This week I cheated. This week I didn’t do the assignment as requested, and infact, I didn’t do it at all. I pulled previously taken photos and submitted them knowing that they didn’t meet the requirements.

The last two weeks I approached the assignment with care, and with thought. I made the effort, and spent a fair amount of time and energy setting up the shots, selecting 3 from 130, and generally putting forward the best I could.

That was, until in the last lesson the instructor lady ripped my photos to shreds. I know, it sounds like I’m bitter because my pride has been dented. But there are seven of us in this class, and we went through five other assignments before we got to mine. Each time she offered constructive criticism, praise and general encouragement. From the moment mine were available, she had absolutely nothing good to say. I endured five minutes of humiliating criticism while she pointed out how wrong my photos were. I was hoping for perhaps a passing compliment, and then we’d move on. What I got was a detailed description of exactly what she didn’t like.

It was hard, but I bit my tongue. I took what she said. And in my head I directed a stream of protests, sarcastic comments and many, many four letter words her way. I may or may not have sulked the rest of that class. I may have lost all enthusiasm for anything she has to say.

I might be slightly childish, sure. But I’m not going take all the time and effort to put something up on that screen that is going to be ripped to shreds again. This week the assignment was on portraits. She didn’t cover self portraits in her lecture, and she didn’t cover candid shots. So I took photos from my 365 project, selected three and put them forward.

All taken on different days, one years apart from the other two, with a different camera. Different lighting, different feel, different everything, the only thing that links them is that they are all of me, and they were all taken by me. I suspect this is me saying ‘Fuck You’ to the instructor lady.

I know, I’m so charming, right? I’ll let you know what dressing down I get this time.

It started off quiet, I wasn’t planning on being behind the bar. A friend was over from London for a few scant weeks, and I’d suggested that we meet for cocktails. I’d dressed casual: my favourite pair of heels and tight jeans, a silk top with a pretty print. And the barman had acquiesced with my request of some kind of deal: two for one cocktails. It was going to be a good night. People started showing up, and it was brilliant. A pretty coloured drink here, a sweet concoction there.

And then I realised I’d double booked myself, so I invited the second crew down to the bar. Sent a few txts out to my besties, if they were free they were more than welcome to come down. And to my surprise, they did. They trickled in, one by one, and before I knew it the bar was filled with my friends. Different crowds mingling, in small groups all about the bar.

So much so, that the one glorified bartender got busy super quick. So I did what I always do in a rush, and jumped in. Behind the bar in heels, not a great idea. I stumbled, my stiletto’s getting stuck in the perfectly sized holes in the rubber mats. I was also ever so slightly intoxicated, having downed many pretty coloured drinks, but I’m fairly sure that only added to the experience.

It was such a high serving my friends. Hugging over the bar, in jokes and high fives and laughter. Cheers as someone else I recognised came in. I passed drinks out quick and fast, an extra shot there, beers with almost no head there . . .

I wasn’t behind the bar long, and to be honest, the rest of the night passed in a bit of a blur. I spent a long time moving between groups, gossiping and catching up on the news. It was a pretty amazing feeling, to have a bar filled with your nearest and dearest. Everyone in a good mood, glasses full. It was good for me, good for the bar, good times forward ho.

The next morning provided a delightful headache, the kind that was demolished by a walk and a plateful of Eggs Benedict. Less easily demolished was my tab, which sang to the tune of $200 plus. Apparently I’d been overly generous, paying for drinks here and there. I don’t regret it: I’d pay it off in full, with thanks. It was a brilliant, brilliant night, well worth any monetary costs.

I’m beginning to learn that each time behind the bar is going to be different. Whether I’m working for the night, or for half an hour. Whether I’m serving my friends, the band, the owners or strangers. The bar, the people in it, the nights that pass, they all contribute to the ever changing mood. Tonight was a good night. I hope the upcoming nights are just as grand.

I think the last time I was in this situation was when I was second year at uni. When neither I, nor the boy of the moment felt comfortable enough taking the other back to our parents places. So we drove around the city, windows down, music blaring. We’d walk in the dark, hands clasped together, solving the worlds problems in single conversations, convinced that we knew what we were doing, where we were going, what was to come. We were so young, and I want to laugh at how ridiculous we were.

And then I grew up a bit. Instead of wandering the city streets we’d watch tv in bed, because we had our own flats now. No need to sneak out, or find some other place to be together. Converastions grew boring, and became about our days, and bitching about the people in our lives. There weren’t any city sights to be seen. No adventures in the night to be had. No world problems to solve. We’d do laundry, cook dinner, and watch the news. We were settled, and when your settled boring makes you happy.

But I’m not settled, anymore. Adventures keep me busy, and I fall into bed in the early hours of the morning. I’m exploring playgrounds and beaches, and watching the clouds move over the stars. I watch him wander down the waters edge, and laugh when he realises how cold the water is. He invites me to go swimming, and I half consider the possibility. We don’t solve the worlds problems, instead we discuss the people we were, the people we are, the people we might become. We visit the beaches out east, then we eat in the city, and drive through the dark out west.

I think about how I once wanted to be settled. How badly I wanted it. To play happy families and put roots down. Be stable. And then I think about how right now its better that I’m not. That I can walk atop the knee-high fence and feel the night breeze on my face. I think about how nice it is to be frivolous, and spin till I’m dizzy, and swing high on structures meant for the smaller and younger. I think about how nice it is to be in this place, here in the now.

One day, I’ll settle. But today is not that day, and tomorrow there are adventures waiting.

A few weeks ago, The Second Quarter and I accompanied the Foo part of Fiedi out to the Bikepark out at Woodhill. Honestly, it was amazing. There’s something really brilliant about it being just you and your bike, riding through miles and miles of forest. It was gorgeous, absolutely stunning.

It was also pretty tricky. I’m not a coordinated person at the best of times, and I’d been working at the bar the night before. I was pretty shattered, and probably shouldn’t have tried any of the structures. But I did. And I got many scrapes bruises for my troubles.

I think the best bit was that you are reliant on yourself, and your bike to get you through. We were out there for a while (almost three hours), and we rode just about 12 kilometres (partial map here) and settling into a rhythm with your bike was really amazing. What I found difficult was trusting my bike to get me down the giant, gnarly root steps okay. You just have stand up, lean back and let your bike go. Fucking scary, but very much worth it.

It was a brilliant, brilliant ride, and I’m super grateful to Foo for taking us out. Hopefully I’ll go again soon :)

It’s becoming a regular thing, our end to the night. We four are always the last to stumble out the door. The lights are on, and the music off, a clear sign that we were overstaying our welcome and its time to leave. The bartender will say his farewells, and firmly shut the door behind us. We’d pick our way down through the roadworks. Fighting elaborate sword sequences with the barrier tops. Climbing over the tractors. Walking arm in arm, yelling insults and jokes and laughing as we made our way through the dark, up the empty street. Sometimes we’d dance, and leap and perform fancy aerobic feats. Sometimes we’d stumble and use each other to stay upright.

Still, the destination is always the same. The White Lady is a long white trailer, dressed in fairy lights, parked up next to the sidewalk. She’s the only light source on the deserted street, and we’re never ever the only ones waiting quietly on the pavement for some fried goodness. I always eye up the strangers, where have they come from? Where are they going? The rest of Newmarket is deserted, and it’s eerie to see people appear from nowhere, drawn into the light.

We always eat at the same place, a low stone wall in The White Lady’s shadow, next to her tractor. Sitting side by side, us four. The boys always order something with meat in it. And onions. This always prompts the brief and well rehearsed debate about how disgusting onions are. I enjoy my onion-less cheese toastie. The cheese always burns my tongue, and I’m always sad when I’ve finished it.

If we’re lucky, a taxi will be waiting in the taxi stand, further up the road. Waiting for stragglers such as ourselves. We’ll all pile in, still laughing and joking. The boys always seem bigger in the taxi, and I imagine they have to fold themselves in to fit. Generally I’m squished between two of them, but I don’t mind. Its comfortable in the back. Soon we’re off, driving away. Street lights flick past, the houses quiet and still.

I’m the first stop, the first one out. I’ll climb out of the taxi, over knees and elbows, and stand alone (or not alone) in the dark. The taxi moves out, and I’ll watch the red tail lights disappear around the corner before walking up the drive.

I like that this is becoming a routine. A regular end to our crazy nights out. That I can rely on my friends to get me home safe, that the night isn’t quite over just because the bar closed it doors.

It’s just nice, is all.

I watch the two boys work, and I think that I could never be in a serious relationship with a bartender. I polish the wine glasses, and I watch them smile, and flirt and call the girls “sweetheart” and the men “sir”. I see a cocktail being made for the two girls leaning over the bar with their long blonde hair and lowcut tops. I wait for the line “a pretty drink for a pretty lady”. I’ve heard it before, and I know it works. It worked on me, once.

I know that it’s unlikely anything will come from it. I know that if I got behind the bar, which I will, once these glasses are polished, I will flirt with the patrons too. It puts more money in the till that way. I’d let them buy me drinks. Another shot on the end, for the pretty bartender with a grin. I know that it’s part of the job to appear available. Whether you actually are or not is up to you at the end of your shift.

I set my wine glass down, and pick up another. But I don’t think I could. Not a serious something. The long hours, and Hospo culture aside, it’s the flirting that would get to me most. I’m jealous like that. I wonder how actors partners do it, whether they justify it with ‘its my job’. And then I think that I’d probably never be in a serious relationship with an actor either. So I shouldn’t worry.

I focus for a bit on a stubborn fingerprint, and then I shake my head. I don’t know who I’m fooling, really. A friend told me recently that it doesn’t matter how cautious I am. How high my walls, how solid my fortress. I won’t be able to stop it, if it’s right. If it’s right, then it doesn’t matter if Prince Charming is a bartender, or an IT geek. A teacher, or a rugby player. It doesn’t matter what he does, really. Because if it’s right, you make it work. You put the effort in, and you do it with a smile on your face with a happy heart. It might not be easy, but if it’s right . . . if it’s right, you do it anyway.

I collect up the glasses, and carry them carefully behind the bar, slotting them into their respective places. Not to worry though. I haven’t met Prince Charming yet, and I’m carefully not looking either. I turn around, ready to greet the next patron, and I lock eyes with a tall, gorgeous twenty-something. I smile, he smiles. He buys a round for his friends, and then a round ‘just for us’. We tip back our shots. Then, with a witty one liner and a smile, he asks for my number. I act all demure, and I blush.

But before I can reply, a bouncy brunette in a short dress slips herself under his arm. I smile, as expected, and fetch her requested drink. I’m pretty sure Prince Charming doesn’t come with bouncy brunettes. Ah well. Teach me right for thinking along those lines anyway.

This week, the assignment was landscapes. I’m not a big fan of landscapes. That is to say, I enjoy looking at other peoples shots, but I prefer taking photos with people in them. I could probably count the number of landscape shots I’ve willingly taken on one hand. So I really struggled with this assignment. I pretty much ignored the ‘colour/pattern/rule of three’ objectives, and went with ‘I hope the teacher considers this landscape’.

I missed all the golden hours (6.30 – 7.30, ish, morning and night) with plans or sleep which was disappointing. Instead I took my camera out with me when I went Mountain Biking at Woodhill. I took a few shots, but the light was tricky.

Anyway, here’s what I submitted this week:

They are all man made structures in the forest, which I hadn’t planned on till at least half way through the ride. I think it worked out okay though. I’m super grateful to the people I was riding with, who were happy to wait while I snapped some interesting shots. I also think that I rode alot better with all the breaks – it worked out good for me, because I was absolutely shattered!

I’ve got my fingers crossed for something with people for next week. I’ll let you know how it goes!