Sydney: Don't Knock it Until You've Tried It

Sydney.

Mostly known for it's architecturally famous Oprah House and neighbouring bridge; it's city beaches and, therefore, undoubtedly, gorgeous blonde surfer "dudes".

Without spending any lengthy period of time in the unofficial capital of Australia, this is exactly what you'd find. You'd stroll up George Street and down Pitt Street in a mass of people, from backpackers to well suited office workers, and perfectly timed traffic lights. You might dine at a seafood restaurant in Darling Harbour or poke at wonton dumplings in China Town. But don't be fooled, because nearly all of Sydney is China Town, and the namesake street is just the start of it.

You'd gawk at the Life Guards on Bondi Beach (yes, they are the same as those featured on TV show, Bondi Rescue) and, hopefully, swim between the red and yellow flags. If you're a walker, you'd do the walk to Coogee Beach; celebrating the achievement with some 'Chish and Fips'. If that's not enough, the Blue Mountains are only two hours and $2.50 away on a Sunday with your new best friend, the Opal card. Don't call it an Oyster card. They don't like it when you call it an Oyster card.

Keen on culture? Melbourne may be known for it's arty pretention but Sydney's Museum of Contemporary Art puts up a fair fight. They even have parakeets flying around the roof top garden-cum-café! It's also super close to other site-seeing musts such as the Cathedral and Hyde Park, home of the Anzac Memorial.

[Note: ANZAC stands for Australian and New Zealand Army Corps. They also make a lush biscuit]

However, any avid Lonely Planet/Trip Advisor follower would know about all of these must-see Sydney stop-offs. But we're not looking for the most touristy spots anymore are we? We want to post pictures on Instagram of us in places none of their friends found. Somewhere new and exciting and (hopefully) tasty, fun and totally unique.

After living in Sydney for just under a year; living, working and generally having a blast. These are my must-do's and must-see's in one of the greatest city's on Earth.

FOOD

Well, this obviously isn't going to be as easy as I originally thought...

Breakfast
I don't think I've ever been anywhere so obsessed with putting things on toast, for breakfast, as Sydney. It's insane! Eggs, avocado, bacon, salad, cheese, Nutella; eggs benedict, mushrooms, sardines, salmon and, of course, Vegemite, and so much more. After initially revelling in the sourdough carb; I needed a break:

THE FRONT ROOM is located just past the Post Office on Enmore Road between the suburbs of Newtown and Stanmore and the only coffee shop in the area to sell Gabriel coffee (a personal fave). For about a month, I came to this café weekly with a good book on my day off to sip on YF's (that's a soy flat white), gorgeous green juices and their should-be-famous Acai Bowl; better than most I've had on Balinese beaches. They also do some of the best stuff-on-toast combo's in Newtown.

Snack
Just across the road from Central Bus Station, is my favourite sushi chain, SUSHI HUB. Is it the best sushi you'll ever have? It's pretty damn close for a few bucks a roll. Complete with free sides of wasabi, pickled ginger and soy sauce, there's nothing better when you're feeling a bit peckish. Try the seaweed roll, if you're keen for a veggie option.

Alternatively, I'm obsessed with NAKED FOODS in Bondi Junction (and other locations around Sydney). Packed full of delicious snack options, from nuts, granola, chocolate covered raisins, dried fruit and tea. All organic. All Naked. All scrumptious.

Oriental
YASAKA RAMEN, Liverpool Street. You can genuinely smell it before you see it! Anyone who knows me, knows that any noodle soup is my favourite thing. This authentic Japanese restaurant is hot, spicy and slippery. Get those chop sticks out for the Tonkotsu Shio Egg Ramen. They also make an incredible Teriyaki Tofu Don which completely changed the way I looked, used and ate tofu.

Speaking about tofu, TIME FOR THAI on George Street and King Street does my favourite Gado Gado Salad outside Asia. Fried tofu, peanut sauce and egg. Being a stickler for traditions, the Thai curries are perfectly warming and packed with vegetables. But my personal favourite is the Hokkien Noodles. Super simple and healthy stir fry for all occasions.

Indulge

This one's easy. Just down the road from Wynyard Station is somewhere that still makes me grinning with overwhelming satisfaction: FRANKIE'S PIZZA. Underground, walls covered in polaroid's from the 80's and red and white tiled floors. The most important and thrilling part of this particular pizzeria is Wednesday! For just $15, it's all you can eat pizza (choice of six different meat and vegetarian toppings) from 7-9:30pm. In case you're wondering how much pizza that is, I hold the record in my Billabong family for smashing 9 gigantic slices of pizza, beating my all time favourite pizza-eating buddy, Alan, by one slice. Wimp.

Yoghurt Weaver
After a sunrise yoga session out on a rented paddle board behind the breakers in the glistening blue ocean stretching out from Manly (arguably a Sydney beach better than Bondi), what am I craving? No, not a burger, but one of the deliciously healthy, mostly raw dishes from NATIVE FEEL REAL. The raw pizza is my ultimate favourite; I could eat one every day. If you're after something lighter, try the Acai smoothie or the scrambled tofu. There is no vegan breakfast better than scrambled tofu (or banana pancakes, and they do them here too)! Native also does a selection of all vegan, some gluten free, cakes, nibbles and sandwiches in their deli counter.

ACTIVITIES

Time to work off all those tasty calories, and there's no better place than Australia to dive in, get your heart pumping and adrenaline juices flowing.

SUP
Manly is a 45 minute ferry across Sydney Harbour from Circular Quay (and also a great way to get some unique views and angles of the Oprah House and Harbour Bridge). I spent so many days, either with friends or on my own, sunbathing and swimming down at Manly; I even tried to compete with some of the local surfers there. I got a lot of laughs. Then I found my calling. For just $35 an hour (or $99 for 24hours) you can rent a stand up paddleboard (or "SUP") from Manly  and attack the sport like a pro. If you're feeling really confident, try laminating a few basic yoga positions, get out back with your friends and have a massive laugh falling in! Don't forget your GoPro's, sun cream and silly sun hats.

Salsa!
No, not the dip! Get your cocktail dresses out for a midweek dance-off at one of the sexiest clubs in the city: The Establishment. Every Tuesday night, a live salsa band booms out the grand front doors and has even the novices shaking their behinds to the music. Yup, that's right, I have Salsa-ed. Their cocktails also help to loosen people up as well! All ages welcome!

Beach Hunting
Everyone loves a good beach day, but it's also great when you find your own secret little beach. How do you do that? Walking! Get those Nikes on do some adventuring! It doesn't even have to be a beach. I once went slightly off the beaten track while trekking round the Blue Mountains and found the most beautiful opening with a waterfall and stream and me and my friends were the only ones there all day! Alternatively, doing the Spit to Manly walk also tracks past so many beautiful beaches like Shelley Beach. Fancy going further afield? The Royal National Park is home to some of the most beautiful beaches in the world; such as Cronulla and Wattamolla, but also hundreds of little coves and bays which I don't even know the name of because we were so lost at the time! It's also home to the figure of eight pools and other geographical wonders.

Rainy Days
Sydney Indoor Climbing Gym! Don't knock it until you've tried it! It's great for a fun day out with your mates, or even an activity-based date. It's $30 to join and you get a free introduction and safety tutorial before they set you free, all harnessed up, to take on walls of different grades of difficulty. I call it, funny fitness! Because never will you laugh so hard at lowering your friends bottom gently to safety!

CULTURE

Don't be fooled by it's lack of history, Australia is filled with some amazing museums and art galleries, hosting some of the best exhibitions I've ever heard of seeing, let alone seen.

There's only one place I can vouch for being so culturally hipster that people from Melbourne aren't cool enough to know about it. Carriageworks, Redfern. Unexpectedly striking, hidden just off Wilson Street, "Carriageworks is the largest and most significant contemporary multi-arts centre of its kind in Australia" as stated on their website. It lies right next to the train tracks that run into Central Station and the industrial architecture is a cold, concrete and beautifully intimidating. The space hosts a variety of exhibitions over the course of the year and also regular evening functions and events (with free wine). I went to see an exclusive exhibition done by Icelandic singer, actress and producer (etc.), Bjork. What more do you want from a creative and cultural experience that watching one of the most incredible performance artists turn into a giant glowing figure with an Oculus Rift on? Nothing. That's what. The café is pretty good too!


So there it is folks. My favourite things to eat, see and do in the city I called home for a year. Rain or shine, this city was the most incredible place to live. But I couldn't have done any of it, with friends!

Peace Out ♥

To Trust or Not to Trust? The Question That's Divided Us All

Would you rather fall, be pushed or jump off this cliff?

Or would you rather find a ladder and climb down safely?

[Pistanthrophobia: Fear of trusting people due to past experiences]

Once apon a time, dating consisted of being waltzed around the dancefloor, swept off our feet, wooed, courted, proposed to and loved.

Sounds like fiction doesn't it? That's because it probably is.

Since this apparent utopian time of idealistic love and devotion, it's fair to say a few things have changed.

Feminism and the steady rise of equality has created a more independent woman, more focussed on making a life for ourselves than dreaming of the one who's going to sweep us off our feet and take care of us until our dying days. This has caused us to start thinking about settling down and finding The One much later in life, and therefore leaving so much free space for a culture of more casual dating, an increase in sexual partners and a transition away from monogamy (in some cases). The rest is history.

Friends with benefits, dating sites, one night stands, porn, literature; all leading to a massive increase of being "unlucky in love". No wonder we're finding it harder to know where our trust can lie, we can barely figure out in what situation our emotions can and can't lie.

Wrongly invested emotions and trust is, to put it simply, shit, in any situation, especially relationships. These bad experiences condition us to believe that even seemingly happy relationships will inevitably end and cause us pain.

Rihanna (not that one) has been happily in love for the last two years, despite a year of their relationship being long distance. But she wasn't always "lucky in love" and I asked her if that has effected her trust in her boyfriend: "When we started dating and I felt myself falling for him, I realised that, yet again, I was fucked and I was about to get my heart broken again." stating that, because of past experiences, she still has issues believing that someone isn't going to "jump out and inform me it's all a big prank."

For some out there, it doesn't matter how devoting and trustworthy the person you're with is, it can't stop our nervous minds from wondering, in disbelief, whether or not you're being played. Is it possible that there's truth behind "too good to be true"? Or is faithfulness and affection actually what we should expect and accept from relationships and not simply a fictional fairy tale? Or maybe the key to our lack of trust is that we refer to true love as "fictional".

Q: "Which one applies to you?"

A: "All of them."

Sassy, independent woman who don't need no man, Lavender, swears by her method for love and relationships: "Being worried that you can't trust a boy is like walking around with an umbrella 24/7 in case it rains." Her outstanding and positively admirable outlook on the topic makes me want to just conclude here and now that this is how it should be. It's obvious! If it looks trustworthy, acts trustworthy and quacks trustworthy then it's probably trustworthy... Right?

Lavender isn't alone. English and creative writing lecturer, Mandy Len Catron, spoke for Ted Talks about our bizarre views of love and she's holding literature and English metaphors accountable for our lack of trust that things will run smoothly.

"We swoon, we burn with passion; love makes us crazy, it makes us sick. Our hearts ache and then they break. So, the metaphors we equate the experience of loving someone to extreme pain or violence."

We're just full of revelations today! Is anyone else having the mind blowing, literal nerd out moment of enlightenment that I had when I heard this? She argues that the vicious circle of correlation between experience and language (more specifically, the language we use to describe our experience of love) can have a drastic effect on how we believe we should feel. What does this mean? It means the ever oxymoronic, Shakespeare, has fucked us over.

English graduate, Crystal, is happily single, and laughs at the suggestion that she'd ever expect a man to cheat on her, but that she still wouldn't trust a potential love interest with her feelings. While discussing a past relationship she says "I thought I was in love and then I just mimicked all the emotions that I've seen people who are in love do. I feel like I wasted a year and a half of my life being very unhappy, thinking "well, this is love, because we are taught that love is pain" and also, I read a lot of books." She went on to say "I don't trust anyone to be honest. When I begin to date, I assume (normally accurately) that they are just saying what they think you want to hear." Which means that she agrees that life experiences (including that of our parents) and literature damage our ability to trust a perfect love, or man, but would still rather consciously hold back.

Crystal and I both grew up learning that you must investigate any statement or idea, dissect it, and then analyse it to find it's true core meaning. So, I know where she's coming from when she's presented with a statement of love, affection or even a compliment and thinks "And how did you come to this conclusion?", "Do you have any evidence to support that statement?"

My singular representation of the male species in this post, Simba (others were approached but declined to comment) suggests that actually, the world of casual dating, contradicted by people's desire for a happily ever after, is to blame for these sob stories and first/second/third love heart-breaks that are ruining our ability to trust people, and the idea of love in the future. "Some people get into relationships for the sake of it, hence the generality of many relationships and similar downward trajectories. Probably because they actually want different things." ... Well they say love is blind.

Does our desperation to find the one, but maintain our independent lifestyles, while ignoring all the reasons not to be with a person that could actually spell out the end and therefore wrongly invest our trust, cause us to inevitably end up beside ourselves in agony, wondering how this possibly could of happened, just so we can fulfil the dramatic Shakespearean drama and move on to the next one?

So what does our expert suggest? Well, Simba actually suggests it's time to get real, drop the drama and take a leaf out of Mandy's book and stop falling and start stepping! "Imagine if we were all less passive in love; more assertive, more open minded, more generous. Instead of falling in love [which she earlier described as totally involuntary and often painful] we stepped into love." She continues, "This version of love is not about winning or losing someone's affection. It requires that you trust your partner, and talk about things when trusting sounds difficult."

Now, to some people, this might seem like a very mundane and not very passionate way to be in love. But, thanks to those all important, over-mentioned terrible past experiences of what love is and a serious learnt lesson in who not to trust, I think this sounds like a wonderful, fairy tale way to find, maintain, and thrive in love. I'm not saying it's safe, we're still stepping into the unknown and I have it on medical authority that not all men/women grow up, stop playing games and move on past the "fuck boy" phenomenon, but surely it's better than repeating past habits and ending up in just as much pain as last time?

Imagine it...

Two people, one shared goal, and, most importantly, a whole lot of fun.

Peace Out ♥

Don't Laugh, I'm Joining a Gym

I know what you're thinking, "not another empty promise of fitness resolutions"

If you know me personally, you're probably thinking "HAHAHAHAHAA"

My names Hope, and I have never worked out a day in my life. I'm in that breed of person that still has nightmares of my lesbian P.E. teacher screaming at me to run faster, grimaces at people running past me in the street and only owns a pair of Nikes because my friend from London told me they were fashionable.

I'm not overweight or unhealthy, but my Instagram is packed full of delicious eat-outs and my lifestyle includes a high content of wine, gin, cigarettes (shh!) and lounging round in coffee shops for excessive amounts of time skulling soy flat whites.

When recently asked if I could run 10k, my answer was "without stopping?" Because the truth is, I couldn't run 1k without falling over.

I've stubbornly stuck with this way of life for 21 years, ignoring the drastic increase of my friends joining gyms, taking up running and rolling their eyes at my laissez faire approach to exercise.

"I stand up all day at work!"
"It's raining"
"I can't even run for that long"
"I don't own work out gear"
"Gym memberships are a rip off and I already have my phone bill and Vogue subscription!"

I could go on and on for an eternity but I wont because I'll end up talking myself out of it.

Working out and exercising isn't just about getting fit though. As I mentioned before, I'm not overweight or unhealthy and I'm not a couch surfer, so what's the point in this sudden motivation?

Dr.Axe, a very attractive doctor on the internet, says that exercise can also boost happiness and your immune system, help you sleep better and improve memory and focus.

We're in an age where wellness is a form of elitism, with detox tea's, multivitamin supplements and the 'free-from' section in supermarkets seeing a boom into the mainstream. An Instagram post of a vegan super food salad is likely to get just as many likes as a big juicy burger and I love it.

On top of all these fabulous reasons to ditch the sofa's and the excuses and get into some kind of exercise regime, I'm really bloody bored.

After my epic year of travelling and the indulgence of Christmas and New Years, it's fair to say I'm feeling a bit worse for wear. My poor immune system has taken a bit of a beating and my short work hours, lack of a social life and cold winter weather has left me a bit unmotivated to say the least. And don't we all feel like that around this time of year? Dreaming of far away utopia's while staring out the window from your place of work while its pouring down with rain and you have a 10 minute walk to the car/bus/train/tube and you forgot your umbrella...

Obviously, I'm not going to wake up tomorrow and head down to my local gym and jump on a treadmill. I also haven't joined a yoga class or a Zumba class and I certainly haven't bought some running gear. If there's anything I do know about getting fit, it's be realistic!

With that in mind I've decided to start going for a morning swim at my local leisure centre.

I'm aware of how it sounds, kind of a cop out and not the most pleasant experience, swimming around in other peoples piss while old ladies do their aqua aerobics. In an ideal world I'd like to commit to going for a morning swim in the sea everyday; but as I previously stated, it's winter and it's fucking freezing and that is not a realistic goal. An hour or so every morning doing lanes while my mind pretends it's still in bed followed by a takeaway coffee from the on-site café. Achievable!

It's the perfect way to get me out of bed earlier, fill my day with something other than work and hopefully also make me happier and all those other things our lovable Dr. Axe said.

I'll be keeping everyone posted on my Instagram page Hope.5683

Wish me luck.

Peace Out♥

Returning Home: The Reality and the Consequences

As the plane gained momentum along the Tarmac, I squashed my face against the window and took in every last inch of my Australian surroundings. The other planes landing with confident precision at their final destination, the little yellow and orange people running round with paddles, guiding the carefully constructed conveyer belt with nothing more than a couple ping pong bats. The main road beyond the watch tower was teaming with traffic; commuting both from and to the airport, or just on their way to work.

As the captain informed the crew to prepare for take off as it was our turn to defy the laws of physics and fly through the air, leaving the city I'd called home for the last year behind, my eyes dampened slightly, hot blood rose to my face and a lump formed in the back of my throat. I closed my eyes tight, remembering all the goodbyes of the last 24 hours, knowing that if I ever went back, it would never be the same again. This was the end... And I wasn't ready.

So that's it guys, my gap year is over. I worked in Sydney, travelled around Asia, met new people, ate new foods and discovered new cultures. I ticked everything off the 'Finding Yourself' gap year check list and did it all while maintaining my mild coffee addiction. The plane landed at Heathrow Airport and following some emotional Welcome Back's, I resumed my place at my old job and my parents house, I drank wine with friends I hadn't seen in over a year and scanned my Australia friends group chat religiously for signs they were having more fun than me.

"What's the plan, then?"

I've been asked a million and one times. They mean in life, of course. A question that I set off to answer 12 months ago and the one answer I never discovered.

"I don't know."

The look I receive back is becoming comical. You'll know the look of you've ever informed someone that you once wore the same pair of underwear for a week or letting your loved ones know that you've decided to become a vegan, sell everything you own and give your mind, body and soul to a cult/secluded "community" and never return.

[Note: there is no emoji for this face]

It's not the not knowing that people don't understand, there's thousands of us out there who are roaming cluelessly through different forms of education and work experiences hoping to land somewhere with a decent pay that doesn't make you want to cry everyday. In modern day society, this is totally acceptable. In modern day society (and Instagram) it's also totally acceptable to exchange education for world knowledge, and work experiences for, well, more world knowledge and get all that irritability out your system before you carry on with your life: "press the play button", "come back to reality", "get a proper job".

And there's always that friend of a family friend or brothers girlfriends best friend/mythical person who went off travelling and never returned. They found a life somewhere else, married a local to whatever country they now call home and converted to the cultural way of life and have possibly made it home for one Christmas when he/she was more fascinating than watching the Call the Midwives/ Top Gear Christmas special on T.V.

And the millions of pounds made every December from calendar companies selling pictures of hot tropical islands and beautiful mountainous landscapes that people will pin up in their kitchens and offices and dream of that holiday once every couple of years.

And then there's the rest of them. The "I went travelling once" people. Mums, Dads, Aunties and Uncles telling kids of their one big adventure, before they came back, settled down and had a normal life.

Which one are we?

"We" being the collective of people that didn't want to come home. That dream of being that friend of a friend that people talk about when they bring up certain destinations. "Oh yeah! Jenny's cousin used to live their for a while... You know the one who's now living in [insert exciting foreign country]"

I've been home for 3 weeks now and it's exactly how everyone warned me it would be like. A friend in Sydney drunkenly said her goodbyes before I left, telling me "You won't be home for long! You'll get home and everyone will be really excited because you're back but two weeks later no one will know anything more about your trip and they won't care. They don't get it. You have your life and they have theirs, and you need to be with us... Because we get it." She quite possibly ruined the last ounce of excitement I had left for returning home. And she was right.

Maybe we are the ones who will leave and never return. We've all struggled to fit in or feel grounded in one place or situation and all of a sudden, we found the art of travelling. And we found people like us. Who represent the same person as us in their friendship group, in their home town. The one that was always a little bit lost. Did we #findourselves, afterall?

Why spend life drowning where I don't belong, never quite the best at what I do because I don't really see the point of it all?

I'm constantly harping on about how we're a new breed of people, not quite comfortable with all the traditions society has to offer, but it's true! I can't be the only one to come home and be disappointed to find out that I still don't really fit. I'm certainly not the only one to come home and find their old lives simply don't quite cut it anymore.

So last night, as I saw in 2017 in a grimy ex-bingo-hall-cum-night-club surrounded by people who made their mind up about me years ago, I decided on my New Years Resolution: Accepting and loving that I just don't fit in. Not in society, not in my home town, not in people's ideas of living life correctly.

The follow up resolution: to find somewhere I do, without even trying or thinking about it.
Besides, you're loved more when you're missed.

Peace Out ♥

How to be Single

A couple of days ago I watched a really rather horrifying film. I think you can tell by the blog title which film I'm referring to.

A tale of three young women: the first, a fresh college graduate in New York City who immediately regrets dumping her boyfriend of four years after he finds someone else and refuses to take her back. She spends the rest of the film hopelessly wandering between other men until she climbs the Grand Canyon on New Years Eve. The second is her older sister, a midwife totally against having children of her own until she's left in a room with one so decides to get pregnant via sperm doner. Meanwhile, she is being persued by a very attractive man a few years her junior who actually turns out to be totally okay with the her life changing decision. She falls in love with him and we're left to assume that he raises said illegitimate child. The third is Rebel Wilson. A strong, independent woman who has sex with whoever she wants, does whatever she wants and contributes to the comedy value of the film. She's also used for apparent shits and gigs whenever single lady #1 is single and needs a laugh.

Many might watch this film and personally relate to the characters humorous lives and pre-scripted whit and some may actually wish their lives were just as dramatic and exciting. Personally, I'd rather burn the DVD and risk a hefty fine and membership cancellation from the local rental store after I deliver the ashes back to them with a serious complaint.

This film did not teach me how to be single!!

People are single in very different ways, and yes, some are better at it than others, but with this comes the stereotypes and expectations behind how we, as a collective, should behave. I recently read a self-confessed rant about how female identity has been "shaped by excuses and lies" by Mia Morgan: I REFUSE! it was titled.

Using examples from her own personal experiences, she explained that she has always been either reprimanded or complimented depending on how individuals judge her level of femininity in society. At 3, her grandmother tells her off for scratching between her legs, despite the fact that she'd seen men doing it in public and she had an itch. At 17, a guy who had a crush on her would regularly compliment her for being "not like other girls" because she wasn't a bitch or superficial or slutty. Whenever she questioned people's reasons behind their opinions, they have simply replied "it's just how it is'.

Beyond it's obvious bias, Mia makes a good point. As a single woman who has no interest in changing my status anytime soon , I've found that I am still expected to obey to certain rules and expectations set by society, films and the people around me. I cannot appear too slutty without being perceived as a mindless bitch or desperate and pathetic. If I go out in public with unbrushed hair and the oversized T-shirt that I wore to bed, people will cast me a pitying gaze, as if I've just been dumped or come down with the flu. I have a news flash for you, I'm actually just lazy. And there are also days when I just want to be a bitch to everyone, and other desperate and pathetic days when I want to drown my sorrows and get some cuddles in. I mean, who doesn't? Because the world seems to have forgotten something very important about single people; we're still just people.

I'm still just me, a relatively happy-go-lucky girl who accidentally sings out loud in the middle of the supermarket because the song playing on my headphones is just too good. Like most humans out there, I like sex and experience the usual chemical imbalances that cause horniness and excessive alcohol consumption, but a lot of the time I'd rather squash my face in a good book and inhale soy flat whites until I'm shaking. However, while out for a few drinks with some friends, the subject of my "love life" rose (the inverted commas confirming my actual lack of any love life whatsoever seeing as I don't count being offered money in exchange for a date as love life). My friend Blue* disagrees. He seems to think that my like button is getting more hits than I'm aware of, "You're pretty, blonde and very friendly and I know that's just how you are but many guys would see it as leading affection. You don't mean to lead them on, but you do."

On the one hand, I know that my overdosed level of humanity makes it hard for me to turn around and tell a guy "I don't want to have sex with you/date you because I'm not at all attracted to you/I'm just not in the mood but you seem like a lovely person/absolute wanker so let's just be friends/never speak again". On the other hand, though, this poked at a bit of a sore spot. Was it really possible that I'd just been told that I was in the wrong for being too nice because I might be leading on innocent hearts and penis' all over the place.

God forbid seeing as I work in a mens clothes shop and being nice is kind of in the job description. I'm also pretty sure that general niceties to the people around me is a heavily weighted claim on the application for you know who's very important list (Santa, you moron, not Voldemort). I was in even more shock and confusion over this statement after my female friend agreed. As if confirming that social conformity states that one must be careful about the assumptions being made in other people's head. Have I taken it too far? Who knows...

If life has taught me anything, it's that there probably is at least one person out there that I'm compatible enough with to date them for longer than 6 months, but I have about ten years until I need to start running round in cyber space looking for all the perfect pixilated man on match.com or eharmony or ... whatever the others are called. Until then, I have this amazing free space all to myself to find myself in some deep meaningful way and love myself for who I am and experiment with different lifestyles and personas and possible suitors and probably stop taking the drugs that caused whatever that was I just said, dude.

I read a book a few months ago which I'm debating labelling, the best book I have ever read. 'I was Told There'd be Cake' by Sloane Crosley. A fabulously feminist book about a girls trials and tribulations through her teen years into her adult life. Every chapter a funny anecdote that reveals such a brutally honest insight into the daily goings on inside my brain that I was left weeping and cringing along with her main character. But the thing that stood out more than anything was her ability to make it through a whole book without the need to spend five chapters dramatizing a horrendous love story or need for a man in her life. A 21st century miracle.

That's how I want to be single, I thought. I don't want to be single and looking for love, or single and depressed or single and watching my every move so as not to attract any unwanted male advances. I can't even control my hair for goodness sake, let alone the disastrous mess that is my verbal vomit. I just want to be single.

After all, if a guy really thinks every friendly single girl wants to have sex with him, maybe he needs a bit of an ego adjustment; a gentle nudge into the reality behind a big smile and a mess of blonde hair. Because in actual fact, maybe I just want to make friends.

[CUE: Massive groan of irritable disappointment from entire male population]

So I guess now would be the time for some massive answer to the question of life, but I'm afraid the only advice I can offer is somewhat of an anti-climax:

YOU DO YOU.

It sounds shit and obvious doesn't it? In actual fact, I'm going to tell you why this is my conclusion. A single ladies, we have the ability to live this short while not having to use that word that all us stubborn fuckers hate: compromise!
How we feel about our time being single, seems focussed around how our ultimately harmless actions are perceived (even if I did snog him in the girls toilets, so what?) and we adjust ourselves accordingly, which only causes the prejudice to be targeted at our single sisters who aren't willing to conform. Mia will continue to be told that "it's just the way it is" and films will continue to tell us that the Bridget Jones life is hovering dangerously in the not-too-distant future.  But you know what? I'd love to be a successful TV producer with a few embarrassing moments tucked under my comfortable granny pants.

So you do you and do it fucking good.

Peace Out.

Basically Bali

Two pale chicks get off the plane...

It sounds like that start of a joke, but there's nothing funny about escaping a surprisingly cold Australian city to bask in the beautiful Balinese sunshine. Dreams of paddle boarding, drinking Bintang and gradually turning a dark golden brown linger above our heads in almost visible thought bubbles.

At this time of year, Uluwatu is a perfect thirty to thirty-five degrees and a warm breeze follows the jagged coastline, scattered with little coves and caves and tropical secret beaches with golden sand and clean breaks out on the reef. Paradise.

"Shall we get some gin?"

Famous last words seem to be a backpackers downfall, don't they?

As we sit on the tiled steps outside the traditional-styled accommodation, drinking gin and tonics and smoking $2-a-pack cigarettes, we promise to never, ever reveal the fuck up that occurred on the way from the airport.

[Travel Advice: ALWAYS get a taxi from one of the companies inside the airport. Not the scary strangers stood outside, just in case you happen to leave anything precious behind.]

We were already making friends. Hannah and I had arrived at the airport early, groggy-eyed and weighed down by our possessions. Sipping on coffee to keep us alive and alert, we'd raced an Australian surfer through customs, narrowly winning thanks to an over zealous security guard scrutinizing his bag.

The surfer was sat near us on the plane and, when it comes to Bali, that basically means your friends for life. The over excited holiday mode that takes over the moment you arrive at the airport, almost as if flicking a switch as you check in your bags. "Can I see your passport and remote control?" the check in lady should say, "Make sure you've been set to the right mode". Of course I'm pretty sure that's another idea for some dystopian literature.

"So what's the plan then?" Says Hannah.
"Oh, I don't know. Stay alive, get a tan, make some more friends" I replied.
"Friends like the friend you met on the plane?" Hannah threw me a look while I sat there trying to reply to my new friends message.
"Exactly." I said without hesitation. She'll understand in a few days, I thought, everyone's just friends with everyone in Bali.

We spent days on beaches and evenings watching sunsets in marvelous places. Gazing over at Hannah, I wondered if it would be a bad idea to ask, for the tenth time that day, if she was enjoying herself. The little cross of guilt resting on my shoulders after losing her on the way to Padang Padang on our mopeds. Driving across the bridge, I'd glanced in my mirror to check she was following and would notice me indicate into the car park. Trundling across the bridge, at a rather gentle pace, was a lady in a white top, moped helmet and aviator-style sun glasses. 'That'll be her!' I thought speeding on up the road and coming to an unsteady, but reasonably successful stop. Two minutes later, I came to the conclusion that she's either collided with the seriously misplaced coach, or had simply not seen me pull into the car park and was currently speeding off towards the unknown land beyond Padang.

"Oh fuck."

I think she'd forgiven me. I did defy the laws of mind over matter, ignoring all fear of my own capabilities (or lack of them) on a bike, hastily chasing her down the road, begging to the higher power that I rely so heavily on when the fuck up is probably my fault, to discover her coming towards me with a line of cars in tow, smiling pleasantly like she was going to kill me in my sleep. 'It's okay,' I thought, 'we're at the beach now.'

As I pulled up in the car park for a second time, I laughed and pointed openly at a lady climbing off a bike, wearing a white top, helmet and aviator-style sunglasses. Just like Hannah. I ignored the fact that this doppleganger also turned out to be about 20 stone heavier than Hannah. We had 7 more days together yet!

"What are you wearing tonight?" She stirred from her sunbathing slumber and I realised that I hadn't given it a second of thought. It was our last day in Uluwatu and tonight, which happened to be a Wednesday, we were going to Single Fin. For all those aware of the famous cliff top bar and sort of night-club-come-restaurant venue, you'll know that Wednesday's the best day to go. Some of the more raving, mushroom loving lunatics might suggest that the other music night on Sunday is better, but I like the chilled atmosphere that surrounds the midweek party goers. The music is a mix of guilty pleasures from Bob Marley to Blondie and Florence and the Machine to Flume (all relative, unoffensive remixes of course). Angel by Shaggy even came on at one point and if anyone wants to know a little fact about me: this was not something I was against. In fact, we even made a video.

However, while we lay in the hot afternoon sun next to the infinity pool we'd cleverly made available to ourselves despite not actually staying at the resort, I was somewhat saddened that trip was already half over, and then reality would have to be faced right in the, well, face. I decided to wear my pale grey and white spotted pixie dress which was pale enough to make me look tanned and light and loose enough to generate some airflow. Turns out it was so light and loose that it was also a little see-through but c'est la vie. Que sera, sera and all that jazz.

It was, of course, a hot and humid evening as sunkissed dancers sucked on the ice cubes from their empty drink glasses and fanned themselves with napkins and leaflets and and anything they could find in their bags. We danced, surrounded by lanterns, illuminating puffs of cigarette smoke in the clear night sky until we couldn't ignore the temptation of the air conditioned bathrooms any longer. The sight that met us as we burst through the doors was one of girls desperately trying to save their make up from sliding down their face, while still disguising patches of sunburn, which glowed with embarrassment in the heat. I splashed my face with water before soaking a paper towel to dab over the rest of my body. Oh the trials and tribulations of looking fabulous on holiday! Instagram would suggest that we effortlessly frolick in the sea and sand, smelling like sea salt and coconut with beachy hair cascading down our backs. In reality, we're all just really fucking hot and sticky.

Waking up the next morning incredibly hungover and full of shame and regret, I try to forget that we very nearly didn't make it home alive thanks to packs of wild dogs, let alone the fact that I was the new reining champion of emptying the contents of my stomach. Whoops.

"How are you feeling?" Hannah looked concerned as I squashed large mouthfuls of pancakes covered in lime and honey into my face like I'd been fasting for a week.
"Empty" I attempted to reply, feeling grossly primitive talking with food in my mouth. She chuckled, slightly, before returning to her plate, probably trying to block the scarring visions of my disgrace.

After arriving in Kuta later that day, spirits were raised with the promise of a relaxing afternoon by the pool and drinks with our plane friend.

"Hey! I'm in Kuta later, where you girls staying?" The message had read
"Suka Beach" I replied.

He checked in two hours later and we went to meet his friends at the beach to watch the sunset, perched in deckchairs, drinking Bintangs at one of the many makeshift beach bars that line the sand from one end of the beach to the other. As you walk along the sand there is a cacophony of calls and beckons from the locals that own the bars; "come sit! Cold beer! Very good, very good!"

"Terima Kassih" we say when we choose our seats and they bring us beer. "Tare in my car seat" jokes our friend, very pleased with himself. "That's how I remember how to say it!" It's clearly not the first time he's made this joke. After dinner we go for drinks at Stakz, voted the best food venue in Bali in 2014. We nurse our hangovers with Smirnoff Ice and secretly placing wagers on the age of our new friends. To sum up, one of them apparently looked like a younger version of Hannah's Dad. Thankfully, we concluded the rest were much younger.

Because I'm absolutely appalling at leaving reviews on Trip Advisor, I'll tell you now that the hostess at Stakz is a good enough reason to go on her own. A fabulous Indonesian lady dressed in electric blue who stroked my hair, called me beautiful and classily flirted with her guests like a pro, making everyone feel welcome and raising the atmosphere with her jokes and radiant smile. The breakfast the next day was pretty banging too.

Our next and final stop was Berawa beach in Canggu. A black-sanded stretch (caused by the volcano further in land) where tourism is a thing of the past and the beaches population consists mainly of the Australians that have moved there or own a house nearby so they can ride lonely waves with little competition from ametures and swimmers. The only beach bar here is a more established one called The Naked Coconut, nestled in colourfully painted palm trees with beautifully printed floor cushions arranged in their shade, their biggest seller is, suitably, chilled young coconuts. The top of which they hack off with a machete-type knife and stick a straw in it for convenience. Tah Dah!

Our hotel is called Charlie Browns, and for about $30/day (a step up in price from our previous residence on the trip) you get absolute luxury. Two double beds to a room with en suite wet room, television, complimentary water, incredibly efficient air conditioning, a fridge, a wardrobe and a pillow shaped perfectly for spooning. What more could two single girls want? And let's not forget the pool and included breakfast of eggs, toast and fruit made by a loving hostess who explained that regular guests have taken to calling her Momma. After daily lifts to Seminyak, Deus' Temple of Enthusiasm, Echo Beach and the airport for very cheap rates, we understood why.

At Seminyak beach, we sat and sunbathed at a bar that had developed leaps and bounds ahead of its competitors, with a generator for music, bean bags to sit on and an actual approachable bar containing fridges and mie goreng for the occasional peckish beach-goer. We made friends with manager, a young man from Jakarta who sat and smoked and talked with us most of the afternoon, introducing us to his very adorable puppies and keeping our drinks flowing. As we chatted and cooed over the puppies, a collection of Australians inhabited the bar next to ours, attempting to call us over to sit with them.

"We have puppies and they're just jealous!" stated Hannah

Needless to say, as we left the beach after sunset, they caught us, promising just five minutes of our time and a free drink, so we stayed an hour, had two drinks and then went for dinner with them at the beach front restaurant right next to their hotel which had only been open four days. I'm currently cursing myself for forgetting the name, because the owner, who had spent the last three years managing some of the best restaurants in Melbourne was fantastic, offering the best service along side free starters and deserts and even a tequila shot. If I go back to Canggu, I will undoubtably go back because the food was delicious! The live music was provided by a woman who knew every song we asked her to play and an incredible voice that, without sounding too 'X-Factor judge', gave me goosebumps.

Our new friends were from Wollongong in Australia and, because the world really is that small, we have mutual friends who we marvelled at for sometime, challenging the coincidence with more names and places that the other might know. They were also the same age as us which thrilled Hannah into a high pitched excitement.

On our last day the rain came, as if protesting our departure and sulked, rather hungover from the night before at Deus, over our last meal. A deliscious curry from the restaurant just a 30 second walk away. We also sulked over ice cream and more beer while we packed.

As we stepped off the plane in Syndey, a much colder rain greeted us, with a painful Australian twang we were guided round the airport and smacked with the reality of joblessness and dwindling funds.

That's what travelling is all about though isn't it? Meeting people who will laugh at the disasters that almost had you panicked into a fit, scooping you up, handing you a beer and reminding you that you're on holiday for fuck sake. Because, for fuck sake, we were on a bloody marvellous one. And we still are (even if Sydney is one big rainy poverty pit for a short while). The next adventure lingers on the horizon.

'Till then, my pretties!

P.S: If anyone is struggling to figure out how to spend their New Years Eve this year, whether it be in icy London or wet and windy Cornwall (or even the toasty delights of Sydney and their mind-blowing selfie sticks... I mean, fireworks) I strongly recommend joining the party on Gilly T, a magical paradise island just off the coast of Bali. See you there x

"It Tastes Like Christmas!"

This isn't a horror story... not a fictional one anyway
LOOK AT THOSE CLOUDS!

4pm on Friday 13th May.

I know what your thinking, I have a Friday-the-thirteenth horror story to share with the world. But while I sit here, slurping down my third coffee of the day, and without jinxing myself too much, I can cautiously say that I haven't really noticed any final destination chaos hurtling towards me with a vengeance. 

Nope. I can confirm that this post is totally unrelated to the mythical day that karma takes a holiday and everyone throws their shit at a fan. Today, at this time, I am hear to report that it is 20 degrees C. That's right everyone, regardless of what John Snow and his northern friends believe, winter has most certainly come to Sydney, Australia. 

I, like so many other misty-eyed, first-time backpackers before me, were shocked, outraged and left threatening to sue the country of Australia after discovering it's not all scorching deserts and humid rain forest biomes* down in this mystical place called the Southern Hemisphere. Sadly, it does in fact suffer from the world's worst sickness: winter. 

As a self-diagnosed cryophobic, I escaped to the sunny corner of the planet which promised deadly holes in the ozone layer and temperatures so high that the entire Australian population has evolved to live little further than running distance from the ocean. I discovered very quickly that not even the only exotic English-speaking country could escape the weather systems I revised so poorly for my Geography A-Level.

So while everyone else taps away about their hilarious Friday the thirteenth run with THAT ex while their hair was a mess and they'd just snapped their favorite pair of Jimmy Choo's, I'm here to send a very important message to the wonderfully bewildered people of the Northern Hemisphere: the theory that Australia is permanently enjoying summer, is the biggest con since capitalism (and we all know how well we bought into that one).

I mean, am I telling you that Sydney and Melbourne are six feet deep in snow from June-September? Of course not, how gullible are you guys? Seriously.

However, am I telling you that by the end of April you can wave goodbye to that golden tan you've been sporting like you're first ever Prada handbag since stepping off that 20 hour plus plane journey? Yes, that I am. 

But the lie doesn't end there my little frosty-fingered friends, oh no no no. From one's first experience of a hurricane-style thunderstorm- which lasted over a week and had me sky scanning for the next flight to Bali- I was looked in the eye and told, totally honestly, that by the time winter hit New South Wales, it would still be warmer than British summer time and you can always scoot up north for the "actual" part of Australia that doesn't experience winter. 

Lies.

After being totally randomly and spontaneously (and in true backpacker style) "let go" from my totally stable job (Ha!) in the cooky suburb of Newtown, conveniently before my long-awaited second trip to Bali [gasp for air] I've considered the possibility of a surfers paradise lifestyle.

You know the dream, casually well-payed job at a surf shop, inches from the sand and an overpriced shared apartment just inches away from work so I can practice those appalling surf-skills everyday on my brand new little fish... An impeccable new fashion sense, hair cut and a fling that even Jill Mansell couldn't put into luscious-enough cliched words wouldn't go amiss either. We can all dream right? 

No. No we can't. Because while all of this is 100% possible (ahem...) I'm going to have to achieve it in temperatures too far under 30 degrees to maintain a serious tan or frolic around in a bikini at all hours of the day and night without a care in the world.

This is a fact that a self-diagnosed cryophobic is finding seriously hard to come to terms with. Especially following a culture shock that nearly had me twitching on the floor in a processing error fit. The chef at my former place at work once thrust a spoonful of the new winter menu into my face for a delightful and wonderfully surprising taste test before I'd had my first coffee of the day. Without even thinking, I looked at the chef, doe-eyed and gleefully munching on baked apple/cinnamon flavors and said "It tastes like Christmas!" ... All I can say is it's a good job that this Australian chef had been to England, had a cup of coffee that morning and also had a basic understanding of the Northern and Southern Hemisphere and where their seasons fall on a calendar.  

So today, at 5pm on Friday 13th May, I leave you with these little home truths that should be considered when packing your perfectly planned out backpack. That's right, I'm not telling you not to come, don't be an idiot. However, no harm ever came from considering two pairs of jeans, a jacket, a couple jumpers and maybe even throw in a long sleeved t-shirt if you're sure you've got enough room. 

And while I'm being bossy... DO NOT BRING HIGH HEELS.

If you do this the force will be strong with you, young padawan. 

Peace Out.

*Biome: A man-made tropical eco-system inside a a giant dome-shaped greenhouse somewhere in the South West of England where people go on a rainy day to remind the public that there is life (and heat) outside the rainy world we're from.