My writing might (might) often become a pale pastiche of something funnier, edgier and more articulate, including this week when I felt it would be useful/constructive to have a ranty tanty and to imitate that most fabulous of bloggers, farkew, and say a big fucking finger to everything that has fucked me off over the last week.

To whit:

– fuck you, sales assistant at Spencer St outlet, who  upon seeing me in shoulderless top, suggested it might be better as a ‘gift for your niece or daughter’

– fuck you, milk choc Lindt bunnies for being so awesomely smooth, creamy and gorgeous and forcing me to gorge on them

– fuck you, adult acne. Who agrees with me? I have fucking wrinkles and fucking pimples!

– fuck you (and a big fuck off) to Monash IVF, who clutter my facebook and google ads (see also Clearblue, fucking elevit, et al, all of you)

– fuck you, to cafes who don’t accept eftpos under $10 and then have something of $9.90 on the fucking menu. Daft Morons.

– fuck you, pain and suffering occurring on the earth right now, and lastly!

– fuck you hair for not looking as nice as Julia Zemiros

That’s better. Thanks readers, may all your fuck yous come true. Feeling better already. 

PS: spoke too soon. A very sincere fuck you you to the Belgrave line. Wahhhh 


Hashtag lovely

Last night I found myself at Ringwood station, normally the sort of place you can’t walk 5 steps without being asked if you can spare a cigarette, but yesterday the scene of something rather special and lovely. There was a poster up at the entrance point, and a box of texters, and members of the public were encouraged to write up what they were grateful for on the poster. Lots of heartwarming contributions – ‘my family’ ‘my boyfriend’ ‘having a caring family and a roof over my head’ ‘my family and sport,’ ‘my awesome school ‘ this beautiful life’. I wrote up my own contribution of course, and then instagrammed it attempting to stay uncynical. All the feels.

Yeah, hokey as fuck, but quite nice. ringwood-stationI then headed back to Baysie, where the entire suburb is a mass of orange shirts, as we prepare for the bloody level crossings to be removed.

Usually at this time of year people start to get tired. And by people I mean me. I am really tired. My eyes look like puffy pastries. I’m too tired to blowdry my hair so it stays in perpetual topknotdryshampoo combo/mess. I’m so tired that trying to muster up some sort of energy or inspiration to write is a huge effort.

It’s been a busy year. Lots of good stuff of course, but a few challenges professionally and personally. Also the world has gone a bit mad. Which is a bit terrifying. The presidency anyone? What the fucking fuck…

Anyway, I have begged a day to work from home today so that I may have a bit of extra sleep and a bit of extra headspace. And it seems to be working as I feel more human today than I have all week. Tomorrow I shall dive head first into a bucket of wine (first lot of xmas celebrations with the girls) but for today I shall take some well earned respite from the world. Not putting makeup on or contacts in #bliss

My Day in Pics #nofilter

Fossicking around for some #inspo some months ago and came across this. And then did precisely nothing about it and got writing about other shit I was cross about. Until now, where we (I) bring you my day in photos. Yay, #phonesoncameras!

6.30am shine and rise, home

First thing I see in the morning are our dogs, Bob and George, who prefer to stay in bed as long as possible. Similar to LAH, who prefers not to have his picture taken. This was taken on my way out the door.


7am: Heatherdale train station. Coolish morning, in a coat, wondering why I don’t do the sensible thing and drive to H.dale every morning, where I have the choice of many more trains and don’t have to take the dumb replacement buses. Train deserted, so I get seat. Good start to morning.


7.40am coffee, Little Bourke St. Skinny latte from Higher ground. Very nice people here, and hipster AF, but the reason I go is their coffee is strong and delic. That’s better!


8.30 now in office, CBD. This is what I look at most of the day. Living the dream….


10am boss puts up today’s The Age word scramble. It took me many hours to get today’s puzzle.


12pm, Latrobe St: daily lunchtime walk around the streets – lovely clear day but cool wind. Here is an old w class tram on the city circle tourist route filled with tourists. Bless.


1pm sushi for lunch, back at desk: Quite ordinary sushi actually but filled the gap!


3pm, at desk: check fit bit – 6324– not heaps. Might walk to Richmond


4.30, Yarra River: walk to Richmond down the Yarra and over the bridge to the MCG. Lovely afternoon…Coat now off.

And some random stuff, near the Princes Bridge:


6pm get home. Greeted by Bob who is more awake now.


Check on veggie garden also – Kale going nuts. What to do with it? Am a bit over frittata.


7pm Dinner served by Chef LAH. He breaks the news he ate my last skinny cow icecream last night! This is his cauliflower and hot smoked salmon one pan wonder (so he’s forgiven now). Bloody yum.


9pm, couching n chillaxing infront of the ABC… cup of tea and dogs. Bed soon!



Welcome to the OE, bitch*

I was out for a drink recently with my sister and her husband and another couple, nice people. They had just moved from the inner inner (e.g. Swanston st) to North Melbourne.

‘So, where is it you guys live?’ the female half of the other couple asked me.


She actually shuddered. Like, there was actually a bodily reaction. ‘Ugh, Where is that?’ she asked.

I laughed, not at all offended. ‘Exactly,’ I giggled.

The thing is, until a few years ago I may have answered the same way (perhaps without the shudder). I lived in the inner city for nine years. In my mind, there was simply no point in moving to Melbourne and living anywhere but the middle bit of town – by this I mean Richmond, Fitzroy, Northcote. Rents were stupid but I gorged in cafes and restaurants and pubs, hung out with my mates, and thought about tomorrow later. If someone had told me I would be living in the outer east 4 years ago I would have laughed quite a lot and then headed out for my $20 breakfast of avo scrapings and a single origin.

But as soon as you say never, it generally happens. Nearly two years ago I bade a tearful farewell to my cramped flat and my indifferent housemates and I moved way out to the leafy suburbs.

I am quietly confident that in 10 years our area will be a hub of activity and trendiness. And then you will say ‘Bridge, you were right’. So, dear reader, to put you on the front foot, here are just a few of the many highlights of the OE (Outer East) of Melbourne:

– Yarra Valley  & Dandenongs on your doorstep
– Cafes are on the improve, (see Mish Mash, Forage, et al)
– Public Brewery
– Lysterfield Lake
– Asian restaurants very very good and some exceptional (e.g. Thai tables et al)
– You will generally be able to get a seat on the train in rush hour. Plug in, play, read.
– The quiet! You can actually hear birds out here rather than two train lines, trams and traffic. It’s peaceful, and you know what? It’s quite nice.
* But it’s much better than Orange County any day, and many less annoying Misha Bartons.

Running update: Vermont and back today, along the creek, shuffling along like Forrest, wry smiles from other people like myself struggling with their fitness regime. But my app tells me I did over 9 k, which is a record (of a lifetime). My calves are as tight as a nuns you know what as.