i moved to london
Sunday, July 3, 2011
one year, one hell of a run
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Love letters from Bernard: part 1 of 2 in a mini series
| show details 10 May |
I am prepared to name my first-born child after you if you change our much anticipated COMU2030 exam from a Saturday to any other day.
Yours in hope and research methods,
Kate
ps. I've attended all of the lectures and admire your charismatic approach to teaching.
| show details 10 May |
Dear Kate
As deeply flattered as I am by your naming rights (there is currently a shortage of Bernards in Australia, but not in France, I might point out), I have to admit that even Associate Professors have no power in deciding exam dates. This should come as no surprise given that administrations always have more power than the practitioners (a point made evident when Joseph Stalin, the head of the Soviet bureaucracy after Lenin’s death in 1924 beat the head of the Red Army, Leon Trotsky to lead the USSR).
Golly, you must have something important on that Saturday!! Playing for Australia … a wedding … an elopement … an appearance on Master Chef ??
Your “humble[d]” lecturer (sadly unable to comply)
Bernard
--
| show details 10 May |
Ah I suppose it's like you said. Many of us humble BCommunications students will actually end up as administrators or policy writers one day, who will ironically have more power than all you wonderful ripened and cerebal associate professors. Such is life.
I suppose I'll have to resort to my original naming idea, "Patrick Fitzpatrick"
Your adoring fan,
Kate
Life truly is tough.
Best
Bernard
Aaah Bernard, you cheeky bastard you. The clever old fool you are even managed to slip in a Trotsky reference. One day I wish to be a witty sandstone academic with a nonchalant attitude to fashions of the day and ideals of beauty, like yourself.
Forever yours,
K
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Letters to Opera
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Back to Bristits
So in quintessential “Kate Fitzpatrick” style, I ran out of money, got evicted, surprisingly didn’t loose my job, but still lost enough to have to come home to never-changing, recently-flooded
But I didn’t come back on ‘just any old day’. Nay, friends. I changed my entire travel plans to arrive on a certain special person’s 15th birthday and jump out of a suitcase to surprise them, not telling any of my dear close friends that I was returning in order to keep the surprise a secret. Brilliant idea right? Unfoilable. Ingenius. I should work in government. Until I jumped out of the suitcase, blasting my vuvuzela, shrieking my return to the far corners of Manly West, to a less than impressive audience. The birthday boy, as it turns out, had just fallen off the jetty and needed medical assistance, rather than 3000 decibels of racket boring into his skull and destroying what few brain cells remain.
After much deliberation about uni – was so confused I even went to two universities for a couple of weeks until I made a decision – I’ve decided to do the exact same thing as I was before. I’ve also got another job at another pub. Surprisingly, it’s lasted more than a month. PB!!
I’m also interning at an ad agency at
Saturday, January 1, 2011
bah, humbug!
Ah Christmas time. When for once a year, it is okay to eat 500g of chocolate a day, because it’s a gift, and it would be rude not to. When Londoner’s briefly drop their cold uncaring demeanours to wrangle their faces into a unnatural smile and wish each other “Merry Christmas”. When all people, regardless of their religious beliefs (or lack thereof), gather to celebrate a child that was born amongst animals over 2000 years ago and not even on the same day.
And we only do this once a year?!?!
For the first time I was not celebrating Christmas with my family in typical Shitspatrick style: home made potato salad, backyard cricket, and gifts of unwanted stationary items. Nay, I am in the country that birthed the Christmas spirit itself. My twelve days of Christmas consisted of figs, snow, blizzards, carollers,
Course One: fancy pasta of some sort and eggnog
Course Two: Soup soup that tasty soup soup
Course Three: Meat pie
Course Four: Vege pie
Course Five: Mandatory turkey and green salad
Course Six: something....
Course Seven and Eight: More birds........and tequila shots
Course Nine and Ten: Trifle and chocolate pudding
Now I’ve never tried the fabled All You Can Eat Ribs and Pizzia at the humble Royal Mail Hotel, but this is as close as I’m going to get to going through what those poor customers inflicted on themselves. Cold sweats, loss of coordination, loss of ability to speak, decline in morals, increase bowel movements, weight gain, and waking up in the middle of the night screaming “No more! No more!” are just some of the results. Luckily a few days working on the chaotic Topshop Oxford Circus boxing day sales gave me an opportunity to forget my lesser worries of a huge appetite and concentrate on bigger concerns – like if I’m going to make it out alive from the pig pen of angry female shoppers each night.
I’ve also been preparing for my looming travels. I was able to get my Diptheria, Polio, Hep A, Tetanus, and something else shot courtesy of the NHS, but have to pay a whopping 90 pounds for Yellow Fever and Meningitus. And I was pleased to discover that none of them hurt half as much as the haemoglobin needle when you’re giving blood. Now that I’m evicted I’m moving out tomorrow and won’t have a proper address – not that I receive much mail anyway, but just to let you know. OH, and the other night I was lucky enough to score free tickets to Black Country Communion and The Waifs, which was AMAZING. I loved it with every fibre of my being. BCC is a rock supergroup with Jason Bonham (John Bonham's son), Glenn Hughes (Black Sabbath/Deep Purple), Derek Sherinian (just famous because) and Joe Bonomassa (Bloodline). The median age was about 65 and greying mullets and vintage leather jackets were in abundance. But it was mighty craic aaaaaaaaand iiiiiiiiii looooovvvvvveeeeeeeed ittttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt
That's all for now. x
Thursday, December 16, 2010
i bless the rains down in aaaaafrica
Now that Regent St lights are up, Harrod's has 4672893 customers/hour, and there are bon bons on every Citigroup table in the restaurant, I thought I'd get in the festive cheer and make an update.
Lately I’ve been keeping quite busy with work. This week has been rather crappy, as I have been moved upstairs to Starbucks. While I do get to enjoy skynews live all day every day (and every comprehensive update on this ‘wikileaks’ business which I don’t understand), the managers are always around so I can’t take anything and eat it whenever I want like I can at Costa- which has led me to my what I call ‘Citibelly’. The customers are also a lot ruder, and considering the level of intelligence needed to work for such a company, it seems to be impossible for them to order a coffee properly. Here is a typical sale:
Customer: “Latte”.
Kate: “Sure.”
Under breath: “Sorry, was that ‘can I please have a Latte? Twat.”
*makes latte*
Kate: “Latte?”
Customer: *waits* *points to coffee* “Is this a latte?”
Though I these twats are wearing my patience thin, I will drink my sorrows away at the Christmas party tomorrow night. With a hefty bar tab and free munchies there’s no excuse not to get in the Christmas spirit and indulge a bit.
Also being the impulsive, intrepid traveller I am, I and my partner in crime Bianca jetsetted off to
Coming home from
But I’ve made a bit of a plan. Considering I’ll be young, homeless, and have a shit job in London, (not the most ideal position for someone of my age), I decided I’m going to piss the job off mid-Jan, do a bit of travelling through Europe, come home for Australia day, then spend a few weeks in Kenya volunteering at an orphanage/teaching English and doing a safari. Then I can come home and be a career bitch, or re-evaluate my prospects of success and wealth in
Other than that, not much is happening. Though it is absolutely Anarchy in the
Off to the watering hole for some drinks with Justine and Therise. And to book flights to KUNYAAAAA
I feel it is fitting to end with a quote.
Asiyefunzwa na mamaye, hufunzwa na ulimwengu
He who was not taught by his mother will be taught by the world.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
ode to burma
Maybe that last one crossed the line..........but now I'm up to date and even with my Chinese counterparts. Y-A-Y!