I’m sorry, I know how tedious it is when people harp on about their holidays. But I mention it again because it felt real only today, not because I printed my boarding pass, but because I picked up the cash from the bureau de change.

And the thought that popped into my head was: I’m pretty sure I hadn’t seen too many $100 ringgit notes when I was a kid – did they look unfamiliar to me now for that reason, or simply because they had changed?

It’s a very strange feeling indeed. I wonder if the sounds/language(s) and smells and what-not that were so much a part of my childhood will feel familiar once again, or if I’ve been away for too long.

I came home this evening and the first thing I did was turn on Spotify to listen to P. Ramlee. (My older sister would be quite chuffed with that, I think. The last time I listened to P. Ramlee was at her place earlier this year when I introduced her to Spotify and she plugged in several world music, obscure, non-mainstream songs she could think of – P. Ramlee was one of them; Spotify had them all, by the way.)


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.


sweet orangeOn repeat this week, Frank Ocean’s Sweet Life. I can’t get enough. Have you heard it? It’s not brand new, but it doesn’t get old (for me). It brought me back to the genre in its slow, sweet and mellow way.


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?


pink crush

If you can understand what things* felt like last night… Focus on the crushed, dying dark pink section in the middle of that bouquet, not the beautiful vibrant colourful blooms surrounding it.

* me, myself, I, life, the universe, everything


The antidote: Listen to Bloom by Gypsy & The Cat. It’s on now as I type. Argh! if only I’d remembered to do that then.


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’.


The other day, a random and sudden yearning for something Old School led me to The Style Council.

An initial desire to hear Long Hot Summer saw me stumble upon Mick’s Company. Admittedly, my hitherto knowledge of The Style Council is somewhat limited to their greatest hits. The band formed in 1983, when I was still a kid living in Malaysia, where I doubt very much that I heard any TSC.

Not quite ‘long hot summer weather’ this week*, but it’s been just fine with Mick’s Company.


* The weather has been a bit bi-polar of late. Sweltering hot one day, cold and rainy the next. It even snowed in the Blue Mountains yesterday.


Missed posting last night because I was out Doing Stuff. Specifically, catching Sydney band Dappled Cities at The Metro Theatre. Go me! And on a school night, too.

I have a soft spot for these guys. They got me through the time I spent in Perth earlier this year, at my parents’ place, with my dad in the final stages of his cancer. Now when I listen to albums, A Smile and Grandance, I am transported back to those hot nights in the ‘burbs, wondering how much longer my dad had in him. (Not long at all, as it turned out.)

Dappled Cities’ latest album, Lake Air, was released a few months ago, and of course I’ve listened to it – countless times. It was a joyous experience to see them perform songs from this album, of course, including The Leopard, The Weekend, Work In The Mould. Also, one of the night’s highlights (for me) was the inclusion of Wooden Ships from the Zounds album. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of that track.

Well worth the late night and that ‘dusty’ feeling this morning.


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.)


I’m feeling introspective. My fortnightly sessions on Macquarie Street always bring forth the outside-looking-in.

I’m in that mode where I don’t want to talk to anyone. Again. I am that person for whom the internet and SMS was invented. If I didn’t have to talk to another human being… Sigh… I don’t mind that thought so much some nights. Like tonight.

It’s exhausting.

Why is it so?

I don’t know.

… When I say I want to disappear I mean disappear like an ant under a thick pile of leaves beneath the shadows of giant trees. Or like a nobody in the maze of a metropolis. I’m not being moribund. I just want some solitude. Sometimes.

The xx provides the perfect soundtrack tonight. (Coexist could be one of my Top 5 albums of 2012. Could be.)


Really, I’m not kidding. This album cover frightens me. The eyes. The fingernails. The hair. (What was the rationale behind the artwork? No, don’t tell me.)

The music, however, is wickedbrilliantawesome. I love The Gossip.

In other news: life doesn’t get easier. And it’s only Tuesday.


I feel like havin’ a drink tonight
Maybe somethin’ to smoke —
I feel like shakin’ my thang, yeah yeah.
It’s been a little crazy at work
Feelin’ a little choked,
And I want to get loose, yeah yeah.

I feel like seein’ my girls tonight
We’re gonna have some fun
I feel like shakin’ my thang, yeah yeah.
‘Cause my boss is bein’ a jerk,
I’m feelin’ a little stressed
And I want to get loose, yeah yeah.

~ Paarty  | We Won’t Stop (2002) | The Brand New Heavies


Perhaps less of the “somethin’ to smoke”, ’cause that’s not my thing. But if you could have seen me last night at the office, singing along to my iPhone while I was working… (Yeah, yeah.)

This song, I adore. It’s like the lyrics were written for me-this-week.

The first time I heard The Brand New Heavies, I was 19 or 20 – their music has been with me for a while.

I saw the band at London’s Brixton Academy, I think, more than a decade ago… and I’m seeing them tonight. Yeah, yeaah!


Rightly or wrongly, I always associate white blooms with Domestic Goddess… which is so what I’m not, however these beauties are what I currently have at home.

The weekend is upon us and once again, I am trying to fit in chores before I allow myself outdoors. Does anyone feel resentful of the full laundry basket? Do people scowl at the sight of unwashed dishes? I swear I would be quite happy to eat out every night if it meant I could do away with washing up. I dislike the fact that I spend time inspecting the bathroom sink and the counter for water stains, the detritus from the Hub’s daily beard trimming (obviously I leave no mess whatsoever – ha!), etc. And do NOT even mention the vacuum cleaner. That appliance makes me angry beyond all sense and reason. I hate vacuuming much much much more than toilet scrubbing. Now, that makes no sense at all, does it?

We live in a one-bed, one-bath apartment, tiny by suburban standards but sufficient for inner city living so I haven’t been able to justify engaging a house cleaner. Correction: I got vetoed by the Beard-Trimmer. So guess who gets stuck with the bulk of the cleaning.

That’s right. I am having a full-throated whinge.

Which brings me to the soundtrack for this post. Lanie Lane’s To The Horses. She mostly sings about man problems, but in my world, his name is Dyson.


The most comfy place right now is scrunched up in the one-and-a-half foot long space between the coffee table and the sofa. Right? It makes no sense to be sitting on the floor when I have a 10-seater right behind me (literally – my back’s up against it) but here I am. I like the floor.

Drinking sweetened-with honey-peppermint tea in my pyjamas and listening to another favourite this week, Catcall’s The Warmest Place album, with one eye on the steadily brightening morning outside.

The comfy-est place… The Warmest Place

The mug was a gift from a boss from way back in 2000, I think. The squiggly creature is an elk, of course – from Sweden. (Boss had gone to see the Northern Lights.)


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?)


How pristine do my trainers look here? It’s because the photo was taken in mid-May when I had literally just bought them (aren’t the stickers a dead giveaway?). They so don’t look like that any more.

Favourite treadmill tunes this week include but are not restricted to: For My Woman (Easybeats cover) by Dappled Cities; How Do You Do by Hot Chip; Pistol Whipped by Marilyn Manson; Space and Time by Sparkadia; The Honeymoon Is Over by The Cruel Sea; Sunday Night by Last Dinosaurs; Betty Baby by Lanie LaneSeen No Right by Deep Sea ArcadeRun With The Wind by Dappled Cities

And I’ll be the first to admit that it’s kind of a strange mix of tunes. I’m still trying to get over my simultaneous DappledCities/DeepSeaArcade/LastDinosaurs Isimplycan’tgetenoughofyou obsession. It’s not really working, but I’m not bothered.