Holly vs the world

Friday 14th June, 2019

Mmm, don’t you love those days where you wake up and there’s no urgent place to be, no one hassling you, no alarm interrupting the peace?? If you have kids you probs haven’t experienced this for a very long time, but this was my Friday… while everyone worked away, I slept in, woke to panda eyes and nothing and no one. Ok, now it’s getting a bit sad…

After the aforementioned sleep in, some sense of urgency kicked in and I wanted to be out and about, or was it just a stomach screaming for bacon?? On the recommendation of a good friend, I headed to Degraves St in the city – mastering these trams, even got off at the right stop, and paid for the trip this time…

Two things I love to do, I love to eat and I love to people watch, brunch on Degraves St was the best of both worlds! One of Melbourne’s bustling laneways with eateries smack bang down the middle for nosy people like me to sit back and watch, eat, and hoover coffee. Controversial, but is it possible Melbourne has better coffee than RADelaide??

People watching in Melbourne, love it because like London, they just don’t give a fuck. Sneakers with jeans, leggings as pants, wanky hairstyles and curled mustaches. They are who they are, good for them! I really should stop caring what people think about me. It was my New Years resolution after all, which probably destined it to fail… What I’m really noticing are couples holding hands. Maybe cos I’m a desperate single loser or maybe because I appreciate love. It’s refreshing, gives me hope that one day I’ll walk down a bustling lane way holding the hand of the person I love. It’s also confusing me that it’s 11am and it’s full of private school kids, that’s an epic amount of school fees going to waste… Geez I’m showing my age…

Oh my gob, check out my brekky omelette, is there anything better than the oily sheen of melted cheese and bacon?? Ok, maybe world peace but anyway… yummers…

So after divulging in two of my favourite loves, I google the crap out of what to do in Melbourne without spending any money. There’s an exhibition of Terracotta warriors at the National Art Gallery, my heart momentarily misses a beat, is it free??? Nope, just smart advertising, which I fall for and book a ticket for the next day… missed those dudes when I went to China… and now for free entertainment… street art, I’m in. And in a convenient twist of fate, the number 2 place in Melbourne is quite literally within eyeshot and the number 1 place 100m down the laneway, winning!!

Unfortunately the pesky business of well, being open for business means the street art on the roller doors down Centre Place isn’t overly visible, but still a kool kat laneway…

The 100m walk down the laneway to the number one place somehow ended up 500m for me, did I mention my serious lack of any sense of direction? My detour did take me past Federation Square, I still don’t get it.

Turn the corner into Hozier Lane and quite literally walk into people stopped taking pictures, my bad for looking at the walls instead of where I was going, sorry to the 5 Chinese tourists I just tripped over… but if you saw the sight, you’d understand why! An explosion of colour, personality, art and statements all over the walls. Now this is my kind of art gallery!!! Pictures really don’t do it justice, I’m sure the pictures on google are 100 times better but here are my faves, of course the Posty one being my absolute fave, now have a picture with the man himself… kinda…

Amongst all the colour, school kids and tourists, is one store that’s a teenage boys wet dream, Culture King. I don’t feel cool enough (or young enough) to go in but what the hell, not caring what people think right? 10 steps in and I fall in love… with a quilted black adidas jacket, I have a feeling this “free” street art adventure might be quite costly… I resisted the urge to drop a small fortune on love and exited stage left, not before making a note to google the jacket one line…

So the reason I came to Melbourne in the first place was to get my British citizenship, with the 2pm deadline on my mind, I knew it was one appointment I didn’t want to miss so I wandered around close to the British Consulate on Collins St… is it my fault that a pair of Tiger sneakers jumped onto my feet and the $$ out of my bank account?? I blame the consulate for being too close to shops… I may have already stalked the shoes online and planned to buy them as my European wandering shoes anyway… they are very cute, hiding those ugly feet…

So wandering up to the consulate, it hit me like a sledge hammer, I’d bloody forgot to bring the oath I’d printed out, now sitting securing in my backpack back at the St Kilda Air bob. Crapola. Hopefully they accept new age millennials that read the oath on their phone, and look mid to late 30’s… arriving at the consulate, which looks nothing like the commanding British embassy I had imagined, just a boring old office building, there’s signs on the door directing you to enter via the side Alley. Huh?? Am I at the right place? And then I see them, the “Free Julian Assange” protestors I’d blindly, and ignorantly just walked past. Am I really that consumed in my own world that I didn’t see them? There were police and everything!! Maybe I am more of a narcissist than I’d ever realised… while I’m sympathetic to their cause, I once again turn a blind eye and head down the side alley, funny how turning a blind eye when convenient seems to be done by most people these days, myself included. Maybe instead of not caring what people think, my New Years resolution should have been to advocate for something?? There is that age old saying after all, “if you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything”… Citizenship, get your head in the game Holster, and there I am being a knob and referring to myself in the third person AGAIN!!

Pulling a sneaky and heading down the side alley I finally found my way to the small group of people waiting to bend the knee to the Queenie… and there amongst the group was a super prepared angel who’d printed multiple copies of the oath, god I love a perfectionist, always prepared, she even had a citizenship binder with all the forms and research! Let’s call her Angela.. Angela also had to fly in from Adelaide for the ceremony, however she did it the hard way and caught a red eye this morning and is back home tonight, apparently has kids that need watering or something… Angela was nice enough, passed the time chatting about her son’s desire to be a pilot, he’s 4. Kid knows what he wants to with with his life at 4 and I’m still trying to figure my shit out!!! I do wander how hard it would be to become a pilot, imagine if I could just fly myself everywhere, all over the world?!? Thanks Angela, you might be my angel in more ways than one… Finally, shrouded in security, ok, just one dude, we’re escorted upstairs, signed in, ID checked and taken to our ceremony destination. Hmmm, apart from the ridiculously gorgeous view over the city, it literally looks like a leftover office with a picture of the Queen on the wall and a British flag standing proud. Hmm, not all the pomp and ceremony I expected. The lady running the show, let’s call her Daniela, cos that’s her name, apologised for how basic the ceremony is, apparently they lack budget, she has a glorious Italian accent so she’s forgiven. Why an Italian is running a British ceremony is have no idea but play along. An overly informative dude, let’s call him Douche, informs Daniela that when you get your Australian Citizenship you get champagne and a Buffett. Shut up Douche, I’m on Daniela’s side, after all we’re probably related…

In what was scheduled as a 3 hour appointment in my calendar was literally done and dusted in half hour, with time to spare for the granny of Douche to tell us how when she got her Australian Citizenship in 1929, they just posted you the certificate in the mail. Geez bananas, how old are you Granny Douche?? So the ceremony itself literally requires you to stand up in front of everyone, recite the oath, sign a piece of paper then smile for a selfie with Queenie. Unlike the prepared Angela, I’d only glanced at the page with the oath, while the others were affirming their allegiance, I realised that there were two versions to choose from, one where you swear to the Almighty God, and another where you just swear, and not in my favorite F word kind of way. Dilemma, to swear to God or not?? I’ve been steadily on the fence regarding my beliefs in God for the last few years, I have questions that I can’t seem to find an answer to. But like when I’m at church and there’s the conundrum as to whether to take communion or not, I choose to be safe rather than sorry. Until I choose to say without question I don’t believe, I need to have faith. So in 15 seconds flat I’ve bent the knee, signed away my heritage and become a Brit. I surprisingly feel quite chauffed, so I break out the scones with jam and cream and ask the crowd if they fancy a cuppa??? Only joking, was proud, just not cool enough to pull that off, am tempted to speak in a British accent the rest of the day but that’d make me a knob right???

With an extra two and a half hours up my sleeve, I was curious. Curious as to whether I could leg it to the Princess Theatre and snag a ticket to the sold out Harry Potter and the Cursed Child the next day, I wonder…. in another stroke of luck, the theatre was only a 10 minute walk away, Melbourne is willing me to have a great time!! Arriving at the theatre and seeing all the Harry Potter paraphernalia, my heart yearned for a ticket. I’d checked for tickets online a second after my flights were booked but it was already sold out. In my search for tickets I read somewhere that if you’re lucky, you can snag a ticket at the theatre box office, the question was, are you feeling lucky, punk??

Lucky is apparently not my middle name… the lovely young lady at the box office had no tickets for sale but gave me the tip to come back one hour before the performance started to see if there were any available. Hmm, have to return at 1pm Saturday, lucky I’m a prepared Angela and booked my terracotta warrior ticket for 1pm tomorrow. Bananas. Seeing if I was in fact a punk, rang the National Art Gallery to see if I could change my ticket to an earlier session and what do ya know, lucky is my middle name! Booked in for 11am instead. Melbourne loves me.

With time on my side, I wandered the laneways and somehow (ok I know how) ended up at Bourke St mall, spot of shopping wouldn’t hurt right?? I had only bought one pair of shoes and it’s Melbourne after all. Lucky for me all the jeans in Zara were made for dwarfs (or fun size people if I’m being politically correct), pissing me off enough to give up on shopping, really hate shopping in person anyway, much prefer the excitement of buying online, opening the package full of hope, then it not fitting…

So back on the tram, got the number right, the direction wrong… take two and I’m going to the right direction back to St Kilda, and this time determined to get off at the right stop. Alas, I disembark a five minute walk from my Air bob and right in front of a kebab shop, yiros shop for those reading from Adelaide. Takeaway in hand, short stroll to the apartment and I’m in a very familiar situation, sitting on the couch eating dinner and watching You’re The Worst on telly… bad habits don’t die, even on holidays… feeling comfy and satisfied I contemplated for half, maybe one second, staying in rather then heading out again to a concert at The Esplanade Hotel. After that one second I slapped myself on the head and asked WTF? Live music by the beach, two of my favourite things, why wouldn’t ya? So with Silverchair cranking in my headphones, the albums of which have become my soundtrack for the weekend, I took a leisurely and kinda cold stroll through St Kilda, down the Esplanade, reminiscing about the last time I’d been at the Espy. Pretty sure I wasn’t even legal, after a footy match with my Dad and Blackie. No wait, I had been back but just didn’t remember much of it, oops. Last time I frequented St Kilda the hotel was shut for Reno’s, I’d heard about it all done up and hoped it hadn’t lost its old dive bar charm and turned into a hipster too cool for skool joint… I was half right. Still had some dive bar charm, but in a modern style that was looking all too familiar. Eh, still super cool and one of my favourite buildings in AUS. So the band that would be my entertainment for the night, Mansionair. How to describe their music?? Gets into your soul, epic vocals, floaty instrumentals, close your eyes and feel it. Not being able to find anything about set times, the ticket said 8pm. Not expecting any opening acts for a $30 ticket, I got to the Espy about quarter to 8 and headed to the Gershwin Room for the band. You know you’re a little early when the room looks like this…

Sooo, set list found. Support act at 9, main men at 10.15… hmmm, what to do at a pub to kill 2 hours… why hello gin!!!

Unfortunately the support act wasn’t my cup of tea but when Mansionair came on, uhh, the music made me happy. Live music, by the beach, with gin, happy place. Only one thing missing but that can’t be helped.

Have to say, while the music was magnificent, the crowd not so much. Didn’t make it through a single song without being pushed out the way by someone getting through, usually overly zealous young ones, drunk and trying to push to the front. You just don’t get this in Adelaide, once the music starts, people just stay put. It’s like an unwritten rule. No such rules in Melbourne, at least not to a sold out crowd at the Espy. Made what at moments was an epic experience, a really frustrating one. But anyway. The walk home was back into the Chair soundtrack, waking down the esplanade singing to Diorama, tomorrow will be a Frogstomp. Why hello Luna Park…