Filed under: Miscellanea
Don’t worry. I’m not actually going to do any more alliteration.
After months of silence on the blog front, gentle reader, it appears I am back. However, things have changed. I am not writing this from my spinster pad on Petrie Terrace. My faithful fish is no longer by my side (don’t stress, he’s fine), I am no longer a dutiful employee of the law mines and I cannot cavort with my usual gang of limb-flailers. It’s starting to sound a bit grim, really, isn’t it? It’s not supposed to. These are sacrifices that have been made for the greater good: I have upped stakes and moved to Scotland.
I made the decision to come here some time ago, but the months and months I had to wait for it to actually happen made the whole enterprise seem entirely fictitious and years away. It got a little realer when the lasts started. My last shows with The Sexy Detectives and Impromafia, my last night in my little flat, my last shift at work – perhaps this was actually happening? It didn’t really, absolutely click until just a few hours before I was due to jet off. I was at my Esteemed Mother’s house with the lady in question, my cousin and my brother. Armed with bathroom scales and an overstuffed suitcase, we were enjoying a game of What Don’t You Really, Really Need, Amy, And Remember They Do Have Shops In The United Kingdom.
The game was interrupted by anguished howls from the street – an obviously unwell young woman was walking up and down the hill, screaming in distress and hitting her own head. It was unlike anything we’d seen. Baffled neighbours conferred with one another about what to do, approaching the woman to try to help. My cousin called the ambulance, and my brother headed outside to try to keep an eye on where the woman was – she was still pacing the streets, howling as if the world was ending. Eventually, both the ambulance and the young woman’s guardian arrived. She had mental health issues and would be given the help she needed. The whole episode ended as well as it could have, but we were all a bit shaken. Perhaps this makes me flippant about what was obviously a very distressing episode for this woman, but it was only then that I thought, quite suddenly: this is not the most noteworthy thing that is going to happen to me today.
There were hugs and tears, and then I was alone. I don’t mind flying by myself. The dry tiredness of long-haul flights doesn’t make for good companionship anyway. A few bursts of YEAH-I’M-FINALLY-DOING-IT enthusiasm managed to break through, but for the most part I sat in a solemn little bubble all the way to London with my brain switched off as much as possible. I’d be very keen on a service that offered a general anesthetic before any flight over six hours.
Finally, my overtired, greasy-haired, stinky self was on the final leg: a short flight to Edinburgh. I perked right up, and I like to think the four cups of coffee within an hour weren’t the only cause. Look! Out the window! It’s Scotland! It’s right there! It’s real!
Scotland continued to be real on the ground. I love those first few hours when you get somewhere where every sight and sound is spectacular just because it’s different from the place you were before. On my way into the city centre, I was punch-drunk on dappled light through green leaves, cobblestones and church spires. Brisbane had been gloomy and rainy. Edinburgh, at least on the morning I arrived, was all blue skies and sunshine.
Nice panorama, ME
I collapsed into a hotel on Princes Street, and, when recovered, proceeded to tourist my heart out.
The Museum of Scotland is freakin’ amazing and I want to have a sleepover there.
Unfortunately, whilst busily ticking attractions off my list, I managed to get sick, and have spent the last few days at half-speed (snot production has been up, though).
I must have been sick because I completely neglected to purchase any memorial Diana tartan.
I’m feeling a lot better now, and have some good news – I’ve found a lovely room in a flat, and moved in today. I’ve taken a short term lease of a month and a bit as I have notions of a wee bit ‘o hill and glen (or, okay, a one bedroom flat) all to myself, but it is good to be out of a hotel and into the real world.
My new view.
I took myself on a dogged bus journey to Ikea (it was hidden in a vast commercial park that involved a lot of traipsing) this afternoon to buy soft furnishings and am generally feeling quite pleased with myself. The next step is to find a job. I’m looking at doing temp work – I’ve been a temp before and have quite enjoyed coming in like Mary Poppins to save the day when Belinda from Property or Joanne from Conveyancing goes on holiday or maternity leave or something. I much prefer word processing, but if secretarial or receptionist stuff comes up, sure, why not? I’m also keen to try some more unusual jobs. There are lots of ghost tours here, and I used to take one in Brisbane…of course, my Australian accent might not help. Perhaps the Edinburgh Dungeon needs a (non-speaking) ghoul to leap out from the haunted something-or-other. I hope to locate the local branch of my people – improvisors – shortly, and they always seem to know about jobs like that.
Maybe they can even explain what these are.
Anyway, this post is getting a bit rambly, so I’ll finish it off. It’s beginning to get a bit cool, and although there’s a radiator thing in this room, I have no idea how to work it and the other people in the flat have gone out. I might fiddle with knobs for a while. Hey? Hey? Oh, I amuse myself no end.
Wherever I go, I have a little home thanks to my darling cousin Courtney.
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Amy Tries Again 
Good luck in your overseas adventures! Prognosis: Death shan’t be the same sans Melody Carmichael.
Comment by aarondoyle June 6, 2013 @ 5:00 AM