Lights, Camera...then what?

I've been reading the Internet Movie Database with a vengeance this week, quietly smiling to myself at the thought of Mr Depp about to hit my screens as Mr Wonka. Can't wait for that. My love of Roald Dahl, plus my devotion to Johnny Depp, plus my admiration for Tim Burton will make Charlie and the Chocolate Factory a heavenly coupla hours for me, I think. Something tells me Kate is going to see this one a few times.

Another movie I'm waiting for is Madagascar, and I don't need to wait long - it's out tomorrow here. From Spielberg's DreamWorks stable, home to the lovable ogre Shrek, the film features the voice talents of the fabulous Ben Stiller, among others. I'm a big fan of animated movies. My sister and I went through a big stage of buying up Disney movies for their timeless appeal and old-fashioned romance and musical numbers. Love it.

It's a good time for a dreamer like me to be going to the cinema. I couldn't watch a REAL movie if I'd wanted to. In the UK anyway, it's all about the Fantastic Four, Sin City, Star Wars et al. Not that I mind one bit; after all, escapism and butter popcorn are two of my favourite things.

Clogged up by lardy goodness

When I admit to people that I've come to Scotland because of the accents, I am being shallow. And misleading.

Two significant things I was looking forward to indulging in were Scottish food and drink, and this interest was rekindled following my positive dining experience in Paris at the weekend.

Now I'm not a whiskey drinker, but at the time of leaving Australia back in February, I was willing to give it a go. And still am, having collected armfuls of brochures advertising distilleries and Whiskey Appreciation Centres (aka pubs) dotted around the Scottish countryside. I've now tried Tennants lager, and can recommend it - for when the Coopers runs out, of course.

And as for food, I've commented already that I've settled into the bacon roll, tattie scone, and neeps & tatties culture (not all in the one meal of course), but the piece de resistance was THIS breakfast fryup served to Daz in Edinburgh.

Of course, there is nothing odd about it. In fact, this plate looks quite appetising in comparison to some I've seen. And I seem to recall it looking particularly good to my bleary eyes. But note the little ring of haggis smiling up at you from the plate. Even in a hungover state, one will pause before one shovels haggis into one's mouth. Trust me. The Heinz sauce you see above got a workout over the plate shortly after I took this shot.

Like any fry up, the Scottish one has to have lard, unidentifiable ingredients, and more lard. Yummy when hungover, scary when not.

The Paisley Pigeons

Over at Batreg's lair, she recently commented on the nudist proclivities of the Paisley male folk, as they cast off their shirts to crisp themselves in a rare display of sunshine here yesterday.

I know that in posting that social observation, it was not AB's intention to conjure up any images of Baywatch hunks or LA's Muscle Beach. If you had that in mind, that is all your own doing.

Let me assure you that the topless men strutting the streets yesterday are more pigeon-chested than the feathered vermin that circle High Street above our heads! We're talking scrawny arms, shaved heads, baggy-bum jeans (with the plaid shirts tucked into the back pocket), and rhythmic head-bobbing saunter. In fact, you'd be hard pressed to tell the difference between the boys and the birds, if not for the feathers! Trust me, no baby oil or screaming girls need apply here.

Perhaps "Someone Upstairs" (you know who) was aggrieved by the Skinny Streakers yesterday too, because today is much cooler and the long sleeves are back on. Hehe sucked in.

Hold onto your server folks!

Being away from Scotland the last few days has given me a break from the media madness in the wake of London's bombing disaster. But I was quite interested in the link emailed to me this morning, to a website that invites people from all over the world to submit images showing they will not let terrorism stop them living their lives.

The website is refreshed every hour, and the images are rolling on in. The only thing these people have to be afraid of is a server meltdown as ordinary people from around the world scramble together for solidarity! Away from the message itself, I think there are some quite impressive shots on the website, reminding me that there really are some creative (and decidedly unafraid) people out there.

Check out the site here

Do you know the way to San Jose?

I like to think I'm good at geography, while acknowledging that I'm rubbish at navigation and map-reading generally. For my way of thinking, I'm good at geography in the sense of foreign customs, languages, and traditions. I like to know about people in faraway places, how they live and what they do. I've come to appreciate this through some rather nerdy means.

As a younger person, I used to be quite good at the game, Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? I could identify quite a number of different flags and customs, and locked away some baddies for Interpol along the way. I watched as much David Attenborough nature programs as my little head could handle. My Year 6 class teacher taught me everything I didn't want to know about South America, and my recent travel experiences have made me love and then hate the Wright brothers for inventing aeroplanes.

But if geography is also about the lay of the land, and being able to look at a map and point to my country of choice, clearly I suck big time. Thanks to my Aussie chum Shedes, I am going spare trying to get a good score for Australia in this little online game. This addictive, terribly disconcerting online game.

I encourage you to give it a go and see whether you can drag Australia out of the slump I've thrown it into. Sorry team!

How the other half lives

I have just spent the most perfect weekend in Paris, having had a literal taste of how the other half lives. The most notable part of my weekend was the lunch to celebrate Jaime's 30th birthday. Our venue of choice? The Jules Verne restaurant, half-way up THE Eiffel Tower.

Flying in on Friday night, Kate met me at Porte Maillot, where the airport bus dropped me off. After a couple of Metro changes, we made it to Kate's new apartment in Montmartre, that she shares with her British friend, Nicky. I have posted some pics of Kate's new apartment on Flickr. Click here if you want to check them out.

Daz and J were spending Friday night at a hotel designed by Christian Lacroix in the Marais district, where Kate used to live. So Kate and I caught the Metro out there to see them. We had some wonderful drinks and whole-shell peanuts, and chatted and laughed for hours. Before I knew it, it was midnight and we were wishing Jaime a HAPPY 30TH BIRTHDAY in real time, it was great. Kate and I then went out till 5am but let's not dwell on that. Suffice to say I wore my sequinned black halter top, and met a Sicilian. Two high points of the evening that probably don't need elaboration.

The boys had gone nuts at the designer boutiques in Paris, shopping at Versace and Dolce & Gabbana, to deck themselves out for the Saturday lunch. They arrived at Kate's place at midday, as arranged, and fortunately found Kate & I ready to go. We felt like crap, but we were dressed.

I had bought a stretchy brown dress with an A-line skirt and plunging front and back. In my excitement about the occasion, I neglected to buy Hollywood tape. This meant I was risking a Janet Jackson-style wardrobe malfunction all day. I didn't think the Eiffel Tower staff would approve, so as you can see from the photo I posted above, I kept my green shawl wrapped around me at all times. I think it looked alright though. I was so impressed with the way we ALL looked though - Kate's floaty green chiffon dress was beautiful and the boys cut really mean figures in their fantastic suits. Sigh. We really looked the part.

Entering the Jules Verne by private elevator was ritzy in itself. I don't know how she did it, but Kate installed us at THE best table in the place. I am sure it was also the table Tom Cruise sat at to propose to Katie Holmes just a few weeks earlier. Well, it's the one I would have picked. Our view was uninterrupted and because the weather was so good, we could see plenty of monuments and landmarks.

We enjoyed a bottle of Moet et Chandon, and a delicious red wine (the name of which I have forgotten already). I had a main course of beef fillet with a rich, sticky gravy, vegetables and a potato dish. Then my dessert was a fantastic passionfruit sorbet with berry jelly underneath. Bliss. I didn't have any of the cheese plate, but I was still able to admire the array of cheeses in the trolley the waiter brought to our table (yes, a whole trolley). I thought Kate was going to crawl into it and happily die there.

At about 5pm, after our desserts, the waiter asked if we wanted to take our coffees in the bar area so we could enjoy a different view of Paris than the one we had been admiring over lunch. The city is might impressive, and really sprawling. We had eaten our fill, and sitting there in silence to admire the view was all we wanted to be doing.

But we found the strength to pay the bill (eek!), and walk out on the promenade deck to take some photos. Of course we were just like the pleb tourists then, just with snazzier clothes for the occasion. Our cameras got just as much of a workout as theirs.

A fantastic lunch, and a beautiful weekend. Shame that you have to come back to reality after something like that, huh?

Oops! I did it again

I know I said I wasn't going to post anything else today about the terror situation in London, but I can't help it.

Not being home means I've got no one to share how I feel about what has happened. Instead, I've been overdosing on web-based news footage; graphic photostreams on Flickr; and blog entries from equally stunned wannabe writers like me.

If I was back in Australia right now, I'd be sitting on my couch, glued to the TV, trading can-you-believe-its and this-is-incredibles with my mother. Most likely. But instead I'm overseas, miles away from anyone who cares what I think about things like this. So I resort to sharing it here. Sure, it's one-way communication, but at least it's an outlet. Indulge me, if you dare.

I remember dealing with the 9/11 attacks the same way. When Sandra Sully told me about the Twin Towers on the late news, I gaped like a goldfish in sheer disbelief. I was house sitting then, so I was alone. I reached for the phone, not minding it was 11pm Aussie time, and rang Mum. She picked up the phone after about 1/2 a ring. The hushed, urgent voice down the phone whispered, "hello?" and I launched into "can you believe this? What's going on? What do you know?" interrogation. But we talked on the phone, and listened to Sandra simultaneously.

And like the 9/11 attacks and their aftermath, I find myself like some sort of morbid sponge. Back then I soaked up every bit of information I could, and did it all again once the one-year anniversary rolled around. Is it some sort of perversion that makes me do this? If it's information I'm seeking, you would think I'd feel better having it. But no, it actually depresses me (DUH) and then I look for that glimmer of hope somewhere. I looked for it then, and I look for it now.

Clearly my happy news came from the one-line text and email from my friends, not from the news bytes of CNN or the others. Hearing they were safe and well effectively disconnected me from the tragic situation in London. And yet I can't look away from it.

Is that wrong?

The important things

The events in London have dominated world media, and my own Internet perusals included. I am not prepared to comment about terrorism, tragedy or other such issues, but I do want to send this short message out to my 2 Adelaide friends based in London:

To Stoney and Groovy Gems - I'm so glad that you are both safe, well, and were able to message me quickly today (SMS and email rocks). I'm really relieved that my two favourite Londoners are doing well. Keep safe, girls and we'll have
a Coopers eventually. [I know I keep promising].

There's no use crying over it

It's not until you leave a jug of milk in your office overnight and realise the morning after that you've made some kind of stinky cheese, that you start to think how long it's been since you had a black coffee. And one taste of said black coffee reminds you why you stopped drinking it in the first place. Blech.

Oooh speaking of coffee, guess what? AB tells me that Listerine has produced caffeine tabs, similar to the translucent peppermint tongue thingies that are popular the world over. Am yet to see the proof myself but WA-HEY it could be a rather different way to wake up in the morning.

And another thing, I'm not sure why it is that the first burst of Scottish sunshine in a while has made me put on my strappy pink shoes. Firstly I had trouble doing them up (which strap goes at the front of the damn things?), and secondly I have to walk in them! The High Street here in Paisley is not built for strutting in stilletos. I just wish someone had told me that earlier. PS, the shoes look pretty good though *wink*

When your number's up

Every night when I get home from work, we have dinner. Then after we've eaten, AB and I sit down to nut out the puzzle page from The Times. We battle the crossword; the Polygon; and the puzzle-that-has-stopped-the-nation, Soduku.

I'm talking about a puzzle so famous and so addictive that we've recently had a TV show broadcast across the UK featuring celebrities trying to nut out the solutions live on air. You know you've made it when celebrities risk real-time ridicule trying to work you out!

I'm not sure whether my Aussie readers will have encountered Soduku. And for all of its 'fadness' (to create a Gab-ism for the moment), the Internet doesn't seem to have a catch-all page to describe it to you. But I did find this one page, that tries to explain the rules, then gives you a shot at solving a sample puzzle. It also has a cheat button, if you need it - no such luxury with the newspaper version.

There are also PDF versions of the daily puzzle on newspaper websites, so people can go nuts on public transport, frantically scribbling number combinations across the grid (presumably to take their mind off the hell-cat bus drivers!).

Batreg and I can be known to go cross-eyed; hurl pens; drink copious amounts of coffee; and say rather rude words several times over, when a Soduku puzzle we're working on looks like it's solved, but we've buggered it up in one square without realising, and thrown the whole thing out.

So I challenge you to get involved in this numbers game, but be warned. Once you get started, it's very hard to stop. Think about when you started playing Tetris. How long was it before you started seeing little coloured blocks in your sleep?!

Strewth and crikey

All this talk about Olympic bids and Live 8 and "why are you living here anyway?" has made made miss Australia like you wouldn't believe.

I miss large jars of Vegemite; hamburgers with the lot made to order; Fasta Pasta; cheap house red; and Coopers beer.

So when I stumbled across a funny site today, I knew I had to share it with you. The content is allegedly beamed across the world to help foreign people learn all they can about the big, brown land of Oz. You've probably seen some of the info in gag emails, but it's worth another look if you get time. Enjoy!

Jolly good news old chap, but then...

So London has won the right to host the 2012 Olympic Games, huh? I was secretly crossing my fingers for the land across the Channel to be honest. I haven't been to London yet, but I just think Paris is a cool place, and would have been an elegant, contemporary host.

Think about it for a minute. If Paris had won the bid, we would have seen:

• designer uniforms for the athletes;
• kisses before and after the races;
• quality coffee and pastries right across the City;
• reliable transportation;
• consistent weather; and
• French men.
  

If London can offer me any or all of these things, I'll change my tune.

Has anyone lost a lung?

There is a woman down the corridor here at work who has been hacking up her lungs over the last few days. She has one of those bone-shaking coughs and it sounds positively awful. It would not surprise me if she is doing herself permanent damage by lurching and wheezing like she has been.

And while I have sympathy for her condition, it only extends so far. Go home and stay there till you get better. If you give ME what you've got, look out.

Get well soon.

But it would be cool, though

Come on, Friday

Now it's not that I don't like my job at the University, it's just that I don't like being bored. And it seems a scary coincidence that I am REALLY bored at the Uni. I have decided to stick out my 4-week additional placement, then look for something more inspiring, and something that pays a little better. I figure I can be shallow on my gap year, and go where the cash is.

The cash I have saved so far is taking me to Paris this Friday, to enjoy a glamorama lunch half-way up the Eiffel Tower, at the ritzy Le Jules Verne restaurant.

Kate tells me that to access the restaurant, we need to sashay down (or up?!) a red carpet, past the tourists waiting to climb the Tower's forty million stairs. As patrons of the restaurant, we are transferred by an elevator. La-dee-da.

I am also promised substantially better weather in Paris this time of year. You might recall that when I arrived in February, and then re-appeared in May, the weather alternated between Siberian gulag, and semi-sunny comfort. I already know that the company will be first-class, so here's hoping for some consistent sunshine, accompanied by some mouth-watering (and pronouncable) dishes.

Bon appetit!

What money CAN'T buy in Scotland

I've already blogged a few times about the Aussie goodies I can find in local Scottish supermarkets. No problems stuffing my face with Vegemite (albeit in small jars), and countless packets of TimTams from Tesco.

But here is an example of what money can't buy here. No supermarket in this country, or any other, could stock such a valuable commodity. Sigh.

Back off, dirtbag

I know it may sound paranoid, but sometimes I think the universe really is out to get me. And it can be relatively small and stupid things that confirm it. Take today, for instance.

AB has finished her temp assignment at the Council, but I've been extended for four weeks (oh, didn't I tell you that? Yay me). Anyway, I've been getting up and out the house early by myself the last few days. It's a lonely existence, having breakfast alone in a quiet house, trying desperately not to clang dishes in the sink for fear of waking everyone. But I digress.

Not only did I clang dishes and slam doors this morning - while I was actually trying to be quiet - I dropped my lipstick on the lid of the ceramic toilet seat and it made a God Almighty crash. I suppose the expletive that escaped my lips sounded delightful when echoing off the bathroom walls too.

All of this noise was followed up with some deafening sneezing and blowing of nose, when I categorically declared myself to be allergic to the house. All the fields, cut grass, pipe smoke, perfume, dog hair - it all combines to give me the itchiest, runniest, snottiest nose I've ever had. And I believe I alone am keeping Mr Kleenex and his Mini-Tissue enterprise afloat.

Emerging from the house shaken, but not stirred, I crossed the road to await the bus. I didn't have to wait long, and I was greeted by Evil Kanevil, the smiling but inherently evil bus driver. I had not even sat down and he was already foot to the floor, so I had to fight the urge to release the expletive from my mouth and instead, collapsed into my seat. I spent the rest of the 15 minute journey gripping the seat infront of me, and trying to keep all my belongings contained as we hooned around hairpin turns and screamed off Motorway exits.

All I ask is that I arrive at work in one piece, with my sinuses intact. I don't care if it all goes to hell at 10am, because by then I will have had my coffee and be ready to deal with that sort of thing. Until then, I ask that the Fates; the Furies; and Chaos the Universal Bully, just bugger off and let me get on with it.

The mental deluge

I read a neat little story this morning that dragged me out of my Monday-itis. It would seem that collaborative thought exercises have fallen prey to the neverending quest for political correctness.

Whatever will the public sector do now? Classic.

Going to Edinburgh was a 'capital' idea

I am back at work this morning, having spent the weekend in Edinburgh, the capital city of Scotland. The posts in the lead-up to this journey made much of the "Make Poverty History" march, and the thousands of people who would effectively be making a pilgrimage to Edinburgh to participate in it.

I needn't have worried about the crowds, as it turns out. If you know me at all, you'll have worked out that I'm not much of a morning person. I can get up and out the house early if I have to, but it's not my idea of a good time. So given this side of myself, and the crowds I knew would be descending on the Scottish capital, AB and I did not care about being on Saturday's first train to Edinburgh. In fact, we did not set off until after 11am.

We caught the bus to Paisley, as I do every morning to come to work. It was a surprise for our bus driver to see AB and I clamber on the skinny, white-knuckle-ride bus with our mini suitcases and casual garb. If our luggage didn't give us away, we were all smiles and hopeful expressions, so the bus driver knew we were off on an adventure of some kind, I'm sure.

The train to Glasgow Central left shortly after we arrived at the station, so we didn't need to wait around at all. I was a bit apprehensive, because I knew that upon arrival at Glasgow, we'd need to walk through the City to Glasgow Queen Street station, and change trains for Edinburgh. But Glasgow is a super-easy city to get around, and finding Queen Street was dead simple. Both stations are clean and modern, and the trains are smooth and run on time. The journey to Edinburgh took about 45 minutes and though there was not much scenery to admire, we did pass through some lovely towns that warrant a return visit when we have time.

Arriving at Edinburgh Waverly station was not the crush of people I was expecting. Lots of people wearing white (as Sir Bob had asked people to do), made me feel guilty for forgetting and instead wearing my khaki green ANZAC tshirt. Bummer, missed that one. A quick phone call to Nat, one of the Adelaide girls we we met in Turkey, and we arrived at her workplace called Eccovino, a funky wine bar on Cockburn Street. After a cleansing glass of prosecco and a bruschetta of goat cheese, sweet onion, and olive tapenade (naturally), we were ready to hit Princes Street shopping district and find Batreg some 'going out' shoes.

To get to Princes Street we had to go right over the Waverly bridge (back past the train station, where we'd just come from). The protesters cut up through the Park and down sections of Princes Street that had been cordoned off. The sea of white-clad protesters gave me goosebumps, and still does when I think about it.

I took some photos of the protesters, chanting their "Make Poverty History" slogans and blowing their whistles. It was a magic sight, all these people united in a march down the cobbled streets in the shadow of the beautiful Edinburgh Castle. I loved it.

Cut to later that afternoon, and we're on the Royal Mile with an after-work Nat, and our friend Susie (also a Turkey pal, hailing from Adelaide). We enjoyed some afternoon tea and people watching, then way too many beers with Nat at Belushi's, a neat bar/hostel down by the train station (again?!).

When Darren and Jaime arrived later that night, there was some rather confused SMS communication and phone conversation to rendez-vous at the flat the boys had rented, and where we would be staying overnight. The flat was in a prime location, just up from the Royal Mile near the Castle, but in a relatively quiet part of the street. We had dinner at an Italian cafe, then wandered across the street for a few pints.

A sore head on Sunday morning (maybe I was poisoned?!), and I was first up out of bed, in the shower, and ready with my coffee on the couch. Once everyone got organised, we went to a cafe for brunch where I finally tasted some of Darren's Haggis - a crucial part of a Scottish breakfast fry-up. Haggis actually tastes a lot like the stuffing you get in a chicken, but a bit spicier. Not unpleasant, but not something I'd particularly order for myself.

After brunch, we walked along the Royal Mile, calling into various museums and trinket shops along the way. We visited "Camera Obscura" which is a museum-type place full of holograms, illusions, and magic. As the name implies, there is also a Camera Obscura which, as all you latin-philes out there would know, means dark room. It houses a camera that gives you a birds-eye view of what's happening in Edinburgh and you can rotate the lens to spy on pedestrians and get a general view of the City. Rather cool.

When we left the boys, and the City, behind at 5pm, we were absolutely exhausted. But we also knew we had not seen even a small part of the wonders that Edinburgh has to offer. Clearly we need to return when we have a lot more time. I had a really enjoyable weekend in Edinburgh, and I can't wait to go back. The city has a really comfortable feel to me, and has ancient architecture, but a culture for young people. I am really looking forward to getting back there.

Chew, swallow, and repeat

Did you know that the world's record for keeping a lifesaver lolly in the mouth - with the hole intact - is 7 hours and 10 minutes? An awfully long time, and a complete waste of time if you ask me, but there you go. I just pass on the trivia, people.

Inspired by batreg's recent post about her new baker boyfriend Gregg, I thought I'd ponder awhile on the gastronomic adventure I've had so far.

Let me say at the outset that I am not afraid of trying new foods. The top 3 unforgettable dining experiences I've enjoyed so far on this trip are as follows:

1. Hong Kong - the sesame pudding, given to us as a special Chinese treat at the Nathan Street restaurant. BLECH.
   
2. France - the mountain o'meat and sauerkraut I shared with Kate's dad in Alsace. Fortunately no pictures were taken, because I can't bear to think of it again. The indigestion days afterwards was enough.
   
3. Turkey - ordering a kebab from a restaurant in Istanbul, built under the Bosphorous Bridge (linking Asia and Europe). The kebab meat was served in a bowl, on top of fries, covered in tangy sauce and sour cream. An unconventional way to eat a kebab, for sure.

I'm looking forward to enjoying some traditional Scottish cuisine while I'm here too. I've already had neeps and tatties (boiled turnips & potatoes mashed together), and I've loved the tattie scones with a Sunday morning fry-up.

I guess the only thing that's left is the big one: Haggis. Washed down, of course, with the finest Highland Scotch whiskey. Och, that's magic, sure it is.