All of Your Roses Have Died

Matty and Katie had had enough of my company, and took it upon themselves to shake off the precious sight of me wandering around the flat in my hulk boxers by flying out to Queenstown in New Zealand for a week of privacy away from my hungry eyes. All of this was met with muted protest for now I had an apartment in Potts Point (bordering Kings Cross, but Potts Point sounds all the more luxurious) and their double bed in which to rest my sleepy head. The view that they have from their sitting room over St Mary's Cathedral and The Domain is extremely serene and picturesque. The morning sun is greeted by the passing calls of the pearl white cockatoos flying alongside the darting parakeets with their emerald green plumage. The day concludes with rather more menace as troops of black fruit bats stalk the evening air as the light fades and their shadows only briefly distract the ground below.



Admittedly, the timing of their departure from the country had been harsh as they had left me alone, cruelly some may add, on the weekend of Valentine's Day. They were foolish to believe that I would rot, once again in another year, hands clasped over my knees in the corner of a darkened room with only the salt leaves of tears to keep me company as couples waltzed in adoration in the parks and soft lit restaurants around me. I had other plans to spite Cupid's poisonous bow, including takeaway Malaysian noodles, a bottle of Diet Coke and a back to back viewing of Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi on television. Quick fire escapism which drowned out the cacophony of phony romantics hidden in their musk of cheap perfume.

Luna Park: Melbourne

On Monday morning, once my pillow had gained shape after a sleepless night of being cuddled desperately and pathetically, I chartered a flight to Melbourne where I planned to spend a couple of days in the beach fronted St. Kilda suburb, where I had been recommended to stay. My hostel, Habitat HQ (Which scored a lofty four out of five stars in the 2009 Good Hostel Guide) provided a fortnightly walking tour of the the City, and fortunately enough for me, I had arrived on the very day that one was pencilled in. I spent the afternoon on the hot footed trail left by the tour guide as we meandered the labyrinth of graffiti lined alley ways where quaint parasol shielded Cafes and Bistros calmly vented out the lingering aroma of freshly ground coffee and warm baked biscotti. Our amiable guide, a lady named Nat, disclosed to the group that she had demonstrated unsuccessfully against the demolition of the central Art Deco building to make way for an Apple store earlier in the year. I could taste her dissatisfaction with the monopoly as I have yet to forgive Steve Jobs for the way he so easily destroyed my faith in the mini disc.

Acland Street bakeries. Farewell treadmill

Later that day I caught up with two friends that I had met in Hanoi (where they had taken pity on me for reading on my own at the Hanoi Backpackers Hostel Bar as the jukebox blared out The Kooks' second album Konk on repeat). Tam met me by the Habitat HQ hostel, parading a Cambodian purchased bright red and blue elephant shaped hand bag which looked like she had swiped from a local primary school. Kat followed in close pursuit sporting a marvellously dishevelled and tattered grey-blue hoody designed for a pre-teen. Apart from that, they both held the colours of a Monet. As we stepped off the tram into the CBD, the two locals were not at all impressed with my new found walking tour knowledge of the place that they had grown up in. Apparently knowing that spire of The Art Centre was intended to be shaped like a ballerina by the architect Sir Roy Grounds, added no value to the armoury of my factual cavalry.


Tam and Kat. Elephant bag and blue top not in view

It was pleasant to take time to reminisce on some of the experiences that we had shared in South East Asia and for them to rescue me once again, in such short notice, from certain anonymity. The bubble of nostalgic recollections was quickly burst once I returned to my dormitory room where two shady characters, hidden under a lank duvet, kept awake all ten harmless and tired guests in the room throughout the night with their vile wet sounds and heavy breathing. I had not anticipated such vulgarity, and even the unsubtle coughs and movements from the travelers were not enough to distract the rapacious satyrs.


My favourite seat at Ampersand Cafe in Paddington, overlooking the Gas Station


Back in Sydney, with heavy eyes and tarnished innocence, I agreed to meet two members of the Sapa Trekking Odyssey; Ingrid and Alex Toughenough (Eleni, the third musketeer, had 'other plans' - namely in Japan). We met at the Opera Bar, as the previous year on visiting this famous landmark, the landscape had been tainted by the apathetic heavy clouds above. On a balmy and halcyon day, I was once again denied the spectacular setting sun over the Harbour Bridge, this time due to my silver stool facing the bar staff, and not the Parramatta River.

The two girls were as animated and sparkling as when I had last seen them, swimming listlessly in a cheesy ocean of Italian pizza and garlic bread in Northern Vietnam. After some enlightening conversation ranging from the merits of breast feeding to the pronunciation of such words as Yoghurt (it's definitely not Yo-Gert) we opted to dine on a meal that would satisfy the three of us and so we finally settled on....pizza. Obviously. It was a shame that Eleni, Amanda, J-Dizzle and Tom were not also present, and so we made up for their absence with larger portions and slices. We all knew that the hand clumped side salad was ordered as an afterthought to disguise the reality of our ravenousness. To ensure that we had the energy to walk back home we succumbed to the delights of a nearby Guylian Cafe to test the range of desserts on the menu. We weren't even slightly humiliated when we were escorted away from our initial outdoor table and herded hurriedly inside to hide their respectability to passers by.

1. Ingrid and Alex: Moderately happy at the Opera Bar
2. Finally ecstatic at Zia Pina at The Rocks
3. Guess who has found a new Sepia setting on their camera

Back in the apartment now for a couple more days before my flight out to Auckland and I have been busying myself with some lacklustre research for the South America leg later in the year, to appease Matty's concerns that we will get to Chile and swiftly get either mugged or lost on disembarking the plane. Now I shall return to my role as house-sitter, where it's time to water the plants and flowers. Their wilted petals are heavily bowed with melancholy and that is probably due to my lack of care and attention. Not to worry, I can always blame the New South Wales humidity for their sudden demise.

Melbourne Song of the Day: Basement Jaxx - Romeo
I was in the Fringe Cafe on Acland Street, yes, drinking a flat white coffee on my own again, where they played this strange mellowed down version of this song which I used to enjoy whilst slapping on some Polo Sport before a night out as a wee Sixth Former.

i-Pod Song of the Day: Wheat - Don't I Hold You?
This song is awesome, and featured on the Elizabethtown Original Soundtrack. Orlando Bloom is hugely miscast in this movie whose only redeeming factor is it's soundtrack (not surprising for a Cameron Crowe film) and the wonderfully shot mosaic of Drew Baylor's road trip.

Watch the only good scene in Elizabethtown (sure, it's in Spanish initially, but bare with it)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=COdXG0pXKN8

I may only like the soundtrack because Ryan Adams features heavily and as we all know, Ryan Adams is the bestest Artist in the world.

Full Wheat Video:
Worth watching the video and waiting for the simple and fuzzy guitar solo towards the end: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RYruO05apQI&feature=PlayList&p=3B4D3F5A1E28C73A&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=23