The windy City

Nah, it's not Chicago - rather the Cosmopolitan delight that is Sydney. It came up in conversation recently, how much windier than Sydney can Chicago actually be? It's crazy...

That time again. This time, no beer in hand, and certainly no smell of a Chicken & Turkey pasta simmering on one of the four tiny stoves, in our strangely-lit kitchen. Now? I write equipped with the brain of a hungover bartender, who last night discovered the affects of RSA - Responsible Service of Alcohol for my foreign friends - and how it is applied.

Fireball shots, cans of Coors - fucking Coors, seriously Jamie? Some Lemon & Lime vodka cans, a game of buffalo, various bad photos, and...Menthol Cigarettes? That's how you know it's time to cut me off, and send me home. Don't worry how much I bitch and moan, call the uber, send your PayID and get me outta there. If all else fails, Delta Force - so I've heard - operate a pretty good extraction, let them know where the boat is sailing and get me outta there. Cigarettes. Fucking vile things.

Sorry to offer two completely different ways of opening, you expected me to rant about weather, didn't you? Fair assumption. The title, the opener, and well, the fact I'm English? I'll moan a little bit, soddened air force shoes have made my week, in part, a living hell. But it is interesting how the weather shapes our moods, and our clothes-washing schedule...

WTF happened to summer?

Not a rant, somewhat a musing? Australia - it's fucking hot. It's sunny. Recently, the humidity has about crippled me, but thankfully a good friend stepped in, and let me borrow their fan. They just had a small air-conditioning unit installed. Best thing ever, I'd do the same, but I leave in 8 weeks - and $600? Well, there's a few Carlton Draughts, a couple new button-up shirts and a weekend or two away calling my name, a worthy way to invest, I reckon.

I'm not doing a great job of painting the picture of just how un-summery it has been. I mean sure, summer is technically over now, but my god, the rain. Never seen anything like it. My old stomping ground of Lidcombe, 30-40 minutes from the CBD, was smashed. 100ml of rain in just a couple hours.

There I was though, standing behind the small, entrance bar - or as we call it 'Palm bar' - at work. Me and my colleague, warm, dry, sort of enjoying the spectacle that became the bar flooding, and people running in, declaring: "not having a fucking schooner now mate, pour me a pint!" That vibe shift from 'let's be sensible,' to 'fuck it, we're here for the night now,' is hilarious. Gives me great satisfaction. Maybe I shouldn't have found humour in the saturation of the customers, bless them, as soon enough, 7pm came by, the shift ended and I was hounded out. The staff room had one, broken umbrella leftover after the place was cleared out, and soon I would venture home. Unfortunately Uber doesn't offer a Noah's Arc service, or else my shoes would've been dry all weekend, rather than only just drying as I'm writing this. Laughing, even if just in my head, at others getting caught in the pissing rain really jinxed me, didn't it. The price was paid.

You know, I just thought Jeff Buckley was to the adoration, borderline worship, of slightly unhinged, single individuals who like posting edgy instagram stories. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe his music is actually elite - maybe "lover, you should've come over," is actually a masterpiece that I avoided because of the connotations, and assumed-context. Stood under a tree, my beautiful, poor Adidas samba's, now understandably out of their prime, destroyed. Covered in mud, filled with rain, and my socks simply a drowned passenger. There was no Jack & Rose on this sinking/sunk ship, rather ten soddened, stinking toes and the already-ruined feet of a football player. The rain really lashed down. Walking into my house was relieving, until the clothes came off and it would appear as though a cloud stormed in my own room. Water inside the walk-in area, bedroom covered, wet belongings sat sad outside of my room. That shower, blissfully warm water, took around 20 minutes - to top it off, the finest Rolling stones had to offer. Albeit temporary, I had no idea how I'd get through work with no shoes the next day, or for the foreseeable, but I was now somewhat happy.

The shoes are now dry, on Monday, so from Thursday-Saturday, my broken air forces took the reigns. Holes in them made them wet in an instant, and before you know it, I was back to square one. Tuesday, pay-day, finally a new pair of white shoes. They will be under secret service protection; I can't witness, or experience again the passing of another beautiful set of shoes.

I don't buy shoes often, fuck me they are expensive, but I treat them well. This past week though, I should be at the Hague for how they've been treated. I'm ashamed. Lol.

There's my english rant about the weather; lord, please bring me sun, including on my days off - cheers!

Mardi Gras, a first

Mardi Gras is THE thing in Sydney. A celebration of proud people, of all affiliations, walks of life, etc. Very much an expressive experience; something the British mind has never really comprehended, yet to those born here, especially in Sydney, it is one of the most hectic dates in the calendar. Parties from Morning till the following week, copious amounts of alcohol and drugs, huge parades, vast crowds - it must be said, probably the craziest day I've seen in my life, bare in mind just in Sydney. The best part? I I live on one of the streets for the parade; a mental experience, quite shocked I managed to get any sleep.

As I have done a lot this week, I finished at 7pm - feet, again, soddened cheers to the broken Nikes (I won't go there again, but just saying). A quick chat, plans made for the weekends doings - Mardi Gras and Sunday's staff boat party - before rushing home. After moving through the endless crowds of people, I reach my door. Tired, warm, wet, and sort of overwhelmed. Something felt off all day, tiredness from the day before probably - didn't sleep much thanks to a late shift at work. But a shower, I thought, would fix it. In reality what I needed was a phone call from Dan, and a self pep-talk. 

Pep-talk's are crucial. Not know what they are? A sort of one-on-one chat, or more, which is made to discuss something, motivate a cause, or something of that manner. Every now and again, I need one. I recall a huge night where I almost left a club because of a girl - immaturity - Declan sorted me out right away. He didn't slap me, but his words had the same affect. Well, we had a great night, and I'll keep the rest off this blog. Let's just say the situation flipped on it's head, and I was grinning heavily for the next few weeks. All of that because Declan, in essence, told me to 'sort my shit out,' and grow up, Be a man. We all need mates like that; it taught me a key skill I now needed to excel at, and that's pep-talks. This time, giving them, and receiving them, by myself.

The next trip 

Byron Bay is once again on the horizon, and in some respects, I had to give myself a bit of a pep-talk for this. One of my best qualities, in my view, is my ability to forgive - not forget - but understand we are all doing this life for the first time. We make mistakes. And sometimes forgiveness is not done for your own sake, but for someone else's. You may remember 'Bec', a former friend of my Mum, who made life, lets say difficult, when living in Byron Bay with her. Her mindset and attitude towards me changed so quickly, it freaked me out. I was shocked at some of the things she said about me, deeply hurtful, incredibly personal, things I'd never say about someone - especially when they are false.

Despite this, on Saturday morning, I decided it was time to reach out. I'm reflective. I had a huge bottle of G.H. MUMM Champagne in the fridge, a head full of regret from the night before, and some energy in the tank ready for this staff party. When I'm hungover, and I'll admit, I was slightly, I'm even more reflective and just had a thought - what if I reached out?

In the eyes of my family, and deep in me, I know Bec doesn't deserve me to reach out. Honestly I firmly believe it. But, I'm not in the grudge business; my grandma, and her mother, have been friends since what, the 70's, perhaps? Five decades of friendship. For their sake, I want to make some sort of peace. This is what I mean when I talk about forgiveness for someone else. In aid of something else. Bec's two boys, bless them, she claims hate me. That hurts deeply. If anything, I'd like to be able to showcase what maturity looks like by speaking with her in person, clearing things up - not to demonstrate to her boys that she was immature, because that is not the message I'm sending, but rather that even arguments that run as deep as ours, and despite some very public disagreements, we can draw a line and make peace for the sake of people we love. That's a lesson I've learned many times, and they would hopefully learn in this process.

This trip to Byron will be me, and one of my closest friends, having the best time we can. Four days, a big road trip, a nice little AirBnB, good music, seeing old friends, and just remembering the place that kickstarted my love for Australia. Through all the bitterness I experienced there, it still holds that special place in my heart. So much solo-thought. A lot of challenges. All in one place. To walk across New Brighton beach one last time, feel the pain of the small, bastard rocks on my feet as I walk bare on the road again. That awfully gorgeous breeze on my face as the sun goes down, crouched down on that toppled tree. To have that again, even if it just one more time, would bring me a lot of clarity.

I sent the text on Saturday morning, as of Tuesday there has been no reply. It brings me no satisfaction, and in all honesty I'm not looking to be the bigger person, I just hope a line can be drawn, and we can move on with our lives. 

That trip is going to be so fun, and it would mean a lot to in some way resolve this problem, lay it to rest, and see out the amazing place that holds so many memories.

The importance of enjoying things you don't understand

On a different note, enjoying things you maybe don't understand. Is it something you do much? Do you properly engage yourself in others passions? Do you recognise a 'message'?

When I was maybe 15, I had no idea why anyone would enjoy a coffee. This bitter, often unpleasant looking drink served in a huge, sometimes stained cup, drank by people who seemingly just needed energy. As soon as I sat, had a taste, and shared a moment, I realised what it was all about. Now it is one of my favourite beverages, and the moment that comes with it, even better.

I never understood E-Sports, it's still not really my thing, but that night in Berlin with Declan where he dragged me along to watch League, his favourite team G2, and just indulge in that little sub-culture of gamers, in that atmosphere, was awesome. To this day, I see him play it, and my interest peaks more than it used to. All about trying new things,

This topic made me think back to the moment I landed. Forest shirt, drenched in sweat, possibly the most horrid bus journey between terminals in Sydney, I was so sweaty it was disgusting, before a flight to the Gold Coast. Late night pickup, Fish curry, boom, out cold. When I woke up, what didn't I enjoy, or maybe relish a bit more, that I do now?

Well firstly, things I already sort of understood, I grew to really understand, and as a result enjoy more. Football, coaching specifically. Music - it isn't just a rhythm, it's a feeling, an emotion, an understanding. Food, it is not just a recipe, it's what you make it - the music you shake your backside to as you cook, the way you cut and pretend your some sort of backstreet Marco Pierre White, or the fact you can't keep licking the bowl. All that, it is about understanding further through enjoyment. Trying it out. The knowledge comes when you do it more.

I never understood Heavy Metal music, but I came to enjoy it - as a result, I came to understand why it is what it is. That sentiment is what Australia taught me. More so, I've come to love things I took for granted at home, even working in hospitality. The bonds we make, the things we go through, together, and have the fun we do. We become a family. I wasn't grateful enough, now I can say it saved my trip, and offered me a new outlook. Anthony Bourdain has a lot to take credit for there - Kitchen Confidential opened my eyes even more.

There's another one: reading. I'm not a huge reader. Was as a kid, at the time obsessed with facts books, couldn't really consume a novel. Boring and not real most of the time. Since being here though, reading once again has come to my interest - now with a different view. I'm an adult, hearing stories, moments, journeys, I need that.

Maybe we should all try things we don't fully 'get'. Maybe we will enjoy it. Isn't that discover what we love, who we love, and WHY we love?

Oh, and on music, I've always been asked: "what's your favourite song?" The answer is 'Wish you were here, Pink Floyd' - on Friday, I had the iconic handshake between the man and the burning man tattooed on my arm. Hell yeah.

This weeks takeaways

To be honest, a lot of what I took away from this week was just about how important it is to make your own fun, your own moments, and don't be scared to 'go it alone.' This whole trip, I came out alone, and eventually it was just me here - I'm having the most fun I've had. I call the shots, and don't second guess myself half as much as I used to. As soon as I said to myself that my trip was about me, not others, and if I wanted to do something I'd go and do it, the better it has been.

Sometimes that means going to work on 3 hours of sleep, and while it is crap to do so, if you make some memories, fuck it. Sometimes it means being a bit broke coming into pay day, fuck it. Sometimes it means you've done wayyyyy too much and are knackered, fuck it. I'm just doing more - like I said right when this blog began. Think less, do more, that's the motto.

Another big one is that, time moves so quick. It's been an ongoing theme for this blog, this has been going for months now, and honestly, it is crazy how time has gone by. My time in the Gold Coast/Byron has now been surpassed by my time in Sydney. How crazy that feels. Feels like only yesterday I was walking along Main Beach in Byron Bay for the last time, coffee in hand, but not daring to go and swim - the sharks in Byron don't tend to mess around. Rather than worry about time going fast, I suppose I just have to work with it; not necessarily move faster myself, but actually slow things down, appreciate things more, and just enjoy what time is left.

You know what, writing this blog every week, it is like the Cherry on the cake for me. A journal, somewhat. Something to express myself on, be honest with me, and you, just come to terms with how the week has been. I appreciate you reading this so much; the next two months are going to be crazy, and I cannot wait to share them with you.

Have a fantastic week,

Jamie x