At least P would like the title. So yeah... I'm here in Brisbane. And I have no first impressions... I slept through them all... but I like being here... very different from home... a lot more no-clothes parties for one... and the foliage is amazing... it's like living in the middle of the jungle... with salons and pubs and cafes and ATM machines and regular bus service to other jungles.
But what has reah-lly stuck is the food... mainly because yours truly can't cook... at all... not one teensy bit... no sir... not me. Not even pasta... so for two days I was surviving on Maggie, which should now just be declared the national food of India and be finished with... then today my flatmate (bless her!) taught me how to make pasta... turned out quite well actually... I'm growing up.
Mom should be happy... exchange has taught me what she never could (of course because I never would)... to look at the lowest shelves in grocery stores, to add 1 litre of water to 100 grams of pasta and a spoon of tomato pesto, to open a bank account and to save polythene bags for future use. Who'd have thought?
Aside: My flat has a laundry room downstairs... and next to that room is another window with a placard propped in it which reads "Danger: Crocodile Nesting"... I like it here already. And this has no significance here but I really want to say it... crikey!
2 comments:
Just so you know, there's a leech in the house. Should I ask it if it has any plans for the weekend. I am sure the croc. could do with some company. I expected a better reaction when told this to the folks, but apparently they were already aware of the discovery and were, for some VERY weird reason, as nonchalant as if... uh... as if... if... Darn! I am out of similes.
Kirra.
Dearest Kirra,
Tell them I got me a boyfriend and THEN see them jump.
Love.
Or not.
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