Making Friends With The Neighbours

Texting is a funny business. Like emails, I am always careful not to read too much into the nuances of these immediate forms of contact, which can be hastily or thoughtlessly composed forms of communication that may also be affected by what is going around the sender. And so I find delight in a well composed text that shares some kind of experience but in essence requires no response - especially when it comes to talking about surfing! Here are some I've received in the past few months: Friend 1: Yesterday I surfed my mal on a perfect bank out the front of my house all day. I think I learned to surf again. Friend 2: Fuck! It's pumping down here! Where are you? I spent the past 6 hours shredding and finally remember why I love surfing. Friend 3: Arghhhhhhhhhhh! Yesterday was dingtown. Population me. And then there is this, which is possibly the most wonderful invitation to surf that I could ever imagine: Friend 3: Shall we meet in an hour and shred dear lady?

My friend sent me a little version of this painting via the post and I love her dearly for it. I think it's very beautiful. Woman in the Waves (1889), Paul Gauguin (French, b. 1848) Gauguin painted this canvas in April 1889 at Pont-Aven, a small village in northwest France. He left Paris for this remote, rugged area along the Atlantic coast in hopes of finding a more primitive, natural life. The painting shows a nude woman, one hand raised to her mouth, throwing herself into the sea. This mysterious image has been interpreted as symbolic of the soul abandoning itself to nature. Thank you, Laura.

Last night I went and saw Newcastle at the cinema. I'll tell you about the filmic experience in two parts - the first has nothing to do with the actual film and the second probably won't either*... Part I - I am a LOSER! I live by myself in a city that I have only this year moved to. I don't really know anyone, and I'm not exactly a party girl, so mostly my nights are spent at home making dinners for one and counting the minutes until CSI: Las Vegas comes on. I'm pretty over it to be honest - I'm great company and everything but even I can get sick of my own jokes after a while! So last night I thought I'd take myself out in public and watch a film at a big cinema and, basically, not be on my own. So I drove the 20 mins to the ENORMOUS cinema complex across town and lined up to buy a ticket. There were people everywhere. Me: 'One ticket to Newcastle please' Ticket nerd: 'Sure... oh! You're the only person to have bought a ticket to see that

When you are a reader, you are constantly faced with offers of books to borrow that you might enjoy. I have currently been loaned two books and I must say that this book, is a much more interesting and engaging read than this one; I realise that one is written by a wordsmith, a lyrical genius, a literary icon while the other has been written for people who don't usually read, but I can usually overlook that! I mean, I've read the entire Harry Potter series, which is meant for children, and those books assume a greater level of intelligence and comprehension than Layne's (auto)biography. Am I being too harsh? I met a 93 year old lady once who told me that there are too many wonderful books in the world to waste time reading the bad ones. She has a formula to weed out the crap whereby you subtract your age from 100 and that's the amount of pages you give a book to hook you in. If it hasn't got you by then, you move on! Anyhoo, I will persevere.

Some days are just inherently better than others. Some days everything seems better and brighter and more beautiful than it usually does. Some days, you're just simply and perfectly content and happy. This was one of those days. This was for my mum when I was away away away and I sent it to her over the internets... It's ridiculous piece of self-indulgence. And it reveals, once again, my obsession with capturing my feet on film.

Wow! This is who I want to be when I grow up. As if you'd bother messing with her?

I don't know which horses are running, I haven't studied the form, and I don't intend on watching it. That's right, I am not excited by the Melbourne Cup. It just annoys me that everyone in Australia is suddenly an expert on the form guide for that one day a year. Go on, admit it - like me, you bet on horses based on either their name or their colours. My high school maths teacher, Mr Dean, was obsessed with the Melbourne Cup. He would spend weeks focusing on it in our classes and we would get extra marks for knowing the names of the winners for different years. One of my friends had a rhyme to remember some of the winners that I can still recall; '81 was Just A Dash '83 was Kiwi I remember on one occasion being forced to get up in front of my class to demonstrate the difference between trotting and pacing. Yes, fond memories. Maybe that's why I remain the only person I know who doesn't get excited about the Melbourne Cup. Stupid, creepy, Mr Dean..

I know that ballet is often is seen as something not-so-manly, but that's just clearly because you're working within a fairly limited definition. This clip shows how totally Rudolf Nurevey has maniless sewn up!! He's tough, soft, graceful and dynamic, AND he's all these things at the same time. Please take note of how freaking strong Nureyev's body is here and how completely in control he is at all times. It's insane! And then there's the formidable Margot Fonteyn, who may be tiny and looks like she'd snap in the slightest breeze, but is in fact strong, muscular and more than able to hold her own against the power and presence of Nureyev. She is just so incredible - strong, controlled, committed yet at all times graceful. The gruelling training that she must have put her body through is beyond my comprehension. What a rockstar.

Sigh... Oh what a difference two days, an offshore wind, crew, an organic doughnut and a meagre but clean foot of swell makes. I can think again.