Still struggling with the dreaded ‘lag’ – managed to last 'til 10.30pm last night but sprang wide awake at 5.00am this morning. Ah well, there’s always the safety net of a nap in the afternoon (and let’s face it, it doesn’t take jet lag for that to happen at home!).
Sitting here in my hotel room (pretty good place, trendy in a dark, muted colours sort of way, and for the most part very quiet), I can hear the rain clattering and splashing down. Apparently this has been the wettest summer in years, and the forecast, though promising 25 degrees every day, also promises more deluges to come. Which means I need to purchase an umbrella and some more appropriate footwear, although given that my boots have reached a point where the only merciful thing to do is burn them, this may not be a bad thing. However, as I plan to spend the day in the State Library, the rain shouldn't be too much of a hindrance. Tomorrow I move on to Bondi, although from Max's suggested itinerary, I won't be seeing much of it in the coming days.
Last evening I arranged to meet up with Kim so she could provide me with an old mobile phone for my newly acquired SIM card. Her suggestion that we meet at the Opera Bar next to the Opera House proved a superb idea - I emerged from the train station at Martin Place, and began to stroll down the street towards the harbour. Suddenly I come across a set of steps leading down to the harbour's edge, and there, in all her glory and majesty sat the Queen Elizabeth, Cunard's stunning flagship. This spectacular scene actually caused me to let out an audible gasp, the enormous, black hulled goliath resting before the Harbour Bridge. By itself, the Bridge is an extraordinary sight to see, at once familiar and magnificent. Yet to then place one of the world's largest, most contemporary and iconic passenger liners in the foreground had me stumbling down the steps and along the harbour side, my mouth open in awe, the familiar green and cream ferries darting and circling around her like pilot fish. Then around the corner to the right and there is the Opera House - I instantly recall looking at Martin's photographs of the '68 Marathon cars, lined up on the Harbour's edge, and in the background, the astonishing image of construction crews busy building this unique, familiar and strange edifice! There aren't too many urban waterfronts that offer up such visual delights as Sydney's, and to see it all close up is a rare privilege and thrill. Too many photographs later, none of which really do the scene any justice, and sitting at a table next to the water's edge and I get a tap on my shoulder. And there's Kim, laughing and looking amazing. Last time I saw her (she reminded me) was in December 2000 when at 24 years old, she was returning to Australia after 2-3 years in London. Now, twelve years on and I am confronted by this elegant, confident and beautiful woman, mother of two young girls, successful business woman and as articulate and funny as they come. We only meant to have a brief meeting so she could hand over a mobile phone handset, but we ended up sitting over (eye-wateringly expensive) glasses of Sauvignon Blanc and nattering for over four hours, raking over the years and swapping stories and memories. Once again I am taken by how easily and swiftly friendships can re-ignite after so many years of absence - I like the sense of continuity and the fact that we may change and grow through the years but the fundamental elements of our personalities remain throughout. Being able to laugh has always been something I value utterly, and I am often baffled and bewildered by those who don't or won't, perhaps viewing unbridled mirth as weak or immature - certainly where I live in our lovely big village/small town in Gloucestershire, Rob and I are constantly puzzled and bemused by people we know who seem to attach vital importance to appearing 'grown up' and serious, as if they are play-acting the part of an adult. There are those who I genuinely cannot imagine surrendering to hilarity and laughing 'til it hurts. All a bit alien and strange in my opinion, though I suspect they would share that view of me.
Last evening I arranged to meet up with Kim so she could provide me with an old mobile phone for my newly acquired SIM card. Her suggestion that we meet at the Opera Bar next to the Opera House proved a superb idea - I emerged from the train station at Martin Place, and began to stroll down the street towards the harbour. Suddenly I come across a set of steps leading down to the harbour's edge, and there, in all her glory and majesty sat the Queen Elizabeth, Cunard's stunning flagship. This spectacular scene actually caused me to let out an audible gasp, the enormous, black hulled goliath resting before the Harbour Bridge. By itself, the Bridge is an extraordinary sight to see, at once familiar and magnificent. Yet to then place one of the world's largest, most contemporary and iconic passenger liners in the foreground had me stumbling down the steps and along the harbour side, my mouth open in awe, the familiar green and cream ferries darting and circling around her like pilot fish. Then around the corner to the right and there is the Opera House - I instantly recall looking at Martin's photographs of the '68 Marathon cars, lined up on the Harbour's edge, and in the background, the astonishing image of construction crews busy building this unique, familiar and strange edifice! There aren't too many urban waterfronts that offer up such visual delights as Sydney's, and to see it all close up is a rare privilege and thrill. Too many photographs later, none of which really do the scene any justice, and sitting at a table next to the water's edge and I get a tap on my shoulder. And there's Kim, laughing and looking amazing. Last time I saw her (she reminded me) was in December 2000 when at 24 years old, she was returning to Australia after 2-3 years in London. Now, twelve years on and I am confronted by this elegant, confident and beautiful woman, mother of two young girls, successful business woman and as articulate and funny as they come. We only meant to have a brief meeting so she could hand over a mobile phone handset, but we ended up sitting over (eye-wateringly expensive) glasses of Sauvignon Blanc and nattering for over four hours, raking over the years and swapping stories and memories. Once again I am taken by how easily and swiftly friendships can re-ignite after so many years of absence - I like the sense of continuity and the fact that we may change and grow through the years but the fundamental elements of our personalities remain throughout. Being able to laugh has always been something I value utterly, and I am often baffled and bewildered by those who don't or won't, perhaps viewing unbridled mirth as weak or immature - certainly where I live in our lovely big village/small town in Gloucestershire, Rob and I are constantly puzzled and bemused by people we know who seem to attach vital importance to appearing 'grown up' and serious, as if they are play-acting the part of an adult. There are those who I genuinely cannot imagine surrendering to hilarity and laughing 'til it hurts. All a bit alien and strange in my opinion, though I suspect they would share that view of me.
Let 'em, I say!
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