Melbourne dreamer

On being female and 30

So, I turned thirty earlier this year. The media here is pretty much hysterical about "women in their thirties" (insert concerned but judgemental frown). Men won't date them - they're too desperate! In a panic about their shrivelling ovaries! Realising they can't have it all! Throwing themselves into work/the gym/binge-drinking!!

Personally, I am not that happy with the way things have turned out for me - but that's nobody's business or concern but my own. Society has changed massively since my parent's lifetime. The future seems uncertain but most certainly grim. Our society is in thrall of excessive consumerism and the pursuit of wealth, at the expense of individual and communal wellbeing. I do feel that, in this instance, ignorance would have been bliss (had I settled down in my mid-twenties, bought the house, had the kids, and stayed cocooned in the miniature inwards-looking world of the family).

Then again, maybe not. I have always been an obsessive worrier, since about the age of 4. Every childhood picture of me - every holiday snap, every school photo, every family portrait - shows a skinny little blond kid with crooked teeth, looking worried.

In fact, I looked pretty much like this girl:



Remember her?

Some days I wish I could turn my back on romance altogether and harden my heart, be that strong, independent girl I used to feel like sometimes, striding through the city Amazon-like (it matches my physique, anyway).

Brain, I am ordering you to override heart! Did you hear me, Brain? That's an ORDER!

* * *

Useless brain.

Grumpy, snappy and cranky

Grrr. Hayfever has made a weeping mess out of me. I know a lot of other people are suffering, and let me tell you, I FEEL YOUR PAIN, people. It (the pain, suspended in mucus and tears) is running down my face and pouring out of my nose. Strangers are offering me tissues on the street and asking me in soft, concerned tones who my next of kin is.

Historically, my hayfever has been a lot better since I moved UK-side. I think the pollen count must be worse this year than usual. Plus, I haven't been sleeping and things at home have been a little - shall we say - fraught? Also, I just moved offices, so I am back on the tube. Otherwise known, in my head at least, as the Stinkin', Overcrowded, Frequently Delayed Festering Tunnel of Communicable Disease (or SOFDeFToCD for short). If you have even the slightest hint of hayfever or a cold, your journey on the tube becomes almost unbearable. The filthy air quality adds to the general torment happening all over your face.

To summarise, I am NOT in a good way.

Welcome to audio heaven

I have got four brilliant new CD's on rotation on my mini...wa-hey! I am love-love-loving all these discs and highly recommend any or all of them. Check out the links to hear what I'm talking about.

Saltbreakers - Laura Viers

I discovered Ms Viers at my local library a while back, and she does look a little bookish and librarian on the cover of her Year of Meteors album (quirky glasses, mousey hair, cardigan). But don't be fooled - her music is truthful, down to earth, and interesting to listen to (you can't say that about the Sugababes). Themes of nature, water, swimming and star-gazing abound. A soundtrack for floating in a private swimming hole at night time.

American Doll Posse - Tori Amos

Not everybody's cup of tea, but I love Tori and her endearingly kooky ways. This album is positively schizophrenic in its scope, but Tori has talent to burn. And here, she throws so many new ideas on the fire, the blaze can probably be seen from space.

Release the Stars - Rufus Wainwright

A little more commercial than previous albums, with production by Neil Tennant of the Pet Shop Boys. Still, his back catalogue is stupendous, so Release the Stars easily earns the title of: "merely brilliant". Big, spangly, luscious - and all underscored by the gorgeously distinctive voice of the inimitable Rufus.

Memories and dust- Josh Pyke

I must admit, I wasn't expecting too much from this home grown singer/songwriter - I am ashamed to say that a bit of the old cultural cringe put me on my guard, despite my instant love of his Release the Wolves EP. But Memories and Dust is a joy to listen to. Hints of a less depressed Elliot Smith, a more sober Evan Dando and a less wise-assed Ben Lee run through this whimsical folk-rock album.

For those who are new to my blog - folk-rock is my bag, baby.

Bye bye bruv

I hugged my little bro for the last time (for a while) this morning. *sniff*. He is heading off to catch a plane bound for Sweden at 6pm tonight. It has been so, so nice to have him around. I figure it is the most amount of time we have spent together since we were little kids, amazingly. As teenagers, we crossed paths occassionally, exchanging nothing but a friendly punch on the arm in the hallway. It is so humbling to see him grown up into the sweet, loveable, growly-voiced bloke he is now. We are both trying to live good lives and be the decent people our parents brought us up to be.

He has been nothing but the easiest house-guest ever, washing up every night and tidying up after himself, offering his food-chopping services at every dinner. He raved about the meals we cooked him, and seemed perfectly happy to spend nights at home watching Peep Show on DVD, with the odd Aerobie outing.

Another bonus is witnessing the relationship between my boyfriend and my brother grow in front of my eyes. They hadn't spent much time together at all, so this visit has been a chance for my brother to scope out my long-term boyfriend and give him the family stamp of approval, and for my boyfriend to gain an honorary younger brother to whom he can pass on Mac-guru/martial arts-wisdom.

Now all I need is for my youngest brother and parents to get their butts over here. Or for my boyfriend to agree to move back to Melbourne with me. Or for someone to invent instantaneous travel, Star Trek style. Which would be my preferred option.