The right path

How do you know when you’re on the ‘right’ path? I feel like I used to know, before I got distracted by life. It’s like, in my teenage years and 20s I used to have huge amounts of time to ponder and think over things. Too much time really. An ex-boyfriend (who, when he was my boyfriend, wouldn’t commit enough to my liking and I desperately wanted him to buy me some jewellery to symbolise our commitment) once bought me a birthday present, I think when I was about 22. It was a silver ID bracelet and he’d had it engraved. On the front it had my name and on the back was “No Thinking Zone”. I think we’d been dating a year or so and he wasn’t really intellectually the right person for me but he easily saw my issue back then. I was thinking too much, going over every little thing, obsessing.

Oh if only I had the time to obsess now! Something happened, I think, around the time that first serious relationship started to break down, and life started to become full. I resisted, of course, and it was only because that boyfriend announced he was leaving for a stint in London that I pig-headedly pushed my way forward and ended up leaving for my own London adventure a few months before him. I resisted it all the way, was convinced I would be there for about six months, and I wasn’t going there to party it up like all the other antipodeans. Oh no, I was just going for, um, the experience, whatever that was… And I’d be back in six months anyway. I didn’t need to let my hair down and be stupid on the other side of the world to find out who I was. I was going to fix my relationship, get married, and settle down in Canberra. Or Melbourne. That was me eight years ago. I would sit and think things over, imagine myself in various scenarios, get a feeling, and know the right path. I don’t think that’s what I did with my decision to go to London, although I know for certain it was the right choice. I became a completely different person, a much better person, after living in London. And I met Mr Chewbacca, which is one of the best things that could have happened to me.

With my decision to step into a new life in London, I forfeited this process of assessing my future plans. I began to be spontaneous, and ended up doing a lot of things I would never have considered previously as a result. Some things I can’t say I’m particularly proud of, and I don’t know how positively they contributed to who I am now, but I’m here to tell the tale (not in a public forum though!) and I don’t regret anything. I do miss that clarity, however, those moments of contemplation which allowed me to see the right path. I haven’t got the time now, to sit and think and plan, and so much has happened, life and circumstances have descended upon me in layer upon layer of possible deviations from the right path so that there is now no going back. I can’t sort back through each layer, meticulously choosing my path at every turn. Too much has happened.

So now I am on the path I’m on. I’m here, in Canada, a country I never even envisaged visiting let alone living in, and I’m doing an MA at one of the top universities in North America. As a family, we’ve taken a huge risk coming here. A risk for what? Because we didn’t know for sure if Australia was the right place for us. We couldn’t handle any more 40 degree endless summers. We wanted snow and beautiful trees and piles of leaves and traditions at the ‘right’ time of year, to be in a place that feels like it’s a little more in touch with the world. The course I’m doing is certainly leading me in the right direction and it’s fantastic to be studying again, especially with a level of maturity that allows me to apply myself fully to the material and achieve good results. But it will be ending all too soon.

Many MA programs are two years but this one is unfortunately just one year. I love this university, I am so privileged to be taught by some exceptional academics. I seriously want to do a PhD. But there’s one problem: this university is in Toronto, in the city. I don’t want to live in the city. In fact although I live 40km out of the city, that’s still too close. I can’t wait to move. But if I wanted to do further study I’d have to stay close enough to commute.

I got some clarity around what we might do next yesterday and I know what our options are in terms of staying on in Canada once I’ve graduated next year in June. Unfortunately, none of those options is clearly the right one. We haven’t been here long enough to decide whether to go back home or stay on permanently, another year testing things out at least seems the right thing, but that’s not an easy thing to do. These decisions are depressing me! I wish it wasn’t so complicated, and so much about money!

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I listen to my Aussie music, stuff I never listened to when I was at home, and I actually miss home, I miss it for the first time since London. I don’t believe in regrets, they are a waste of time, everything happens exactly as it should. But there are so many things that, if I’d just thought at the time with some clarity, taken a few moments to sit and really make the decisions without rushing, I’d have gone a different way and things would be better. At least that’s what I tell myself. I’ll never know, there’s no such thing as Sliding Doors. Right now, we’ve got some serious thinking to do and big decisions loom yet again. Wasn’t it meant to be easier than this? Didn’t I plan to settle down and enjoy simple family life when I left London?

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Remember when you were young…

This must be the longest break from blogging I’ve had in years. I’ve been thinking about it the whole time, wishing I could just take that hour or so out and write, but it hasn’t happened. I have good reason for slacking off: we’ve renovated the whole house, painted every room bar one, most of the outside, replaced almost all the floor coverings, every door except one, and all the light fittings. I guess it probably doesn’t sound like a lot. We haven’t gutted the kitchen or anything, although we did replace the bathroom sink and both toilet cisterns. It hasn’t been a complete renovation but it surely has been a huge undertaking and the results are pretty good.  I’ll post some photos at some point.

Anyway, aside from that, which happened in the space of less than six weeks with a week in Thailand in the middle (we had it booked, we had to go!), I’ve also been working full time which has been a massive challenge. The work was relatively challenging although nothing  I couldn’t handle. It was dealing with the internal politics that took its toll. It’s the public service, typical really, but it’s been a while since I’ve worked full time and I’d forgotten just how carefully one has to play the game.

Part of a letter written in 1918 to my great great great grandmother. She seems to have been very kind to a woman whose son was killed during the war. Her own son was too. Nothing to do with this blog post, only that it captures a moment in time...
Part of a letter written in 1918 to my great great great grandmother. She seems to have been very kind to a woman whose son was killed during the war. Her own son was too. Nothing to do with this blog post, only that it captures a moment in time…

So it’s been full on, and I haven’t had a moment to even plan a blog post, let alone write one. I’ve had so many ideas jump into my head but I’ve been too busy to jot them down or draft something short to remind myself, so they’ve gone. I’d really wanted to do NaNoWriMo this year and try and beat my previous pathetic word counts or, shock horror, actually win, but no chance, just too much to do. The good news is that the renovation is done and the house is now on the market. I’ve also finished my contract at work, so in between job hunting and preparing the house for viewings, I’ve now got a bit of time to play with.

I got to thinking this week about the twists and turns life presents us with. Ever since I met Mr Chewbacca, my life has felt a little bit out of control. Not unmanageable or difficult, just a little bit beyond my grasp; kind of like chasing a horse but still holding its bridle. Life becomes complicated by relationships. But life would be nothing without them. The Dude has complicated my life immensely but I wouldn’t swap him for anything.

It’s bizarre to think about the hugely diverse situations I’ve ended up in so far in life. Once when I was 11 I stood around the back of my old primary school dressed as an Arthurian musician and kissed a boy.

When I was 18 I was fiddling with the car radio while driving after having had my license for only three months and didn’t give way at an intersection. The woman I collided with shouted at me and I cried in shock. My best friend’s mum happened to be there at that moment and took me to her place, which I was on my way to. My mum couldn’t afford to fix her 1979 Renault station wagon and we drove it around for months with the entire front panel dented in so far you could see the suspension.

When I was 21 I met a boy and had what can only be described as a religious experience, ending up randomly at his house somehow and not leaving until the early hours of the morning when I crept out past the open door of his parents’ bedroom as they slept. That relationship lasted six years.

When I was 28 I travelled through the Scottish highlands and was invited by an old man to become a weaver on the Isle of Harris. I reluctantly refused.

When I was 29 I met my mirror image, my soulmate, but I didn’t know it, and life has been surprise ever since.

When I was 32 I lay in a pool in the living room of a Vaucluse mansion and gave birth to a baby.

When I was 35 I tried to write and it just didn’t come out the way I wanted.

I am reading the autobiography of the father of an old friend at the moment. It’s not a masterpiece, just a detailed and interesting account of a varied life, a legacy of sorts, and it is quite inspiring. I find myself becoming so envious of other people’s ambition and drive to achieve. I wish I had that. It’s there but I can’t channel it outside of myself. I have my book idea, the main one, sitting right at the front of my mind, desperate to be written, and I know it is good, but it just won’t come out. Or perhaps I’m not making time for it. Yet again, my resolutions for 2014 will involve writing discipline. This time, I must succeed, as I feel I’m running out of time to write this book…

Truth is the cornerstone of good writing

Reading an article from an Allen & Unwin newsletter I subscribe to, I came upon the title of this blog post. It struck me as particularly relevant to my writing. I struggle with the truth. Not necessarily with telling it, that’s easy; but telling it to someone, anyone, who reads my writing, that’s difficult. Actually, I’ll rephrase that: it’s frightening to think that my truth may not be that of others.

When I was in year 11, age 16 or 17, I started an English class with a new teacher. Let’s call him Mr P, for the sake of anonymity. This guy was awesome. He was the first teacher that gave me hope that my writing may be worth something, that I actually could write, that it was interesting and worth reading. It’s the most depressing thing in the world to be compelled to write but to think your writing is no good! I don’t know why, but I remember writing a short piece, I can’t even call it a story, about my grandparents and their ‘nicotine-stained hallway’. That phrase sticks out to me, as it was one that Mr P highlighted saying he thought it really worked to paint a vivid picture. To me, it was just fact: my grandparents were chain smokers their whole lives, and not only were their walls stained dirty yellow with the smoke of their constantly-fuming cigarettes, all the spines of their books, photo albums, and even pictures hanging on the wall were discoloured. I was just writing what I knew; and it was perfect.

I didn’t show that piece of writing to my grandparents. In fact, I don’t think I showed it to anyone. How would they feel about my description? And that was only the tip of the iceberg. I began to write about the time we went to the leagues club and my dad and granddad let my grandmother have too much to drink and she couldn’t stand up properly and had to be bundled into the car as she sang some old Beatles song. I was furious with her. I can’t remember what I said exactly, something about her being a disgrace (I must have been about 14 at the time) and I can remember her sitting in the back seat next to me giggling and slurring, “oh, am I drunk?”  That seems something of an amusing anecdote to an outsider, but to anyone in the family, it is fairly confronting because we know that she was an alcoholic. I probably shouldn’t even be admitting that on this blog, but oh well, she’s been dead over ten years now and I don’t have a lot to do with the members of that side of my family who’d be offended, so what the hell, right? Sorry to anyone reading this that is offended; but you know it’s the truth. And you know what an extraordinary woman she was, regardless of her emotional problems. So it’s not worth getting upset about.

Anyway, I guess what I’m trying to get at here is, when is truth okay? When is it okay to strip back the layers for the sake of expression? Is it okay to be raw when it’s cathartic? And where should one draw the line when it comes to revealing others’ painful truths? For me, admitting to my grandmother’s illness is something of a release. I feel as if I’m doing good by being honest; because she found that hard, and that’s understandable, she was ashamed. There’s something about writing about this sort of ‘real’ stuff that infuses the writing with more power. It becomes interesting somehow. Mr P noticed that, and it was he who first explained it to me. I was kind of annoyed when he first told me to write about what I know because prior to that I’d always written fantasy type stuff and that was the antithesis of what I knew. I was like, hang on, how can just writing stuff you know be the answer to writing well? How can it be that easy? I had been told by a previous English teacher that my writing was cliched and I took offence to that. But it was true. Good writing is characterised by its meaningfulness to the writer.

Recently, someone close to me read a post on this blog. She knew it existed but I’d never actually sent her a link. I was proud of the post I’d written, having had some lovely feedback from friends, and I thought she might enjoy it or at least give me some feedback in the same vein. Instead, the opposite happened. She mentioned it had some factual inaccuracies firstly, and secondly she thought I was leaving myself exposed. Apparently ‘people’ are always out to get you, and they use any means by which to bring you down. So you shouldn’t reveal too much of your ‘real’ self publicly. I felt deflated and sad. Once I’d moved past these feelings, I realised I simply didn’t agree. And that was okay.

I read a lot of amazing blogs. Soulemama, Edenland, RRSAHM, Wanderlust, Flux Capacitor, Stand and Deliver, The Girl Who, The Byron Life, The Bloggess and a wonderful one of a woman I know that I just discovered yesterday – Kirrilee Heartman. This is just a small list – there are more that I read and enjoy. And you know what they all have in common? They are about the truth! A truth. My dad never agreed with me when I used to argue that everyone has their own truth, that there aren’t many things that are equally true for all; he thought I was fence-sitting I guess. But I still believe this, and I think that’s why blogs and life writing are eternally fascinating. People are interesting. And fiction is fabulous, but someone telling the truth (even if it is ‘their’ truth, and a total lie for others) is the most inspiring thing in the world for me. Keeping it real, that’s where it’s at. So even if I piss a few people off unintentionally and what I say isn’t true for everyone, I’m going to keep on telling it like it is, right here to begin with.

 

Transitioning to a public identity

I recently bit the bullet and created a facebook page for Perpetual Tangent. Scary stuff, as I did it through my facebook page, my personal facebook page, which means technically people might know I have a blog; people I know. Which means they might read my blog. And they might hate me forever. Or something. I know, irrational right? Yeah, but this blogging thing is pretty confronting in terms of revealing personal stuff. I started it with a view to being able to pour my heart out and know I was safely anonymous, but that just wasn’t cutting it any more so although I’m not explicitly stating my surname and where I live right here, I’m sure in time, if people actually care, it will come out. But so what? Am I afraid to express my opinion? I’ve pissed people off a few times in real life, why is the internet any different? That’s made me think of a whole other post…

blog pic

It’s a funny thing, this truth-telling business, being really honest and open online. Most blogs I read, including those of friends, use real names, although some use pseudonyms for referring to others. I find the most compelling blogs to be the honest, truthful ones, really raw stuff, like what Eden writes.  Then there are those bloggers like Amanda Blake-Soule who has created the most amazing space over at Soulemama and constantly inspires me. Yes, she uses all real names, photos of herself and others, but she isn’t completely open.  She is, however, open about how she defines her online space. And it’s easy to understand her reasons; she wants to maintain the beauty and purity of her blog. It’s got clear parameters, obvious themes and a real identity, so to upset this harmony with anything negative or gritty wouldn’t be in keeping with the blog’s very nature. I love that. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not censorship. Fairly recently, when the whole gay marriage thing became legal in Maine, which is where Amanda lives with her family, there was some heated discussion in the comments of a lovely post Amanda did regarding the celebrations. There are a fair few Bible bashers amongst her followers (fairly typical of the US demographic, I guess) who got pretty hot under the collar about it all. ‘Marriage is between a man and a woman, the Bible says so, bla bla bla bla…’ Some people vowed not to come back, some were a bit more level-headed, saying they respected her choice to have those views but were personally opposed to gay marriage and would just not be reading posts on that topic. A lot of arguing back and forth about the Bible and Christian values happened. I read quite a lot of the comments but I didn’t see Amanda weigh in. Which is kind of refreshing. She probably just noticed all these comments coming in, read some, and quietly closed off comments after a few days. She may have also thanked everyone for their views. I like her peaceful nature and that she chooses not to get into some debates but rather to respect everyone’s views and quietly state her own, if relevant. That’s the way to live in peace. And the wonderful thing about her way of dealing with controversy, which inevitably happens online, is that she rarely gets slated. People can’t really bag her out because she gives them no ammunition. I’d find it hard not to have an opinion and go in for the fight sometimes, so I admire the way she doesn’t really do that and it serves her well.

The other side of the coin is that there are whole communities of people with nothing better to do that slag other people off. Usually people they don’t even know in real life. Often people they’ve never even had an interaction with online. I recently read Gina’s post on The Feminist Breeder blog about the Get Off My Internets (GOMI) site and associated forums. I couldn’t help myself, I had to read some. I found it entertaining, for a short while, but after a while I began to get a sick feeling in my stomach. I realised that these people, who come to this site specifically to berate other people must really have some issues. It got me thinking about opinions and views. There’s always that thing now online where you post something, for example, a meme about how breastfeeding is normal and natural and people who are offended shouldn’t look, and someone might have an opposing view. They may be harsh and say, hey, I’m offended by it and I don’t want boobs up in my face at random in public. Or they may say, hey, seeing boobs as a result of a woman breastfeeding makes me uncomfortable. It’s a feeling and I can’t change it. And there comes the ‘thing’: it’s like a paradox. On the one hand, everyone’s entitled to their opinion, even if it differs significantly. Cool. Okay so they’re entitled to express that opinion. Cool. So is it the way they express it that makes it ‘wrong’ or creates arguments? Perhaps. But if you’re really adamant about something, if you feel that there IS only one way, you might be a bit more forthright about it. And then what? Can you be accused of forcing your opinion on someone else? It’s hard because in a way you are. Yet really you aren’t because no one can be forced to believe anything. The difficulty arises when bloggers make offhand comments that they don’t see as offensive but others are offended by. It’s all about interpretation and intention in the end; the interpretation of the audience, and the intention of the blogger. In the online world, a world of writing, editing, marketing, manipulation and impression, this can get really messy. If you were to have an ad for the internet, the slogan would read, ‘The internet: prepare to be pissed off’.

GOMI is fun for about half an hour, but then it starts to get tedious and icky. It can’t be good to wallow in all those put downs all the time, even if it’s you doing the putting down. Some of the criticism on there is really unconstructive and, frankly, a bit libelous. Yeah, okay, it’s an anonymous forum on the internet, no one’s getting sued. Who gives a shit, right? True. But I must say I found it slightly unnerving to read some of their rants about people like The Feminist Breeder or even new bloggers just getting their profiles out there. Someone might not be the best writer or have a lot to say, but who are you to belittle them? Get a life.

Anyway, all this leads up to my latest thinking on blogging and the anonymity of one’s online presence. Given I’ve bit the bullet with facebook (I’m starting to think I should minimise activity on my personal profile and just post as my page now), and that I’ve posted a few things recently there and here and on twitter that give a few clues as to my name, I am less concerned about staying anonymous. I know that if people did start to take an interest in this blog, it’s inevitable I’ll get flayed alive at some point. There are always people out there with something to say, and no one could have the same views as me. The question is, do I follow Amanda’s lead and stay as neutral as possible or do I go all out, guns blazing, ala TFB and kick butt? I don’t know yet, but if it happens, I’ll have to come up with some sort of plan.

Postscript: Since I drafted this post, TFB has decided to move to a subscription-only model, meaning people actually have to sign up and pay a nominal fee to read her posts. Ballsy or crazy? I can understand why she did it, given some of the horrible stuff she has had to put up with, especially as she is estranged from some of her family and they seem a little crazy about it and like to slag her off online – it’s a self-protection mechanism. BUT, as a reader, I am not reading her posts any more. The main reason is that I don’t want to pay, it’s not worth it for me, but the secondary reasons are that I was getting a little bit over her stuff and it just wasn’t ‘speaking’ to me any more and I found a lot of her most recent posts to be a bit too self-obsessed and gushy and neurotic. So sometimes we simply move on, and what was once compelling reading is now pretty ordinary. It might be just that I’ve changed, I don’t know. Sometimes you’ve just got to let things go. I wonder if the GOMI losers have anything to say about this though…

Resolutions for 2013

So I was slack and didn’t post when I said I would. Okay, but before you roll your eyes, posting when I say I will is not one of my New Year’s resolutions. So there.

Anyway, I am here to talk about resolutions. I think I’ve made resolutions at New Year since I first learnt to write. It’s my kind of thing, making a list of outlandish promises; it works for me because I get to feel really disappointed when I, yet again, don’t actually achieve anything on my list. In fact I usually can’t remember what was on it.  But most years it looks something like this:

1. Lose weight

2. Stop eating so much shit

3. Do more exercise

4. Read more

5. Write more

6. Do yoga

7. Start my Masters

8. Move to [insert fantasy utopia here]

Some years I’m more specific, making my resolutions even harder to achieve. E.g. ‘Lose 30kg” or “Never eat icecream again” or “Do an hour of yoga every morning at 5am”.  Yeah. Not going to happen.  Now I have a child, those kinds of promises never have even the most remote chance of being kept.

So this year, I’m being a little more realistic. That’s not to say I’ve never been realistic, but if you ask anyone that knows me, they’ll tell you that my idea of realistic is about as real as the Tooth Fairy.  Who IS actually real, I saw her when I was six, believe me!

2013 Resolutions

1. Stop drinking so much caffeine. Now I’ve got my own espresso machine (and it’s a good one, Mr C doesn’t do things by halves, he researched the shit out of that mofo before buying), I just keep indulging. In fact, that’s not even it, the only difference is that I’m not buying coffee any more but I’m still having a few a day. And you know what’s worse? Now I can’t rationalise paying for coffee, I end up convincing myself it’s okay to buy one of those frappachiller frozen creamy caffeine-laced equivalent of eight meals drinks! Enough is enough!

2. Learn meditation and more yoga and actually do some a few times a week.  Yeah, okay, might be a little unrealistic, given the Dude rarely sleeps more than an hour or two most days, if that, but I did manage to do 30 minutes today (Intro to Kundalini, awesome!)

3. Stop letting the Dude watch tv so often. It’s seriously insane, he gets up in the morning and immediately asks for ‘bee bees’, his was of saying CeeBeeBees, which is the BBC’s kids channel. Some of the shows are okay, some are annoying, but regardless, he’s not even two years old, he shouldn’t be watching TV! And I think given I grew up with the TV located in a dedicated room (not the living room), plus with my Steiner upbringing and my previous stance of children’s TV watching, I should know better.  Which brings me to my fourth resolution.

4. Stop being so freaking lazy! Now this one really is unrealistic, because I believe it’s part of my true nature to be lazy, it’s like a genetic condition or something. But seriously, I know change is possible, especially given how much I’ve managed to change since the Dude has arrived, so I’m going to make a conscious effort to be less lazy. That doesn’t mean (for Mr C’s benefit) that I’m going to be keen to clean the entire house at 7am on a Saturday before I’ve had a coffee and breakfast. But it means I’ll be a little more motivated and organised on a domestic front. And I’ll endeavour not to lie around in bed in the morning and let the Dude run riot while I check facebook. And I’m deleting The Sims Freeplay from my phone. I mean seriously, that game is cool given it’s free but anyone with any kind of life should not be playing it.

5. Writing. Write at least a few chapters of my book, for Christ’s sake! I am so sick of having ideas thumping around in my head and then not writing them down. It’s not like I get much time to write these days, but all that time spent procrastinating instead of doing housework could at least be spent writing.

And that’s it. Oh, and move to Melbourne. But that’s not a resolution, that’s just something that is going to happen this year. And then we’ll see what real change is about!

Yeah so I changed my name again

If you’re reading this, and you probably aren’t because you don’t know who it is or what it’s about, I’ve changed my name again. I realised my previous Katharina’s Time title was a bit, well, shit. It made no freaking sense!  Okay so there are some crap blog names out there, and some of those blogs with crap names are not crap, in fact some are very successful. I still had to change it again though, as I just didn’t feel comfortable with it. And I realised I could still change my facebook page name because no one ‘likes’ it yet.

The main reason I changed my name, and it’s for good now, I promise, is because I have finally found the right name: I am perpetually off on a tangent. Inside my head, a voice, chatter, chatter, chatter.

I’m no longer curious

The new name has been chosen and changed. I don’t know if it makes any sense but I’m sticking with it! I’ve changed the name of this blog so many times, it’s ridiculous! So this was the last time.

I felt like Kat is curious was just too boring or something, I don’t know, and I decided it would be better to use my whole first name, as it’s fairly distinctive.

This blog is my time. My time to think, plan, idealise; my time for me. It’s a special way if travelling through time, something I’ve always been fascinated with, as I can go back and read about where I was at in any moment. My time to be who I am. My time to write.

I am trying to be a little more specific or deliberate about my theme or identity through this blog but, as luck would have it, I seem to be experiencing a serious case of writer’s block. I sat and stared at my WordPress dashboard for a whole minute today, then clicked over to Pinterest but even that wasn’t inspiring. I changed a few things, tried and failed to sort out my Facebook page, then just gother frustrated.

So instead I sent a long email to my friend KK. What a chick! A goddess really, that’s how I’d describe KK. And I’m not just saying that because she might read this; I know it to be true. The woman is the perfect combination of class and guts. Thin as a bloody rake without losing femininity, bronzed, angular, sparkly-eyed, KK is like some sort of Audrey Hepburn – Mae West amalgam with a 21st century attitude. She seriously knows how to put an outfit together from high street fashion mixed with vintage and she’s the only person I know who can make a velvet jumpsuit from 1977 look smoking hot. She once ordered a life-size Elvis cardboard cutout online but then had a massive freak out when she realised she’d ordered it to be delivered to our place of work (at the time we worked together for a UK government agency in a secure office building in Westminster). “How the hell are they going to deliver Elvis to me at work?” she lamented. She was even more concerned at the prospect of getting him home on the Tube. Luckily Elvis arrived folded in half, although I’m still not sure how she got him home.

At the moment I’m missing London big time. I miss the weather, the culture, the accents, the buildings, the pubs, even the public transport! I know I’ll never live as I once did there but I can’t help but think I belong in Europe and that one day I will end up living there again. Mr Chewbacca feels the same way. The difference is that I don’t complain about how backward Australia is all the time. Anyway that’s for another post. If you want to read some of his rants, check him out at Whodyanickabollockov. He might be a whinging pom but he’s a funny mofo.