It's summer in Australia: Bondi Beach. Photo credit: Jimmy Smith, http://www.flickr.com/photos/jimmysmith/58591095/
Sydney dreaming
Forgive me, dear Periscopers, for my long absence: I swapped London’s wintery climes for the land of eternal sunshine and optimism, Australia.
The tentacles of austerity haven’t quite reached the shores Downunder and I was amazed at the difference 10 movies, 8 in-flight meals and 26 hours in an A380 can make. The mood, which dramatically lifted when we touched down at Sydney’s Kingsford Smith, reminded me of London circa 1997 when Britpop, new Labour, Teletubbies, The Full Monty and a Vanity Fair Cool Britannia cover captured the zeitgeist in one long delicious hour of happy. What is most depressing is that these glory days were so long ago now that it was also the year that the 15-year-old work experience girl slaving in your office for a Prêt sandwich paycheck was born.
Here’s what I learned in my travels:
- In Sydney, they call this thing happening elsewhere – the global financial crisis – the “GFC”, which I mistook for the BFG and spent a few confused hours quietly trying to work out what Roald Dahl had to do with the demise of Greece and the euro.
- People are friendly. Really, it’s a horrible cliché, but they are. Shopkeepers seem genuinely interested if you’re having a good day, even if you leave without buying their mangos at $15 a pop.
- There is a great track on repeat called “Somebody I Used to Know” by a local band called Goyte. Even my 3-year-old niece Alice knows the lyrics. It’s highly addictive and, you’ve been warned, coming our way.
- Everyone is happy. There is a quiet confidence in the air, the kind you can only get when you know something everyone else doesn’t, like Australia, which is that save for a few atolls in the pacific, it may the best place on earth to be right now and everywhere else is basically damned.
- Everyone is rich.
- Sydney residents spend their weekends jogging, cycling, swimming, surfing, eating organic and drinking coffee not from Starbucks. They rise early – it’s too damn bright to sleep in – and they’re healthy, even if it’s just by osmosis. No one asks you what you do for a living. You’ll go a 45 minute round at a cocktail party with a local before it comes up and only after you’ve covered off the more important subjects like how good the fireworks are going to be on New Years Eve (really good), which beach is best to go to avoid the backpackers this time of year (not Bondi) and which restaurant serves the best plate of Michelin-worthy pan-Asian- fusion-fusion-fusion-fusion cuisine (at $50 a plate).
- Did I mention that everyone is rich?
Never mind the rest of the world, our time will come around again, but just in case, I’ve got Qantas on speed dial and my joie de vivre on standby.
First quarter blues
Statistically-speaking, couples are twice more likely to break up now than any other time of the year. There are many theories behind this phenomena, but I personally think the reason for the New Year bloodshed is nothing more than a handy delay tactic. Let’s be honest, getting through the holidays and the dimly-lit January gloom as a single person is infinitely harder than faking ecstasy upon receiving a two-figure M&S gift certificate on Christmas morning from your soon-to-be ex-spouse.
From smiling through obligatory Christmas lunches with the dysfunctional (without the fun) in-laws, to having someone to hibernate with through January, we’ll cling to a going-nowhere relationship simply to guarantee that there is somebody – hell, anybody – to grudgingly hold hands with throughout. If the summer is a time for hedonism, then the beginning of a year is the time for break ups when seemingly happy couples go from singing “Auld Lang Syne” to saying sayonara before the mistletoe is pulled down from its romantic perch.
The first six weeks of 2012 have proved no exception. Right on cue, the number of Facebook status downgrades from “In A Relationship” to “Single” have spread down my newsfeed at a higher rate than banks filing for bankruptcy. Ebay is awash with BNWT (“brand new with tags”) items and the sleeping arrangements for Verbier weekends have been hastily reorganized to cater for the fresh crop of singles.
If you’re finding yourself a victim of the odds and looking down the barrel of 2012 newly solo then a recently released book called The Body Language of Dating by US (where else?) love coach Tonya Reiman will guide you through drinks to dinner and help you avoid misjudged lunges at the end of an awkward cab ride home. Go buy before you re-enter the market and mistake a gaze of when-is-this-going-to-end boredom for scorching desire.
Fashion Week
Ah, that time of year when we switch from debating the Hang Seng to the altogether weightier subject of hemlines. It’s time for our talented fash luminaries to unveil their A/W 2012 collections and cruelly force us to think about what we’ll be wearing next winter before we’ve even had a sniff at neon-Spring.
My next report will be from the front line when I will have drudged through snow and elbowed my way through the throngs of bloggers and central st martin hipsters to watch the fanfare. Cool Britannia indeed…
