So I start the second part of my teaching placement tomorrow. I am terrified for four main reasons:

1. It's a private school which is something I have never experienced before.
2. It's all boys. ALL BOYS. Only boys. Lots of boys. Teenage boys everywhere. Scary!
3. I'll be teaching history for the first time. I haven't been in a High School history class for eight years and my uni course gave me about 2 hours of instruction on teaching history this semester - thanks shitty uni course.
4. The classes I'll be teaching will be mainly on modern history which I know close to nothing about.

You know what, I am actually quite excited about teaching content I have learnt the night before to classes of rowdy, wealthy(spoilt?), fifteen year old boys. Seriously. I'm not even being sarcastic.

So tomorrow I will put on my PABSTOY (Private All Boys School Teacher Outfit Yo) and I will walk in there and hide my terror like a boss. As one of my wise course tutors told me: fake it til you make it.

Photo: Tim Barnes

Excuse much, rude or anything? The Artist and Teacher Fashion

Today I went to the Palace Kino with Mum to see The Artist. I hadn't read anything about it before I went and I'm glad I didn't because it may have put me off going; silent, and in black and white, it was not really the type of film I would usually see. Set in the late 1920s and early 30s the plot follows a silent movie star as he deals with the decline of his career when films with sound are introduced. I'm not really sure whether I enjoyed it or not. I'm glad I went to see it but the thought of watching it again is not appealing at all.

When I wonder why I wouldn't want to watch this film again, even though I didn't mind the plot, I realise that what I love about so many movies are the memorable dialogues: bantering lead characters with witty comments and (cringe) romantic speeches. I think watching a film without sound limits the depth of the characters. It is easy to read their faces and watch their actions to discern what is going on but without words there is less to savour after the film is over. I like my quotes. I used to watch individual episodes of Buffy a dozen times before I tired of them, and I would quote characters from the show in everyday life (what a geek, I know) whether I thought people would realise what I was doing or not.

Topic change.

I am going to be a History teacher and I am so effing excited about it. I am also excited about looking like a history teacher. Not one of those camel toe, squinty-glasses, smeared lipstick history teachers, no no no...well, I guess all of those badstyle things can happen to good people. In my spare moments (there are too many of them at the moment) I have been 1. looking for a new flatmate (knock myself unconscious can't deal with the stress) and 2. browsing the interwebs for some teacher fashion inspiration (knock myself unconscious I don't have any money to buy clothes).

Photos: All from The Sartorialist except for the third one down which is from Garance Doré

Sleepwalking in Wellington

Hello! I'm in Wellington, New Zealand. Sitting in a lovely cafe called The Lido, on Wakefield Street, where I have been twice in the 18 hours I have been in the windy city. Staying in a hostel last night has promptly destroyed the hint of backpacker romanticism which was creeping back into my naive and nostalgic mind. My back hurts. My head hurts. I slept all night with the light on. My bunk bed creaked every time I exhaled. YAY TRAVEL.

Perhaps being sleep deprived makes travel feel like more of an adventure. It's like travelling on a hazy cloud of grumpy. Also, being tired makes one care slightly less about the fact that they look like shit thanks to having to keep bathroom trips/makeup application to a maximum of five minutes so that the others in the dorm don't go on a sighing, moaning, foreign-language mumbling rampage. Yes. I am tired and I look like shit. I don't know how I did this backpacking thing for three months straight at a time.

Anyhow, no more hostel sleeps now as I'm meeting my parents today and we're going to stay in our beach bach for a week or so. It's a rickety old house (with retro furniture and definitely no internet) next to an isolated beach of black sand, seashells, and driftwood. It used to belong to my Grandad and I love going there because it is the only place which has stayed constant throughout my entire life. I have so many childhood memories of building sandcastles with my Dad and Grandad, and riding the motorbike over sand dunes while my Grandad ran along behind me swearing at me because I wouldn't stop. My best friend is coming to stay with us for a few days, the last time we were there together we were nine and everything seemed so big and exciting; climbing a sand dune was like climbing a mountain. I haven't been back since my Grandad died and I am hoping I feel the same way about the place as I did when he was there.

Third coffee coming up.

Photo: Anna Rosa Krau

My man and our sons (I am single and childless)

I like to dream that there will be a moment in my future that looks something like this photo. The chickens will just be beloved pets though...

Photo: Anna Rosa Krau

I think I'll leave it til tomorrow to unpack, try to forget for one more night that i'm back

Ahhh. So compared to semester time I am socialising quite a bit lately, but it's not enough. I'm also working more than I did during honours, but that's not enough either. There is not enough life in my life. This is about the time I start dreaming about being culture shocked and roaming far-away places. Now I realise why I have been so content this past year - I haven't had time to get bored.

But now I have time. Lots of time. Maybe I'll just get drunk by myself at 10.30am and watch Ancient Aliens.

Photo: Fergus Padel

And now I'm back, to let you know I can really shake 'em down

It's done. It's finished. No more thesis. My life has no meaning anymore. Jokes....kinda.
I decided on the title The Romance of Ravishment: Sexual Violence in the Arthurian Romances of Chrétien de Troyes. Now all that is left to do is wait for the results. I try not to think about it too much

The long-awaited freedom of having no 'study guilt'  hanging over me doesn't feel as wonderful as I expected. I feel a little panicked, to be honest, what do I do now? I can see a horrible possibility that I will work a lot and then sleep til midday on my days off. Working a lot is great, but not if it turns me into a lazy bed monster (not in a sexy way) on my days off. I must stop sitting in bed watching bad television shows and munching on cheese biscuits, I am sleeping in a field of crumbs.

Today will be nice. Brunch and Dinner out. I hope I don't use up all my friends' social perseverance too early on in the holidays.

I also have a growing book list which includes: (finishing) The Elegance of Hedgehog by Muriel Barberry, The Swan Thieves by Elizabeth Kostova, When Christ and His Saints Slept by Sharon Kay Penman, The Secret History by Donna Tartt, Burning Bright by Tracy Chevalier, and Bernard Cornwell's new book Death of Kings. No doubt I'll also read some cheesy young adult novels.

Okay, I better get ready for Brunch. Gosh, I love Brunch.

Photo: Anna Rosa Krau

Wake up kids, we've got the dreamers' disease

As I mentioned in my last post I was considering buying a double bed. At the moment I am sleeping on a fold out single bed. It sucks. So I had decided to buy a double bed and a new mattress, but then it struck me - that's quite a bit of money to spend on something that I can't just put in a suitcase and take overseas with me. I guess I'm not as ready to settle down in one place as I thought I was. Buying a bed means 'I am staying'...not necessarily forever, but for long enough to justify spending the money and lugging the stuff up the stairs. I'm really happy where I am living now; it's nice to be independent but this time have my parents close by. But....but...

I'm planning on doing a DipEd next year. So I'll definitely be here for another year after this one. Then where? South America? Back to Europe? Damn this constant unsettled feeling. I need to plan a holiday.

    Photo: Geoff Barrenger

Love was a promise made of smoke

Lately life has been a whirlwind of lunches, nights out, coffee dates, shopping sprees, and spazzy dancing; it has been fantastic and I have met some wonderful people. The socialising fun-tram can't go on forever though, I am starting to get worn out and feel as though I am slipping behind with honours. The fact that it's mid-year break doesn't really mean anything.  

I have had soul sprain the past couple of days; I believe it is because lately I have been having too much fun and fun can't last forever.

So now, even though realistically I have nothing to be upset about, I am all mopey-sad-faced and I want to stay in bed, eating cheese off the block, listening to Dashboard Confessional, and lamenting that I don't have a cat to cuddle. If you are unfamiliar with what soul sprain feels like, it's a bit like this:

   Photos:  Markus Jans, Peter Guenzel, Timothy Barnes

I housesat for my parents a couple of weekends ago and some of my fellow honours geeks came round to do immature things. I made the most delicious punch, if I do say so myself, with an entire bottle of white rum, champagne, fresh fruit and mint. We built a fort out of chairs and sheets in the lounge, sat in the fort and played articulate (a word game), and enjoyed tequila shots. Yes, we did plan in advance to act like carefree children under the influence of alcohol. I figure it may seem strange now, but imagine how much stranger it'd seem in 10 years time; I plan to get as much immaturity out of my twenties as possible. 

Our fort and my (potent) punch.

On Friday night I went to a costume party themed 'Fairytale and Fantasy'. My excellent friend 'Mountain Range' came over and we got ready together - I was the absinthe fairy and she was Cleopatra. We had a few glasses of wine before we left...then there was some Jack Daniels...and someone made me a White Russian....and my friend, the host, had mulled wine. There was a guy there taking photos. I have seen these photos on facebook. Times like these I wish I were a super hacker who could hack into fb and cut that silly drunk green fairy out of all the pictures.  

 So now that all that fun is over I have decided to man up. Starting... tomorrow I will force myself to spend four hours a day on my thesis. I would have started today but I have been super busy re-arranging my room, purchasing a new laptop, buying a ridiculous amount of groceries for one person, and will soon be snuggled up in bed watching the season final of Game of Thrones.

Also. By ordering a new laptop I have thrown away my plans to buy a double bed, sorry potential lovers. Ahem. Yeah. Okay.

I didn't hear what you were saying, I live on raw emotion baby.

Well, I'm back at uni. The campus is awash with enthusiastic first years who will still be in bed at midday come week five. They're just mulling around seeing who they can practise breeding with. There are so many hipsters who look like they have barely reached puberty and oranged faced girls in tracksuit pants and hoodies. There are also plenty of gorgeous new boys, but now I am old enough to be considered a mature age student - 24.

I'm actually very happy to be back on campus. I just love walking around with my large coffee and pile of library books feeling superior to the aforementioned first years. I even have my own little assigned study cave.

My Honours topic has changed more times than facebook's layout, but I'm quite happy where I am at the moment - in the Renaissance.

    Photo: Timothy Barnes

I've been up chasing my childhood with a pen. These are dreams old men dream.

So I have this problem. I want to study everything. Okay, maybe 'everything' is an exaggeration. How about this, I want to study everything about Europe between..oh, let's say 30th century BCE and the 14th century CE. Narrowing that down to a thesis topic is proving to be difficult.

Photo: Fergus Padel

Happy New Year! So many places to go and things to see in 2011.

My (three) readers may notice that I've changed my blog title from Melbourne anthology to anthology; this is in anticipation of the day I want to post a book review, a history essay, or a travel story. Can't be all about Melbourne, some of it has to be about ME. Me me me me me me.

Photo: Geoff Barrenger

I like it in the city when the air is so thick and opaque

This crazy Melbourne weather!

This blog is off to a slow start, mainly because I seem to have fallen out of the habit of taking photos when I'm out having fun. Will fix that, pronto. I have been visiting some cute cafes/bars though - like Horse Bazaar in the CBD and Miss Jackson in St Kilda.

I dropped in to the Horse Bazaar on a weekday afternoon and we were pretty much the only ones there, all the better to have private conversations, my dear (that rhymed). The interior decorating is pretty damn cool, I kind of wish it were my house.

The staff at Miss Jackson were lovely - very chatty and attentive - and I had the most delicious ricotta pancakes. A-strizzle and I were already halfway through destroying our well-presented breakfasts before I remembered I wanted to take a photo, we decided it was too late. Fail.

So many plans for the Melbournian Summer. Oh, it is Summer now - officially, and all. Apparently this bi-polar weather is set to continue until Jan, so I guess my hair will just have to stop its childish bitching and embrace humidity as a challenge...how many ways can you style a frizzball? Anyhoo, back to Summer plans: dancing; drinking beer in beer gardens (screw you weather); high tea at the Windsor; Rooftop cinema; gigs, gigs and random gigs; giggles; books( I WILL start honours reading ....after some Historical Fiction, that's kinda educational); Byron Bay (okay, I know that's not in Melbourne but cut me some slack - our weather sucks!).

I'm ready.

Photo: Peter Guenzel

Said what you had to say, happy you got your way, there's nothing to discuss.

I know I'm being greedy, but can't there be Spring without hayfever?


...tissues in hand....adventures ahoy!

Photo: Bernd Westphal