Passport, check...

So I wish I was asleep right now but for various reasons, among them cold feet, I am not. Wide awake would be too strong a term and yet here I find myself, vaguely awake but far from alseep - and typing. I can't decide if it's narcissistic or just peculiar. Either way - it's technically tomorrow by 26 minutes which means I'm Sydney-bound in exactly 11 hours.

I'm really so excited to be heading home for Christmas, though it feels a little strange at the same time. I haven't been gone long enough for it to feel like any sort of significant homecoming and yet there's a weird sort of ambivalence to it, for want of a better word. I guess because I know I'll be back in London in a months time and am not sure how I feel about that, despite so looking forward to next semester, and I'm also not sure how I feel about not knowing exactly when I'll be home again. It's a whole lot of strange wrapped in a whole lot of yay. Gosh I can't wait to be back in Sydney.


Though ironically enough London has proven quite charming-slash-quirky-slash-sunny (shock! horror!) the last few days. Maybe The Tired has turned me slightly gaga but I could swear to a smug but dulcet whisper of nar-nee-nar-nee-nar-nar being carried on the icy winds strangling every street corner in central London...

Yesterday I went to Borough Market. If heaven were a place on earth that sold cheese and brownies and organic vegetables and "Specialities by Italian monks" it would be this very place.


Just so divine - before the crowds get to be too much you can seriously just do laps of the entire market sampling repeatedly from all the cheese platters and bread stalls. There is something here for every appetite and I only sated one of mine (the inner organic vegetarian one) so I'm determined to make this a more regular visit in the day-to-days of London life next year.


Then last night I went out for dinner for a school friend's birthday. The night before we'd had our end of term party, at this cool little champagne bar in Soho called Amuse Bouche. Tres fancy but a lot of fun - and a lot of free champagne... Last night was more of the same, only not so free, but then how can you put a price on drinks that look like this:


If ever you have to fill out one of those ridiculous time sucking but secretly kinda fun "how well do you know me?" emails... well my favourite drink is now officially (and after some concerted research it must be noted...) the lychee martini. Hello my friend. (Pansies remain optional).

After eating this amazing Moroccan meal one of the other girls from school, who appears to know every well-connected person and hip establishment in the entire Zone 1, and probably also Zone 2, took us out. We went to this member's only club called Sketch: picture if you will (no pun intended...) the requisite skinny door bitch plus the most hilariously hipster crowd known to man and the tabloids, think dudes in skinny jeans with afros and sunglasses and girls who haven't eaten since 1997 in faux fur coats, shiny lycra tights and crazy headbands.

The wallpaper was a moving video art installation and the halls were filled with paintings and kinetic sculptures and so much attitude I just had to laugh. I've never felt more like a tourist than I did last night - but I have to admit, it was so fucking out there that cool really is the only word for it.

It wasn't a late night but I've felt exhausted all day today, especially after letting my inner anal retentive clean freak loose on the house. But I feel happy to leave now knowing that the kitchen cupboard doors sparkle like new.

Ok. I need to find me some sleep.

Sydney here I come...