The first six months of living in the UK saw me out and about most nights of the week, with at least two social gatherings each day at the weekend. Now I’m lucky to catch up with even one friend late on a Sunday afternoon and then rush home to watch Midsomer Murders at 8pm. I’m a sad and lonely specimen of an Aussie expat, and I’m sorry.
Sorry for my lack of London-antics to entertain committed readers and sorry for neglecting friends I once made such an effort to see. But I vow to make a change.
This Thursday will see me turn twenty-five. While I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m experiencing a quarter-life crisis, I am definitely struggling with motivation. I find myself in a job that simply pays the bills - a glorified secretary begrudging my colleagues when they ask me to book a cab, courier this, scan that – holding on to slim pickings of freelance work and everyday wishing I was back working on a magazine.
And then I tell myself that this is just for a year, to make some cash, and that when I return to Sydney I’ll be straight back into the Land of Gloss. I tell myself that all writing is about experience and living and working overseas is a feat in itself. I tell myself this as I sit on the couch dipping gingernut cookies into my mug of PG Tips.
The bank holiday weekend just past hosted both the annual Notting Hill Carnival and Clapham Common’s SW4 and Get Loaded in the Park – I attended 0 out of 3. Okay, so I started going out very young – at fifteen using my sister’s ID – but seriously, has my time for partying really come to an end? My girlfriend of twenty-eight went to SW4, with her thirty-year-old sister in tow, and yet I was quite happy passing up on last minute tickets in favour of my beloved sofa.
No more.
Thursday I’m off to engagement drinks, Friday it’s dinner with the Boyfriend, drinks with friends Saturday afternoon and a girly sleepover come Sunday. Who knows, I might even stay up past midnight…
Ready, steady go!
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