So the time came for me to leave the humble old town of Sudbury Hills to move on to bigger and better (and more central) things. Though my presence proved invaluable for fetching Foster’s from the fridge, opening tricky bottles, and stimulating lulling conversation with questionable input, I felt that in the words of Gough Whitlam, “It’s time”. But Sudbury Hills and its’ many wonders will always occupy a special place in my heart, in the same way that my nostalgia for rusty nails and asbestos walls also holds a special meaning in my heart. So it was with great sadness that I took a last tour of old
And after lugging my enormous luggage across five different tube stops (thanks to ‘improvement works’ disrupting the lines), I arrived at my new hometown,
The only down side is that it’s quite a hike from my work, with a nightbus coming only hourly after I finish at 12:30, which means I won’t get home until 1:45am. I haven’t seemed to mind too much, as usually after work, two pints of each beer are poured while us hardworking bar staff kick on from where our raucous patrons left off half an hour earlier. I’m loving work at my classy Earl’s Court pub, with an eclectic mix of Aussie, gay, and posh patrons to keep me entertained. However a main challenge is to fine tune my pub banter skills. Usually I am on the producing end of talking drunken BS to bartenders, but now that I’m on the other side I have to choose to either take a mature line and make rational contradictory arguments, or seep to their level and talk BS right back to them. Ah, the paradox of being a bullshit artist.
Now that I’ve set myself up (meaning I’m employed, found a home, and no longer bankrupt) and have a few mates here and there – and am networking my way into the ‘