ahh, ankles

“It’s a 15-minute wait,” she said, apologetically. “We are busy tonight.”

Because I normally hate waiting for anything, my first thought was, “I knew I should’ve called ahead.” But because a wait for two takeaway bento boxes meant that I had an excuse to do nothing but bask in the aural bliss of Two Door Cinema Club‘s What You Know, I didn’t mind at all. I’ve been in the sort of mood -all day- that I could listen to TDCC on repeat for hours.

I’m In Love with this band. I listen to This Is The Life and wish I had been at Brixton Academy that night, right down the front. Listen, and tell me the jangly guitar and the bit in the middle (that drumbeat in particular) doesn’t remind you of another famous band from that country. Perhaps it’s only a vague likeness, but it’s there.

(The sashimi bento hit the spot, by the way.)


Tuesday evening's treats

A bit of escapism this Tuesday evening via the latest issue of Harper’s Bazaar (Australia) and my earworm album of the week, Birds of Tokyo‘s March Fires. Track two, This Fire, especially (humour me, LISTEN to it!). Although clearly of the ‘now’, the song transports me to a certain time in my life when I was stuck in Perth for three months when I was supposed to be in London, and my friends used to drop by in the afternoon, with ice-cream sundaes from Macca’s, and we would ride around in J’s jeep, and I really didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life but somehow it didn’t matter.

Now I still don’t know what I want to do with my life and it does matter. I’ve been thinking about this lately because of a couple of developments at the office which has planted that pesky seed of wondering, “What if…?”

Do you ever feel that way?


high noon

So. What’s the best way to ask “Who is this?” when you receive a text message from an unknown number? Whatever it is, I don’t know it.

At 17:11 today: “You coming to Dappled Cities at candys [sic] kings cross [sic] this Friday?”

Funny because I had been pondering the pros and cons of getting a ticket. On the one hand, I am a fan (as anyone who reads this blog may have noted previously); on the other, we are talking about The Cross. On a Friday Night. Not my favourite place to be on a Friday night, nor my favourite night to be in The Cross. I don’t think they’re the same thing, and both are equally valid.

Of course I texted back; t’would’ve been rude not to: “Not sure.”

Followed by: “Who is this btw? Sorry. {EMOJI FACE}”

What was I saying about rude…? Guilty.

This reminds me of that episode in Girls where Jessa receives a text and she doesn’t know who it’s from, but instead of asking who it is, she texts back that she’s at “The Best Party Ever.” And then sends the address and waits to see who turns up.

I don’t think I’m likely to get a response now or if I do, the person who sent it will probably make something up because I’ve offended them (it has been several hours since I asked), and when I turn up on Friday, it’ll be too late when s/he accosts me in a dark alley, wielding an axe or Anthrax or, worse still, a bottle of NZ Sauvignon Blanc. (Just kidding, NZ. But I’m not kidding about Sauv Blanc.)

So. Candy’s and DC.


gold!I love the new Foals’ album ‘Holy Fire‘ (released today, people). Even more than the new gold shorts I was wearing on Saturday when I met someone famous who is indirectly connected to perhaps the most famous gold shorts, nay hotpants, that ever featured in a video clip ever ever EVER! She was very nice, by the way.

Hotpants aside, I’m now crushing on, loving, Officially Obsessed with this album – every track is gold – and if I hadn’t had to work today, I would’ve listened on repeat, in sequence, back to front, on shuffle, inside out (even though that’s not physically possible), all day already.

Nice one, Foals, awesome way to wade into the week.


Children Collide at AnnandaleGot home from Children Collide gig at the Annandale at about 01:30, skin tingling, ears ringing, feet aching, brain buzzing, dress drenched (80% sweat, 20% the beer of random strangers).

I’m not saying I’m about to give up my 3-4 times a week exercise sessions, but why can’t they be as much fun and the endorphin-high as good as what I got last night?


Deep Sea Arcade in redI apologise for the sub-par quality, but I only had the iPhone with me.

An immensely enjoyable time was had at The Metro last night with Deep Sea Arcade. Second time I’ve seen the band this year, and when will I get enough? When the next album is ‘born’, perhaps.

If I had to share one regret about my time in London, it’s that I didn’t take advantage of the live music scene at all. I went to a few concerts, but really I could’ve done so much more of that. Instead, I spent most of my time in bars, stimulating my senses in ways about which I’d be well served to keep schtum.


A friend mentioned yesterday that MS MR will be playing a gig in February, and would I be interested in going?

The show’s on a Monday night. Who the heck does that sort of thing on a Monday night?

That aside, I do want to go. What’s stopping me? Nothing but the fact that I always let convention be in charge.

Time for a change?


And another thing: the nails on that hand (not Keira’s on the cover of Vogue USA). I can’t tear my eyes away from those bad-ass acrylics. Do people still wear acrylics? I used to -years ago- until I realised that my own nails weren’t in fact that bad. Now I shudder at the ‘nail abuse’.


I haven’t much to say today. Except: Gasoline by Alpine is my favourite track right now. One of the best descriptions I saw for this song was “It sounds like angels.” It does. (The rest of the album is pretty sweet, too.)


Mojo came, mojo went. What does it look like when mojo is in the house? Ha.

Come back, mojo!

Ah, I miss those days of frivolity, mischief and silliness…

(In the meantime, I’m listening to Dappled Cities’ new album Lake Air, which is tremendous and joyful and makes me think ahead to warmer days. Not to mention, October 4, when the band plays its Sydney show in support of the new album. Massively. Excited. Honest. If my mojo was in the house, I’d be all boing-boing-boing. Y’know?)