Somehow I found myself at a loose end for an hour in Melbourne with no one to call. I remember a time when I always had a friend whose house I could stop in at, or who would be free for a game of pool or a coffee at a moment’s notice. No longer it seems.
I shouldn’t be complaining too loudly, as this is my own doing. As has been pointed out, I did leave the country for more than a year, and then went away again for a briefer but still extended period. I can hardly expect people to just be waiting for my calls.
I also have been working in Melbourne only for a week, so I’m sure as I develop some friendships there I will be able to get comfortable again. However this realization late yesterday evening – while tipsy was enough to put me into a bad mood that stopped me from sleeping. Perhaps I was already in a bad mood. I have been at a buck’s party all day. I love a good buck’s party, but this was probably the first time where I knew none of the other participants, or only a few. The plan was to paintball, enjoy ourselves at the pub and put a few punts on the races (which I know nothing about). Paintball was abandoned due to a lack of numbers, and I know nothing about horses (which I know nothing about).
As you should know, yesterday was the day of the Melbourne Cup (the celebration that stops the nation – if you believe that the marketing). Really it’s where millions of people who would otherwise not give two rats’ about horses (which I know nothing about) tune in to watch a minute long race around a track in Melbourne. The whole city gets the day off and loudmouthed dickheads who think they’re cream of the crop prance about like they are God’s gift to humanity and that everyone cares about what they say. The women (or should I say girls) wear ridiculously inappropriate clothing for the weather and then end up crying on the corner of streets because they had a fight with their b/f, bestie, mother, some other tramp out for the day – after having far too much to drink.
I have to separate out the women and gentlemen. Looking around during the day it was plainly obvious that there were still people who remembered the races are meant to be a day of class and enjoyment (in the actual races [which I know nothing about]) rather than an excuse to get plastered – who dress and act the part. Spring Racing is actually great (and horrible) for fashion. I prefer the women who don’t try to do everything all at once. Focus on the hat, or the dress, or the fascinator, or the boobs, or the make-up, just don’t try and go out to do everything – you’ll just end up with everything half-arsed.
Here we go getting distracted. Point is, we started at 11am. I was excited for the first 2 races. But after I had picked my horses (which I know nothing about) I really felt I had nothing more to contribute. These boys could talk horses all day. I tried to follow along but I think there might be a fundamental screw missing from my brain.
After 5 agonising hours where I lost $20 (I’m a big spender) and won $1 (which was by betting on a 5 horse race) we moved onto the casino. It was 3 hours later when I left to catch my train (at the point where I found myself at a loose end because I seem incapable of reading a timetable) they were still playing blackjack. I’d be horrified to see their bank accounts, but they all assured me they were winning.
Maybe that’s why I was cranky.
