There are four things a woman should know: how to look like a girl, how to act like a lady, how to think like a man and how to bonk like a rabbit. These aren’t deeply held personal convictions, this is just information conveyed to me by a sign above a toilet. It’s where I get most of my information from and though it’s not necessarily the quickest medium, I’d argue that it’s more reliable than most news sources.
I had no plans to stand in line to see Paris Hilton – not that day, not any day ever – but when I walked past the barricaded area two hours prior to her scheduled appearance a line had already formed. I wondered, was I really going to stand in line for two hours to see Paris Hilton, a person I’ve had no interest in seeing until finding out she was appearing at a chemist? I asked the security guard if it would be busy later. ‘Mate, it’s easy,’ he said. ‘Just line up now, get a photo with a fucking hot chick and then you’re out.’ I couldn’t fault his logistics.
There are a few things that I know to be true. I know that Geoff Dyer is tall. I know he is a creature of habit. I know that his main priority is to find the best cappuccino and croissant in town. Any town. In fact, to call it a ‘main priority’ infers that there are lesser priorities when there simply are none. To locate a town’s best cappuccino and croissant is his calling; his life.
I continued on the coastal path, along which Russians, Brits and Australians sat on plastic chairs drinking morning beers, drinking the antithesis of my quest for purpose. A morning beer is the liquid defiance of purpose, a signalling to the world that for the drinker, purpose no longer exists. Neither does morning, for that matter. A morning beer may as well just be a beer for once a morning beer is drunk, time as we know it ceases to exist except, of course, for when it’s time for the next one.
I’ve had a hard time talking to people this week. That’s not particularly uncommon, but it isn’t particularly welcome either. I saw Dylan Alcott a few hours ago, and that’s not uncommon either because I’ve been watching his ads on TV for the past two weeks, but this was real life Dylan Alcott. At least I think it was. He looked like Dylan Alcott and he was in a wheelchair, so I assumed it was Dylan Alcott. There are plenty of people in wheelchairs, and I’m sure there are people out there who look like Dylan Alcott, but I doubt there are many people who look like Dylan Alcott AND are in a wheelchair.
A writer at the New York Times declared Lune Croissanterie, in Fitzroy, the home of the world’s best croissant and the Melbourne institution has now reached unprecedented levels of pastry prominence. I’ve heard rumours of these croissants: croissants so buttery you’d wish yourself bulimic just to taste them twice, croissants so flaky you wouldn’t bother … Continue reading The world’s best croisasnt
The Orkney Tourist Board strongly advises not going to Orkney to see the Northern Lights. It admits that yes, you can see the Northern Lights in Orkney, but if you're visiting purely to see the lights then you'll most likely end up disappointed. So here I am, in Orkney, for no reason other than to see the Northern Lights and yes, I'm disappointed. Thanks to the unyielding presence of clouds, the closest thing I’ve seen to stars is the local cover band on New Years Eve who, credit where credit’s due, were phenomenal.