The colour Bryan and other Tales of Oz

Liability. Wild child. Reckless. Impossible nob. Renegade.

Adjectives directed at me over the past 12 weeks. I know; nothing new but reiterates the argument travelling doesn't have to change people. (You reading this Oates!)

Since my perpetual, calculated recklessness travelling blog is no longer in operation to distract and bore you; this 'succinct' rundown of current adventures should sufficiently entertain for 3 mins...

or you could have a wristie ;)

Firstly, the city that is:

Seriously, Headoverheels

the heart of stone has melted into a schmoozing pot of Sydney love. There's been no cocktease with this city; literally balls deep in a matter of weeks.

Manly, Redfern, Surrey Hills, Glebe, Central, Potts Point, Macquarie, Bronte, Newtown, Vaucluse just a few of the suburbs I've had the pleasure of experiencing... and that's just a standard night out.

Everyday my heart breaks a little bit more at the breathtaking beauty of the place.

Naturally I still turn into a child at any sight of the sea and no living next to it has not decreased the secret smile and giddiness. Sunsets you know are amazing cos seriously, how many more 'bridge at sunset' photos can my Instagram hold.

Don't get me wrong the realist is still ever present- Yeah it's a metropolitan westernised city.Yeah there's a s*** load of traffic (attributed to the bad drivers, how when they don't know what a clutch is on this side of the world?) Yeah rubbish litters the central streets and the rats make you think splinter has moved overground.

Yeah chain shops are everywhere and 2 years behind England (but hey that just makes me fashionable for once right?)

But actually living in Sydney you don't need to be a realist, every 5km is a different world of diversity and fantasy to escape all that crap and the acceptance of Sydnomians is fabulous.

You wanna be a rocker be a rocker, tomorrow your a hipster- that's ok, next week you wanna be corporate class, hey no worries. Anything goes... And well... that works for an enigma like moi.

The commute:

So everyone knows I'm a boat hoe and now I get to ride one twice a day. Yay!

Catching the snobby ferry gives me an extra 10 minutes in bed (I heart my bed) and surely one day mingling with the middle class suits will advance my social status?

Blatantly I don't belong on this ferry. I perch on the engine hatch (20mins of good vibrations) people spotting. The denim, leather, biker boots and yellow beanie blend in well with the magniloquent Manlians...NOT .......unless it's chino Friday of course then I'm not quite so obviously a Public sector worker ;)

The job:

Within 6 weeks I'd crashed the work car, got drunk on call and was banned from saying p**** and hussy. nuff said. Except they were worse.

However now I've left there's no one to sweet talk Brydog, bully the fickle one, tease Melly and eat ice cream with C to the Joy.

Apparently Im invited to the team nights out though... Every cloud.

The debauchery:

12 weeks of Sydeny living = 12 weekends of scandal yes? WRONG.

Most jobs pay fortnightly here - which is excellent -for the first week. Then week 2 is destitution and scavenging again.

It's getting better, T-Rex 1 makes me plan weekend activities in advance so there's always something happening. But once that first Friday beer/wine/ gin/margarita/tequila hits there's no saying where the night will end... Ok there is....probably Frankie's.

But still it's nice to have a night in occasionally and cos TV is so w*** here I've discovered a whole new realm of crafting activities... Oragami anyone?

However let's not blog disappoint, wild weekends have indeed been fast and hard and most definitely crossed the line of English antics..

Top 5 alcoholic antics:

* Meeting the Rockstar, randomly in Frankie's. Going to his mansion. Attempting to play a grand piano . (The drums are in the basement- I'm banned from there) Swigging jacks straight. Napping amongst drug fuelled youths. 48 hours later I ran away...for survival!

* Queen had a birthday:long weekend of margaritas, minimal food, zero water. Tactical chunders. Desperate 'save me' phonecalls. Falling in bushes. Street drinking. Flashing the boobs. Nipple biting. For 3 days straight... The aftermath was painful very painful.

* Mr Wolf stepped half way into death. 30 kids in a retro house. Death clips + a feature coffin. Final hour fancy dress effort. Political debates with a banana. Glass smashing, fire breathing, chorizo eating. I lost some morals and gained more than a few bruises.

* Any night that Chicago has led me astray in Frankie's (again). Desperate attempts to get wasted in 1.5hrs. Lines of tequilas. Beer shots from a carafe. Last pizza orders of the night, first pizza orders of the night. Swapping shirts and bare foot walks home... All in a nights work.

* Girls night with my select group of ladies (currently the majority of my friends sport a penis). Lesbian sex demonstrations, deep talking, divinyls singing, head banging, garage raving, purse loosing and running away.

Of course whilst my life is enhanced by these socially accepted illicit activities it's not all just been twelve weeks of alcoholism.

Sober experiences:

Trekking/ walking/ hiking/ crawling whatever you wanna call it. Me and a comrade will set off and get lost on one of the 60 million options Sydney offers. It's winter and it's 18'C- Hotter than an English summer. Get outside and walk... Even if it's just to a picnic bench.

Book club: yep still channelling the inner geek, once a month a group of fine females (and token male) meet to sometimes discuss a book..which we may or may not have attempted to read. But mostly we eat... Lots or awesome food.

Colour run: skipping around some 90's rave race course whilst rolling in paint... What's not to love. Except when you wear white... And it stains your trainers.. And your shower.

Vivid a spectacular display of lights and music...every night for 3 weeks. Why? To cheer people up in winter of course, the world around circular quay is a little duller without it around.

Winter wonderland Christmas (in July) is approaching so fake snow and iceskating is a blatant necessity.

Markets, every week a 'different' market is occurring- underground, arts, local, craft, beer, food, comic books- Im forever on the hunt and they're free!

Theatre: Triassic Parq an independent theatre must see- sex changing societal questioning, musical dinosaurs.

The homestead:

Home is Manly, an island amongst urban living, a holiday at home, living the dream of every 2.4 English couple in Oz so I'm told. Manly is white, predominantly English and more than a little pretentious.

However it is also stunning and has penguins.

All my social networks are city based, living here means 9/10 times I crash with the city folk and don't really make it home at weekends... But I wouldn't have it any other way.

Aaannnndddd my roommates awesome

Aaaaannndd he's gonna teach me how to trade 'mega bucks'

Aaaaannddd ride his motorbike...

Winning!

Finally

The people:

Arriving in Sydney I knew no one...really... Somehow my constant happiness and inappropriate questioning has endeared me (fools ;) to a core group of weekly favourites. So special mention to

The Yank: housing me when I was homeless, smiling through my abuse of you and introducing me to CC.

The Rockstar: seen me at my worst- never at my best and always make me cry... With laughter!

The German: My only Manly friend, abuser of the deutsch and teacher of long boarding.

PP: Organiser, planner of events and failsafe when your city bed space disappears for the night. Purveyer of long lunches and buffet treats

Irish dancer: it started with photography and continues with the waltz... Many more to come even if you are old now. 'like'.

Chicago: a random meet which has quickly blossomed into a downward tangle of destruction... Long may it continue.

The wolf and Lady C: co creators of the Scarlett Wolf fashion house, impromptu midweek drinking pals, house party extraordinaires and saviours of my mistress! Big love, denim cuffs and sangria all round.

Fatty liver: Cake: Mistress: T-Rex 1 Coogee times, Quadrant times, Redfern times, Coles times, Broadway times, Office times. Time of our lives

So there we are; a small context to the 10000's of Facebook pictures it's

honeymoon whirlwind of craic (the Irish type) banter, frol and debaucery

A triple trauma last week could have sent me on the first plane home but actually the friend family rallied round and the world is smiling again.

And if this is winter then Summer is going to be epic

New job starts tomorrow. Sponsorship complete.

Looks like I'm attempting a monogamous relationship for at least the next 2 years soz England ;)

Lots of love

S xxxx

P.s

Oh and in case you're wondering the colour of Bryan is rust... A ginger/brown rust :)