"Ticket for one please"

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Ask yourself this – would you go to the cinema alone?

I faced this ‘first world problem’ recently. I’d decided I wanted to see this film, but didn’t have anyone to go with. Toying with the idea of going alone and unsure if it was still a faux pas, I broached the subject with friends. Their response was clear – I had lost the plot. Even my own mother shunned me. In their eyes going to the cinema alone on any night of the week, especially a Saturday, was a social norm violation. To heck with them I thought, YOLO right?

I still can’t understand why it’s such a big taboo, so I did what all normal people do when in the midst of a personal crisis – I ‘googled’ it. And as I found in a very interesting forum, you aren’t there to socialise or to have conversations with the person next to you. You’re there to simply watch the film. And last time I checked you didn’t need another person there for that, unless of course you’re visually impaired – which I’m not. Sure, when the film finishes you can compare notes and quote funny lines (in this instance the film was in French so that would have been difficult, but not impossible), but if I was feeling the need to talk about it I could just call someone and chew their ear off about how great it was.  

As the afternoon wore on I started to feel slightly exhilarated at the thought of going alone and in my eyes ‘championing social change’ (sounding slightly deluded as I look back now). I remembered I had gone to the cinema alone once before. I was 12, a touch overweight due to a love affair with Chicken Treat and not at the height of my popularity. Two girls from my grade happened to be there and sat behind me. They still tease me about it today. The movie was called Serendipity and I can see now why no one wanted to part with $10 and lose 90 minutes of his or her day watching it. Regardless, I thought to myself if a 12 year old can confidently go to the movies alone, my 22 year-old self could do the same.

Except I didn’t. While wrapping up some premiums I had lobbed some peanut butter in (I refuse to pay the astronomical prices at the candy bar) I received a phone call from a friend who decided at the 11^th hour that he liked the look of the trailer and would just download it. It turned out to be the best film I had seen all year, and this was the general consensus amongst the other three people whom I watched it with. I can’t help but wonder if I would have enjoyed it as much had I gone alone though.

I went to a music festival this year by myself and I will admit it was a strange. If I ran in to anyone I planned on telling them I had lost the people I had gone with… lost them at the gate.

I guess I’ll just have to wait for the Serendipity sequel before I go the cinema alone again. Hopefully by then it wont be such a trivial decision. I live in hope.

Bike riding basics

This week's (or should I say month’s) food for thought – does bike riding destroy your body and state of mind, or is it just mine?

Having been faced with the unfathomable prospect of enduring public transport for five days a week over the summer, I decided to take up cycling. Or to sound less like a portentous prick - riding my bike to work. For what started as an onerous task, has now become an enjoyable one. However, three months on and still lacking the ability to aerate a tyre, or god forbid replace it, I’ve come to the realisation there is more that meets the eye to those waxed legged, lycra clad, padded pant wearing individuals, who carry an impressive 10 speed gear change at their disposal.

My newfound appreciation for ‘cycling’ has made me understand the other side of driver tension and to echo the words of Police Commissioner Karl O’Callaghan, Australian drivers generally have a low consideration for other road users. Three months ago my ignorance would have made me unequivocally dispute this comment. I was one of those aggravated motorists feeling inconvenienced by having to slow down for cyclists. Often wondering why they couldn’t just do us ‘all’ a favour and ride on the footpath. But 10 minutes in to my first ride I quickly learnt bikes are not as safe as cars and sharing both the road and footpath with other users requires a considerable amount of concentration and a bike that is up to the task. Here lies my first mistake.

Rather than purchasing a new bike the amateur in me was blind sighted by aesthetic appeal; opting for an older style bike. While it undeniably has a certain retro look about it, given the advancement in bicycle specifications in the 40 years since it left the assembly line, it lacks the common modern day features you come to expect, such as suspension and a seat appropriate for someone with a derriere over the age of five. Riding it is certainly no pleasurable activity. Every crack, rock, stick, change in road surface can be felt as I straddle the handlebars with every inch of my life.

To put it ‘loosely’ there has been a few teething issues. The first being when the chain came off after an emergency braking situation. In an attempt to put it back on it I somehow ended up removing the back wheel and then having to call my housemate to pick me up. Back to the workshop it went. Following this you would think would anything else would be fairly nominal. However, at this point I was still struggling with how to get the air out of my specky pumping apparatus. Fed up with fellow cyclists telling me ‘mate your tyres are looking a little flat’ I decided to call in to a cycle shop and borrow their pump. Only problem is I wasn’t aware of how much air to put in and this led me to blowing the tyre tube up. It certainly raised some eyebrows from the staff who came rushing out and any bystanders in a 50-metre radius who were looking around to see if a drive by shooting had taken place. Mentally destroyed by this point in time I walked the bike home (with my helmet on – safety first) and attempted to change it myself – a cost effective measure. As you’d expect, a simple tube change turned into a four hour ordeal, leading me to find myself at my third cycle shop where I was greeted with the response ‘mate how the f*ck did you manage that?’. Unbeknown to me, my handy work cost me a new chain, tyre tube and shifter. There has since been another flat tyre and a visit to my fourth cycle shop.

While I admit the experience has been financially, mentally and physically draining, I am yet to be deterred. I can, however, assure you that I won’t be competing in any up coming triathlons or next years Tour de France. It’s all yours Cadel – respect bro! For the moment I’ll just stick with my 8km ride, praying I don’t have another flat and end up at what will now be my fifth cycle shop.

Bye for now,

Cuttsy

Can I bust a dart off you?

This week’s food for thought… is smoking ramping back up?

Ask yourself this - do you bust the old durry just to be social?

As I sit hunched over the keyboard in my usual Sunday hung over state, I’m toying with uncertainty on whether to have Chicken Treat for the second time today. But one thing I do know is that the last thing I feel like is a cigarette. Ironically, just 20 hours ago I was sitting outside a club on a kerb ‘busting a durry’.  I admit, YES it’s a filthy habit and I loathe smoking, however, after a few beverages I’m impartial to the cheeky dart. Aren’t we all?

While my judgment might be slightly skewed given my slightly intoxicated state, I can’t help but wonder if smoking is on the rise. Has it become cool to smoke again? Is there a recent apparent increase in young adult smoking? Or do we just find our selves lighting up to be social. 

Given any day of the week you’d never catch me at the smokes counter in Coles buying a carton of Winnie blues, but chances are come Saturday night there is a high possibility you could find me chasing a cheeky smoke off a random and then troubling them for a light. Until today, I was fairly resigned to the fact that smoking had become a big taboo in our society, given it has all been but eradicated from enclosed spaces. Smokers have now been driven outside and sort of outcast in a way. But it seems as the weekend swings around that's all but forgotten and it becomes a social ritual. I went to gig recently and I spent the majority of the time outside in the courtyard talking with strangers. Cigarette in in one hand, drink in the other, bonding over a silent killer. At one point it seemed there were more people outside than what there were inside. I think I listened to about one song and my memory of that is very hazy.

Maybe there are two kinds of smokers after all. There are those who have an addiction to nicotine and then there’s a new breed that light up to be social and don’t particularly take anything from inhaling and filling up their lungs with smoke. 

Is social smoking just a fad or is it here to stay? Maybe I will need to stop off at that smokes counter after all and invest in my own pack and lighter if that’s the case.

Bye for now – I’m off to get that half chicken and chips after all.

Cuttsy

I'm now twenty one

This week's (well I should say month as I have been very slack) food for thought.... the big twenty one!

I hit twenty one on the odometer a few weeks back, finally clocking the big number. Officially leaving my adolescent youth behind, I am now in the threshold of adulthood. As I awoke to a string of good wishes, I remember thinking three things: how old I had become, where had the time gone and how little I had accomplished. In the depths of my morning depression I sought salvation in the internet - like you do – to solve my quandary and was quickly reassured by an appealing article in Time US claiming “ahead lays a straight track, open air, solid ground and your own work – a life.” Let’s just go with that!

Still, as motivating as that article intended to be, I couldn’t help but think about how quickly this year had gone. I remember making the remark to a friend in February how this year would be filled with weekends spent celebrating 21^st birthdays and not even giving my own a second thought (being a November child).  But before I knew it, the day was steadily approaching. Facing the dilemma of whether to have a party or put the money towards an overseas trip, it dawned on me that I would only be given this opportunity once, so I might as well make it a memorable one. It’s just a shame I got so recklessly intoxicated and the latter part of the evening is all but obliterated from my memory. All I really had to show for it the next morning was a nauseous hang over and a lost iPhone and wallet. While the sceptics out there (the whole four people who subscribe to this blog) might deem it a complete waste of money, looking back I am glad I decided to have the party. Apart from some late night deplorable antics, the night itself is something I will look back on with the fondest memories. I can’t think of a better way than to spend an evening with 40+ people that have been such a huge part of this 21 year journey and it was great to hear the speeches from close mates that paid out a few complements, touched on some funny memories (some I would like to forget) and triggered some laughs from the crowd - even if they were at my own expensive.

So as I sit here writing this as a twenty one year old, I can’t help but wonder what I’ve learnt so far. This is what I came up with so far:

• A childhood fascination with vacuum cleaners is strange (get your minds out of the gutters);
• Strategically lining your toys up might lead people to think you have autism;
• Blue Heelers wasn't the same after Maggie died;
• A diet of chicken and chips is not a healthy one;
• 14,000 feet when jumping out of an aeroplane is extremely high;
• Surviving 24 hrs in a middle eastern airport can be done;
• Downing 35 shots will leave your body in a comatised state;
• The neighbourhood doesn’t quite share the same appreciation for midweek drinking and the uni life as you do;
• Games that involve getting naked should not be played in people’s kitchens;
• Late night drives to maccas when heavily intoxicated will more than likely involve you spending time at a police station;
• Wearing band aids on your nipples and then go swimming is not socially acceptable behaviour;
• Accepting the fact you will not be a sports visionary;
• One shouldn’t jump through a skipping rope engulfed in flames when you’re uncoordinated and intoxicated;
• Susan Boyle is one of the worlds rare finds;
• Crocs are not a popular shoe choice; and
• Hangovers are incurable - deal with it!

While most people tend to be jumping ship and getting married and having babies at this age, I think it might be time to pull the passport out again, tie my shoes and pack my bag and see what next adventure awaits me. That or I should probably get back to work.

Here’s to the next 21 years!

Bye for now,

Cuttsy

Are you for Siri?

This week’s food for thought… my new friend Siri

A combination of drunken antics and a growing sense of animosity toward pre paid phones led me to make a new friend this week. Her name is Siri…just to clarify it’s not Tom Cruise’s daughter as I saw someone on Facebook mistake her for, that poor bitch’s name is Suri.

According to the ‘techsperts’ Siri is “the voice-activated ‘personal assistant’ that is a talkative tool that helps schedule appointments, send and receive messages and perform any number of other routine tasks.”

 

Initially I was fairly blasé toward the idea of this ‘sci-fi dream of a computer that talks back in a robotic female voice’, but it wasn’t long until I quickly found myself quizzing Siri on the meaning of life, asking for information on the weather – even informing me whether or not I needed a rain coat, enquiring how many calories can be found in an apple and the rounding out with a joke she threw in about 2 iphones. I then found myself hurling abuse at her just to see if I could make her crack; I couldn’t. 

In my quest to find out what else Siri has to say, I stumbled across a Tumblr blog called, ‘Shit that Siri Says’ on which people post their odd question-and-answer exchanges with the app. Among some of its more creative entries:

While Siri can be snide and is unable to tell me the meaning of life (who can really?), she can sure help me with other routine mundane tasks and given time I think she will one day hold the ultimate answer (and in my opinion the meaning of life) – how do you cure a hang over?

Until such a time, I think we will leave it there for tonight. Hang on I'll just check with Siri...

Bye for now,

Cuttsy

Joggers nipple

This week’s food for thought… lactating nipples

My chafing is such a bitch, it’s like someone razored me in my boobies”

-       Sean Tolkey, The Big C

I had to laugh when watching an episode of the Big C last night when Sean’s attempt to run a half marathon was cut short because of some excruciating fabric friction in the nipple area. I felt like saying, don’t worry Sean you are not alone.

 Last week I found myself asking a mates girlfriend a question I never thought I would find myself asking, and given the look on her face, probably one she never thought she would have to answer. ‘Can I borrow some paw paw cream, my nipples are so dry’? Thankfully she was very obliging.

Where’s he going with this you might be thinking. Well, amongst a myriad of strange bodily problems that I seem to be plagued with, joggers nipple is another one (in other words bleeding nipples). Just to clarify, they aren’t dripping away at all hours of the day, only when I go running. I first learnt I was suffering from this condition  (as I’m now calling it) when I went for my first 10km run. I came bounding through the door expecting a round of congratulations from housemate at the time, only for her to ask me why my white singlet had two large brown stains in the nipple area, looking as though someone had thrown choc milk at me. I kind of wish they had.

In an attempt to rid myself of this problem I decided when holiday in Thailand some time soon after, I would put band-aids over them to avoid this embarrassing moment from reoccurring. Problem solved I said to myself. Only I forgot I had put them on and after finishing a run in the hotel gym I thought to myself, what better way to cool off than a dip in the swimming pool. Off goes the shirt and as I enter the water I can’t help but notice some strange looks from fellow hotel guests. Probably just admiring my freestyle stroke I thought. Thinking nothing of it I exit the water, towel adorned around my neck, shirt still off and I make my way through the hotel back to my room. Its only when I entered the bathroom that I realized that I hadn’t taken the band-aids off when swimming and it suddenly dawned on me that they weren’t in awe of my bilateral breathing abilities, instead thinking why on earth does this idiot have two band-aids in the shape of a cross on each of his nipples. I’m surprised I didn’t go in to cardiac arrest as I ripped them and shrieked in horror.

Do you suffer from jogger’s nipple? Or am I the only one, along with breast-feeding mothers. So if you do see me running, don’t be alarmed, I haven’t been slashed across the chest. Or on an evening out if you find me rummaging through your drawers or looking very attentively in your bag, I’m not stealing, simply trying to catch a glimpse of that magic red cream and hoping for a bit of relief.

Bye for now,

Cuttsy

I'm in London still

This weeks food for thought… one year on

It is a bittersweet feeling to know one year ago I had spent my first night at the University of Hertforshire, in a single bed adorned with sheets made out of industrial sandpaper and a mattress that contoured with the shape of my body. With jet lag neatly in tow, I vividly recall its side effects and the urge I felt to slip in to my skins and go for a run at 5am to explore the town site that would become my home for the next 6 months. After acquainting myself with the likes of ASDA and the Galleria, the realisation dawned on me that Hatfield wasn’t exactly the heartbeat of the motherland, nor was it the new ‘London’ as splashed about on a number of billboards.

Looking back those first few days were a combination of utter excitement and sheer terror. For some unapparent reason it hadn’t really dawned on me just how far I had removed myself from the familiar.  I’d been so preoccupied in the weeks leading up to leaving Oz that I hadn’t really considered the scale of condensing my life in to 24 kilograms of luggage and moving half way across the world where I did not know a single sole. I was definitely wading in unfamiliar waters. Facing the very real prospect of spending the next six months of my life without any friends I remember saying to myself as I wandered over to my first international students seminar “have you just made the biggest mistake of your life?” Ironically enough it was here and over the course of the week that followed where I would meet the people I would spend every day with for the next six months. Many of who became very close friends, and still are. What an adventure we shared! My only regret is that we didn't stay longer.

For anyone considering the prospect of exchange, I couldn’t urge you enough. It really was a life-changing experience, from learning a new culture, to making new friends from diverse ethnic and national backgrounds. In the end you gain a better appreciation of other cultures, as well as your own.

So here’s to England - what an escapade!

Bye for now

Cuttsy

Switching off from social networking

This weeks food for thought – could you switch off from Facebook?

We've truly reached a new level of technological time wasting, and it's called Facebook. I often wonder if our fascination with this social networking phenomenon is doing more harm than good. Is Facebook a social utility that helps us to communicate more efficiently with family and friends, or just a big fat time waster? 

Without doubt Facebook has become part of my habitual routine. It seems to be set up to try and draw you in and spend as much time on it as possible. Too often I find myself steering away from uni work and setting aside a break period so I can login and read the latest edition of status updates, wall posts and cringe at unflattering photos I’ve been tagged in. The problem is I become so absorbed that my 15-minute breaks turn in to an hour.

I’d hate to think how much time I have spent on Facebook over the years. I will admit I am a fairly avid user. While I won’t give up social opportunities to use Facebook, I will sometimes pull the iphone out on an evening out and have a quick squizzie. We’re really no different to drug users – its an addiction what ever way you look at it. Too often we are scampering around looking for an internet connection so we can get our next hit.

The reality of my addiction surfaced months ago when a mate of mine told me I spent too much time on there. He quizzed me on the profile pictures and recent status updates of a handbook of people. All of which I answered correctly. But does this make me a better friend? Or just someone that has perused their wall a little too much?

This friend deactivated his account last week. He’s been raving about how much more productive he has become without the thought of Facebook in the back of his mind ever since. While I congratulate his efforts of breaking the habit, I don’t know if I could be out of the loop. It’s this realisation that scares me a little. Why am I so dependent on something that prior to late 2008 I never used? I managed to hold a vast array of full functional friendships, where communication followed fairly freely without a wall, status updates and tagged photos.

But its not all grim, if you too can’t possibly fathom the idea of switching off, I read an interesting article today which provides some handy tips to avoid wasting too much time on ‘the book’. Take note of the following:

1)   Ignore the requests

2)   Stop the constant emails

3)   Avoid games and third party applications

4)   Go offline chat

Or if none of the above works, just quit Facebook all together. I hear Google+ is the new next big thing. Who needs 500 million friends anyway?

Bye for now, 

Cuttsy

R.I.P iPhone

This week’s food for thought – obsessive iPhone love.

In a ‘slightly’ intoxicated state last night my iPhone took a dive into a puddle of water. In a more sober condition this morning, I’ve learnt apple products are not waterproof and the seriousness of the situation is starting to dawn on me. Daunted at the prospect of having to part with it, even the idea of having to return to a normal phone is a frightening indication of just how reliant I am on it. But it got me thinking, I survived the first 19 years of my life without one and so did the rest of civilisation, surely life would go on in without it… wouldn’t it?

A recent study showed that iPhone users would give up their toothbrushes before their devices! What does that mean? Either iPhone users care less about personal hygiene or they really love their iPhone. I have a feeling it’s the latter. Ironically, I was having this discussion with a friend yesterday, whose iPhone has become an extension of his right arm. I quizzed him on the prospect of giving it up and he shot me a look like I’d just asked him for a vital organ. He told me if would be impractical to part ways with it.

He made a valid point. Without running the risk of sounding like a hypocrite, the iPhone has saved me on a number of occasions. I was in Freedom recently and needed to transfer more money on to my credit card. So I just whipped out the iPhone right there at the counter and in a matter of moments it was done and the transaction was processed. It also made travelling in Europe a breeze.

But is it a vital necessity?

While YES it has made everyday life a little easier in some regards, I question whether we really need access to facebook at the touch of a finger swipe? Or the ability to send drunk hey tell messages? Or access to internet banking so we can transfer funds when we need another 10 drinks and a little extra for a kebab and taxi ride home?  And access to maps, have we forgotten about a little thing called a UBD?

Are you in love with your iPhone? Do you think you could sustain a normal life without one? If I’m being honest, I don’t know if I can.

Bye for now.

Cuttsy

Poor

This week’s food for thought… dwindling finances

$30.33 – my current bank balance. I think to myself, surely the NAB has made a mistake. But as I scan through an 8-page account summary documenting my spending, I soon see an arising pattern. The reoccurrence of Liquor Barons Carlisle, Swan Taxi’s and Mc Donalds East Victoria Park provide some indication of why I don’t have a brass razoo in both my wallet and bank account. I’ve reached an all time low, having had more savings when I endured child labour as a budding 15-year junior at Eagle Boys.

With the deposits being largely outweighed by the withdrawals, I ask myself – what do you actually have to show for my $30 and 33 cents? Apart from a delicious hang over that derails my day and text messages detailing my deplorable antics from the previous night, absolutely nothing!

Even worse is that every time I pick up the phone and call my folks, I seem to be using the opening liner “I need a favour”, this is followed by a long awkward silence, coupled with a cringe worthy response of “what would that be?". I can almost hear it in their voices – “oh he needs money again”. Their fed up with this ongoing tirade of I need $400 to go skydiving, or I need money for the weekend so I can go on a wine tour in Margaret River.

Given that I cannot possibly fathom surviving on such a meagre amount, I think this is an indication that I should try and curb my spending and stay clear of your Swan Taxi’s, Mc Donalds East Victoria Park and Liquor Barons Carlise… that or at least try First Choice.

So if you see me lining up for a free sausage sizzle at Curtin, or siphoning fuel in a car park, don’t be alarmed, I’m simply trying to save a few dollars here and there and put my remaining $30.33 to good use.

So this is student living…

Bye for now

Cuttsy

Pricey ole Perth!

This week’s food for thought… is Perth becoming too expensive?

It came as no surprise to me that Perth was recently found to be the 13^th most expensive city in the world to live in. Making it 25 percent dearer than New York.

Our inflated food and drink prices led to a fairly unflattering review by the travel guide bible, Lonely Planet. Critiqued as having an overpriced dining culture and a cashed up bogan night life, the guide stated that where many of Australia’s other state capitals might have a handful of top restaurants charging over $40 for a main, in Perth those prices are fast becoming a norm for any establishment that considers itself above average.

I’d argue this is fairly accurate. While I am all for paying that little bit extra for a swanky dining experience, I’d hardly call the prices at a place like Siennas – which has an indoor childrens playground - reasonable.

What is also becoming increasingly prevalent is the reliance and use of the word 'gourmet'. Café/Restaurant owners seem to be under some delirious notion that by placing this adjective in front of their menu items, it warrants them to charge through the roof. This is a common occurrence amongst the sudden surge in burger cafes that are springing up around the city. I was slogged 48 dollars for two burgers, chips (about eight of them) and two waters when I had lunch with my sister the other day.   

Enjoying a reasonably priced meal in the UK

It is almost ironic that last year when I told people I was moving to the motherland (England), they lectured me on just how expensive it would be. When in actual fact it was the complete opposite. I would often walk the aisles of the supermarket in awe of just how cheap alcohol was. Eighteen pounds for a one-litre bottle of vokda for crying out loud! That equates to roughly $27. I have fond memories of one-pound shots and paying twenty Euros ($26) for four redbull vodkas in Amsterdam.  Needless to say I endured a period of readjustment when I returned to Australia and quickly realised that I couldn’t afford to drink like I had while I was away. One night in particular springs to mind, where I spent $387 dollars in a period of about four hours in Subiaco. My bank statement read very impressively the next day. Note to self: don’t shout shots!

It comes as no great mystery as to why so many Australian’s are flocking in droves overseas; considering it’s cheaper to fly to Bali than within the state. This rising cost is obviously a drawback for Australian tourism. And given the cost of alcohol in this country, our animalistic type behaviour in duty free, where we stock up on as much alcohol as we are permitted, is fairly warranted I’d say.

Instead of throwing my junk mail out I might have to start scouting for the specials to find myself a few savings. That way I can afford myself at least one red bull vodka when I’m next out.

Do you think the Perth is becoming increasingly more expensive? Do you have to invest in an entertainment book so that you too can afford a reasonably priced meal – one that doesn’t involve a children's playground or a value meal?

Bye for now,

Cuttsy

Love thy neighbour?

I’m the first to admit that during my time in Perth I probably haven’t been the most desirable neighbour. I learnt very early on in the piece those residing close to you, do not partake in going out on week nights, nor do they appreciate having a full bucket off spew hurled over their fence and plastered across their entertaining area. As these first months progressed one neighbour even felt the need to send an anonymous letter, documenting how we disturbed the once peaceful neighbourhood. The typed letter went in to significant detail, citing a plethora of different scenarios. While yes, he or she did make some valid points, the majority of it was a blatant malicious attack that really carried no warrant. Fast track two years and I’m residing in the same street as the drug lab where the roof was blown off, due to a make shift drug lab. I ask the question, whose disturbing the ‘peace’ now?

Drug labs and anonymous letters aside, ever since that particular incident - given I was worried we could end up on an episode of Today Tonight, portrayed as the world’s worst neighbours - I managed to build up a fairly good rapport. While I don’t invite them over for a BBQ where we share gardening tips, but a simple exchange of a wave or hello takes place. This was the case until I went to Europe where I left the house in the capable hands of my housemates. One evening, against his better judgement, one of them decided to throw a house party outside that kicked off at 2am. Needless to say they weren’t too impressed with the noise. But you could say the deal breaker was when a few months later he became extremely intoxicated and tried to break in to another one of our ‘delightful’ neighbour’s house. The police were called were diffuse the situation. Upon my return the neighbour informed she had not slept for the 2 weeks following the incident as she was convinced they were being broken in to by a deranged drug addict.  Further strain was also added to the relationship when I insisted in having a number of limbs cut off of their jacaranda tree. In my defence it does create a lot of unnecessary mess.

So with a new neighbour moving in behind me, I am not entirely sure how to approach the situation. Do I go up there and introduce myself, so we aren’t faced with the awkward situation of getting the mail at the same time. Or worse leaving it too long that it would just be strange to say hello given they have lived there for 6 months and you haven’t uttered a single word to each other. Or do I simply just chuck a full ‘welcome to the neighbourhood’ bucket of spew over their fence and wait for them to come knocking the next day… it got a reaction last time!

This brings me to the conclusion; love thy neighbour, while good in theory, not so good in practice.

Do you love your neighbour or am I just barking up the wrong tree (one that has a few branches hacked at)?

Bye for now,

Cuttsy

Back in full swing!

This weeks food for thought… debo’s

It turns out there is a God after all! The powers above have finally come to their senses and granted my beloved Debos’s their license to trade after 3am.  It was longer over due. While I don’t live in Kalgoorlie, having to line up to enter the BO pit, aka Corner Bar, on the few occasions I have been here, was certainly wearing thin.

After this little hiatus where they copped a ‘mere’ $10,000 fine, Kalgoorlie folk seem have a renewed appreciation for the place. With their bouncers that aren’t interested in how many drinks you have had, nor do they send you off to on a leisurely walk around Leederville to mung out on a kebab and try your hand at getting in 30 minutes later, with no lines out the front, for the toilets or at the bar, with being the home of the taste bud tantalising ‘Black Panther’ and a dance floor that never fails to disappoint. What more could you ask for when the speakers blare out the one and only power ballad – You’re the voice – courtesy of John Farnham and the air con drips on your face.  I mean really….

And last night was no exception. The atmosphere was thrilling as always and there was certainly magic happening on the dance floor. You could have found me tearing it up, looking as though I was auditioning for So You Think You Can Dance.  The only thing missing was fat Sue (ever so easy on the eye) bounding through at the conclusion of New York and the lights being switched on. I suppose all in due course.

And by that time you’re probably a bit puffed and really have no reason or cause to enter the Corner Bar… next stop for me is a flavoursome kebab at shish kebab central and then brave the taxi line destined for a home, awaiting the hang over the next day will bring. 

So here’s to Debos’ – everything’s as if we never said goodbye!

Bye for now,

Cuttsy