Turns out we live here

11 Jan 2015

There has been a realisation in these last couple of weeks which strangely enough, has taken us by surprise. 

Both girls knew the name of this building before their own address

Source: ytravelblog – the sunset and our local bridge

Locals hanging at the local park

  ****

Don’t forget to follow Talking Frankly on the social medias

     

The internal dialogue of exercise

4 Jan 2015

Step out the front door.  Click ‘play music’ and ‘record workout’ – stride out into the blinding sunlight and go back and get your sunglasses.

You know it’s true.  Rare is the moment where exercise starts as per the plan.

The First Kilometre.

It’s uphill and it’s in excess of 30 degrees.  This first kilometre is where I alternate between thinking that I need to set up some new playlists combined with a load of silent profanity along the lines of ‘Why the FREAKING HECK did I set myself such a stupid goal? I hate walking, I hate everything, honestly, I’m just going to lie, maybe if I fall and break a leg that’ll sort me out’

Repeat.

The Second Kilometre.

I FREAKING LOVE WALKING.  I could walk a whole FREAKING MARATHON.  I could walk for days.  I love walking.  Look at me walking.  Lah lah OOH GREAT SONG.  No WONDER I LOVE THIS PLAY LIST.  Oooh look at me arms up like a professional walker.  I’m ON FIRE.

The Third Kilometre.

I never knew that shop was there? Or that one?  OOOOH. I can see my reflection. Shoulders back, gut in.  Cheeses girl – you need to do some core work – that spine curvature is unnecessary.  Ooh I love those wooden whales.  I wonder if he makes them himself or buys them in.  Oh this song is too slow.  Really why do people buy dogs so small they have to be carried? What is the point of carrying the dog and going for a walk? Why not just carry potatoes and save on the cost of dog food.  People are weird.

The Fourth Kilometre.

I’m walking a whole kilometre per hour faster than the average.  There might be something in all that muscle memory bollocks.  I really liked the pulled lamb Brad cooked yesterday.  I don’t get why people love cooking though – especially when it’s so hot.  Hey, I’ve just had a great idea about how I can raise money for my World Vision bloggers challenge this year.  What if I… (brain feverishly goes up about a thousand billion notches as it starts to formulate a plan)

The Fifth Kilometre.

Whoever designed pedestrian access to bridges is an asshat.  Why make us walk all the way down to go up.  Honestly.  God it’s hot.  I think I should have brought more water. WHOA – my hat.  Cheeky wind.  Oooh, I like this song. Why do I get such bad pins and needles in my hands why I walk.  Best do that dorky walking hand thing.  It does help but honestly I look like an idiot.  I bet the cars driving past are getting a good giggle out of this.

The Sixth Kilometre.

Hello little Lizard.  Why are you scurrying along beside me?  Cheeses, I’m being beaten by a freaking lizard.  Lizard, slow down. Lizard gone.  I could probably get schools involved in my idea.  Yeah.  That could work.  Surely I know some school teachers?  Actually I know a lot of freaking school teachers?  What is wrong with people? Why would you want to be a school teacher?  Mad bastards the lot of them.  But it could work.  It could be like a value add for the fundraising.  Good for World Vision.  I hope this idea still sounds good when I get to the end. Must cross road now.  When did ballet barre classes become a thing that gets them their own studio?

The Seventh Kilometre.

I really should have brought more water.  What the fuck was I thinking going for a walk without more water?  It’s like I wasn’t born here or something.  It is rather hot.  But still quite a cracking pace still.  Well done you.  Oh Tracey Chapman.  You’re a bit sad, I’m going to skip you and ah that’s better some completely inappropriate Scissors Sisters.  Ah, a quick selfie for the blog page.  Yuk.  Another one.  For the love of Dr Seuss Alison Clare smile?  Fine.  That’ll do.

The Eighth Kilometre.

Almost there. This is about where those pedestrians got hit recently.  God that was horrible. Poor Rozelle.  Life is so random. I have such a headache.  I really need some more water.  Must text Nick to tell him to start driving to Pyrmont soon.  Ooh, a tap, full water botttles again.  God it’s so hot. That was such a lovely NYE we had last night. So hot.

The Ninth Kilometre.

There is something incredibly satisfying about walking isn’t there?  I really am too hot to think.  Take off my hat there you go idiot woman – let a little bit of breeze ruffle your hair and cool you down. It’s like you’re a child sometimes.  Oh shit.  Drugged out weirdo alert. He’s coming straight for me. What is it about me? Aha, well avoided Al! Though poor man at bus stop stuck with him now.  Oh well, a girl’s gotta. Oh FFS ladies – why do you have to walk four across?  Hello! Excuse me! Excuse me!

The Tenth Kilometre.

Well aren’t you an idiot Alison – now you’ve got to step up the pace so you stay ahead of them. Wow Anzac Bridge looks amazing from this angle. It really is a lovely bridge.  Hey Peter Fitz – I know I know about the Aussie flag but it is looking a bit amazing flying up there.  God I love Sydney, it’s like the best city.  It’s not London no – but look at that girlfriend?  What a gorgeous city?  What’s that little app lady?  I’ve done 10 kilometres? That means google maps is a liar, I was supposed to be there in 9.9 kilometres and I am NOT at Pyrmont I am still on the bridge.

The Eleventh Kilometre.

This is the longest bridge in the freaking world.  I hate walking. It’s so hot I think I might die before I get there.  How can Google maps get this wrong? Mind you Apple maps did too. Aww look at those old people taking their constitutional though seriously dude you’re walking on the wrong side of the past.  Fine, I’ll move but only because you’re old and it’s polite not because you’re doing the right thing.  And they say people have no manners. I even gave him a smile and a ‘Happy New Year’.  I am like the Mother Teresa of walking just now.

The Twelfth Kilometre.

Almost there!  What a great down bridge.  Remind me never to walk the other way, I’d be over it before I started.  Oh, that’s cooler out of the sun.  Pyrmont eh, now where do Brad and James bloody live again. Okay, there’s the building.  Right.  I can’t wait to have water.  If they are not there I might just break in. Here I am.

It is done. What’s my distance? 11.66 kilometres. Yuk. All the sweats.

“Hey James – it’s Al – buzz me in will you?  Thanks.”

     

FFS – Shagging gets political

30 Dec 2014

Only women mind.

I don’t see him suggesting the temporary neutering of men on welfare.  Just those pesky troublesome humans with uteruses and the hankering for the odd shag/human connection.

I hope he’s offering to pay for all this temporary sterilisation and the condoms.  Because we know the pill is only 99 percent effective or as Hugh Grant once noticed in the movie 9 months – this means it’s one percent bloody well ineffective.

So the pill wont be enough.  You’ll need to double or nothing my fellow Australians.

And to be fair, I think it’s a great ploy to demonise the feckless female poor.  Those poor bastards who for whatever reason can’t get a job.  I mean the fact that the funding of our education system is being slashed and only people that can afford to pay for a decent education will get one, which will obviously impact their ability to get jobs means that we should be able to breed those poor fuckers out pretty quickly.

We’re also upping the cost of food and housing and slashing funding to anybody that might like to try and help them out, so those that we haven’t bred out can probably freeze to death next winter if they’ve not managed to starve themselves over summer.

He’s on to something – they’ve got nothing to eat, nowhere to live, no fucking hope and now no shagging unless they can afford the contraception.  Cheeses Gary.  You’re a hard fucking bastard you are.

But the great news is that we’ve put in some tax breaks for the likes of Gina and Clive and all the other big fucking corporations at the other end so they should be able to breed with the gay abandon of well fed rabbits.

Because Gina’s kids have turned out so great what with all their white wealthy privilege.  They can’t live on millions a year, in fact they are suing her for more.

And who the fuck can ever afford to have children – really?  Even if you’re earning a motza you’re probably working your arse off to keep the dollars coming in so that they can sue you later so it becomes a bit of a catch 22.

Just the women mind.  Nobody is asking the feckless male poor to be doing their bit for the economy.
Honestly.  We vote these people in?  For fucks sake. Somebody punch us in the throat.

Go forth and breed people – but PLEASE not if you’re genetically related to Gary Johns or Scott Morrison.  I couldn’t bear it if their brand of stupid and mean was genetic.

Consider it your patriotic duty – a revolution if you please.

UNLEASH YOUR UNPRIVILEGED UTERUSES.

And in the meantime I’m going back to uttering profanities and muttering darkly about the state of the fucking country.  Cheeses.

****

Don’t forget to follow Talking Frankly on the social medias

     

I heart my friends

29 Dec 2014

Yesterday I spent some time re-reading the cards that I was given for my 40th birthday earlier this month and I cried.  Just like I did when I read them the first time.

 

The crispiest bacon bits

****

Don’t forget to follow Talking Frankly on the social medias

    

Thoughts on the Sydney siege

16 Dec 2014

Deep breath.

A huge 24 hours for Sydney.  Acts of violence like this are all encompassing and yet nothing to do with most of us all at the same time.

I really really hoped for a good outcome – no fatalities.  But that hasn’t happened.  And that fills me with sorrow.  Senseless deaths always do.  People are always missed by somebody.  A parent. A friend. A sibling. A lover. A child.

And we have seen the worst of Sydney and the best of Sydney online.  And we have seen the very worst of media both here in Australia and overseas.

We are told that the killer in the Lindt store identified with the ISIS cult in the Middle East.  And that may well be true. But Martin Bryant identified with no-one, anywhere.

We need to make sure this story doesn’t become more than it is.  Because it’s already big and horrible in its basic truth.

The police have cited it as the act of an individual with a personal agenda. A known criminal.

We need to remember that if we become hateful or fearful ‘he wins’. That is the purpose of ‘acts of terrorism’ – the acts of a few permanently impacting the way the world works.

Our challenge is to respond by impacting the world in a way that is contrary to hate.  Acts of unity like #Illridewithyou demonstrate that for the majority of people, their humanity is always at the fore.

We would all do well to remember that. The majority of people are good people.

Don’t be afraid to actively reach out.  Do something in memory of Tori Johnson or Katrina Dawson.  Remember their names. Do something to help the other hostages who will live with this long after it’s immediacy recedes for the rest of us. Send them love, prayers, support – whatever works for you.

And remember these three quotes from Martin Luther King.

1. We must constantly build dikes of courage to hold back the flood of fear.

2. Love is the only force capable of transforming an enemy into a friend

3. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.

Choose love. Choose unity. And always, always choose kindness. 

****

Don’t forget to follow Talking Frankly on the social medias

    

On the eve of my 40th birthday

12 Dec 2014

 Dear Alison

So, tomorrow you turn 40.  On a Saturday.  Well played lady – you can have your party on your actual birthday.  And we know you love a party, particularly a dress up one.  It’s been 19 years since your last dress up birthday party and quite frankly, that’s too long.

Parties are great.  They are a fantastic way to get lots of people you adore into one room.  You don’t get people that don’t like parties – it’s like saying “I hate being surrounded by my friends”. And you are exactly the opposite.  You like being surrounded by your friends.  A lot.  And mainly because you know a lot of really fucking awesome people.

40 is a good number.  It’s far enough away from puberty and the teenage years which were, to put it bluntly, shit.  But it’s also super far away from 100 so you might just fit everything in that you want to fit in.

But the thing you promised yourself for your 40th was to own all you’ve done.  It’s been a tough year and one where you have felt like a bit of failure far too often because you’ve had to rely on others more than you like.  You much prefer helping to being helped.  You know it’s the human condition but still, asking people for help has been hard and sometimes, despite you being really fucking good at what you do, some of people’s well meaning but nevertheless relentless negativity has crept in more than it should. PS: You’re shit at selling yourself.

So dear self – we’re going to reflect on what you’ve achieved in the last 40 years. It won’t be an exhaustive list because your memory is bollocks but it’ll do nicely.  And your psych will be very pleased to hear that you’re owning your own achievements and not waiting for validation from others.
You will try anything, twice to be polite, three times or more if you like it.  So you’ve bungee jumped, roller bladed, ice skated, water skiied, iFlyed, learned to play the piano, ukulele and guitar (none of them properly), failed to conquer the hula hoop, belly danced (like a thunder bird), become competitively proficient at ballroom dancing, performed on stage, sung solo (albeit badly) on stage and to this day remain fiercely resistant to partaking in karaoke.

You learnt some Russian, learnt some Spanish, learnt some German, paddle boarded, canoed down the Volga, kayaked on the ocean and down rivers, you’ve gone 4WDing, skiing (both types), snowboarding, hiking, camping, abseiling, caving, prussiking, ridden a bike, flown a plane, got a motorcycle license, owned a motorcycle, crashed a motorcycle. You’ve been horse riding, stayed on a bolting horse but fell off a standing camel. You have ridden a camel in the Sahara desert and have the pictures of the gaping abscess in your arse that developed as a result.

You have slept in brothels in several countries (because backpacking), you have hitchhiked in places you should not have and once hung off the back of a car on your roller blades as it got up to 80 kilometres per hour in south Canberra.  You’ve crashed a few cars – only one of them yours, pierced your ears, your belly button and gotten a tattoo before it was cool.  You’ve worn glasses, contacts and had laser surgery.  You’ve broken an arm and a leg falling off buses in an ungainly fashion, had your nose broken twice and have some spinal damage from one of the car accidents but nothing that has produced interesting scars.

You’ve climbed several volcanoes but not yet Mt Etna, travelled to a lot of amazing countries on all of the continents but haven’t done nearly enough. You’ve skinny dipped in the Mediterranean, eaten herring in Sweden, caviar in Russia, laid water pipes in Indonesia, build a medical centre in Ecuador, houses in Mexico and danced in Taiwan.  You’ve volunteered for over 25 years with the likes of Barnardos, Welcome to Australia, World Vision, Scouts Australia, Crisis, Amnesty, Starlight and cancer charities.  To raise money you’ve shaved your head, sold chocolates, shaken buckets, dyed your hair blue, canoed 100 km, kept silent for 60 hours, run an ultra half marathon and a couple of smaller runs besides and you should be extremely proud of raising tens of thousands of dollars along the way.

You’ve made a lot of friends, been lucky enough to keep a lot of them. You’ve learnt that it’s not always you when somebody to decides to end a friendship, but sometimes it is.  You’ve dated enough guys to learn a lot about yourself but cheeses girl, you were a slow learner.  You have had good sex, bad sex and no sex. You can grieve. You can laugh. You did actually spend an entire night crying to a Michael Bolton song and now you can’t even remember the guys name. You’ve never forgotten the names of friends that passed through illness, accident or suicide.  You won’t. You find some of your friends so freakin’ inspirational that having them in your life makes your heart ache with the good fortune.

You find joy in small things. You have learnt to control your temper, you laugh and you do try to be kind.  You are self aware so you know what you’re good at, what you need to work at and what you just don’t give a shit about.  You are okay with being a fussy eater. You aren’t big on people fussing and you don’t like long goodbyes.  You hate apathy.  You are what is known as opinionated.  Everybody has opinions, opinionated just means you verbalise yours while others don’t.  When you’re tired or hungry you’re an arsehat.  Yet even after all this time – you miss the signals.

You have read a lot of books, magazines, papers. Anything that will fire up the brain. You have watched a lot of movies but still hate scary ones. You explored theatre but found it boring as bat shit but have embraced the musical.  You have discovered that interpretive theatre is a con.  You no longer queue for bars or clubs because you’re out for the people not the venue. You do like rollercoasters,   You quit smoking, sensibly never tried drugs bar ‘the marijuana’ a couple of times, which you recognise as a bit of good luck in hindsight. You still bite your nails and drink, however considering you could be a bigot, an arsehole and habitually mean – you’ll stick with those flaws and count your lucky stars. You know enough about a lot of things to be able to contribute to conversations unless they are talking fishing, cooking or reality shows and then it’s time for a nap. You taught yourself to sign the alphabet from the Yellow Pages and have never seen a painting that moves you as much as photography.

You’ve done things you’re not crazy proud of, things you recognise were wrong, things that you copped the blame for but didn’t do and things you did do and got busted doing.  You’ve had a mortgage, you have rented and you have lived in share houses. You have stories.  Man, some brilliant ones. You’ve loaned money and borrowed money.  You preferred the loaning – even the time it left you $25,000 out of pocket. An expensive lesson but a lesson none the less.  You owned a 1958 Morris Minor – which you still miss but are cognisant that selling that car and the house led you to the life you have now.

Your black and white view of the world has morphed into something splendidly and gloriously grey. Nuanced but loud. You like to go marching in support of things you care about and you care about a lot. You try never to read the comments. Sometimes you read the comments.  Idiot.

You are gentle with your ten year old self and your twenty year old self and thirty year old self in a way that you never used to be.  You can thank the various PND, PSTD and depression diagnosis’ for that. Therapy has taught you to recognise the you spent far far far too many years listening to the wrong voices. You know now how to embrace the right voices.  You recognise that you are okay. Imperfect but loveable. You are outspoken about things you believe in and about the people you believe in. You swear way too much but couldn’t really give a fuck when it comes down to it.

You don’t hold grudges because to hold on to that kind of negativity eats away at a person so it destroys them.  You can do CPR and was once able to juggle.  You were part of a team that produced a best selling app and you can touch type like a demon but learning shorthand was a waste of a year. You have proven yourself to be a good manager but will never have a career in diplomacy.  You are ethical but still use plastic bags. You make assumptions about people based on their love of velour, dream catchers and crocs. They are still your friends.

You have worked in some amazing jobs and some crap ones. You have worked for good people and you have worked for people that are horrid. You got you some edumacation and despite doing very well for yourself in the corporate world, took last year’s redundancy as a sign to Carpe Diem the shit out of your dreams and have spent this year setting up your own business in an industry that didn’t exist when you left school. You’re finally doing something about your lifelong love of writing. All if it’s getting there, but it’s taking time and the learning curve has been steep and the money scarce. That has been scary and it has been stressful. But girlfriend – at least you fucking did it.

Despite the stress of this particular year, your favourite decade has been the last one.  You met the wrong man.  He has loved you ‘just as you are’ and has never wanted you to be anything more or anything less, which is a genuine blessing.  You two have built a really good life together which as anybody in a relationship knows is an achievement in itself. You’ve travelled, argued, laughed, danced, played scrabble, moved countries, gotten engaged, married and produced the two most beautiful girls ever born in the history of the entire universe and all the universes beyond. There is nothing that you would change in your life, nothing, in case it took you somewhere that didn’t include this family.  These people.  This little circle of happiness.

So when you lie awake at 3 am wondering if you’ve done enough in your first 40 years the answer is the same as many of your early reports “If Alison talked less, she could achieve more.”  Which is strangely at odds with “Practice makes perfect” which is where your music teachers all felt you were lacking.  But they were all completely correct in the end – You are ace at the talking and there is still stuff left to do on your lists.  And when you get to 4 am, no you are not a loser, yes your friends do love you and yes, you do need to go to the toilet.

So. Enjoy tomorrow. You’ve done okay for 40.  And for fuck’s sake – you’ve got plenty of time to sort out your shit.  So enjoy the party and worry about real life on Monday.

Big love

Al x