Age of Grimaces

There comes a point in a woman's life where she feels a little fragile about her age. There's zero tolerance for Gen Y, most sales assistants, bad movies, disappointments with friendship, skin that doesn't bounce back when you push it, a frown line that is deepening...and the way your eyes crinkle in harsh lighting. I've also found myself returning from the supermarket shaking my head at the price of broccoli and annoyed that I didn't find enough red spot specials. I expect that soon I will have one of those wheely portable trolleys to transport my groceries as I hobble along muttering under my breath about "the youth of today". But today at the supermarket..I was nicely surprised. In my last blog I joked about stockpiling hot cross buns...but I was serious. There were four packets of my hot cross buns (fruitless) reduced to $2. So they were promptly snapped up, via strange glance and smirk from check out guy....and shoved in the freezer. Small things make me happy, but this well and truly made my week. As the grim forecast of my finances stretches to accomodate a diet of tuna and cruskets until pay day next Tuesday...I can now add hot cross buns to the mix and make Easter last forever.

So my Easter was spent in Sydney. It was a luke warm reception in Sydney for many reasons, but it's not a town where I feel my most comfortable. Overcoming my sea sickness is a big start,  as a base in Manly makes ferry travel unavoidable. Though the waters on the harbor were thankfully still and harmonious...much to the relief of my tummy. My body takes on a weird bloatation effect when tinged with humidity. And my hair is another story. Even when poker straightened and layered with product, fluffy little kinks and frazzled hair seem to spring to life as soon as leave the safety of a building. Sort of like those instant gardens sold in toy shops where these fluoro coloured piles of fur appear over a few days of moderate watering. The normal horror of spying a shiny black cockroach is heightened by the fact that Sydney roaches have wings. Like winged objects from hell they descend, land and scuttle. HIDEOUS. 

I did find a little piece of heaven and solace in Sydney town and that was Gazebo Wine Garden.

I want to live in this bar. Everything from the delectable cocktail list through to the Sunday Roast was amazing. With a 'living bar' smothered in moss and ferns and pretty vintage pictures, an achingly cool soundtrack and super nice staff....it was the perfect place to hole up on a sunday with the papers and a spot of Bocci in the neighboring park. Hard to leave.

I was amazed by a lot of things in Sydney. Largely the fashion choices of the gals get ups on a Saturday night. It's quite simply....skank city. With rising hemlines and heaving cleavage, I saw a lot more of the female anatomy then a gyno probably would. My mother once said "Sydney is a tart, and Melbourne is a lady"....and it's a rare occassion mum, that I could not agree more!