With shoes and a late night Parisian kiss on her mind
She set off.
+
Driving past old neighbourhoods with new facades,
Back to familiar smells, faces and bends.
The fifteen years I lived there I memorised each contour of the four-lane road.
I've learnt to trade nostalgia for new beginnings.
+
Three days and nine pairs of shoes.
This morning we had a picnic at the botanical gardens.
The idea seemed ludicrous at first,
But it was a mild morning, and we planted ourselves under massive palms.
Lying on colour-coordinated blanket, plastic sheet, and cushions,
I coaxed a nasty hangover and sleep deprivation into obedience.
We talked about coming of age,
And of friendships.
We had ribena, ham and cheese sandwiches, and cigarettes.
+

When I'm done trying to build an 18-day wardrobe, colour coordinated around only 2 pairs of shoes, for 35-degree sickly humid days, I'll be excited about jumping on the plane tomorrow morning.

I am a sceptic when it comes to dining at award-winning, raving-reviewed restaurants. Which is why I instantly rolled my eyes when I was told that a booking had been made for The Reserve at 7.30. Having recently won The Age's New Restaurant of the Year and Young Chef of the Year awards, it is a piece of Sydney situated on what some people term as Melbourne's iconic equivalent of the Opera House. Quick digression - I think Federation Square is a hideous (albeit technically operose - to which I attach great respect) piece of work, and I've never been able to find my way around the place (the signs, when present, make no sense). Anyhow. I'd read about the plush turqoise brocade banquettes, savoury ice-creams, the gutsy 24-year old chef. It's all true. We went with the recommended Journey Fare - starting with 3 surprise entrees from chef George Calombaris, followed by a main of your choice.

E1: Venison carppacio topped with raspberry ice-cream and potato fritter. Childhood memories of Macdonald's fries dipped in chocolate sundae. Venison was beautifully tender, ice-cream delicately flavoured.

E2: Crayfish risotto. This is the only time I've enjoyed crayfish. When dad was running the seafood business we had fresh produce every day, but the taste of crayfish never appealed to me. Pure tasty goodness.

E3: Braised pork belly served with G&T jelly and champagne foam. The next time I have a dinner party I'm making G&T jelly. The pork was succulent with Asian flavours (think char siu sauce), but didn't quite have the fall-off-the bone tenderness I was hoping for.

M: Crispy skin salmon steak with salmon roe and lentils. A fat steak, and cooked right through - which is always a surprise. I often order salmon without actually feeling like salmon. I like the idea of salmon, but can seldom manage it after an entree (let alone 3). I was more smitten with my companion's cannons of lamb.

D: No meal is ever complete without dessert. I was incapable of fitting anything else into my stomach (which, at that point, would not be sucked in, despite my desperate attempts at maintaining a lady-like appearance on this first date). We had a pistachio creme brulee and liquorice pudding served with warm vanilla milkshake to share. Absolutely divine. The brulee - creamy, with subtle hints of vanilla bean. The waiter had suggested that we pour the milkshake over the pudding (I only agreed to try the pudding at all when I was assured it didn't taste like liquorice) - perfect for cold winter evenings.

The service was attentive and friendly - the latter earns more stars in my books because I loathe the typical cavalier-type waiting staff you often get at chi-chi restaurants. The menu is whimsical and I appreciate the effort that was put into the copy. It was a 8.5 dining experience. I urge you all to try it sometime.

Nasty Mexican food, walking in back alleys, damp hair, The Clash.
The best of things happen when you don't plan for them.
When I sat on those red vinyl seats some weeks ago
I hadn't planned on busy weekends ahead.
*
I am an earth horse.
Of all the things I wish I could be
I wish I was a fighter.
*
I still wonder about you.
It's not that I still want you,
But everytime someone else has come close
You've stood so tall.
*
The problem with being denied an object of affection
Is the tendency to romanticise.
*
When the first hints of sunlight filtered through ill-fitting blinds
She curled her back away.
You could engineer a perfect night
But not a pefect morning after.
*

We walked to the car and
A lone maple leaf was clamped against my windscreen.
I received a call at lunchtime-
The watch is finally gone.
+
The new room has lemon sorbet walls and granny grey-blue curtains.
I've been so tired I haven't heard the neighbours' car engines in the morning.
I've been so busy pacifying dismal spirits,
I'd begun to believe my own lies.
+
When he's as likely to go to the opera with me
As he is the Catpower gig.
+
First dates are always polarised (mis)adventures.
You either yak away all night or have nothing to say at all.
+
I drove to work with the leaf still on my windscreen.
+
I'm excited about winter.
I'm thinking of shopping holidays, dinner parties of hors d'oeuvres, wine, and puddings, of blankets by the fire.
+

Rather than you, she said, I prefer solitude.
Rather than company, I prefer cigarettes.
- Lloyd Cole, No More Love Songs

The mornings are getting harder.
The absence of the sun's imposing ways through steepled windows,
Trapped iciness nipping through the sheets, my cold nose.
We're moving to where the windows are double-glazed.
Hopefully that means kinder starts.
+
I am what I am.
He called me an intimidating, obnoxious, high-maintenance bitch.
High, albeit self maintenance, I corrected him.
I wouldn't trade dignity for a Balenciaga.
+
Perhaps the world, is, littered with good people.
These days I'm content enough with decent intentions.
+

The very arduous week of alcohol abstinence is finally over.
This week there will be fesitivities, yes! Giggles and more.
I took a few slaps on the hand when self-restraint crumbled ruefully;
And retired like a sulking child to my corner.
It worries me that even when sober I fail to recall still-fresh conversations.
On Saturday night I chatted with a random stranger for over an hour. I remember that we had a moment of some sorts, but cannot, for the life of me, remember what about.
+++
I've received 5 missed calls from a silent number over the past week.
The caller must have the most unfortunate sense of timing,
Because everytime s/he's rung, I've been in the shower or toilet. And I honestly don't spend that much time in either. In fact, no more than a meagre 4.17% of the day. I answer 99.5% of my calls.
And no messages left. This, I find savagely galling.
If you've tried ringing someone for a week, and kept getting the message bank, wouldn't you leave a goddamn message? Even if it's only short. Something like, say, 'It's me. Ring me back'; or 'It's Eugenie, been trying to call you. Pick up your fucking phone.'.
+++
When this week of backbreaking work is over
I'll learn to take better care of my shoes.
+++
While on one of today's many cross-suburb drives,
Massive Attack's Teardrop came on.
The sun conquered thick fog,
Blessed my dashboard, and soul.
I thought about the mid-autumn mornings in that little terrace on Abottsford St,
When Liz Fraser rang through the rooms that smelt like cigarettes.
+++

This morning I mused over serendipity.
The breakfast-time contemplation occurred while I juggled mascara and coffee.
It was an off-tangent spawn from the movie-review installment on morning TV:
Hugh Jackman (Van Helsing) --> Kate Beckinsale (Van Helsing) --> John Cusack (Serendipity) -->
~
It's often hard to tell coincidence from the correspondence of intentions.
Does orchestration make you a seeker?
Does it encapsulate us in spatial and temporal harmony?
~
As the maroon Subaru overtook suburban tardiness,
I consented to a look of technical envy.
Just before I started to think aloud about the pains of driving through school-districts,
I sighted the same Subaru,
Pulled over by the kerb, glass chips on asphalt.
~
Where Burwood Road meets Bridge Road meets Church Street.
There's always time to play spot the car.
In the sea of vehicles going about their destined routines,
I lost him to the red light, and watched him go.
~

Today there were sparrows hopping on grey parapets and satellite dishes on alumimium quardrant-shaped roofs.
The sun was out, but it was far from warm.
I sat on the rotting bench listening to spotted turtledoves,
Peered at the lime tree across the lane
Then at the smokers' bin glutted with rain-stained butts.
The day went by quickly enough.
*
When he did his rendition of Lionel Richie's 80's hit Hello,
Proclivity screeched to a quick halt.
The eyes are made for flirting;
And the vocal cords, for charming the pants off someone.
On Saturday night I kept my recently purchased Tsubi lean-bean jeans on.
*
I might have finally found my doctor.
Not the family doctor, nor the convenient up-the-road from work doctor.
My doctor is a qualified hypnotist. She is my mother's age. She tells me I'm her son's age.
As I walked out of her office and into the sun-drenched corridor
I felt sure that there will be better days to come.
*

When I heard your voice at 10.30 this morning
Tears threatened to choke my words of remission.
I was still in bed and you were too, with the characteristic huskiness in your voice - one of the many things that I learnt from a year of playing flatmate.
You've witnessed many of my solitary meltdowns,
Picked me up and put me back into my mold to harden again.
You've stood close by me and watched as I feuded with reflections and
You always know if something's wrong by the way I say hello.
The time you were doing your hair in front of the bathroom mirror
And I sat crying on the toilet.
The summer days of zippo lighters and dread locks.