Blondes have more fun?

Date: 9 September. Apparently it’s ‘Nerd Christmas’ as Apple is today to unveil its new products and the shooty, alien-infested space game (?) Destiny is to be released.

Location: sunny Albert Park, lakeside.

There’s some ephemeral golden, red, blue and black magic in the air in Melbourne this time of year. The AFL grand final is traditionally held at the Melbourne Cricket Ground, our beloved MCG, on the last Saturday in September. While the top eight teams battle to take to the ‘G for the grand final, the city whips itself into a footy frenzy: pubs unashamedly fly their favoured flags, coloured scarves hang out of windows on every street, who’s in and who’s out is front page news (what is ISIS?), the hallowed light towers of the MCG radiate with a Hollywood glow. As with curling and rugby and gridiron, I don’t ‘get’ football — and I still love this time of year.

This year, doubly so. I’m attempting to have a sober September (not for charity, just for my own wellbeing — curb your obvious jokes, please). However, it would be just un-Melbournian not to have a few drinks and yell at the TV on the last Saturday in September, so the self-imposed liquor drought will end to the sound of a chilled bottle of Hoegarten being cracked open in a few weeks. Oh, I miss wine so.

In other headlines:

  • Having an early October birthday, my birthday celebrations practically plan themselves. Hello, mildy-slutty German wench outfits, men in their short lederhosen, yelling ‘Prost’ across long wooden tables whilst clinking 1-litre beer steins, preztels and legs of pork the size of my cat. Hello Oktoberfest, you salty, sweaty, schnapps-sodden, superb festival you. A new über bier hall, Munich Brauhaus, has just opened in Melbourne and we’ve booked tables for a Saturday night mid-fest. Frivolity should follow.
  • Wolfgang, my hirsute German-teaching, trivia-buddying friend, recently took his year sevens to the zoo. I asked him to bring me an elephant. He turned up to pub trivia with a pair of the fuzziest little elephant soft toys. We’ve named them Motsy and Mish after the two trivia hosts at The George Hotel. I know, I know, that’s some cute work by him. I’m not a heartless ice queen.
  • Largely-fictional romance with the barista continues. The café’s winter menu was due to give way to the spring menu last week and, ahead of the change, he brought me all of the new menu items to try.

Free elephant, free breakfasts. I should have gone blonde years ago.



George St Cafe. Low quality food. Medium quality wi-fi. High quality sunshine.

Playing hooky on a Thursday: the delicious rustic Fairfield Boathouse.

Sun must be out. And we must both have the same good taste.

Home. She's trying to kill birds with her mind.

Had, of course, Motsy the stuffed elephant.








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