy reputation.

It was also invented by the Irish, but stolen by the English! Maybe they played with potatoes. How did women play it in those big trouncy dresses and corsetry? Jolly good show, what, what.

The C word and the L word

Another emotional roller coaster of a weekend. Friday night saw friend Ash's new band 'Manifesto'. Quite good. Told him they were "effortlessly cool". Quite a stretch as they were actually putting in a big effort, but Ash was well chuffed with that descriptor. Lead singer has a great look but couldn't sing and play bass at the same time. His voice is a little weak. Ash actually plays better on all instruments but is the only one that can play the drums -isn't that always the way?

Kicked back to Searles Rd - the party house - for more drinks. G got coked up and annoying. I'm learning to hate the 'C' word. Class 1As are for losers.

Sat morning we upped and left for Hamble holiday weekend. Lost my new hat en route at London Bridge Underground station. Devastated about losing the hat. My lucky elf hat! I only just got it in Oz and never going to find another one! Beanies that suit me are as rare as monkeys from the moon.

Drove down to Hamble, through beautiful green English countryside, for an afternoon of croquet, wine and watching the boats on the water. G and I listened to the football upstairs and watched the water. Ry got stuck on a boat without a paddle.

After all the tension with the fight and the hat, I hadn't eaten all day. Ended up stonkers drunk and made some outrageous comments, apparently. We had an excellent meal. I chopped the potatoes! But Andrew and Eng are the true chefs.

Anja is really into her board (bored) games. We played "Mr and Mrs". For the uninitiated this a game for couples written by divorce lawyers. Ry and Stech, Eng and Kat, andy and anja, so it was naturally G and I. Qtns included: 'who does your partner think has the best legs in the room?' (All 8 people answered George). And 'What would your partner say is your most annoying habit?' (I was outraged. 'What do you mean you don't like my jokes?') This game caused major riffs in the groups and lots of couple fights. Particularly after G and me won over all the real couples in the room - even a married one. Kat: 'Why are we even married? You don't know me at all!' Board games abandoned for shots.

That's where my memory fails me.

I woke up half clothed and on a table. My body made it to the bed, my shirt made it off, but my jeans were on and my head was laying on a table. Not sure how I managed it.

We were all a little fragile Sunday morning. Shaking with vows of 'never again'.

It was a lovely afternoon of mushroom picking, playing with bin Tang - the dog, more cooking and eating (Eng and I made curry puffs), croquet which degenerated into crolf - a game invited by ry and andy that was a mix of cricket and golf, bike rides etc. I even climbed a tree!

Then back to polluted old london. I do love the lush green English countryside. It is lovelier than the arid dustbowl we have at home.

Great letters from Ms Cokayne and Tommy

Why do all the good ones go back to Oz?

Sandy says:

So where was I?

Did I tell you about the terrible phlegmy cough that I picked up in India? I was hocking loogies like they were going outta style - no let's try that again I was hocking loogies like nobody's business. Now I've never been particularly good at it but with the velocity that I had riding behind those speed balls, I was ready to take both the Indians AND the Moroccans on like it was an Olympic sport. But that was back in Varanasi and just as I got over that one and got over the Nepalese border, my head was on fire but with chills throughout my body and cramps in my legs - So Tom goes and picks up a thermometer from a roadside chemist stall - had to run back and ask the guy how to read that kwality piece of medical equipment. And sure enough if you tip it to a certain angle that mercury was pushing 104F.

Apparently you should race to the hospital at 103F - I didn't feel like I was THAT critically ill but wasn't quite the picture of robust health (and sure enough the thing turned out to be bodgy). And you know when you're sitting there thinking 'Nepal' + 'hospital' you're like 'NOOoo don't make me do it! Don't they butcher people in 3rd world hospitals?' But Tom wasn't taking no for an answer.

So we walk up the wooden planks up the driveway into the Emergency garage where there's a few wooden benches lining the walls and the reassuring odour of disinfectant. The little receptionist lady behind the window who can't speak English indicates the form to fill out and we hand over our 500 ruppees (10 Aussie bucks) which shunts us to the front of the queue cos we're the only paying customers. The doctor was fantastic - had the best bedside manner I've ever known. He shakes Tom's hand as we walk in and all proceedings are then conducted between the two men - I'm just the object of illness. But that was fine - he diagnosed me with the 'flu and told me I'd be over it in a couple of days. Then goes on to advise soup - a good time of year for tomato soup. What he should have said was that the current symptoms would be over with in a day but the bouts of nausea wouldn't see me eat another proper meal in more than a week. And that the various Nepali interpretations of tomato soup don't bear thinking about. But he didn't... and then we went on to discuss the silly British trekkers stuck up the mountain with altitude sickness and the Maoist rebels and the corruption of Nepali politicians ... definitely got our money's worth.

So anyway that put us behind schedule and Gus who was more pushed for time had to start the trek without us. But the day we were set to fly up to Jomsom (a point about
than two-thirds of the way through the Annapurna Circuit) dawned an auspicious day where we woke to the plaintative cries of a yak lassooed around the horns in the courtyard below our room in our guesthouse. And the family in intense debate about the best way to go about slaughtering it, whilst brandishing a rusty sword. Next thing you know the head's lopped off - a sacrifice to the gods for the Divali festival and then the negotiations about how to go about cleaning and shaving the corpse. Then at breakfast a couple of snake charmers charming the pants off a couple of cobras...an auspicious day indeed.

So no sooner are we up the mountain and I'm starting to feel better when Tom comes down with the same illness. We rest up in a little village filled with apple orchards bearing the most delicious apples I've ever eaten and nurse each other back to health on ginger tea and boiled potatoes.

And then the real trekking begins ... the most fantastic mountain scenery and I love the style of wandering from village to village and stopping whenever you feel like
it.

A few observations:

* I can see why marijuana is also known as weed - when it grows wild, it grows EVERYWHERE

* Donkeys, at first are endearing but when traveling in large packs?, herds? a collective noun anyone? anyone? if nobody's got one I'm suggesting 'a stupor of donkeys' when traveling in a large stupor with huge loads on narrow, steep, rocky paths become soo annoying.

* Nepali's have a lot to learn about the culinary arts - the national dish appears to be dal bhat - which is plain rice accompanied by a bland tasteless lentil soup which gives the already image-conscious lentil an even worse name. Once bitten, twice shy.

Our last night was pure heaven as we stumble upon a village with a lush garden oasis and would you believe hot thermal springs pouring into a pool to soothe aching limbs and GOOD FOOD, would you believe?

And then at that point we had to take the escape route outta there cos waiting up on the hill were the Maoist rebels who are in the business of extorting 1200 ruppees
from each foreigner doing the Annapurna Circuit - for which you receive a receipt - which bemused most of the tourists we met. Unfortunately we'd already blown out our budget - something you don't wann do too badly when all you're buying is food, water and shelter. So we had to say 'see you later suckers' to the Commie bastards and shave another day or 2 off the end of the trek. I know we don't exude the hardcore trekking image but 1 week in the wilderness was enough.

And then on the way back to Pokhara we get shuffled from 1 mostly full bus onto a jam-packed overflowing bus. Took 1 look inside and said to the other tourists - 'better off travelling on the roof' - once you've tried the advantage in comfort there's no turning back which amused many of the villagers we passed, seeing a bunch
of tourists travelling on the roof since it's usually the way the local boys travel. Is there any better way to take a busride through the Himalayas? I don't think so.

So that's how we came to be in the Himalayas. Back there in London we were thinking 'Kashmir or Nepal?' Kashmir or Nepal? That's one battle Nepal is happy to have won and so are we!! Thanks for all your concern about whether we were among the thousands of casualties in the earthquake. Luckily our numbers didn't come up this time. And Jessa - as we say in Australia 'You're a deadset legend!' I was flattered to be summoned by the king to have a word on the royal telephone with Little
Johnny 'Yeah - we're fine - we'll be home in time for tea on the 11th ... and what the bloody hell are you still doing there - I left because of you!'

So off to Kathmandu tomorrow ... see all of you back in Oz real soon
xoxo

Tom says:

Hey - I noticed in Sandy's email she failed to mention that i nearly died!!!

How can she have missed this vital point? It was on the mountain. Or as we (the hard core trekking types) say, 'It was on top side, dude, you know like in high altitudes, like when you're ...' yadda yadda...

I nearly died because I caught Sandy's sickness. I had my money riding on it being different and being the dreaded chicken flu only because i think it sounds funny, but I'm such a wimp when it comes to being sick. I turn into the biggest souk and previously I'd been telling her to stop being such a baby about it and get over it - she'd only had to go to hospital once!.

'I'm sure the rooms are much cleaner inside.' I kept telling as we walked into the hospital. 'They have to be educated about these things. Much cleaner inside.'

We got shoved in a waiting room full of about a hundred curious yet pale faces all staring at us while we all waited to be next to see the only doctor available. Anyway Sandy was fine, he just gave her some antibiotics and gave me some very serious conversation while he managed to ignore the existence of his patient, Sandy, all together.

'The reason there is so much corruption in Nepal is because the politicians want to drive cars like mine. I have a BMW. They're trying to keep up with me.'

'uh huh'

'How could they possibly afford a house like mine without their bribes.'

'Thanks, mate. You've been truly fascinating.'

The pills he gave her seemed to work. I stole them off her when i got it. Imagine your face heavy and feeling like it's sliding off - a cough so deep it touches hell and makes you talk like the devil and a fever to match the inferno of hell where you feel like you're heading.

Yeah, cool i think I'm up for walking, i said, 'I'm a bloke.'

A day latter I'm vomiting on the beautiful scenery of the Himalayas.

This is where i feel like I'm going to die.

'Just a bit further,' Sandy says, 'We've only got to another 10kms to go.'

The mountains are vertigo above and below me. Clouds are in the valleys and blues skys above. Another puke shoots from my guts. The yaks are bleating and conversation is starting to make sense.

I've got a list of places I've puked on now, my first and personal favourite is Ullaru -Ayers Rock - when i climbed it stoned, in the middle of the day, and bare footed - a good way to get heat stroke and blow chunks on the sacred site.

So if i get a few more natural wonders under my belt (or is that out from under my belt?) i might be setting some kind of new record.

It was then I did decided to steal Sandy's pills.

You can hire Sherpas up there to carry your stuff, and of course I considered this but there's a whole bunch of philosophies that go with this
- I'm giving someone a job/I'm encouraging slavery -
- it's giving them something to do/I'm a lazy bastard -

On the whole though the reason i didn't go with the Sherpa (because i am a lazy bastard) is that the Euros I'd seen marching down the hill holding their professional walking sticks (pointy ones), dressed in their skintight Lycra shorts with their ball sack bouncing (or a nice firm camel's foot bulging for the ladies) while a tiny man stumbling behind them carrying their lorry load of packs. He'd be all bundled together with ropes and bags and have then all strapped to his forehead. The package would be bigger than him and he'd look like an ant carrying a boulder on its head from a distance with two glamour queens marching in front of him discussing the latest prices of fake Gucci handbags.

I guess, somehow, I'd feel like a little uncomfortable letting a little man carry my load, I'm too proud, but looking back i should have. I might not have puked on the mountain and had some pair of glamorous Euros turn their noses up at me as I was doubled over emptying my guts into the most scenic place on the earth. The Sherpa
said, hello.

So i got better, i even gave up smoking, it's been a whole week without a ciggie, and we had a lovely walk down the hill. Very nice views.

Anyway, just though i'd add the little bit about how i nearly died!!!!!

Tom

P.S - Jessa you've suddenly become a star - What a way to be jettisoned into the hearts and minds of so many mums across the globe. Sure, those mum's might not be thinking about us being crushed in an earthquake but they are saying, 'Gosh, that Jessa girl sure is a nice person to have as a friend.' Children are now being subjugated to the story of Jessa and her concern. You're the new cereal box model for
little kids around the world. 'Be like Jessa and you'll go to heaven,' their mothers are saying.

Dirty feet

Dreamt about Christmas. It was snowing, and I was skiing somewhere, but racing to get to my sister's for dinner. When I got there, dad was arriving too. Sis said we couldn't come in because we had sand on our feet. Dad washed his feet and went inside where it was warm. They started hugging, talking, eating and drinking. I was upset they didn't wait for me, so hurried to wash my feet too. But the hose had turned into a blowtorch. I charred my feet until they were black and blistered, then peeled off a layer of skin to reveal more blistered skin. Then I went inside in agony, looking at my ugly feet and noone noticed I was in agony, or even there. Also, once inside all I wanted to do was go back to the snow.

Obvious meaning, hey.

Christmas - time of family togetherness.
Snow - is freedom. Often have skiing dreams, even though I can't ski. It's something to do with exhilaration, freedom, but I'm always alone and feel a mix of happiness at all this space and freedom, and fear that I will go missing and not be missed.
Snow - is also cold England.
Sand - is the feeling of being home, the Australian beaches.
Dirty feet - unworthiness, rejection, loneliness, alienation.
Blistered feet, peeling a layer - a rebirth of sorts, but it mutilated me. What does that mean?
Feet - for some reason when I was home, I got obsessed with my feet. Their ugly appearance, their soreness, the feeling of sand beneath my feet, the feeling of wanting to strap them into something that would restrain me from moving and then the next moment wanting to just run as hard as I could.

I don't belong anywhere anymore.

What am I going to do for Christmas?

A full cup

Lately I've been sipping on my travel memories. It's a sweet refreshment that takes away the bitterness of regret. Today it's the Egon Schiele exhibit I saw in Venice. (see sexy pic).

Whenever mr russo beardo pops into head, I will remember the world I've seen, and forged, all on my own. Paris, Tokyo, Venice, Berlin, Rome, London... I am rich. I am blessed. I like Egon Schiele. I like going to galleries.

It's only 5pm and it's almost black outside. Must be a storm coming. My thought clouds are also overcast. They always seem to be closer to the head in stormy weather. It's hot chocolate and soup weather. Lovely rusty Autumn. Fall, as the yanks call it. I like Fall because it suggests the opposite movement to its atonym Spring.

Today is opening of London Film Festival. Loads of promising films on the menu. Terry Gilliam, Lars von Trier the nihilistic Dane takes on US opus, zombie flick, Nick Cave's debut, the required existential French fare. All good.

Got my red cowboy boots back. Single life is looking great in London town.

Red cowboy boot heel flick three times. Must not think of home. Must not think of home. Must not think of home.

Have you slimed yet?

This is punchline of some joke told to me by a colleague about a romantic turn of phrase by an Australian girl. Yes, I'm from Bogan county, a cultural backwater, as I'm endlessly, needlessly reminded. Yesterday G infuriatingly corrected my pronounciation of 3 words - Degas, croissant, yoghurt. Him and his band of condescending Oxbridge half-soaked, lazy ne'er-do-well friends that didn't do a day of work until they were 25, and have never washed a dish.

The flight back was pretty rough. Think I'm still recovering from it. Loads of turbulence. Had a 60 min stop in Hong Kong, which is just enough time to go through security, be patted down/felt up by stern men in white gloves, buy a small $5 water and contract avian flu.

Finally touched down in Heathrow, to find some idiot took my bag by mistake. That bag is cursed. It was delivered to my house later that evening with a complimentary box of choccies, so all is well now.

Off to Hamble this weekend with Ry and folks. First Portsmouth for the anniversary of Battle of Trafalgar. Should be loads of Nelson memorabilia etc. BYO eyepatch. Britain is proud of its military victories and colonising slaughters.

Then its Hamble, a big house with 8 people drinking, eating, playing games, getting messy. Sounds fun, but I'm expecting everyone to turn into swines and monsters. Last time one of the girls got so messed up she started f*cking some random guy right next to her boyfriend, just to piss him off. Ugly scene. Must prepare myslef for full teenage dramas and upsets like I'm going into battle, and it's all because of their little friend Charlie the c*nt (otherwise known as Kate Moss' marching powder). Why is he at every gathering?

HST: "Morality is temporary, wisdom is permanent ."

Other news of the week - I'm being pitched for a job at the UK offices of IDG - my old employer - as online editor of a consumer mag. So totally opposite my skills as print editor of a business mag. Should be interesting... Excellent money though. Yummy.

HST: "I have spent half my life trying to get away from journalism, but I am still mired in it - a low trade and a habit worse than heroin, a strange seedy world full of misfits and drunkards and failures."

Everywhere is order laced with uncertainty

I read this sentence last night. A letter from mum. G pointed out the clever use of the word 'laced' as in threaded, but also poisoned. When she does have her head together, she is so brilliant.

Have been thinking about the meeting with the ex. The night started off nostalgic, like the official post-break up talk, yet it felt like the beginning of a romance, not the end. Told G that I saw him because I wanted to be honest, but spared the details because I wanted to be fair to the ex too. That night belongs to us.

I still care about him a lot. The only consolation is that there was nothing wrong with me. He was scared. If I came back to Sydney, it wouldn't change anything. He'd still be scared.

Holiday bittersweet

been unable to blog while away, and I'm still sorting through the holiday in my head.

Best friend got hitched - Can't imagine standing in a room full of family and friends and declaring my love and lifelong commitment to someone. It's harder than it seems. Once I was the romantic and she was the single cynic, but now our positions are reversed.

Caught up with ex - It was a strange night. Started off nostalgic and positive, and ended with an ironic glimer of hope that if I'd turned my head an inch to the right, something could have happened. I walked away. Not sure what it means and not going to hang around for him to figure it out. We still love each other in some way, I suppose. But not enough for me to make myself vulnerable again. I don't need to be thinking that if I stayed in Sydney, things would be any different. He's still fooling around with other girls and getting new experiences. Maybe the thought that I'm not available gave him a moment of regret, but if I was on the menu, he'd lose his appetite. I don't know. The communication wall slammed down after that incident.

A few days with mum - made me want to get straight on the plane to London and never come back. Ex used to say goths are angry with their fathers. I was angry with both parents. Mum for reversing our relationship so I had to be the adult, and dad for not being there to help. And also angry with myself for not having the strength to help her, and not being patient enough to understand her depression. I'd pour all the energy I had in, and nothing would show for it. She was a void, and I failed my studies while I tried to change this. After only a few hours back together and I'd slipped into the same old role of counsellor and pillar. She asked me if I ever get angry. If she truly knew me, she would know that I'm always angry, I've always neen angry. I can't show her that side because it makes things worse, makes her sick. Instead I let it fester. Healthy.

Good times with dad - We connected. It gets better every year. But why is he trying to get me into Amway?

Friends new romance - Two friends are engaged, and a few others are attached. Nice to see my friends happy and in love. I'm only a little bit jealous.

George - While I was in Oz, we talked about giving it another go and he met me on my first day back. The tears flowed in front of him for the first time. Firstly the relief of being back in London, and the guilt for feeling relieved to escape mum, the ex, the politics of my country, and all the feelings that home stirs up. Secondly jet lag. Thirdly a flippant comment he made about us that I misinterpreted which made me realise that he does have the power to hurt me, so therefore I must care about him. I think ice maiden is melting and he may, with the right equipment, pry his way into my heart eventually. If I hang around long enough and get past my hang ups on relationships/ the ex.

South America - still calling.

All I want is a job that I love and that makes me feel like I'm making a contribution to the world, enough money to be comfortable and buy my own place, and a partner that wants to have adventures and see the world. Hmmm, time for a new action plan.