Livy's Adventures

Continuing South

livy — Sun, 4 Oct 2009 21:06:00 GMT

York:

Gently undulating mottled brown moors pass seemingly endlessly by the windows of the car. Easily can I imagine a plain and little Jane Ayre coming along a road such as the one we’re on now, though perhaps not quite so sealed, until her funds had run out. I imagine her tiny figure wandering, heedless of all else, into the distance getting smaller and smaller until, stumbling and weary, she reaches a cottage at the edge of my sight and collapses to the ground.

All the while a soundtrack soars in the background of course. I can hear the violin section now!

May wanted to drive through York and have a look at it so I looked in the Lonely Planet and saw that the York Minster is supposed to be one of the most beautiful medieval cathedrals in the world.

The Lonely Planet, however, often exaggerates on such things and one must take its suggestions with a pinch of salty bacon (which, just to side track, we’ve had every day of our trip bar one for breaky and frankly its starting to show in extra love-handles and such things. Bloody Full English Breaky). Whitby fish-and-chips is an example of something that’s supposed to be worth traveling across the globe for that definitely wasn’t. Such Lonely Planet stuff ups were appeased in York because the Minster was beautiful but the town was even awesomer amazing awesome. The cathedral is splendid but a percentage of that must be down to its being so happily situated.

Again, like so much that we’ve seen, we were blown away by the layers of history and immense depth of history. The town used to be the capital of Northumberland, I think if my history is correct, and was sacked by Vikings, taken back by the English, is the site of one of the most important religious figures around etc etc. The thin spider-web streets are lined with building upon building each with its own character and personality. We had lunch at a place called Café Rouge, which was very French and awesome and cute and the food was great.

We spent so much time in York and enjoying the incredible Moors that we came to Cambridge quite late. I did get a chance to have a half pint of Guinness. It’s so much less bitter than it is in Aus with this lovely smoothness before the lagar after-taste kicks in. Most yummy!

I finished Persuasion today. Ohhhhhh so good. My new favourite (over Sense and Sensibility). I could actually feel my heart fluttering beneath my chest bone when Wentworth would talk to her. I so desperately wanted them to come together and prove themselves. Austen is such a master. She holds off the good stuff, the sweet golden chocolatey good stuff, until the reader wants it so desperately that their heart is fluttering wildly. She really forces you feel what Anne is feeling when you finally read Wentworth’s letter where he pours out every emotion to her. I love a love story about real love, hehe, that really stands the test of time and other trials. In which the lovers test their strength and depend on one another.

Castles, castles, castles!

livy — Fri, 2 Oct 2009 21:05:00 GMT

One of the significant things about our adventure has been that we’ve been able to visit sites that have been significant to us in terms of literature, art and film as well as those significant historically.

Today was a cool day for this. Sites of massive historical significance in Edinburgh Castle and three more castles on the East Coast that were burned by Cromwell to destroy the Royalists…or else I think it was the Royalists??

The brutality and passion and patriotism of Scottish history culminates in its beautiful capital at the heart of which looms the stoically romantic and timeless castle.I had to continuously remind myself of the history of the site and its significance to feel my skin tingle at such things as standing on the site of Jame I’s birth and his famous mother’s quarters. The war memorial is grave and monumental. The view of the city unique particularly from the gun barrels pointing towards the cathedral steeple below.

We walked the Royal Mile – all very touristy.

I stopped at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival offices and inquired as to when they recruit and begin organizing for 2010. It’s one of if not the biggest festival in the world so it would be a nice excuse for a six month visit in the coming years.

I’d love to go further north to Bannockburn, Culloden and Glencoe on my next trip – yes there will most definitely be a next trip!!

The next castle was recommended by Jo from Crauchie Farm. Tantallon was the first of our Cromwell destructions, which is all vastly romantic and dramatic. Its ruins loom on the very edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean from which the salt breezes to which the constant wearing and destruction of the remaining stone is attributed perpetually blow.

Standing on the battlements, knowing the tragedy of the ruins augmented by the torment that ensued upon surrounding dependant settlements, is stirring. The view to the sea, as well as inland, encompasses all the romantic brutality and passion that has inspired the deeds of its great patriots.

Hailes Castles is a lesser known ruin, again the work of our dear Cromwell. It’s smaller and its site more picturesque on the very banks of a broad, willow-lined river amongst lush green countryside and farmland.

Haggis, Edinburgh and Happy Birthdays!!

livy — Thu, 1 Oct 2009 21:03:00 GMT

I definitely feel twenty-four. Twenty-four seemed old a couple of weeks ago, but now I think I definitely feel twenty-four. I think it’s a good age. A good point in my life and a good, strong age.

Edinburgh was a fricking sweet place to spend my birthday.

This morning I got up and read my birthday card from Rob, which was v sweet and lovely, and May gave me a card she’d bought from the Beatrix Potter centre with a water-colour of the opening frame of Peter Rabbit in which Mother Rabbit is buttoning up the bunnies’ coats and reminding them not to go into Farmer MacGreggor’s garden because that’s what there father did and he was cooked in a pie.

(I’d had May take a photo of me at the Beatrix Potter centre behind a display of Farmer MacGreggor in his garden in which I feined booting him up the bum – as he did to Peter in the story. She took it but she so wasn’t impressed and thought I was thouroughly silly!)

We mainly just walked up Princes St and did some shopping then had lunch in a restaurant opposite what I think was the parliament buildings.

I HAD HAGGIS! See, I am grown up! (Only grown up people are brave enough for such things as Haggis). So I’m still not entirely certain of what Haggis is exactly but it didn’t taste too bad and smelt better than the Lambs’ Fry (sheep liver) and looked better than Sheeps’ Brains, Eyes and Kidney – all of which we used to serve at the Ocean Grove Bowling Club to the Baby Boomer lunchtime regulars once upon a time when I was chained to that particular wheel.

They served it with ‘neeps’ – turnip mash – and ‘tatties’ – mashed potato – which made it awesome because mash is pretty much one of the foods that Jesus invented to be served at meal times three times a day in Heaven.

The meal title on the menu read ‘Haggis with neeps and tatties’. Well it was my birthday and I was in Edinburgh with my most favouritist sister in the world so trying Haggis with neeps and tatties seemed like the most logical pathway – that was me sold.

May pointed out that she had been moderately adventurous herself in ordering local venison and boar burger. Tasted quite good itself!

Took a few photos of the amaaaaazing castle that just absolutely dominates every view worth seeing. We turned a corner into Princes St and there it was. I felt so struck by its presence and was at the same time aghast at the way people were just walking up and down the street like normal. I couldn’t take my eyes of it.

But I guess you get used to magnificence when you see it every day. It’s more than ‘magnificence’ though, the castle has this incredible presence of proud, tragic history and solemn, dogged majesty with strength in solidarity for all the turmoil its calmly stoical turrets have seen.

Such significance in one structure.

We are staying on the east coast about 45 minutes out of Edinburgh on an out-of-the-way farm off an out-of-the-way road in an out-of-the-way pocket of the coast-line.

East Linton is a cute little town with coastal views and a coastal smell that reminds me of home. The farm is owned by a lovely couple who love to chat and are really open about showing us around and letting us use their laundry and such things. They booked us a table at the Linton Hotel in the town. Because they had told the hotel that it was my birthday there were champagne glass and bottle sparkles on the table and they gave us a gass of champagne each. The meal was great, I had Highland venison and May had ribeye – most likely local. I figured I had to have highland produce!!

The champagne made me a bit giggly so I suppose I got a little tipsy on my birthday and that’s the way it should be, eh. I’m a bit beyond my ‘let’s get wasted’ days I think!

Continuing North

livy — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 21:01:00 GMT

Today we drove further north to Hadrian’s Wall. We actually hit a less-preserved region I think because there wasn’t much to see. To be honest the whole region is quilted patchworks of varying shades of lush, wet green separated by heavy stone walls built from the grey stone found littering the region and probably in many cases scavenged from the Roman fort and wall ruins themselves. So the ancient Roman borderline is difficult, at places, to dtermine from the everyday fencelines. We thought this was the basis of something of a joke at the poor old artifact’s expense, in the kindest possible humour of course!

The Roman Military Museum was actually quite interesting housing lots of pieces recovered from the sites like pots and coins and even shoes, which are uniquely preserved in the wet soil of the regions in a way that Roman textiles have not been preserved elsewhere.

I tend to get a bit excited about the archeology of the whole thing so I enjoyed this.

The rest of the day was spent driving to Glasgow where we had dinner but didn’t really spend much time because a change of plan caused us to head to the a town just south of Edinburgh in preference to spending three nights in the west.

At three pm Rob texted me to tell me that my birthday had begun back home (midnight). Then again at nine am because it had begun here. We rang Mum, who is herself jet lagged from her month in Italy with Dad and his sister Aunty Sue.

They all sang Happy Birthday which was sweet.

Beatrix Potter and The Lake District

livy — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 11:37:00 GMT

Peter Rabbit and Jemima Puddleduck and squirrels and piglets and foxes and badgers and little bad mice! Windemere features an incredible lake that stretches out seemingly endlessly towards the sky lined with lush green hills. Beatrix Potter bought a small property in the Lake District with the funds from her story of Peter Rabbit, self-published because no one cared about books by women about furry animals. She was a self-confessed country-woman with country ways who loved her animals and her farm-life. She graded sheep at local fairs and wrote and illustrated her books surrounded by this vast, beautiful, violent landscape that had inspired so many literists before her. Peter Rabbit inspired affection amongst children all over the planet, as far away as Australia! The stories were enchanted with the kind of magic that children are so ready to believe and trust. It also taught a respect for animals, their loyalty and companionship, and an understanding of their distinctive ways that is amongst vital characteristics that children must be taught in order to prevent a lack of respect that leads to mistreatment. We should be able to look into the eyes of our animals, rabbits or dogs or cats or birds or whatever, and recognize the necessary actions that we must undertake as part of our responsibility to maintain their humble contentment. That’s why she’s important and I think that’s her legacy to me, as an adult, that helps me to keep believing in her stories. I like believing. Why grow up and loose that? I can’t think of a reason. Anyway so the town of Windemere was quite cute and the lake was incredibly majestic. Lovely little marina for boats and lots of duck, white swans and odd looking sea gulls (odd to us). There were, like, a billion ice-cream shops! Many promising 36 flavours (we tried to guess before we went in but couldn’t get to 36). We kind of felt that people weren’t fully accepting of outsiders, which was odd for a town with so many ice-cream and tourist shops suggesting that they get lots of tourists. Maybe we just spoke to the wrong people! The two-hundred year-old house we are staying in is gloriously bizarre. Set amongst beautiful, vast farmland inhabited by friesians – the lush, bright green pastures seem ideal for maintaining their pink and bloated, swaying udders - and lithe, grey squirrels and pheasants. The gardens are kept only to the point of necessity, which seems to reflect the philosophy to which the whole place is maintained. Neglected pockets of the garden reveal crumbling grey-stone stairways to ruined stone garden houses covered in vines and arched pathways leading to thickly overgrown forest. I let my mind run wild as the building standing proudly amongst the un-kept gardens ressembles the Longbourne used in the BBC version of Pride & Prej. – it was built in 1810. The foyer features an enourmous marble stair-case crowned in white Roman-esque pillars. Our room is vast with full length windows admitting long beams that fill it with light and presenting clear views of the pituresque pasture-land beyond in which the friesians graze as they were vast paintings of a perfect English country-side. On one side thin, new-green arms of ivy reach up in conquest towards the window’s upper regions casting leafy shadows on the faded floral carpet. The wallpaper is in mismatched floral patterns and the furniture in the room is a motley mixture of styles and eras as if collected over the expanse of the house’s two centuries right up to the current day. I am convinced that they are family heir-looms and that the house has been in the owners’ family for a long time. We are keen to learn the history of the house but the landlord will only stop long enough to tell us the date it was built and is gone before we can frame the words of a response. Though friendly and very accommodating the rest of the family, the son is the chef and the wife also acts as manager, give our enquiries and thoughts and compliments much the same response. We satisfy ourselves that they are extremely busy running such an old house as a hotel and have a quiet, friendly giggle at the bizarre combination of pieces that are majestic in their age and quality, such as a dark-wood book cabinet exquisitely carved with lions’ heads that borders an entire half of the dining room holding books dating as far back as 1901, and an odd array of cheap fake-china teapots that take their place on a mantle on the opposite side of the room. The furniture is worn and lived-in, but the whole place has a comforting atmosphere to it that is enhanced by its oddness. The facilities are all exceptional, like the bathroom – though carpeted (!!!) – has a lovely modern bath bordered with stylish wall tiles and a massive matching shower. The heating is surprisingly good for such a vast room – we had commented on how hard it must be to heat such a massive, old house – and the towel rack in the bathroom is heated too which is a nice touch! We had lunch in the dining room downstairs – with the book cabinet and teapots – and it was really nice so absolutely no complaints. I love staying in a place like this, it stirs my imagination!

Day 3: Shakespeare Shakespeare Shakespeare, 'Lend me your ears', bloody death and mahem

livy — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 11:32:00 GMT

So we left Stoford. Cute little Stoford with its cute little bridge over its willow-strewn river and majestic white swans. The Swan Inn was awesome. Such good grub and nice rooms and sweet people. Wonder how much a little Stoford or Greater Wishford farmhouse would set me back? Had lunch in Oxford but didn’t stop. Instead Gurtie zoomed us to Blenheim Palace. This is the vast and splendid Baroque monolith with endless grounds that the Spencer-Churchill family of the Dukes of Marlborough have lived in since 1704. In that year the first Duke was gifted the grounds by Queen Anne following his historic victory over the French at Blenheim on the Danube. The gift propelled the Duke and his wife to the world of the rich and the famous. Their story is quite romantic as they married poor and got rich and were in love and that’s always nice. There are some interesting parallels between the unlikely savior – soldier come politician - of the 18th Century British Empire and his descendant – soldier come politician – who drew from that call of destiny for inspiration two hundred and fifty odd years later. May is reading Churchill’s autobiography now so she loved it and had lots of extra, added info. The gardens were beautiful. There’s a spire-like stone structure symmetrically lined with the north face of the house. The proud and lofty figure atop the structure is apparently the first Duke winning the battle of Blenheim, which has a nice sense of poetry about it. Julius Caesar at the Courtyard Theatre opposite the Avon was pretty awesome. The sunset over the old town painted the sky in soft pink ripples as we walked within the hush of the Avon towards the theatre. Walking into the actual space to our seats I started to feel the atmosphere of the performance to come. The historian who had worked on the production had also worked on the final scenes of the first series of Rome, which featured Caesar’s death scene in the senate. I had seen the play before when I was seven or eight with Robyn Neven as Marc Antony. It was probably the Melb Theatre Company, which makes me fairly impressed with my parents for their cultured choice, and as far as I can remember the senate was interpreted as a kind of executive workplace – or maybe it was a modern political arena. Either way the play has a certain significance to me. The point is, also, that Shakespeare is Shakespeare is Shakespeare so the director’s interpretation and the particular production is key, barely secondary to the skill of the actors and actresses in performing the poetry. To say this was a bloody, violent interpretation doesn’t quite do it justice. I always remember thinking that Brutus’ was a great betrayal and that he was the epitome of deception and untrustworthy-ness. The RSC’s portrayal of it took me beyond my childish imaginings of black and white morality, which bad Shakespearean theatre can so often be centered around. It captured the struggle of Brutus in a way that beautifully echoed Macbeth in his murderous antics. The great depth of the fallen hero. In such a simplistic way Shakespeare is still reminding us the vitality of a finely tuned moral compass, but also that deception and the deceptive character is never black and white. The path to evil runs a deep and complex course in which the perpetrator often can’t even see themselves the evil that they are doing or the black place to which they’ve come until it’s too late. Oh I love great artists for that. I love that art can reflect ourselves upon ourselves and show us who we are and why. Human nature is so monolithically complex that we need art to show us who we really are. Don’t ever let anyone tell you it’s not worth supporting the arts okay, okay!!?? Hmm getting somewhat off track… The production as a whole was incredibly bloody, gory, realistic (I mean the guy was stabbed 33 times and would’ve bled slowly to death in agonizing pain) and quite military. The crowd scenes were done quite well using projected imagery to augment the cast and an original score to highlight the drama. There was a whole additional opening scene in which two loin clothed individuals fought one another like animals to the death, highlighting the animalistic nature of the Roman society built on war and destruction and death and suffering. Perhaps a parody on the pointless, animalistic nature of war? The stupidity of it!? The out-dated barbarity of it that only could exist in a world dominated for countless millennia by testosterone-fuelled men. Okay so I’m getting off track a bit again, but seriously if the world was dominated by women disputes over world-domination would be solved by civilized meetings over coffee at the local café during which one lady-ruler would be given one region, another a separate region and they would, having agreed to live in harmony, go on with their lives being intelligent and knowing that prosperity of both regions is dependant on resources being dedicated to necessities as opposed to guns and bombs and armies and other bullshit. Hmm somewhat off track again… Silvia and her husband at the Carlton Guesthouse around the corner from the Courtyard theatre and other RSC theatres (currently under refurbishment) are the loveliest people ever. She gave us our double room with ensuite and breaky for the price of a twin without ensuite because it was mid-week. The rooms are lovely and homely (very floral but comfortable) and she and her husband are lovely and helpful and cook a yummy breakfast in the morning of eggs, snozzage, bacon, tomatoes and mushroom! (Plus tea and coffee and toast and jam and cereal and juice, yum!) They are interested in getting to know us but they’re also intelligent people who can hold a good conversation and also know when to leave you alone. So I would def go there again…soon sometime…if anyone has a lazy $AUD2,000 they want to donate to the ‘get Liv back to the UK for the RSC’s next season’ fund??

Bath and Avebury

livy — Sun, 27 Sep 2009 06:46:00 GMT

Oh Lordy, make me rich rich rich so I can buy me a summer-house in Bath. Just a little one would do. I wouldn’t need much room as I wouldn’t be in very often. I’d bathe everyday in the baths, obvi, eat Cornish pasties everyday, again obvi, and spend all the hours in between walking up and down the Circus pretending I was Anne Elliot and that Captain Wentworth and Mr Elliot were all vying for my affections! The abbey is incredible. Built on the site of a Roman sacred space close to the Roman Baths. The tour of the Roman Baths takes you from what would have been the balcony lined with timeless statues of past Romans silently observing the turn of countless visitors of endless years surrounding the main bath underneath what was apparently a huge domed roof to the temples and other rooms underground. The ruins are incredible in their eerie magnificence and telling of the ancient magnificence and fortitude of Rome. Considering the immediacy of our Western modern culture and our waste it’s humbling to walk through stone so expertly wrought and engravings so expertly carved that they can be viewed by my eyes in the 21st century so long after their being abandoned. Bath, and England in general I think we’re discovering, is layers of ‘old’. Prehistoric to Roman to ‘Dark Age’ to Saxon to Norman to 19th century to current, well current hardly exists. In Australia we sometimes think ‘current’ is so much more significant because we easily forget about the fact we house the oldest living culture in the world. We skipped Salisbury and headed to Avebury instead. It’s another Prehistoric site like Stonehenge but older and Lonely Planet reckoned it was more rewarding. We figured that we’d seen enough old buildings and cathedrals for a while and that Avebury might be a bit more unique. The whole landscape responds to sites like Avebury in other sacred sites that are obviously significant in some lost way, like the random scattered mounds. It’s all just really cool.

Day 1

livy — Sun, 27 Sep 2009 06:34:00 GMT

Stood on Nelson’s HMS Victory in Portsmouth today. Such a good day on the harbour and by the seaside. Ticket to see the HMSes and their museums and have a harbour tour was quite good value. I pretended I was in Hornblower...truth be told that I was Hornblower (main reason i wanted to go on the ship in the first place!) pretty cool display inside. Went to Winchester and bought a postcard of Jane Austen's tomb because was too expensive to go in, haha, then went to Stonehenge. We were surprised that it closes long before sunset. Otherwise it’s crazily eerie and fascinating. So ancient and mysterious. The whole countryside is filled with random mounds connected to the Prehistoric sites. We joked that while it costs like 6 pounds to see Stonehenge Farmer Dave charges 2 pounds plus a cup of tea for people to come onto his farms and see his mounds. The countryside is beautiful. It's Australian (Victoria/Tasmania) countryside but not. The birds are Australian sparrows and such but not, Australian swans but not! It's so interesting sociologically as well, the way that our cultures are so significantly connected yet so different. For dinner we found a cuuuuuuute little village away from the road. So many cute little cillages. This one is called Wishford (next to where we’re staying – another cute little village called Stoford with the Swan Inn that’s been really good). Pounds are craaazy - everything seems so much cheaper, haha, but it’s obviously not half price! We hired a car which is awesome, we hired a satnav that we called Gladys, she's Irish and creepy until you get to know her. We love her. She’s our saviour. The Lonely Planet is our bible, Tomorrow we're going to Salisbury. Cathedral there is supposed to be super hot chickens. I asked May if she wanted me to sing Peter Gabriel's infamous hit Salisbury Hill - just to refresh your memory...'Climbin' upon Salisbury Hill, do do do di do, I could see the city lights, do do do di do, something something time stood still, do do do di do, saw an eagle take to flight, do do do di do' - but she said she'd be right if i didn't. Fortunately we have lots of Farnsy and Bon Jovi to suffice. After Salisbury we’re on to Bath because of its living Roman architecture and relevance plus its high feature in Jane Austen novels. It’s the site of the recently ended JA festival that we thought might be a little bit crazy so best to avoid - by crazy i mean creepy people dressing up in 19th century clothing pretending to be JA characters.

Omg, most epic day ever

livy — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 06:04:00 GMT

10.30am (London time): It's like my billionth hour straight awake, haven't done a flight like this since 14 hours to LA when I was sixteen Everyone on the plane is asleep - all the windows are shut and it's dark. May is asleep on my lap and the guy in front of us is snoring with metronomic precision (every four seconds!) I just had a strong black coffee so I suddenly feel amazing. I'm halfway through Persuassion, which I started in Darwin (a lifetime ago! - 6.30pm last night) We're probably over Slovenia now (the map's in Arabic) It's dizzying to me that we're actually flying over Europe and that I'm actually on the other side of the world to my humble little home at the bottom of the earth. Might not seem like much to other 23 year-olds but it's insane to me. I think I've been dreaming of this trip all my life. 19.00: left Darwin (arrived Singapore 22.50 DWN time) 03.25 (DWN time): left Singapore (arrived 10.30 DWN time) 13.30 (DWN time): left Qatar (arrived 5.15 DWN time) have no idea what day it is or how long I've been awake!

Darwin

livy — Tue, 22 Sep 2009 06:01:00 GMT

So my adventure’s begun. I’m on the five hour flight to Darwin writing on my new macbook (thanks Dorky).

I’ve said goodbye to Rob after a fantastic weekend with him. Last night he left work early so that romantic dinner would be ready for me when I finished, what an amazing boyfriend I have!

It’s strange, I’ve never flown inland before. It’s funny that I could live in the country all my life and feel such an affinity for it yet only really know such a miniscule fragment of it. The beautifully violent coastline and maybe a tiny bit inland, where the stark candle-barks are replaced by the ugly yet strangely exquisite roughness of Malalukas, is as comfortably familiar to me as my right hand . But beyond that, the red and ochre plains that are so representative of Australia to outsiders are completely unfamiliar! It’s really awe-striking, how vastly it stretches in quilted patterns of green and brown shades outside my little plane window.

I somehow scored a window seat, sweet! Even though I checked in late and didn’t choose it. The old guy next to me looks a bit like my dad’s brothers – there’s every possibility we could be related! I thought about asking if he was a Jones then thought against. He looks a bit grumpy!

There must be tomato chutney in his sandwhich. The smell reminds of breakfast at the café on Mt Alexander rd that Rob and I frequent. Our ‘usual’ is eggs on sour-dough with tomato chutney – they have the best chutney I have EVER tasted!!

This morning we had one last breakfast out together before he drove me to the airport. The guy at the counter ummed and ahed saying that they only have midday breakfast on weekends (it was 11)

Now that I’ve said goodbye to the important people that make my life all that it is in Melbourne I’m keen as to see my sister. It’s comforting in our relationship that nothing changes. On the surface we develop in opposite directions because of ur opposing experiences and I still think our characters are opposite in a lot of ways. The deep rooted nature of our characters don’t change though. I revert to ‘younger-sibling-Olivia’ when I’m with her and she becomes ‘sister-who-acts-as-the-second-mother-Mycaila’, the girl who held me like a doll when we were little. Though, sometimes she reverts to what I like to refer to as ‘giant-dag-Mycaila’ – well at least I’m refering to it as that from now on because it makes me laugh. In that case I become the more mature one which is highly satisfying for my ego! We somehow grew up adoring one another while other siblings we grew up with seemed to develop varying degrees of mutual loathing. We were isolated a little bit as kids, I think, so we came to rely and depend on one another.

Now I feel a little bit of trepidation, maybe, at seeing her after about six months. I think the last time I saw her was Easter then Christmas before that. It was weird when she moved to Darwin. Even though we hardly ever caught up in Melbourne it was still comforting to know she was around. Organising this trip has kind of forced us to call eachother and email more often and I like that. I have this thing I like to call the ‘weirdo-Liv-notion’ – ok I’m totally making these up now, but I think they’re adequately descriptive – where I think that people will change so much over time that they’ll just be irrecognisable!! (sigh) and yet I’ve seen Beaches so many times…

I think part of this is looking forward to just being with her again and living out of each others’ pockets again. I’ll feel better going back to Melbourne knowing that everything’s still the same. I’m all for change, but there’s a comfort in knowing some things don’t change. Knowing that May hasn’t become a commando fitness junkie (she’s in the army btw so that’s not entirely unlikely!) and that ‘giant-dag-May’ still encompasses the large portion of her personality will be comforting at the end of our adventure.

I just realised that I forgot to hand my 2500 word 50 percenter that’s due while I’m away, whoops! I’ll call Rob and get him to do it – he loves being the prince charming! Hehe no seriously, he is prince charming!!

So far I’ve realised that apart from that assignment – which really is pretty important!!! – I’ve only otherwise forgotten my Little Birdy cd, which would’ve been sweet to have but at least I definitely have, you know, a few scarcely more necessary things like my passport. Otherwise I’ve got some music but not much. Also the new mac is proving to be slightly trying in its differences. Wow I really should be doing my group assignment – I told them I’d do a bit of it today on the plane, hmmm

Omg, the guy next to me keeps elbowing me in the arm, what the hell! I take up like a tiny portion of the seat, he almost has to go out of his way to elbow me!! I guess when I get old I won’t give a crap about who I elbow or how much room I take up! (by then I’ll probably be really fat from a lifetime of eating too much chocolate and finishing off other people’s meals)

Mmm Billie Holiday ‘Misty’ is making it all better! I think I’ll go and play some Plants Vs Zombies and maybe get back to you later Bloggo. Oh, and first do some work on my group assignment, haha! So easily distracted.

While I’ve been writing the view outside my little window has turned to this incredible deep red that stretches out in what seems from this distance to be tiny ripples as if once upon a time these endless plains lay at the depths of an ancient inland ocean. Every now and then the expanse is interrupted by a ribbon of river or road signalled by a line of shrub or a vast damn or even a body of lighter earth that could be a hill or mountain. The patterns formed by the topography of the landscape and the scrub that covers it remind me of the patterns in Aboriginal art reminding me of their ancient affinity with it. The fact that they recognise those patterns within the landscape that are repeated almost mathematically even to the immense scale that I might recognise them at this distance causes me to feel an overwhelming respect for their knowledge built over tens of thousands of years.

Or maybe it’s just coincidence. No, I’m a romantic. So I like to think it’s not.

I like the idea that I’m somehow part of that as an Australian at the start of my life with my comparatively miniscule understanding of the world.

Now Bob Dillon is crooning in my headphones about the story of the Hurricane. Can anyone explain why on Jetstar flights the little dong sound comes on at random intervals? Everytime it happens the guy next to me and I look up to see if the seatbelt sign has come on. It never does. Weird.

Oh God, I bought a bottle of water and desperately need the loo. Window seat doesn’t look so good now. I’m remembering a certain Seinfeld episode where Elaine gets stuck on the flight from hell while Jerry gets upgraded to first class and gets to sit next to a gorgeous model.

The landscape out my window has changed again and I let it distract me from my bodily needs. Whispy scraps of cotton wool clouds are making vast shadows on a landscape that is yet another shade of brown. I get a sense that this a truly earthy kind of light brown, like the earthy beauty of a voice like Ruby Hunter’s. I recognise the similarities between a voice like hers and the character of the landscape here as we venture further towards the centre of the continent. The sandiness of the earth makes the clouds looked dusty and dirty as if they have been blown around on a windy day at the beach when the sand hits you roughly against your face and nothing is unaffected by the sand from your hair to you bather bottoms to your towel to your thongs. Rugged and jagged rocks of earth jut out of the smooth, light brown of the outback as thin dark lines of river criss cross at their feet like long lines in an Aboriginal painting. I can recognise the dots and lines and colours of that ancient art-form in the scene below. The vastness is frighteningly intense and despite the beauty of it all tugging at my core I’m glad I’m safe up here and not lost down there. It’s truly such an incredibly beautiful country.

Gimme Shelter strikes me through my headphones with the undeniable awesomeness of the opening guitar riff. Oh the Stones! I can’t help but pout a little bit and rock my shoulders to its beat. Hehe, well really I’m never going to see these people and life’s for living. What’s the point of being alive if you’re too afraid to rock out whenever you hear your fave tunes?!

Ok the lady two seats to my right (aisle seat) got up so I was able to nip to the loo – on second thoughts maybe you didn’t necessarily need that information!

Looking out the window again and listening to Vaughan Williams’ Lark Ascending, the quintessential staple of the English pastorale repertoire, I’m struck by the stark opposition in the characters of each landscape. I brought the piece to listen to while we’re driving through the Lake Country (Oh God I’m so excited!!). The landscape out my window is vast, dry and ancient. It is not only untouched by man it is untouchable in its absalute harshness and void of capacity to sustain life. Well, of course I know that’s wrong. But surely complete inability to sustain life that has been reared in the eternal wet and endless green of, say, an Irish county derry. The picture of landscape communicated to my ears through Vaughan-Williams’ lilting phrases is a quilted map of rolling green pasture and skies dark and heavy with rain.

Damn, listening to it makes me want to write but I didn’t have time to load Finale onto my new mac. Ah well, I assume I’ll probably have a few more things to do besides using my new mac, hehe, but it’s so pretty and in such a cute little case!

Ok, it’s Plants and Zombies time xo