Christmas Wrap (Up)

Christmas at 25 is like being the ball girl at the tennis club. And no one will let you play..

That's why as much as I hate being hungover as fuck, I continually put myself through an Olympic worthy drinking routine on Christmas Eve. It's kind of a big deal in the hometown. It makes December 25th just that bit more bearable. Knowing I won't have to speak to family members that I don't want to speak to because I'm not all there is an absolute relief and no one really expects anything better from me. Tradition is good. Tradition makes people feel safe. I set the table.

This year was no exception. A hazy memory consisting of snippets of trying to break into pubs and being attacked by 11,000 mosquitoes. Mum's version of events involves me collapsing on the floor at 2am, scratching myself on the carpet, screaming something about Ross River Fever over and over. It sounds about right. And smoking. I don't smoke. And if Mirella found out she would hit me across the face. I've been smacked for less. But that just shows the absolute determination I have to get as shitfaced as possible to avoid any type of responsibility on The Day.

Although my own intentions are somewhat disheartening, I don't want to bring you down with me. There were some good points. Like Santa is rad. He even returns presents before The Day. So to all you lovely people, I hope you all had a very smashing day with your friends and family. Because that's all that really matters. Sometimes a hangover.. just helps.

Jingle Balls

Merry Christmas friends! Hope everyone has a lovely day celebrating with the ones they love most. Check back soon for some more tall tales of random drinking expeditions. And even some stories that don’t involve alcohol. But, let’s be honest.. there’s not too many of those.

Smell

Smell evokes memory in a way that no other sense can. Memory and smell are so closely linked, in order to identify a smell, we must first remember it, and then place the object that it comes from into our vision.

It’s a proven fact that if you only drink sangria between the hours of 3pm and 11pm you won’t get a hangover. So when your uncle calls you at 5am the next day, you’ll instantly remember agreeing to milk the cows. No sweat. We’ll leave Honi behind though. Because, you know, she doesn’t have any shoes. And Kate’s already wearing her jumper.

The weather Gods see the effort we’ve made and in turn reward us with a perfect dawn. As we skip down the road we congratulate ourselves on seizing the day and toast our eagerness with fresh chocolate milk.

I wasn’t convinced about the power of smell and its sneaky ability to provoke memories. Like a sneaky Mexican in charge of security standing in the bushes. Seriously Martin, you shouldn’t stalk the hostel guests.

And then it hit me. The smell of the morning’s milking. The dairy. The Friesians. The shit. Oh what fun we had at the farm! The boys on the motorbike! Collecting the chicken’s eggs! Eating fresh pomegranates straight from the tree! Making bread with Grandma! Listening to Grandpa’s stories! Apricot pudding! Apricot slice! A whole apple pie just for Ben!

Perhaps you don’t always need a massive photo wall to help you recollect. The smell of the dairy instantly developed a whole roll of film hidden somewhere in the memory bank.

And now Kate’s in her element, always one ready to get her hands dirty, rolls up the sleeves on Simon’s long lost jacket and gets to work.

Cows to be milked! Calves to be fed! Magpie explaining his life story!

And then the skies turn grey, which we take as our cue to head back and check on Honi. Bless’d are the farmers. The guys in the factory. The truck drivers. The whole Fleurieu Milk team. Our lungs full of fresh country air, we stumble back into bed. Barely stopping to take off our manure covered shoes.

A morning, a perfect moment in time. You can bet the next time I get a whiff of that dairy scent, it won’t just be memories of the farm that come flooding back.

Try It Or Die

Recently I let down my guard and introduced my homeboys to one of my favourite meals. Something I have been eating for a very long time. A vegemite sandwich with salt & vinegar chips in the middle. Must be on white bread for a full effect. And the chips must be crinkle cut. Trust the lady, she knows her food and she's tried every option.

You might be wondering why I took so long to share this.. or you couldn't care less. Did I not want the secret to get out and become an overnight commercial success? By sharing.. would I become a sellout? Or was I secretly ashamed of said meal?

Either way, it's the best. And you haven't really lived til you've smashed one.

Hangin With.. The Cool Kids

A Simple Equation

It’s no secret that I love sangria. Oh the cheap deliciousness of red wine, sweet sweet cinnamon, a shitload of sugar and maybe some orange overtones. Or undertones. Depending on the time of the night and who’s left standing to actually make more. Sometimes my friend Brandy even jumps in the mix. But she’s trouble and even if you swore you’d stay awake to finish the bottle (read esky) you might find yourself asleep on the fold out before you even get to find out what happens between Kourtney and Scott. But I digress. I heart sangria. And I also love beer gardens. And food. Pretty simple really.

Sangria + beer garden type set up + open air international food hall = my idea of heaven.

And you know the best part? This heaven exists. On earth. Here in Melbs. Just over there and then down to the right a bit. Thanks so much for saving me a table Betto!

Apparently good things come in small doses. I don’t know how much I really believe that, but for this case study it is true. Only 16 little nights to get amongst it. And out of those 16, there are only 11 chances remaining to experience this magic. Don’t let stormy weather put you off. God, or someone, invented roofs for this specific reason. For you. So you could enjoy heaven on earth. Even if this roof God person forgot to speak to his weather God friends. He must have been suffering a severe sangria induced hangover to miss that meeting. You know the one, roof God, where you were supposed to agree on terms relating to the weather being sunny every Wednesday of summer?

In summary:

Suzuki Night Market

Time:  5.30pm to 10.00pm

When: Every Wednesday until March 2

Location: Queen Victoria Market, Melbourne. Pedestrian entry from corner Queen & Therry Streets and Peel Street

See you there.

That's What You Get

Whispers this week of a past acquaintance being forced to eat the 'karma parma' on the job front. Did I just hear the sound of a certain car backfiring??

For future reference- If you're going to 'plant' something.. plant something worth growing.

Enjoy the karma parma. Dinner's been ready for a looong time. Hope it's not too cold.

Networking

Some may suggest that being a plus one for benefits is akin to an escort service. And to them I say.. So? Free champagne is free champagne kids. And you should be glad to return the favour. Or steal someone’s identity. Knock them out in the carpark and then waltz in with their business cards. It’s party season. And there’s plenty of free canapés to be eaten. So get amongst it.

Drinking on a Monday night is always a good idea.

Looking For Alopecia

Who or what is Alopecia?

Alopecia* is the technical term for what happens when you fall in the punch and lose your shit. We've all been there.

*Can also be used as an adjective. Eg: "Oh man, he was so alopecia'd!"

Forward Planning

Something really special happens in 40 days. So I would strongly suggest making sure you don’t have any commitments on January 17^th. The stars are aligning. And it is the one day of the year you will be forgiven for wearing a backpack.

Let's Start A Band

Is it just me or is everyone I know suddenly in a band? What the eff..?!

Don't get me wrong, I love me a band, it's just some internal struggles I have been having with the age-old issue of quality vs quantity.

In saying this.. I have decided to start my own band. In an unconventional way. Whilst I search the seas for my dream line-up.. and some instruments, I'm going to start my side project first. Because every cool kid needs an unsuccessful side project. It's called 'The Tamtrums' and we are a tambourine band. And while we'll never get the kind of recognition the triangle player from the Foo Fighters gets, we'll still probably make you feel like you want to be a part of our magic.. or like you wish you were deaf.

Meet The Players

All together now “hi Ray”. Trust me, if you are looking for an adventure* this is the tour guide you want to get on your bus.

Ray is short for Rachel. Ray loves unicorns, music, sitting in cupboards and drinking to forget life. Watch out for her wit, it strikes to kill. And she pretty much just does shit for kicks. Currently living underground, you should report any sightings of her and her bike to the local authorities.

Ray’s big mouth has been known to get her friends punched before. But you ain’t seen nothin yet.

*Pack your shot glass.

Meet The Players

Say hello to Mirella.. and don't ask for a bite of her turkish delight.

Mirella is a world traveller and on a minimalist's life quest to own less than 50 things. Understandable.. Or not.

As past indiscretions have seen a self imposed ban from drinking at family AND work gatherings, Mirella now spends her days dedicated to finding or creating the perfect sangria. Turns out tigers actually prefer cinnamon.

Always be on your guard.. Violence sometimes is the answer. Or the final result.