That old adage is most definitely true – Time does fly when you’re a blond having far too much fun…or something along those lines. The first two weeks of my Australian sojourn have seemingly disappeared in the blink of an eye. That being said, I’ve still managed to squeeze in a fair bit of socialising and family time…not to mention so much sun worship an Aztec would be jealous.
My first host – the delightful Daniel – provided a most wonderful base of operations for me to attack the long weekend in Sydney. Centrally located, I was only ever a quick prance away from getting to my pressing engagements and a short walk of shame back home afterwards. The gym and pool in the basement were also rather handy in cleansing away any sins that I happened to consume/perform during my many outings.
Berlin is one of those mythic cities whose grand reputations precede them, keeping good company with the likes of London, New York and Paris. I’m ever so happy to report that it was everything I had been warned about. A delightfully harsh mistress, I am somewhat enamoured – or enlusted – with this charming city and all the decadence and debauchery that it contains Truly a place where one can be oneself without fear of shame and recriminations, unless that’s what you’re into of course, all the while giving a brand new interpretation to East meets West.
Don’t get me wrong, there are more than enough cultural pursuits on offer to balance out the less seemly ones. Not to mention exploring the difference of the formerly separated city halves. The first thing that I saw when crossing over to the east was a Starbucks, nothing says forward momentum quite like American capitalism. In general, the east seeming to be funkier and more progressive, although I tend to think that it is all meshing rather nicely.
The smoke has cleared, the hangovers are nearly gone and all those well-intentioned New Year resolutions are already broken and been swept away like so much soggy confetti. Personally, I gave up such things many a year ago and settled for principles that I try to live by – with varying degrees of success – throughout the whole year long. Strangely the only ones to see constant success seem to be those involving the drinking of more cocktails and having madcap adventures.
We rang the New Year in at the penthouse apartment of some dear friends who regularly have such a shindig, since their terrace affords them spectacular views of the harbour and the magnificent fireworks show. Although we were treated to quite a remarkable display on the train ride there, as there was a rather handsome muscular man of the Mediterranean persuasion who sat opposite us with his legs spread in an altogether distracting fashion. Then there was the matter of where he had chosen to rest his phone, that being snugly tucked half under his prominent and fairly sizeable crotch – I can’t remember a time when I’ve so wanted to be an inanimate object. Honestly I didn’t know where to look. Indeed, I had to make quite the conscious effort to fight nature and keep my gaze levelled anywhere other than his tantalising festive package. Needless to say by the time I reached the party I was well and truly ready for a drink.
As Paris rapidly descends into the bleak miserable abyss – otherwise known as the European winter – I find myself increasingly unwilling to leave the warm soothing embrace of bed and kitties and venture forth into the harsh wilderness. A tad melodramatic you may think, and you’d be right but I’ve never been known for my sense of perspective or for having a particularly strong grip on reality. To be honest it really only takes the offer of booze and the prospect of seeing half naked men dancing about to drag me out of my comforting cocoon like a bewildered butterfly drawn to a sparkly mirror ball.