MissLeonie.com

I joined Liam on a trip to the Univeristy of Newcastle today. Now, my Macquarie experience taught me that Australian campuses are quite unlike anything I ever experienced at RA, but Newcastle Uni? It’s not so much a university as an acquired piece of bushland with random, half-overgrown buildings plonked on an area that is roughly half the size of my home country. It has its own postcode, for crying out loud.

The lecture theatre in one of the maths buildings led me to believe that maths students at this university are either grossly immature or pathetically bored. There is gum stuck to the bottom of desks (do they not teach people that swallowing a piece of gum will not occupy all your digestive powers for the upcoming sixteen years?), naked women carved around two round nail-heads (that double as the boobs, yes), and random words dotted into the wooden surface to commemorate one’s eternal support for the adjective “breezy.”

Students show up to the lecture up to an hour late, too. If I were the lecturer, irrespective of the university policy, I would tell anyone more than 15 minues late to be on their merry way and stop wasting everyone’s time. It’s respectless and obnoxious. Either show up on time(..ish) or decide to skip a class altogether.

It’s probably good that I don’t teach. I would give myself a heart condition. But the campus? Despite being asthma-unfriendly (I’m panting like a Newfoundlander in the Outback on a hot summer day), it is good.

Liam had one extra day off work because I had cleverly miscalculated my arrival date by a day, initially. We decided to spend it wandering about Hawkesbury River. The sun was out in a big way, so it was a good day to visit this remote waterside village.

The river is connected to the ocean, and it’s mostly salt water until much further inland. The town’s marina is full of little fishing boats and pelicans, who are there for the same reason. The town fits the surrounding environment perfectly. I’m not sure it’s possible to tell where the edge of town turns into the bush.

There were scores of birds: pelicans and seagulls on the water; kookaburras, magpies and myna birds pretty much everywhere; and three bush turkeys, where else, in the bush. We also ran into a large but skinny blue tongue lizard who seemed wholly unimpressed with our presence.

We had a gorgeous lunch on the waterfront. I went for the Greek salad (and picked out all the feta), Liam got a fisherman’s basket and we shared tomato bruschettas and some chips. I ate crab meat, squid rings and more random fish bits I’d never dared to try before, while Liam took on the prawns and the (ewww) oyster. I’ll never love fish, but watching Liam gather the courage to swallow the pool of oystery drool was worth purchasing a fisherman’s basket.

The Hilton was magnificent. We were treated like royalty (chocolate-dipped strawberries, champagne, a view at Centrepoint Tower’s bottom) and I loved every minute of it. The sparkling white sheets, the relaxing bathroom… There are no words (apparently).

The decoration of the room was simple but luxurious. The colours were neutral and natural - white, brown - and the overall feel was light and calm. The bathroom was a work of art. The walls were made of a non-transparent, turqoise glass and I swear they installed Hollywood lighting. The second you stepped into the bathroom you were transformed into a supermodel. I liked that.

I always feel like a fraud when I go to fancy places, and even more so when I’ve just rolled out of a plane after a 26-hour flight. The staff at the front desk were courteous despite my greasy hair, but the Hollywood lighting? It helped.

We got free loot at the QVB and an amazing view of all the people working late in the city while we lazed about. It was gold.

I arrived back in Australia at the unorthodox hour of 5 am. My suitcase was one of the first to emerge from the belly of the plane and I breezed through customs. The issue-free entry into the country was terrifyingly unexpected. You see, I wanted to declare half a supermarket (and FRENCH food!), but none of it was a problem and the customs lady kept looking at me like, “Will you just go away?!” It was most disconcerting and as a consequence, I forgot to declare my chewing gum. The gum I purchased at Heathrow, for 98 pence. With my credit card… I had no sterling currency on me, and Schiphol are absolute gum nazis, apparently. I like to chew gum when taking off and landing, to ease the pressure on my eardrums, but Schiphol prefers gum-free, mirror-like marble floors. Spoil sports.

I met up with Liam (who got up at 3 am in an attempt to make it to the airport before my arrival time) and we found ourselves a really large window through which we watched the sun come up over the kangaroo-addorned Qantas planes.

And then he whisked me away to the Hilton. Oooh!

I went out for a surprise dinner for eight to our local Chinese restaurant. My aunt and uncle visited, bringing Scottish friends of theirs along. I was at Babysit Kid’s house when they arrived, because he had just arrived back from his holiday and asked if I’d like to see his tower of Pisa. I love that he’s not yet at the age where that will make a young boy snicker. It was a lamp, anyway.

My mum rang their doorbell to ask if she could borrow some red wine, because we hadn’t expected company and were thus sorely lacking in the alcoholic beverage of choice. I went back home to meet the renowned Scottish friends. Stuart and Janet were absolutely lovely; both of them have a great sense of humour and they’re just such kind people in general. Stuart’s a Glaswegian and Janet has Northern English roots.

My English underwent the strangest transition while I talked to them. My Aussie accent disappeared almost completely and was replaced by the British one I once had. I thought I’d completely lost the British English I once spoke, because the Aussie influence on the way I speak had been so strong I couldn’t switch back to British English as well as I once could. However, as I was talking to a Scot and a Northerner, my previous accent stuck its head around the corner, recognised its neighbours and came crawling out into the sunlight. Language really is a peculiar thing.

We talked about Robert Burns, the pronunciation of the word Sassenach and haggis. We discussed wrong turn offs in France that we shared, recommendable campsites and aeroplane experiences. And when I said goodnight to everyone so I could have a much-needed shower and a good night’s sleep, Janet said not ever to be lonely in England, because they live close enough to Nottingham. Suddenly, the whole Nottingham experience seems a lot less scary. Their visit has reminded me of all those things I used to love about England. I’m starting to look forward to discovering a bit more of the British Isles, now that I have heard spoken Scots and have learnt that haggis isn’t in fact as gross as I had once thought.

Britain, here I come. Mind you, I’ll brush up on the Aussie accent first.

My family just got back from their holiday. They went to the south of France, the Provence, to be precise. The Provence is the lavender capital of the world, and I love it. They revisited a campsite we’d been to years ago. Sadly, the toilets hadn’t improved, but they had a great time otherwise.

They brought me back an *awesome* souvenir. I love it all to bits. There is the all végétal lavender soap that smells fantastic. There’s a lavender-themed jug of earthenwear pottery and a glass bottle of lavender essence, sealed old-school style with initials and red wax. The lavender essence, two drops of it rather, goes into the jug that’s filled with water. Most of the jug is glazed with a beautiful lavender illustration on a white background, but the top most part isn’t, and this is where the lavenders scent seeps through.

I’m torn between wanting to rip open the packaging to smell it all even better, and leaving it as it is, because it all looks so crafty. That, and I have no idea how to undo the wax seal. I asked my mum, who replied, “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? You just… you just… you ask your father.” Hahaha.

But I can’t laugh at my poor mother too much. Mum, dad and my sister went canoeing, and in a freak canooing accident, (she was getting out to push the canoe out of shallow water when a current grabbed the canoo - one of her legs was still stuck so she was swept off her feet and landed on her wrist in an unfortunate manner), my mum sprained her wrist badly. She had to go to a hospital to have it looked at and everything, and they gave her weird looking medicine drinks and giant pills. It looks scary, and she’s covered in giant deep purple bruises too, Milka-cow style. But let’s look at the upside, if you’re going to have bruising, you might as well have hard rock bruises. Those of you who don’t get that joke need more 60s rock music in their life.

I’m trying to get out of my comfort zone a little bit, that being sitting at home feeling tired. I’d been running errands in town when I cycled home and noticed that the local herb garden had an open day on. I have lived in this town all my life, and I have a thing for herbs and other renowned plants, but I’m embarrassed to admit that I’d never visited before.

I’ve always wanted to visit this magical garden, tucked away behind the parking lot of a marble bank building. So on my way home today, I made a mental note to drop off my groceries at home and go back once Liam had gone to bed.

It was wonderful! I rubbed the leaves to smell the oils, I admired the flowers and I tasted chutneys and jams made from things like dandelions. Surprisingly tasty! I bought a few things, but managed not to cave in when one of the volunteers saw me taking photos and tried to convince me to buy some of her postcards. I wasn’t being cheap, but I would like to be the one to decide what I spend my money on. I even put my change into a little tin that said “donations,” but I didn’t feel like being pressured into buying some of her overpriced postcards.

There was also a stand with part of a beehive on display. I talked to the owners for ages, asking questions about the workings of the whole honey making process. They pointed out the male bees, and showed me the queen, which they had tagged (!) with a red dot. All I could think was that I would hate for that to be my job. They explained that the whole bee colony was twenty times as large as the glass box they had brought with them and that the queen couldn’t be away from the rest of the colony for too long, or they might abaondon the hive. They described the different kinds of honey, and showed which bees were actually producing honey at that very moment. I loved it.

I took a tonne of photos; I’ve put some up on my Flickr page. I had a great time admiring all the colours, smells and sounds. Maybe I should move outside my comfort zone more often. Just a pity that the elderberry syrup tastes awful.

But I only spent a few.

I have had the most crazy week at work. What I feared would happen, namely that we wouldn’t make the deadline for the data that was needed to create the budget for the rest of 2007 and the whole of 2008, did in fact happen. I had warned everyone that we’d never make it at this pace, I said the planning was all wrong, but we went ahead anyway, and it all fell apart. I worked overtime twice this week, and may I remind you that this is a temporary summer job I am scheduled to do until two weeks from now?

Cycling home, I decided I needed a little bit of pampering. The shops are open until 8 on Friday nights (6 pm normally, except supermarkets), and I decided I was going to take full advantage. I bought a facial mask, moisturiser and some bath oil pearls, and browsed the few shops my town has. I cycled home in the afternoon sunlight and got into a warm bath, mask on my face, the oil soaking out the stress, hair treatment in my hair (…where else) and Jane Austen in one hand, the effects of a tough week slowly disappearing.

I am proud for making it to Friday. I’m elated that I didn’t cry, not once, during this exhausting week I spent on my own. I think it’s a sign I’m getting over whatever blue has been bugging me for ages now. It feels so good to be able to handle tough situations again, to regain a sense of perspective.

It’s 8:30 pm right now, and any other work day, I would be wanting to go to bed already. But today, I feel on top of the world, and I’m going to enjoy that feeling a while longer.