Mad about Manly

This week I have been mostly partaking in active employment at a newspaper, not just loitering in cafes with a notepad. Hold the phone sister, it’s just work experience. I am trying to shake off the all too easy to make parallels with Bridget Jones "waltzing in with a tight skirt and fannying around with press releases."

I have discovered that writing an article is a bit like an extended game of consequences. No story is complete without the 'he said,' 'she said,' 'the world said' etc though sadly the article rarely involves as many innuendos or such circumstances as John Prescott meeting that really smelly guy from your tutorial in Garibaldis.   

I've also found another brilliant aspect of local paper writing is how geared towards the district the stories have to be. Rather than the opening sentence being 'thousands attend protest held the Parliament in Canberra about world poverty,' it is 'Manly group travels down to Canberra.' My uncle trumped this story slightly when recounting how an Aberdeen paper covered the story of the wreck of the Titanic tragedy with the headline 'Aberdeen man drowns in the Atlantic.'

The paper's based in Manly, an extremely cool part of Sydney's North Shore. It feels like a laid back surfing town on its own stretch of coast but has the advantage of being only a half hour ferry ride from the centre of Sydney. Workers here live the kind of dream I was idealistically told everyone did out here, going for swims in their lunchbreak, clocking off early afternoon and beginning every business phone call with "alright mate."


This week I'm off to stay with my brother's friend in Canberra. He sold the weekend to me by casually slipping in that we could go hit up the 'Floriade' festival. I was already packing my Ray Bans and denim cut-offs when someone helpfully explained that meant the flower show. I'll be sure to post some edgy photos of us taken at kooky angles (kangles).

Sing when you're winning

When in a new city, no country, no wait I’m in a whole new continent, you find yourself being very unlike yourself. That’s probably one of the main attractions of travelling when you’re as much of a lazy arse as I am.

You have to be energetic, historically informed, chatty with strangers and unashamed to take photo after photo of the buildings that you or your companion are standing awkwardly next to.

This whole behaviour process has been maximised with my current job (Yes! A job I tell you!) in which I’m writing reviews of businesses for an online guide to Sydney.  

With the job, this blog, facebook and twitter I feel I am raping and pillaging the internet for all my self-promotional needs. Apparently something you’ve got to be very willing to do to get anywhere in the media. I hope there’s no inquest when this whole thing’s over, I don’t want to go into hiding in Brazil from the internet reparations squad.  

So that’s how I while away these sunny days, wandering from coffee shop to coffee shop scribbling the odd note and watching the world go by. Amazingly I didn’t initially like Sydney. I found that once you penetrated the immediate beauty of the harbour and bridge the city felt quite like Gotham, all browning skyscrapers and monorails, and I tried to suppress the tentative voice in my head saying “oh god what have I done?” But sunshine cures all, as soon as the city began to move from spring into summer the spotlight was shone on the corners of it that make people wax lyrical about this city.

All I need are some mates now and then I’ll be singing! 

The next step...

It was a real wrench to leave Islay. Going straight from the island paradise to the centre of Glasgow the thought did cross my mind- why would anyone ever want to live in a city?

But at the ripe old age of 23 I really shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts, especially in light of the next adventure I had planned that was to kick off in less than a week; a year in Sydney. That week I dedicated to re-learning how to cross roads, not wave at everyone, and to at least attempt to talk to other people before reverting to conversation with the nearest animal.  

 I first had the idea of going to Sydney in my 3^rd year at Edinburgh when a solid chunk of my friends went gallivanting around the world for their years abroad. They learnt languages and had completely different experiences, granted mainly involving cheap wine and sleazy foreigners, but it just made me feel so claustrophobic and closeted. What did I know about living outside Britain?

Furthermore, what chance did I have of being employed in the metropolis of London when so many horrifically talented people didn’t seem to be?

With a naïve optimism many people mistook for bravery, I decided that even if I was jobless in Sydney, at least the sun would shine.

So for almost two years the city has evolved and reformed itself countless times in my imagination. Although everyone has waxed lyrical about how glorious they had found it I have become impatient to form my own opinion of it. Good or bad, I’m going to ruddy do it. Cat or not cat, I’m off to seek my fortune!