bob's your aunty

Went out for a drink with Dick last night, before embarking on an evening with my girls for dinner and a few drinkiepoos. He's out from Australia for a few days for a wedding and such (the oke hasn't really had a chance to settle in his new place of lieu, although did say he's bought a Ute and has seen a kangaroo in the wild. Highlarious. )

He bought me this equally highlarious little book called Oz-isms. Where such phrases and words can be directly attributed to the Ozzie dialect, (and here I was thinking many were of Brit origin. I was wrong.) Translated directly from this book, here are some of the words I found particularly highsterical:

Bewdy - Beauty
Bluey - Redhead. (I thought that word started with a g?)
Bruce/Dong - A willy (How big's your bruce, Bruce?)
Brisvegas - Brisbane (abbreviated to Brizzy)
Cobba - a mate
Drongo - an idiot
Fizza - big build up; small outcome
Garbo - a trash collector
Hoyfaloy / Hoytee Toytee - upper class
Merkin - female nether region hair
Never Never - The outback
Pork pie - a lie (Is this cockney actually?)
Punished- smashed (love this)
Scrubba - a chav
Shark's biscuit - a body board (bewdyful)
Shemozzel - a large mess
Sparky - an electrician
Strewth - goodness me (I just love that the book includes this)
Tazzie - Tasmania
The Coathanger - Sydney Harbour Bridge
Trackiedacks - a tracksuit (most likely worn by a scrubba)
Unit - a big muscular man (Vernon is a Unit)
Vickta - a lawnmower (Can you just imagine: "The Vickta needs a Doctor, A Doctor for Vickta, Bruce - Doctor, Vickta! It won't start!")

Then there're the phrases:

Arse over tit - fall over
Blow ya stack - lose your temper
Did you come down in the last shower? - naïve
Fair dinkum - same as “True's Bob”
Flappin' ya gums - talking the hind leg of a donkey
Give 'em some curry - lay on the heat
Have a chardi and a vommi - drink wine then throw up
Lickedysplit - quick and smart
Lookamoy - look at me (Directly from the mouths of Kath & Kim)
No flies on you - you're sharp
Off like a bride's nightie - leave quickly
Pack a wallop - hit hard
Pain in ya pinnie - stomach ache
Tinny in a stubbie - beer in a cooler cup (they have an expression for this? Dinkum!)
Tight as a fish's arse - tight with cash (because fish's asses are toight?)
You pullin' me third leg? - you having me on? (And thereby yanking my Bruce?)
Two bob short of a quid - not the brightest crayon in the box

And my favourite favourite:
HAIRY CHEQUE BOOK - another name for a husbank.

C, Klo, L and I all went out and got a bit blotto, punishing ourselves on bottles of piss. (That's a beer FYI. A bottle of piss. Third time round: Highlarious)

diving faces

Right, so I'm settling into freelancedom nicely. Being the starving writer, starving for her art actually sounds quite glamourous, doesn't it?

Sure, I don't own the house Colin Firth does in Love Actually, and write books overlooking the lavender fields of Provence. I live in a 60s-style apartment block off Oxford Road, and the lightblub in the lounge has blown.

However, I will be moving. Whether it's relocating here in Joburg or to Uranus (ha ha ha...ha), I'm moving domestic venues. It's going to be hard, I've lived in this place the longest of my adult years.

Anyway, I went to Vida yesterday, dressed the part. Scarf, blue sunglasses, frightfully flared pants.
This is much better! Sitting in the sunshine, sipping on great coffee and writing while I do it. Instead of SkyNews, I'm getting out. Shit.
I looked down in horror as I was going about the business of being one of those “I-go-to-cafe's-everyday” types of people, writing a little, and realised:

I look like a hippie bastard.

Oh well, sign of the times. I'm trying to take this freelance world by the horns. I never anticipated making a salary off bits and pieces of writing until I was like...a lot older. But either way, I'm trying to relax and remain positive. For the first time in ages I've had some big options. I can do or go in any direction my instinct tells me to, which is exciting, but I'm cold sweating it as well. A lot.

The funny thing is, I'm living that hand-to-mouth unpredictable writer's-on-their-own type life for the moment...and I have to giggle. It's not going to be like this forever, but I might as well enjoy it while it lasts, right? I'm living an existence as a struggling writer, in a dingy apartment and doing what writers do at some point in their lives.
Next week I'll be embarking full-time on my book. I've never done my book full-time. My manuscript is mine to play with for most of the day. Heavy.

I have to remember to thank heavens that I don't have a mortgage or children. I own a rat. And he doesn't eat that much. Oh and a car....he's quite expensive....and rent. And insurance, and, oh God.

OK I will not think of that stuff right now.

No no no.

Baze has lent me hundreds of DVDs. I watched Human Traffic last night with a mate. What a slice. Love that movie.