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Curb Your Punctuation

Now that I’m working full-time I’ve taken up multitasking. Most recently I’ve mashed together the tasks of exercising, reading, commuting, snacking and budgeting. I get off 4 stops earlier on my way to work, walking through South Bank with the latest Hamish & Andy in my ears, Frieze articles in hand and $2.10 saved in my pocket. It’s a nice walk. That time of the morning the city is still dozy. On my way home I juggle Hughsey & Kate, mX and sushi. It’s almost the perfect system. My day could only improve if I lived in London where I'd add showering to the list.

I’m getting old. I wrote a letter to the editor today. Over lunch I read an article in the paper about a woman’s “typical” day. In the 1950’s perhaps. It made me so angry it put me off my sushi. And nothing ever puts me off my sushi. I read about genocide, global warming, Top Gear deflecting to Nine, but this misogynist piece of arghhhhh was enough to turn me into a raging feminist.

Feminism. Religion. Twilight. Battery hens. Let’s never go there. They’re the subjects I get way too passionate about. It was a friendly debate but I still regret the day I tried converting a Catholic. A “cafeteria” Catholic. That’s the worst kind to try and convert because even they contradict their arguments. I was literally banging my head against a desk. For the sake of my tumor-free brain I seriously refuse to debate anyone else again over religion until I’m smart enough to be an atheist.

How many seasons has Curb been going for? Why am I only now just discovering this genius of a show?? It's knocked Arrested Development right off its pedestal. Never thought I'd see the day.

Been reading Ananova.com. It's my new Perezhilton.com until his posts towards Miley Cyrus become nasty again. I don't know what's come over him lately. All I know is I don't want to be a part of it.

Man cleared of kicking bucket was a classic. The animal tales are always a good read. Gay penguins and the activists that support them feature reguarly. Always penguins for some reason. Also read about a swan that's lovesick over a swan shapped paddleboat. And a pig in Sweden that burned his house down. Have I mentioned how great my job is? The day they go through my internet history will be an interesting one.

I never eat salad unless it's on something but I did yesterday. It falls somewhere between a condiment and a meal but it's not yummy enough to rate as a snack so I've never botherered with it on its own. But I gave it a chance. It failed to impress. Maybe if they just added more cheese. I'd be fine eating a mountain of lettuce as long as there's enough cheese intervals to get me through. Most of all it bloated me for the rest of the day. Who goes up a dress size on lettuce? Never again.

I had a fight with someone over punctuation the other day. My life really has turned into a Seinfeld ep. Full stops and the commonsense benefits of using them was the argument. In the end. The debate started over full worded texts. Nothing annoys me more. I can't stand sloppy wording generally but in texts I can't understand why people don't use it. They're a-nothingness, disposable message. Not worth the effort of a full tmw.

If our love fell in a forest...?

Apple, Hoarding, ...Dennis?

You know those people that hoard anything they're sure to need one day? That's not exactly my problem. My problem is I hoard things that I know have no good use but rather look pretty. No real surprise. As an artist I'm nothing but aesthetically motivated. It's so bad it extends to well designed packaging. For example, the empty Macbook box sitting in the corner of my kitchen. I had planned to throw it out but it's taken 12 months to bring myself to do it. Saying my goodbye's tomorrow. Most definitely maybe.

I drool over any Apple product. The breathtaking minimalist design. Streamline functionality. And the internal corruption of anything Microsoft when the two collide. I plug in my iPod and Windows goes into a fit. Genius. I converted to Mac at the height of my PC loyalty. But being the person I am, loyalty didn't stand a chance against its sheer prettiness. Turns out they're the Kylie to the Dannii anyway.

Fell asleep with mascara on the other night. The next morning my eyelashes were glued together and I thought I went blind. I told someone the other day I felt like going to the beach. They said I didn't look like a beach person. I asked what gave me away; the transparent skin or my heavy reliance on excessive eye makeup? Now I know.

Wishing my name was spelt with an 'f'. That's how lazy I am. Time to cut back. The 'anie' went some time ago but I think I can do one better.

I had lunch with someone who I had no idea of their name. It's classic Seinfeld. Slipped my mind to ask the first time. It's too embarrassing to ask now. Thankfully three meetings in I'm still getting by. How'd that episode end again?

Eternity, Free tan, Breaking down scientifically

If I never delete this will my thoughts live on forever? I would guess my kids are going to read this one day if that's the case. Kid I should say. I'm only having one. By surrogate. Stella if a girl. Henry [Harry], boy. A cat named Oliver. And a husband with the intelligence of Stephen Hawkings, minus the wheelchair. Only because these things always end in an affair with the nurse.

When Stephen Hawkings thinks, would his thoughts be in that computerized voice? I don't know what it says about me that that would be the first question I'd ask of the man. When I was in England every thought I had was suddenly in a British accent; my British accent. Even though it's only me hearing it I still felt foolish thinking the same way when I was back home. But while I was there I felt could get away with it.

Looking forward to the next dust storm. Everyone was complaining but they're nothing but beneficial to me. My skin could afford to take a battering of colour. There's a new business moving in next door to work. It's some sort of Asthma clinic. Not too happy the lifts will now be held up by whingers.

Got a headache today. Over a boy. Hate to admit it. It resulted in a cornflake binge, vent via blog post, fetal position & Limewire crashing under the pressure to download too many Sarah Blasko songs. In other words it was a roller-coaster ten minutes.

I don't often blog about love or relationships. Only because the more I think about it the more I tend to rationalize it scientifically. And who wants to endure such a romantic analysis.

I typed "wbu?" for the first time last week. It stuck. I hate it. It's all I ever say online now.

Wanting to run away to Holland to pick tulips for a living. Sounds nice. Been thinking about it for a while now. Still struggling to find a downside.

A Pilkington Xmas

Mine has come early! My favourite of all Pilkington anecdotes - in animation form!

Lmfao. I'll never get tired of it!!

Click to watch Vid

Chit Chat, Fruit, Wiggum, Defending a giant rat

Chit chat.

I can't do it. An elevator ride with someone is the most stressful thing in life.

You have 20 seconds so the topic has to be trivial. It's usually the weather. I've never been able to discuss weather. Or what I did on the weekend. Try asking me a harder question. It doesn't matter how exciting it may have been, I always panic and make something up.

I'm not saying there's anything wrong with small talk. It's just one of those things that tests my patience as well as fitness climbing all those stairs.

I introduce a new vegetable into my diet every year in an effort to be more healthy. Last year it was the tomato which backfired on me. A fruit apparently. Chose an avocado this time around. Fool proof.

Haven't turned on the telly for almost a month now. Which means I'm so out of touch with what's happening in the world. I read news.com.au but you have the choice of what you want to be informed on. And I do tend to gravitate more towards the headlines with Kyle Sandilands or monkey in the headline. Coincidently both stories contain the same sorts of behavior.

Hooked on eating sushi daily. Which has coincided with me wanting to visit Japan again. Proof you are what you eat. It has turned me, and now I have that song stuck in my head. Was talking to someone about eating Kangaroo. In my opinion it's too cute when it's alive to eat. That's the rule. Hence you never catching me eating lamb or duck or pigeon. They tried to argue cows were good looking but I questioned whether you're ever flattered when you get called one. Chickens, they're borderline. The day their eyes blink and are less beady I promise to starve off them. I just thought, why do cows need to have so much meat on them anyway. They stand there not moving eating all day. What are they storing energy for exactly? It's almost like they know the answer is us

Itching to fulfill my one and only dream of writing a Simpson's episode. Thought I'd focus the storyline mainly around Ralph Wiggum as I have a hunch he's the only character I could successfully write for.

I've started to draw birds. Commercially they're also high flyers. You can't not like birds, or at least looking at them. I don't particularly like being around them because even though they've miles of sky to fly in they still feel the need to glide dangerously close to my head. Things will get ugly the day I come across one suffering from vertigo. Or if the guy next door who feeds his pets beer buys a cassowary. Apart from the Kiwi they're unobjectionable creatures. I have no sympathy for bids who can't fly. Actually my question with them is evolutionary wise are they progressing forward into being able to or in the process of ditching them all together and filling out more into the lines of an echidna. Which in my opinion is a far superior animal. Kudos to them if that's the case. Either way they need to sort themselves out.

At that point in my life where I need to change shampoos again. My hair has gotten too resistant to the one I'm using now. I don't know why, but every three months or so I need to shock it with a different set of chemicals for it to come good again. My aim is to one day live a chemical free life. Totally organic. Including food, housing, transport, everything. Which means I'll have to be rid of the makeup ACA reminds me weekly is slowly but surely poisoning me. So I'll have to hold off adopting such a lifestyle until I'm old enough to not care what I look like anymore. That's if the foundation doesn't get me first.

What on Earth

People get down on the human race a lot. Like "Oooh, look what we're doing to the turtles. It's too hot, now that bug's extinct. How long until Serbs and Croats realise they're the same thing? Adobe has us upgrading photoshop every 2 weeks, drip feeding us the perfect version they've already created." And so on.
Fair enough I guess.
But there's that side of brilliance that argues differently.
I can't get over how clever we are. I mean just generally the things we're capable of knowing about is mind blowing. Especially in the way of medical research and such, it's astounding. You can't help but burst with pride when thinking of the dvd player or more recently, the snuggie. Try shocking me with innovation after that.
Plus the amount of people out there willing to help others to expect nothing in return reassures you overall we're not doing too bad a job. Considering what we were given to work with and predisposition to, a good one in fact?
It's an easier thing to think if the world wasn't perfectly imperfect we'd be in a right mess.

Fraud, Vegans, Thanking the Lord

Things are coming along quite nicely on the art side of things. Selling my prints to this fashion place which will hopefully help things take off. On the day I can answer "pretty pictures" to the question of what I do for a living, please remind me of what I do at my day job so I can be a million times more grateful.

So I spent today fabricating a series of resumes for a group of unemployed people. Reminded me of that episode of The Simpsons when Marge was trying to get a job and asked Lisa to do the same thing. And yes, I took note and many of these women did end up working for the Howard administration. Because, you know, they did vote for him. There's only so much you can work with when given 5 years tuck shop duty experience. I'm not having a go. These were lovely women, all mothers trying to get back into the workforce. It's just an impossible thing to stretch onto two pages.

Spent too much time debating a Vegan on whether eating meat is immoral. She asked me how I would feel if I was bred for meat. I said being at the top of the food chain I didn't really have to imagine. Actually, living in this country I'm probably a few more rungs down than that. But seriously, I do get their point. The amount of problems that come along with eating meat, it makes sense not to. And I would, if I could physically stand without it. If I don't eat red meat in over a week I pretty much turn into well, funnily enough a vegetable. Her mum happens to be a full on Nazi. With what I wish for the Jew's sake was still on the topic of food.

I'd estimate to have done about... too many assignments on Hitler in high school. I remember in history we could focus on any part of Hitler's life to write about. I chose his mother issues. Turns out he only got into the business of world domination after failing to get into art school. I think if I got rejected from art school I'd take it out on a few people too. Only not so heavy on the horrific evils. I think I'd be satisfied with a nasty letter I'd never have to guts to send anyway.

I Could Eat A Knob At Night - Dance Remix..

Why am I just discovering this now??

Oh, Pilky. ♥

A Brief History of Mine

I think I have dyslexia when it comes to finding constellations. I've never been able to see anything but a bunch of stars. If I could do it all again I think I'd be an astronomer. Eh, is it still not too late? I know I've passed the use-by date for being a ballerina or gymnast, but an Astrophysicist? Maybe it's best I master the pretty pictures and getting past the 2nd chapter of A Brief History of Time first.

I Wiki'd the snail. I have a real issue with the snail. I don't get it. Like the crab I don't know why it's here in such a ridiculous state. Apparently there's a 70cm variety out there. Why put in such an effort to upsize without figuring out a set of legs first I'll never know. Wiki only explains so much. Sometimes I wish I had my own personal Zoologist.

So the Vegemite thing will never die. I can't shake it. I'm forever the Vegemite Girl.

Thanks to the net it's spread itself around the office. I think my boss got suspicious how tight lipped I keep about my arty history and took it on herself to Google me. I had to myself after that to make sure it's just art history they got. I discovered if they get bored searching around 5 pages in I won't be on my knees to Boost. Also, I share my name with an acclaimed snake milker in Canada.

Small tip. If you're unemployed, pushing a pram or in a pack of Asians, don't venture out of the house before 9am. That last place on the crowded bus is mine. Seriously, that priority seating should extend to the workforce and students. I don't know why anyone else is up at that time of the morning anyway. You were lucky to see me before midday before I started working. The only way I can fit on a bus is if I'm standing in the right spot I've predicted the bus door to stop at. That's a fun game to play every morning when I'm half asleep, de-cafinated and being elbowed in the ribs by the elderly who by all means should be in a rush to hold up the post office queue. Ugh. I've been too much of a delight. Rant over.

It was.

Flesh was just flesh,

Loss of a tender reality

Existing in a place that doesn't,

Sensing it through this present fragility

Feeling absent in crowded company

Holding onto nothing, but having everything with you

Connecting us with all we can't touch,

Thousands of miles difference diminish as we do

One day that mistake's to be known

For what it really is in light of us

Healing the mind I love you to love

In this inaudiable state I can say within trust.

Lacrymosa, Bullet Points & Love Thy Neighbour

I bought a big book of Mozart I'm determined to conquer. Lacrymosa is the most beautiful song I think I've ever heard. I think I'll be satisfied if I can play even just that all the way through flawlessly.

I've never appreciated until recently how odd looking the Peacock is. Is the point of the feathers to be threatening or merely for my amusement? Seriously, someone bother to c+p the wiki synopsis for me. Evolution I don't get. If the point of it is essentially equipping us for survival, everything would have evolved to the point of blowing fire with stega-style points lining our backs. Instead it went overboard with the turquiose & girly embellishments. Went overly soft on the snail in my opinion.

Working has left me so tired I haven't been bothered to write in a long while.

I'm so tight with money but I still buy $20 art magazines air freighted from Denmark in my break. Considering the amount of alphabeticalizing my job involves, my creative soul demands it.

The sentences in art publications have too many words in them. I don't appreciate feeling stupid figuring out what point they're trying to make even in the editorial. Cut the verbs and introduce those things that have ruined my attention span forever. More bullet points, please.

I really hope Zeke from Neighbours still has OCD by the time I can be bothered watching it again. It's the only entertaining story line left on telly.

Peacock

Etsy Print

Them vs Us

The Old Masters are outselling the Contemporaries. The first time since 2004. Recession based? Like everything else, yeah. They say people are just discovering the beauty of a classic oil once again but I think people are just downsizing their houses and no longer have room for a suspended shark in formaldehyde.

Contemporary art is a fairly big gamble. A speculative buy. A Da Vinci may be a solid blue chip but would I want one otherwise? Yes. But only for the sake of it. It's really no different asking me to go see Shakespeare. I can't see how anyone going is getting anything out of it besides the novelty factor and having an excuse to pretty up for the night. Back then I wouldn't have had a rant about it, it was the only way to entertain. I just can't see why anyone bothers with it now we have come such a long way with the telly. The same applies to watching sport. You have no idea what's going on with that WR line if you're actually at the swimming event. Save yourself the hassle.

Back to the finer arts, those old masters are beautiful. But there's places full of them. The National Gallery in London looks like it's been filled by the one artist. Take the plaques off and you can't tell them apart. That's why I love Contemporary art. Creativity is more times than not the intention behind them. They make you think, question, hate or love things. An old master served a purpose and was meaningful to that time. You can't say it's meaningful to this time other than in the context of a historical record. You can admire the skill and beauty but in the end what can it really mean to you? Which is why any purchase of one I see as fairly pretentious or an investment. I guess you could argue they're a genuine match to ones decor. If that's the case, I'll let it slide.

Fashion through the Phases

An artist made it onto VF's 09 Best Dressed List. 81 year old Cy Twombly who's personal style they describe as: Rumpled artist. Yawn, it's Old man Chic basically. I can't really talk about artist fashion collectively because depending on the type of artist it's either fabulously inspired or tragic.

There's what I like to call Monroe Eccentrics who can throw on any random thing and look good. Inspired by Marilyn who wore a potato sack back in the day and still looked the sexist woman alive. Bold black rimmed glasses are commonly featured with the more adventurous branching out into Jerykll and Urkle, a close cousin with added suspenders.

The Yoko OhNo's: conceptually based, ambiguous and believing they're on a higher level of conscious than you. Their dress is simple, somewhat classy, mostly mono-tonal. Dark glasses are an extension of their body and the fact they never smile intimidates the hell out of you.

A Lippy Hippy never shuts up. They have a cause or two hundred which they incorporate into their art. Their dress is based on two things: the aversion towards consumerism and lack of money. The material used for their ponchos is ecologically friendly and their hair colour is as natural as the plantations they live off.

The Cloney Pony. A group of artists - often with rich parents who support their way through a 18th Century French Literature course - who go out of their way to separate themselves from the masses but end up looking exactly like each other. A man's jacket atop a long vintage tee, stockings and ankle boots. Straightened hair, too much blush and pursed red lips sipping on Chai tea. Tend to hang around in packs or over their muso boyfriend.

Frank Banksy's channel all their creativity into their art. A reclusive type who goes to little fuss over their attire. There's no ego involved - what you see is what you get. The most down-to-earth looking of the lot. You can spot their shadowy figure through their window hunched over in a duffle coat brooding over the complexities of life and how nobody understands them.

Vicarious Various. Mothers, High School art teachers, the unemployed and various others who missed the boat and now live vicariously through their children, students or deluded dreams. They dress like a Monroe Eccentric except they can't pull it off. They think wearing different coloured socks is avant-garde, their paintings are of sunflowers in the same vase as last time and they sign up for watercolour lessons on the weekend.

Swoon the Koon

I have a love/hate relationship with Pop Art. I admire it. But in the way you would Paris Hilton. Not for who she is but what she gets away with.

You have to acknowledge what they say is the greatest art form of all time - marketing. Idiots fall victim to it. Intellectual people don't, they have something to prove to the world. A genius buys into it because everyone else does.

I can't think of Jeff Koons as an artist. He's a brand. But forgetting that and looking at his work exhibited at the Serpentine in London I was still impressed. With most modern art you need to take in account the entire package that encases an artist to appreciate the work but this stuff was capable of standing alone. Its craftsmanship and mind-trickery playfulness was enough for me. I had heard about Koons before but if I hadn't it wouldn't have taken away from the work.

You need to touch the artworks to believe them. Which is where the genius of a gallery comes in. There's too many queer gallery assistants hand gesturing while telling you "...any closaar to the werrrk, and I'll have to athk you to leeave." so you leave the place pondering the work, as well as homophobic.

Koons is a Warhol type figure. It's his vision and other people's work that makes him so famous. It's the Hilton thing again. A part of you condemns what they do but given the chance you wouldn't do any different.

If I just sit here, listening to Karl Pilkington's monkey news...

Rita

Print Available

Elizabeth

www.facebook.com/stephchardart

When Fine Art + PS + Breakfast Collide

Homage to my favourite meal of the day...

Print Available

BNE pt.3 - Between you & me, Cat-alogue, Feeling Guilty

You ever heard of that theory where there's at the most only 6 or so people between you and someone else in the world? Like a friend of a friend etc would theoretically be pally with the Queen? If that's true, can you please pass on a message to Lily Allen for me. Proposing marriage and while you're there asking how her day is going I guess. And whether that third nipple of hers really exists.
Looked up the RSPCA website today to try and find a cat to adopt. Couldn't find one. I didn't know if this was a good or a bad thing because I could easily find a kitten and hoped that wasn't the cut off point.
Found another website with a big cat-alogue. Most were ex-old lady cats. Tried finding one that looked like my dead cat I hoped got reincarnated. Thought I should do the nobel thing and go for the ugliest one.
So Woolies have finally addressed the Cornflakes shortage. Only my happiness was short lived when I found out they weren't stocking my brand of juice shots anymore. I think I was the only one buying them to be honest. One month out of the country and they couldn't keep the company afloat without my business. Felt a tad guilty.
I like writing about mundane things. Brings my mind back to Earth. It gets away from me too much during the day contemplating all sorts of things. My nan hates talking to me on the phone. She has to listen to my dribble on things like evolution and the complexities of our fundamental being when all she wants to know is what I'm making for tea.
Googled weird art news. Came across a 50 ton pile of bananas and an etch-a-sketch for 100 thou. Felt like crawling back into bed. Racking my brain for a brilliant art idea. The Vegemite Queen thing was good. But I need something less delicious and more shocking that'd get the Vatican's and my future husbands attention.
Hypnotized by mind numbing infomercials this morning. Missed the 10:20 train because of a sponge. It was so worth it though. When Julie came home from work she agreed we were unlikely to see such absorbency again.

Not in LDN pt.1 - Pilkmania, Stuff, Cheese Please

Back to normallity. Back to dealing with the mundane things in life. There's a cornflakes outage at Woolies. A crisis usually averted with buying Crunchy Nuts but I'm too poor these days for the added luxury of honey. Stuck buying the small 250g boxes which I have to replace every 2 hours.

Full-time job hunting now I've deferred uni for 6 months. My old job doesn't roster me on enough so I'm leaving. Figure if they don't want me, I don't want them. Got called up for an interview at some law firm today at about 2. I'm still running on GMT so I didn't appreciate the late night call.

Started drawing again. I'm thinking it's come to that time in my career where I have to become a public nuisance to kick things along. Julie agreed to make me a cape and dye my underwear if I decide to go climbing buildings. Still waiting to hear from some fashion lady wanting to buy designs off me. Hoping that comes through so I can avoid getting a real job.

Heard today a question you can ask people to find out whether they're a psychopath or not. Testing it on someone I live with with later.

Found all the postcards in my bag I promised to send while I was over in the UK. Julie never would've got hers because I got our address wrong on it anyway.

Can't get over how perfect the weather and how comfortable my bed is. Still pretty proud of myself for being able to brave the English Summer. Almost died of vit D deficiency when I was over there. It's the only time I can remember craving a vitamin.

Went to the Met Up late at QAG with Julie last night. Walking around the exhibition it was pretty clear the French do Impressionism better. They hired a musician to perform. Couldn't really pinpoint the genre. He was just making a lot of noise made on his guitar and telling Jack Johnson to die. Couldn't find the free cheese. Felt funny asking people who would know where it was. In the end I never did find it so skipped dinner for nothing. Wondered how long until I had a suited up husband I could drag around these places.

There's well over 50 vintage Ricky Gervais radio podcasts I just discovered are in existence. I almost drowned in happiness stumbling upon that webpage. I love Karl Pilkington. Everything he says is so simply profound. I think the smartest people in the world can get across something in the least amount of words as possible and that's what Karl does. In London there was an artist who gave a talk on his art which you could only describe as.. ugh. He tried justifying it by throwing in a lot of fancy arty words but instead of coming across intelligent he come across ostentatious and unnecessarily queer. He explained one of his paintings as being so unique he could never duplicate again if he tried. I thought as he said this that if this was true he might not be able to but a lot of other people could. Pretentious of me to think but two pink strokes on a blank canvas I think I could rip off. I'm not against Modern art, in fact I love it but this was not art, it was a deluded attempt by someone with way too supportive parents. Plus flouncy talk shits me. There's no need for it. It's used by people to show off and distract from the douche they are. I'll excuse doctors, people in science and spelling bee champions. They can pull it off quite well. Although I don't quite understand the naming system for animals. If there's a billion different types of spiders in the world, don't think a name of over 11 letters will help us distinguish one from another. Parastratiosphecomyia stratiosphecomyioides is the name they gave to some insect. We couldn't get the general plot of it by the first 20 letters apparently. Use a numbering system or just forget about it. Standing there listening to this artists guys speech, Mia fainted from either dehydration or her mind wanting out, beating mine to it. It was enough to cut the speech short. We all thanked her afterwards.

London pt.10 - Armani, Martin Clunes & Cornish Pasty

In the habit of sending tele-pathetic messages to cute British businessmen on the tube to sit next to me. Got squeezed up against one reading a Charles Dickens book the other day. The train delayed and I was stuck there for an infinite amount of time intoxicating myself on the scent of Armani and absolute perfection.
Slow news week. The story of the British backpacker who got lost in the Australian bush is constantly being rotated with paranoid pregnant women over Swine Flu and Buzz Aldrin saying it would've been cooler to land on Mars.
London is starting to get suffocating. The narrow walkways made to fit half a person, the crowds of people to share them with and poking someone's eye out every time you pull out your umbrella eventually gets to you. You start out with excuse me's and patience but at the end of the day elbowing, aggression and the occasional body slam is the only way to survive in this city. It's like netball all over again.
It's been over a month. Needing a haircut and colour desperately. My hair behaves differently in the northern hemisphere. It frizzes constantly with the looming rain and looks shorter too.
Amanda hired a car and we started our road trip down to Cornwall and back. Getting out of London and into the English countryside I was expecting it to feel liberating but it was anything but. When we weren't walking the narrow cobbled lanes we were bundling in our small little Ford Focus to escape the rain. It was still a great weekend. The southern coastline has spectacular scenery. If it wasn't for the castles and cornish pasty's along the way I would've kept thinking I was in New Zealand.
Visited the town of Chard and Amanda and I agreed on it being the main reason our family got on the boat to Australia that day.
On our first night we stayed in a B&B that sat on the coast across from St. Michael's.
The place was ultra christian with a mosaic of tiles proclaiming "Christ is our Lord" on reception as you entered. The not-so-subtle attempt of conversion didn't stop there, with a range of Godly literature lining the shelves in the bathroom and psalms embedded into the bedside tables.
Amanda said she'd like to stay here with Jon but she doubted they'd take in couples.
England programs The Simpson's on at 6 o'clock every day just like back home. Suspecting it's a universal thing. Only in England they show the unfunny middle seasons which I'm thinking is on purpose. Noticing the English are paranoid about becoming Americanized and go to every effort to show anything from that continent in a bad light.
The local church, All Saints, had a clever idea. Instead of the traditional naming of after one saint it decided to cover all bases.
Still can't decide whether I'm more annoyed being a pedestrian being pushed aside by a car or a driver trying to get through a crowd of people. All I know for sure is that cyclists need to pick one or the other.
Didn't take long to discover Cornwall is England's Florida. Old people. Everywhere.
Listening on Radio 1 people debating whether the Welsh language should continue to exist. The Welsh guy kept bringing up the word island as his only argument on how stupid the english language is. I think for the Welsh to have a case justifying their language, they need to add some vowels to it first.
Visited Port Isaac because it was the location of my favourite show, Doc Martin. Never did I expect to walk onto set while they were filming it. Walked up some random street and there they were acting out a scene. Mouthed I love you to Martin Clunes as I walked passed him. The sun was shining, the doc was in town. Couldn't believe my luck.

London pt. 9 - Prosciutto, Miss California & Bruno

Haven't had a piece of fruit in 29 days. Ensconced my self in the English lifestyle of anything eatable being rolled in prosciutto and laden with cheese. Craving anything that isn't delicious excluding banana bread which technically sits on both sides of the fence.
Eating more but walking more so not sure whether I'm putting on weight or not. Told myself as I live off cornflakes and cookies I'll sort out my weight one way or another when I get home. Plus I thought the health freak I am back home could use a well deserved break.
Went and saw Bruno as part of my art course which until this point was running on something fairly high brow. We saw it on the justification that it fell under the umbrella of "Contemporary Art". Couldn't quite fit over Harry Potter.
One of my tutors lent me a magazine on the Venice Biennale. I missed out on that part of the course and live half way around the world so I have no intention of giving it back.
Mia the Californian and I constantly complain about the English weather. The sun comes out in rare intermediate patches but it does nothing. It can't even raise a warm glow to shut us up for the 10 minutes a day it decides to show up.
Thought about writing a book listing the locations of all the Starbucks in the world for travelers like me who want a guaranteed good caramel frappachino. I don't want to give away the ending but the basic plot would revolve around there being one 5 meters in any direction from wherever you are right now.
Went up to the tube guy with Mia to ask what stop to get off to see Madame Tussaudes. Told us there's no point in going because the fire next door last night melted them all. Took a long embarrassing while for Mia to realise he was joking. The English can't help but pick on an American any chance they get. The only bond that will be left with the aussies after this Ashes series.
Missing home for the first time. I miss the weather firstly. My room secondly. And just stuff in general thirdly. It feels like I've borrowed someone else's life for this month and it's almost time to give it back and step into my own shoes once again. Only this time I would've walked in someone others. And learnt a great deal from it. Which I'm very grateful for.
Off to Cornwall for the weekend. Visiting the town of Chard, my ancestral home while I'm there. Will feel good standing there thinking after being sent to a barren land swarming with deadly creatures and surrounded by sharks and stingers half a world a way, how they still couldn't manage to keep us out.

London pt.8 - Frappachino's, Freating & British No No's

Needing someone to tell me something really profound. Missing talking to someone in particular. Craving a Starbuck's frappachino. Constantly.
Got short changed by a 10 year old English boy when walking to the tube. Asked for a 10 pound note in exchange for coins. Instead he gave me 9 pounds I counted as I walked away putting it in my purse. I thought about that one pound a lot during the day. Tried not to think about the exchange rate. Thought all distress could've been avoided if my 10 year gestation rule was in practice or I wasn't so tight with money.
Thought as I looked at a Jeff Koon's three dangling monkeys at the Serpentine Gellery, art was going to be the closest thing I find to religion. It's life, it's almost everything to me. Walking into a gallery has become somewhat a spiritual experience - connecting to the world in a language I can understand. Wish I knew a less gay way of saying that.
Fallen hopelessly in love with my art tutor, Ben. I don't think I've met anyone like him before. He has piercing blue eyes and is so very lovely and considerate, amongst other things. Have I mentioned this stuff before? Probably. He's singlehandedly restored my faith in there being guys out there like that. Quite a feat - he must be special.
Trying to write my blog every night before I go to bed and forget it all. Every time I look up at the clock it's got the number 3 in the minutes. Freaking me out. I'm constantly haunted by that number, generally speaking.
Drinking London's water is revolting. But being as cheap as I am, I drink it. I refuse to buy bottled water. It's the biggest scam ever. Told Amanda the brand Evian was just the word naive backwards. She didn't get it and asked for the rest of the story.
Podcasting Hamish and Andy religiously while being over here. They were on a freating challenge for 5 days. Freating being where you eat for free but way of free samples. Thinking it wouldn't be that hard to take up in London. There's this super super market in Kensington called Whole Foods. Amanda and I went there the other week and had a 5 course meal courtesy of the numerous sample trays.
Teaching my American friend, Mia how to say words properly. She's actually embarrassed to be an American. She asked what Australian's thought of her kind and I lied and said we thought they were ok. I like Mia though. She's lovely, intelligent and reads Perez Hilton so we get on just fine.
Read in the UK guide book the Brits frown upon smiling at strangers unless deliberately flirting. They also don't like hugging in public. I think even a handshake's pushing it. Coincidently this place breeds some of the world's biggest germophobes.
Listening to The One I Love by Coldplay. Trying to forget the one person I always think of when it comes on.
Noticing my blogs are becoming shorter and shorter as I have more and more to write about. I have too much to say, it's easier to write a whole lot about nothing.

London pt.7 - Rain, Death & Potter pain

The day's been a steady 15C, windy, drizzly. The kind of rain that makes you self-conscious holding an umbrella. Heavy enough to ruin your makeup, light enough to make you feel you're not aussie enough to brave the elements.
Read on some pamphlet the guy who invented the lightbulb also came up with the concrete piano. Felt better about my off days.
Evaluated my life over cornflakes this morning. From what I worked out I think I should be scared. Terrified in fact. Instead I'm feeling terribly content.
Heard the weirdest name on the BBC today: Agewen. Some girl in Wales was demonstrating a sport popular in the country which I couldn't quite understand. Trotting is where a jockey sits in a carriage thing being pulled by a horse. Thought while watching it'd be easier to just sit on it.
Mrs Slocum died. Thought it was hilarious when the newsreader said she was most famous for her jokes about her cat. Such a pussy.
Whenever someone dies it makes me wonder how many people will notice when I do. And what page of the newspaper or rather by that time, tweets it will get. I'd be satisfied with one person caring. I think anyone would. Anymore than that is just a lovely bonus.
Must be fate me turning up in England on the 500th anniversary of Henry VIII's succession. There's so many festivities around London celebrating his life. Behind Elizabeth I and Anne Boleyn, he's my favourite monarch to know too much about.
I went to visit Hampton Court, Henry's main residency, with Amanda on the train. It was the first time I've travelled out of central London so I was able to spot my first house since being in the country.
Amanda has a habit of having long and loud philosophical one-way conversations with herself, about me, on public transport. I sit and listen and nod as she chatters away about what I should be thinking and doing with my life. I don't know why public transport is the catalyst to such rants but it has become strangely so that way.
The buses in London are slow to get anywhere in. But at least you get a good view of the city, unlike the tube. I always head straight for the top seats in the front of the bus like any good tourist does.
Out at Hampton Court we got handed an invitation to Henry VIII's wedding to Cathryn Parr along with our tickets into the palace. Didn't bother going as I'm not really interested in any of the wives beyond the first 3. The palace is beautiful. The gardens are stunning. There were about 10 school groups walking around in period robes you could borrow to wear around the place. Felt like I was on the set of Harry Potter. Wondered if the casting directors of that movie were regretting casting Daniel Radcliffe now knowing he'd grow up to look like he does.

London pt.6 - Nicotine, Sainbury's & the American Dream

Tate Modern: Greatest place on Earth. Strange place to find it when generally I hate galleries. I go to feel clever. Cultured. Support the team. Steal ideas. But this one left me speechless.
My art tutor for these two weeks looks like a slightly better looking British version of Hamish Blake. He's so passionate about art and knows so much about it it's incredible. There's a slight nerdy manner to him, a nicotine addiction and gap between his front teeth - very Madonna-esque. Orgasmic. He could go on forever talking about an artwork. I think I could go forever listening to him talk about an artwork. He articulates everything about it so eloquently it's like an art itself. He can justify modern art to me. A receipt of white looking products bought from Sainbury's tapped to a gallery wall can suddenly have the most profound meaning.
There's five other people in the art group: all English except for me and an American. At first I bonded with the American, Mia, over the pain of getting here by economy class and then a deep set hatred of Sarah Palin and the word "innit". There's one girl who could be nothing but English. She's so posh but not in an ostentatious way, more an... Austen-tatious way. She wouldn't be out of place in any of those books. Not only that, she studies English and French literature and therefore belongs in a glass case, behind a velvet rope, in front of a killer laser beam. Such a precious little thing she is. The other girls are classic arty types. One is Lily Allen's twin, the other lives on High Street Kensington. Not sure which one of those scares me the most. The last is a guy from Brighton who doesn't say much. He's an artist, a silent reclusive type which makes me suspect his art is really really good.
On the first day we all met at the Jerwood art space. I was the first of the group to get there. Wondered how long it'd take for someone with a freaky coloured fringe to turn up. Like sitting next to a baby on a long hull flight, I knew it would inevitably happen. Three people in my theory was confirmed.
We were all sat down to watch a slide show on Modernism and Post-Modernism art. Not a particular treat for the only Australian in the room who for the past 20 years had seen nothing but slides of artworks. I sat there keen to get out of the room to see the real thing and use the bathroom.
It was windy and cold walking down the street to Tate Modern. The American girl turned to me and said she missed the Californian sun. I asked her whether Californian's were exactly like how they were portrayed on telly. She said the ignorance and prejudice towards others just comes from the idiot rednecks in the south. We then went on to hate against twilight and how it's now ruined that Muse song forever. She asked me whether Vegemite was made out of vegetables and I said no. She then asked me what then and thinking I should know the answer I just guessed, "yummy chemicals". Googling it when I got home I found I wasn't that far off.

London pt.5 - Tudor Rose & Shakespeare Prose

Walking a lot these days. Needed some time to just sit out and do nothing. Felt guilty I could do that at home. Told myself before I came to not do anything I could do at home. Thought how I couldn't sit feeling guilty like this at home. Felt clever finding a loophole.
Met up with Julie for a drink in Fulham. Some random Brit followed us around. His accent was so strong both of us took it in turns interpreting what he was saying to each other. The British don't open their mouth enough when they talk. Understandable they're self-conscious about their awful teeth but it's like talking to a ventriloquist who can't quite pull it off, at all. He kept talking to me about cricket and how Australian's have big ego's. He then went on to boast about how modest the British were. Thought the embroidery on his shirt was a tad queer.
Went to the Victoria & Albert. Wrote down instructions on how to get there off Google Maps. When I got to Collingwood Gardens and no V&A insight I regretted not scrolling down the page more. The only thing that saved me was my already naturally lost looking face looking quite lost. Just standing there was enough to prompt someone to ask where I was trying to get to and point me in the right direction.
Was walking around the affluent houses of south Kensington wondering how much I'd have to make before I could live there. The townhouses were stunning with some having their own private gardens. Didn't need any more incentive than that to finish uni. Now understood for the first time why my mother let me go on this trip at all.
The V&A is in a spectacular building. Amanda said it was worth seeing just for the architecture. It was pretty nice except the outside looked like it could use a bit of a wash down. You can never tell with marble whether it's supposed to be like that or not.
Once inside I didn't know where to start looking. There was a million connecting rooms to choose from. The corridor was filled with marble sculptures. Not their biggest fan. Although I would've been happier to have learnt how to do such a thing in my sculpture class at uni than what I did - nothing. My final piece of assessment was a house of cards. Unfortunately it turned out to be that literally so. The specifications were to use 50 objects same but different so they had to pass me at least. Wish my mind came up with a better idea than taking a packet of cards and throwing the jokers out.
There's a big courtyard and pond thing in the middle of the museum. I sat on the edge watching a school group of kids run in, splash about and obstruct my view of a hot guy who sat on the opposite edge. Brokenhearted after running into him again in the 18th Century French Antiques room with his boyfriend.
Went to the National Portrait Gallery. Sought out the Tudor paintings of Elizabeth I. Stared at them for a long while trying to imprint the images in my brain. Felt because I came so far to see something I had wanted to for so long I had to stand and appreciate every stroke. Thought this was a good time to have remembered my glasses.
Booked into seeing an Opera this Friday night. Wish Amanda asked me first. Booked into seeing Shakespeare next week. Really wished Amanda asked me first. Was nice of her to do but I'm going to die less than 10 minutes in, I can only hope.
I can't understand why Shakespeare is still going. 500 or so years since you would've thought we had done something just as good or better in a language we could understand. The same with anything really. The Mona Lisa has had its 15 minutes, move on.
On a two week Contemporary art tour of London next week. Hoping being around so many arty people for so long won't drive me insane. Being an artist we tend to over analyse things, people, anything, but mostly nothing.
Sick of hearing about Michael Jackson. Read in the news at least 12 die-hard fans suicided over his death. What I don't understand is that these are the people that follow him the most. They study his every move, his accomplishments, everything. You'd think out of anyone they'd come to know he was just a musician. Asked Amanda who now inherits his elephant man skeleton. She said she didn't know.
Think the BBC guy has a thing for the weather girl. No one can be that excited to hear about London's weather.

London pt.4 - Vodka, Adam & Onomatopoeia

Woke up to the news I'm in the middle of a heat wave. The BBC was giving hints to old people on how to survive through it. Hoping in half a century's time I don't need people coming around telling me what water is.
The BBC needs to get more attractive news readers. Wondered if the people reading the news actually write the news. If not I have a fair point. The next segment was on spelling bee champions. They interviewed a bunch of 12 year olds about winning some national championship. One got a little too enthusiastic when asked how to spell onamatapea? onomatapeeya? onnomattapia? I must be way off. Spell check still can't help me. Whatever, in the end we both got it wrong. They cut to the weather when he started crying.
The UK Mel & Kochie equivalents don't measure up. Starting to miss the aussie-ness of things. The British are lovely but can be quite stuffy. Tried to download Good News Week off itunes but would only get to 89% and drop out. Not impressed when it teases me like that. Needed my comedic news hit so watched the British version instead. Think we stole the idea off them. Just glad we didn't steal the jokes. British humor is whack.
Planning to meet up with my friend Julie from Spain next week. Have to remember to ask about the tomato fight thing. Missing my Julie at home terribly even though I know she's probably gone through all my stuff by now and tapping my internet.
Went out on a picnic with Amanda and Jon. Dropped into the supermarket on the way to Parsons Green and got some food. Yet to be served by an English person. I've found they're quite rare in this country. Think they're all in mine.
Brits have some of the most disgusting habits. Yeah so most of them smoke but even worse is their rampant use of the handkerchief. To use one and put in back in your pocket is just insanity to me. Can't go on the tube without seeing one pulled out. Tissues are made disposable for the most fantastic reason.
Planned to go up to Scotland at some point. Not entirely sure if that will happen. Have never fully understood the bagpipes. I can only explain them by saying they're the missing link between music and noise. According to the World Health Organization the Scots have the worst diet in the world. This means somewhere in Africa a mother is saying to her child complaining of hunger to stop being so selfish, for there's children in Scotland that would give anything to not eat what they're eating.
In the depths of facebook I found my friend Braden from school years ago living practically on top of me. Did a pub crawl in Fulham for catchups. Was good to see how happy he was living over here, bound for stardom no doubt. Forgot to mention drinking vodka usually ends with me propositioning things outside of people's houses in front of their friends. Good times.
Went shopping with Amanda, she dragged me into Top Shop because I apparently 'wear too much black and grey'. Told her that's just my thing.
Ventured out of South London to see Adam Hills and Steven K Amos. Bought two tickets ages ago to go with a friend but when that fell through I was freaking thinking I'd have to brave Camden myself. Luckily Amanda could come. She asked what happened to the Welsh boy. I said hopefully karma. Adam was brilliant as usual. Go you big red fire engine got a mention. Asked whether I was Australian. Too dazzled by his eyes to remember what I answered. I might've been that night.
The standup was done in an old converted horse hospital. Took forever to find such a thing.
Not tempted to live in Camden. The place is eccentrically alternative, pure grunge and breeds Amy Winehouse types. Amanda and I ended up eating at Nandos for tea because it was the closest thing we could find to normality. Got the chicken wrap with the hottest sauce you can get. Still wasn't hot enough. Heard the reason people like spicy things is because the heat burns off the taste buds and releases happy endorphins in the brain. Hoping the fact I seek out the hottest of chillies isn't a sign a have a ton of crippling emotional pain to resolve. Pretty sure I just don't like bland food. Something happened and from the age of 12 I couldn't eat anything that wasn't drowned in a condiment, sauce or seasoning.
Need to draw something soon or I'll go insane. Venting all my creative juices into writing in the meantime it seems. At home it'd be the piano. Composed something on it before I left. Didn't bother writing the notes down figuring I'd remember it by the time I got back. Wishing I didn't give myself so much credit.