OK. I'd like the rain to stop and the cool weather to remain. Is that so hard?
We're having a lovely holiday, apart from me getting a mini version of the bad cold BB had before we left (except I don't whinge about it) and the fact that every time we turn around we get wet.
Yesterday we spent the day in the Brisbane Cultural Precinct, checking out the new Museum of Contemporary Art and also the normal gallery, library and museum. What fun! Lots of funky art, fun Jackie Chan clips and a Paul's icecream factory around the corner to eat lunch at (snaps to Pam for the tip). I just want to say here how awesome Fiona Hall is as an artist. I prostrate my sorry aspirational self at her feet. I am not worthy.
Tomorrow we leave the beautiful House de Sacha and mosey down the M1 in search of MovieWorld. It's lucky we decided to go there instead of the other theme parks, because by golly, it's going to rain, and MW has a lot more indoorsy activities. Mind you, the rain should keep the queues reasonably short, and we're used to soggy entertainment after being hardened (or softened) at Woodford, so BRING IT ON, QLD.
I don't think I've ever mentioned my friend Sacha before, have I? I know her name is spelled the masculine way, but blame her nutty mother for that. Sacha is the closest thing I have to a 'Besty', and I'm not really a 'best friend' sort of person.
We met the year I was pregnant with Bumblebee. I'd ditched my husband, had a fling with a tall thin Dutch streak of meanness, ditched him too, and ended up in an art school sharehouse: happily single, barefoot and pregnant. My eccentric housemates were moving out, and I needed someone to help pay the rent. A mutual friend introduced us, saying that she thought the two of us would be fairly compatible. She was right.
On our first night as housemates, we cooked a meal, sat down in front of the telly and debated what to watch. She'd brought her video collection, nearly all of which turned out to be movies I loved too. We put something on, and sat down to eat. Two minutes later, when I'd finished inhaling my food (I'm a very fast eater, a hangup from boarding school), I looked across, and she was licking her lips in front of an empty bowl as well. That was, oddly enough, a very bonding moment.
We are both Librans, only a few years apart in age, both mothers of boys by men we aren't with anymore, with very similar tastes in music and film. We eat like horses, love our red wine, and laugh our guts out at many things. She's a psychologist; I often need a psychologist, although we tend to co-counsel because we know each other well. The only major difference between us is that she is extremely clean and tidy, and I, as many of you know, am most definitely not. In fact, we only lived together for about seven months, and moved apart just in time to keep the friendship intact before my habits drove her crazy, and vice versa (I know NOT washing up is annoying, but so is CONSTANT washing up. RLY)
Her house in Brisbane is beautiful, but not just because it's a renovated Queenslander with a cute colour scheme near a beach. Because it's full of beautiful things. The furniture is functional but carved and painted; there are jewelled ornaments and glorious colours, and there is original artwork everywhere. She works hard to make it so, and the effect is like living on the back of butterfly wings.
But the most beautiful thing in the house is Sacha herself, and I hope she knows it. She's usually, along with Zoe, one of the first people I turn to when I need a friend. When I leave tomorrow there's a good chance we won't see each other in the flesh for a couple of years, and I'm sure both of us will be a bit sad about it. But she reads this blog, and we ring frequently, and we've never really lost that feeling that we're just sitting on a couch together, flaking out in front of a romantic comedy, sucking back a merlot and debriefing about our day. Sigh.