Reasons to be cheerful..

So much for New Year’s resolutions – this poor wee blog has been as woefully neglected as ever. January has been rather tedious – as I have hinted in previous posts – and I just haven’t felt particularly chatty this year so far.

I have been working a LOT. The sacred slacker covenant of the Working Holiday has been well and truly broken – in my bid to see if just maybe they’ll let me stay in this country, I’ve been trying to secure the fickle affections of my employer through a truly shameless display of brownie-point-gathering: many hours at my desk, an increased caseload, volunteering for responsibility. I’m drowning in it at present, which is unfun. There’s an element of panic – even after slogging my guts out all month, I didn’t ‘make target’ in January. I find arbitrary numerical performance measures intensely frustrating, but they fired one of my fellow contractors this week for lack of productivity, so the threat is real.

I swore I’d never let a job become my life again. In this case, there’s a clearly defined end point (I should qualify for the visa by May) but getting there has been dragging me way on down.

I’ve been living fairly quietly in between, as well – trying to save money to pay off urgent debts is a difficult task for me in the best of circumstances. In this town, it’s almost impossible and it makes me grumpy.

It hasn’t been all gloom, of course – RVW and I are settling nicely into The Pickle (did I tell you we named our flat?) and The People’s Champion is a most entertaining houseguest. Together with Dr Evil and Madam Fox we have reinforced our commitment to the Sunday Roast Club – and after sampling many of the pubs in our immediate neighbourhood have settled on this place as the venue of choice for our weekly meetings. We saw a musical, watched the Ashes, played in some snow, and I may or may not have had my first Bundy in about 15 years in joining my little brother in his traditional observance of Our National Day.

February is going to be great. We’re only a week in, but I’ve already been reminded of how much fun there is to be had if I just get out and make the most of this city. Madam Fox and I danced our asses off at a Bloc Party gig at the Astoria on Thursday night, and on Saturday evening I saw this play, of which I give the following one-word review: ‘excellent’. I spent some quality time at the Spitalfields markets yesterday and tonight RVW and I sent out invitations for our housewarming party later in the month (conveniently scheduled to coincide with a Very Important Birthday). You should all come along…

But do you know what I'm really excited about tonight? The Wedding of The Year is taking place next Saturday afternoon. And I am going to BE THERE.

Oh yes, it is the true. Two more sleeps until I hop aboard a large plane and commence my journey southwards. As some of you are already aware, this is quite possibly the stupidest trip ever in that I am only going to be in town for a total of four days. The Great Visa Attempt precludes my taking any time off work, but I cannot resist the lure of what promises to be a most outstanding party.

I apologise most sincerely to those in Melbourne, Brisbane and Canberra - I promise I'll skip Sydney next time I head home and head straight to where you are.

I've had a haircut, packed my thongs and worried about how pasty my arms are going to look in my new blue frock. My mountain of work isn't going to magically disappear while I'm away, and there are many weeks of the cold and grey still to come - but for the moment, I'm dreaming gleefully of sunshine.