Had a girl's night out last night. We had dinner and drinks at this marvellous place on Swanston Street in the city. Climbed lots of stairs in the heat and walked into - nirvana. A gorgeously bohemian place filled with secret booths made out of old railway carriages. Buttons to call your waiter like a butler. Nothing better than a delightfully young camp waiter in a white t-shirt with good suggestions. The food was Thai tapis, and my Champagne Bellini had red rose petals floating in a 50s glass. It was very cool.
Then we went clubbing in the same building. Now as you know readers I am partial to a good night out, although I must say my clubbing days are not as many in a year as they used to be. But they were playing exactly the same music I have been dancing to for the last three decades. EXACTLY THE SAME. All of the young men sported beards. And all of the young people new the words to Witney Houston and Ah-Ha. I ended up dancing with a young man who may or may not be blowing up a plane today - big black bushy beard.
It was so daggy it was good. Nothing like a bit of Ce-Ce Peniston to make a girl feel good again. Perked me up no end. I even stayed out with the late-nighters and came home at what I thought was a very respectable 2am. Rock on.
Friday 7 February 2014
Ballerinas
Got a new job readers. I work! I am helpful to the community and to my family. I leave the house at a certain time - and come back when it is dark. It is fun.
Somehow I managed on reputation alone, to secure a new job. I am teaching contemporary dance at the Australian Conservatoire of Ballet. They are proper ballerinas. I mean serious dancers. I cannot tell you how satisfying it is to work with dancers of this calibre again. It gives me so much pleasure to see my choreography on astute bodies. Also they get my jokes.
Of course the childcare has to be arranged with military precision. Henry and Rufus are often to be found at school pick-up looking vacantly into the distance, wondering which young babysitter brandishing Jonty will be taking them home. The Accountant now gets home before me and has to go into full take-over mode. It is join-the-dots parenting though as I have cleaned the house, made the dinner and prepped the babysitter beforehand. I even found laundry neatly-folded into piles when I arrived home, but then remembered it probably was not the work of a man.
Especially when there is roast chicken and salad to be had.
Somehow I managed on reputation alone, to secure a new job. I am teaching contemporary dance at the Australian Conservatoire of Ballet. They are proper ballerinas. I mean serious dancers. I cannot tell you how satisfying it is to work with dancers of this calibre again. It gives me so much pleasure to see my choreography on astute bodies. Also they get my jokes.
Of course the childcare has to be arranged with military precision. Henry and Rufus are often to be found at school pick-up looking vacantly into the distance, wondering which young babysitter brandishing Jonty will be taking them home. The Accountant now gets home before me and has to go into full take-over mode. It is join-the-dots parenting though as I have cleaned the house, made the dinner and prepped the babysitter beforehand. I even found laundry neatly-folded into piles when I arrived home, but then remembered it probably was not the work of a man.
Especially when there is roast chicken and salad to be had.
Wednesday 5 February 2014
The Twits
What kind of freaks decide to move into a house, unload a bunch of boxes, and then promptly move out again? Well you are reading words from one of them. The Accountant and I did take The Addams Family House. Decided that the smell and the prickles in the garden were deal-breakers of one kind and another, and as The Accountant looked as if he might have a stroke any minute, clearly decided it was a terrible idea.
No sooner had we unloaded the last box back to lovely Christowel Street than the landlords gave us our notice. Happy Fucking Christmas.
So folks for some reason this has sapped all of my creative energy, and even though I have had a million blogs going round in my head, I have not managed to tap these thoughts on to my laptop. Until now. So get ready for a surge of blogs about……ah, stuff that doesn't really matter to anyone in particular but me! And now you.
No sooner had we unloaded the last box back to lovely Christowel Street than the landlords gave us our notice. Happy Fucking Christmas.
So folks for some reason this has sapped all of my creative energy, and even though I have had a million blogs going round in my head, I have not managed to tap these thoughts on to my laptop. Until now. So get ready for a surge of blogs about……ah, stuff that doesn't really matter to anyone in particular but me! And now you.
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