I was having a down week. A week where I wasn’t sure what I was doing with myself, where I didn’t have a direction. It seemed that everything was falling apart and I didn’t know where to turn. There was the unnecessary return to high school drama, there was illness, there was insecurity and I just couldn’t pull myself out of it. I really couldn’t. I felt a bit pathetic, really.

So, I took a moment to think up a few things that rock right now, and they made the world seem a infinitely better place.

There is the late night deep and meaningfuls w/ my 2 BFFs, even though they are both a world + a ridiculous time zone away. Realising that I can opt out any time I want. Being introduced to ceroc and loving being twirled around and around again. There was Jack, and Frank for making my afternoons sweeter. There was the friends crowding down a long table in a dark pub, glasses raised in the air to celebrate one of their own finding employment. There was the walking about London in the dark, now that the city has taken on that crisp coolness that is fall. There is the friends that include you in their plans, and buy tickets on your behalf. Friends that sit down with you and listen to your (fairly frivolous) fears, and do so intently. And then pull on their romantic hat and tell you that the universe will take care of it, so not to worry. The flat mate who I sit down to dinner with most nights, who tried to explain the intricacies of tennis scoring, and who tries to make me watch X Factor. There’s the friend who gets horribly drunk with me, and will play my wingman even though she’s not in the game. And there is China Town’s roadside Steam Buns, and Peanut Butter Gelato from the Gelato place.

There are the guys who I run with, who push me to run further, but don’t admonish me when I lack the will power to keep going. There’s the boy sends me txts about shoe shopping and job hunting and all the other random things he’s up to. There’s people who will play hacky with me so I can get better, there’s the girl who is another one of the guys and was super glad to befriend me, there’s the sandwich place who knows my name and calls my order the ‘elly sandwich’, and there’s the satisfaction of a good run-around at netball, and the delight I get at the ‘swish’ of the net when it goes in from the outside.

That’s a pretty hefty list of things that amazing, and with that in mind, the week turned around. I was glad it did, so unbelievably glad.

What do you do to put yourself in a better frame of mind?

This is another post about the random encounters I’ve had while I’m single and loving London. I want to remember what now is like, and what the boys tasted like, and the mischief we got up to. I want to remember that carefree can be fun, and that single life is not as horrible or as miserable as I thought it might be a year + a half ago.

So here we are, another one for the Dating Files of 2011.

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I was in great spirits. It was day three of a four day weekend, the skies were unexpectedly blue and the wind was up. He was my kitesurfing instructor, my second private lesson. He was blonde and had a tan, and he showed up with his wetsuit pulled down to his hips (showing his very nice set of six). He had a birtish accent that made me swoon, and a wide grin. The kind of grin that makes you instinctively smile back, regardless of how you were feeling at that very moment. He was young, a student studying GeoPhysics, a kite surfing instructor for the summer.

He was good at what he did; gave clear instructions, corrected in a manner which was helpful and made sense. He laughed at my frustration and determination and cheered when things clicked, and cheered even louder when I got up on the board and managed to kitesurf down the beach that first time.

It was a great lesson, a brilliant afternoon of being in the water, of pushing yourself to figure out something new, trying a new sport with a cute boy. I know instructors are meant to make small talk, befriend the client. But instructors don’t go out of their way to tell you they are single, or after learning where you’re from, when they’ll next be in London, or suggest places that are great to meet for a drink. There was a silly amount of flirting and unnecessary touching. All sorts of innuendo.

There was body dragging together back to the shore to pick up the board, he stretched out my leg when I got cramp, and weighted me down by holding onto my hips + harness while I was still figuring out how to handle the power of the kite. I was sad when the lesson finally ended (it went on longer than it should have; “We should end on a high”, he’d say. “One more run”, I’d agree), but I did feel a bit guilty: my lesson was digging into his kitesurfing time. The light was fading, and the wind was variable.

There were a few open ended suggestions on the walk back to the club. Ones that were silenced by the implication that I was seeing someone back in London. I am, but not someone that would prevent me from seeing someone else. I used it as an easy out clause because I’m pretty sure that cute kitesurfing instructors aren’t the kind of boys that would mean dating differently. I felt guilty about fibbing like that, though. Easy out clause or not, I probably won’t use it as an excuse again.

Still, he was cute, and he definitely made my afternoon brilliant. That’s got to be worth a mention, right?

Before I went to Croatia I spent a weekend in Basel (Switzerland) with my friend Bunny, and his Grussi. It was amazing. We flew into Basel on the Friday afternoon (which is lucky, because EasyJet, that great airline of shortcuts for budgetary reasons oversold the flight. I took the very last seat), and the interesting thing about Basel airport, is that it sits on the border and serves both France and Switzerland! When you come up to the customs desk, there are signs all over the place. This way way for France, this way for switzerland. In French, and English, and Swiss German.

It was a weekend of eating, and oh! All the things we ate! I can’t even name most of them. But there was chocolate. And there was wine. And there was hot chocolates from cute little plastic tubes, and there was afternoon naps and playing rummy cub. There was listening to children chatter away, switching easily between languages. We wandered around a super cute market (where Bunny brought a horn, appropriate for his trip to Burning Man) and we walked down a river in the gorgeously hot sun (it was brilliant, there were many interesting things, like random graffiti under bridges that have alternate versions in art galleries, and a little geckos that warm themselves on the path, but scuttle when you appear which makes the path look like a wriggling mass).

There was a fork in this river, and it’s this point that the boundary was. We stood on the Switzerland side, and on the far bank was France, and on the other bank was Germany. It was pretty mind blowing, considering that in New Zealand we’re so very isolated. It was pretty amazing. What was less amazing was losing all but handful of photos because I’m super clever. Still, I’ll remember what I do from that weekend, and I’ll remember it fondly.

Have any of you been to Switzerland before?

It was 10am on Sunday morning and I was clearly affected by alcohol. I was in a pub called the Walkabout. A horrible, cheap + nasty Australian franchise, one of the few pubs that was open early on this Sunday morning. I was there, with about another two hundred All Black fans decked out in black to watch the All Blacks play France in the 2011 Rugby World Cup Final. And as I said at the beginning of the competition, I don’t know a lot about rugby. I still don’t really know the rules, I don’t understand the nuances or intricacies of the game. Anything other than the obvious is likely to be well over my head.

Despite this, I enjoyed the competition. I watched all the All Blacks games, and managed some of the others too. I made Morf drive me out to a pub in South Hampton so I could watch the NZ vs France Pool match. I watched as much of the NZ vs Japanese game as I could before rushing off the city to catch a flight. I was smug when I got to Stansted Airport and got a glance of the final score. Often I said I’d make it down to the pub, but really the best I could do in my hungover state was move from the bed to the couch. I watched the quarter finals against Argentina with a lounge full of people after the drunken madness that was my birthday.There were a few games I may have napped a bit through, but I’d open my eyes when the crowd cheered, and would cheer along.

But that Sunday? The Sunday of the Grand Final? I got up (possibly with some prodding by a Jimmy) and managed to make it down to the pub at half eight. A miracle considering the drunken adventures the night before had held. Still, I had Strawberry Cider in hand, and wasn’t too fussed.

We watched it on a big screen, getting told off by the kitchen lady. We cheered when the boys did the haka (right on you Weepu for leading!) and my Scottish friend ohlala’d over Ali Williams. We cheered when Tony Woodcock scored the first try. We commiserated when Weepu missed a penalty. And then the conversion. And then was taken off, replaced by Stephen Donald, number 4 on the list. We cheered when he scored, and gasped when France scored a try + conversion. One point, that’s what was in it. It was a very very tense game, watched behind fingers, biting lips, very nearly not being able to look but not being able to look away.

Except that then the full time whistle blew. And The All Blacks were still a point ahead. And for the first time since 1987, New Zealand had won the World Cup, and were the Rugby Champions.

I was estatic, there was loads of hugging, and cheering, and high fives. There was loads of singing, and general ridiculousness. We had more drinks, we laughed, there was relief.

I’m not sure how much longer we were at the pub for, but it was great long while. Walking back to the flat we stopped and high fived every oncoming pedestrian. We pushed each other around in abandoned shopping trolleys. We were happy, the day was fine, and I was intoxicated well before lunch on a Sunday.

I’m a million miles away from home, but it might as well have been across the road at that point. I felt patriotic, and happy. I can’t even imagine the madness as it was happening right then in Auckland. It must have been crazy.

So yes, I was there. I watched the New Zealand team win. A tiny little bit of history that I was super super glad to partake in.

Good job, boys. Well done!

So, I’m back. I found that while I was away ‘taking a break’ I was still writing posts. I guess I get more out of this than I realised. There has been a bunch of adventures happen since I’ve been gone, and a whole bunch of travelling, and oh goodness, I’ve got a ridiculous amount of share.

I guess the most interesting thing about this break was that I expected to fall back in love with London. I did try, there have been exploration adventures, and drunken bar hopping, and missions into the deep urban jungle that is The South Beyond The River. I saw foxes, and I ate dinner in fancy restaurants with table top projections and had stupidly fancy cocktails with friends. I brought shiny things, and I danced like someone possessed. I did things I know I shouldn’t have done, but did them anyway (it’s called playing with fire).

I tried to love you, London. But then London, you did this thing where instead of just being grey, you got cold. And wet. And I got sick and things got unpleasant. It might just be this time of year, but I’m feeling pretty ambivalent about things.

So, I’m planning adventures. And finding other things to be excited about. Egypt for Christmas, maybe? Snowbombing in April? An underwater camera, a new wordpress design here, a company rebrand there. Coats and layers, and hot chocolates, and scarves and soup for lunch.

I’m digging deep to find things to be excited about. If soup for lunch is what does it, so be it.

So yes, that is where I am. How are you, friend?

I didn’t want to come back. The thought of London heading into winter made my skin crawl, and I ached for warmth, and endless blue skies, and warm turquoise waters. I don’t know what I’m doing in London, clearly I’m meant to be near a beach, in togs, with an average temprature of too-hot.

I had a brilliant time, I really did. And I have photos and stories (all sorts of stories. Of bribing policemen, and of trips across borders for drinks and desserts) and I have all sorts of good things to tell you. I do. And I’ll get it to. I will. But not now.

Now I’m wallowing in those post holiday blues. I’m horribly upset to have to be in London, to be sitting at a desk in an office instead of galovanting across countries in a red van. To not be soaking in the warmth on a jetty overlooking a gorgeous harbour. Every inch of me is screaming to be somewhere else. Anywhere else, and that’s not a state I like being in.

So, until I’ve got my feet back on the ground, and my head out of the clouds I’ma be a bit absent from the blogging world. I’ll still be around, reading your blogs, and getting my angst out on twitter, but rarg will be a quiet for a bit.

Until I’m back, this is where my head is. There is where I was. This is where I want to be.

This very day I am quitting the city for a week, boarding a plane and I’m leaving. Hopefully I’ll be met by friends in a big red van. Hopefully I’ll find something resembling summer in what’s left of this season, and hopefully, it’ll be a week of bikini wearing, and sand and swimming. And of drinking cocktails, and taking mini adventures like hiring scooters and finding random little bars and meeting random, interesting people, and learning random, interesting words in other languages.

Hopefully, it’ll be gorgeous, and look like this, and this, and this:

So, Rarg is going to be silent for a week, because I’ve been too busy to write up scheduled posts, and to be honest? I think I’d like to take a break from blogging. Just a small one, so I’m going to do it now. And instead I’m going to go be in countries I haven’t been in before, and see things I haven’t seen, and generally I’m going to have a brilliant time.

See you guys on the flip side :)

Photo credit – These photos have been shamelessly stolen from google images. Sorry. Plitvice Lakes credit to Jack Brauer, Split to Alle Rechte Vorbehalten, and sadly the Lubljana shot was uncredited. If it’s yours and you’d like credit please let me know!

A while ago I broke off a nothing. Well, I use the words ‘broke off’ and ‘nothing’, but what really happened is that I decided to stop investing my time in a boy well before it had the chance to turn into something meaningful. There was very little drama, or heartbreak involved. A tiny tiny blip that I doubt I’ll remember in a year or two. A few weeks ago, my friend had also just got out of a relationship.

To appropriately both celebrate our very singleness, and pay respects to what we’d either just left, or stopped investing in, we had a break up party. A brilliant brilliant break up party. It was fantastic. When I showed up at his flat (horribly late, because sometimes work is a bit crazy), he was in the midst of cooking dinner. An amazing dinner. A PROPER dinner. With garlic + butter potatoes, and steamed broccoli in Balsamic Sauce, and Garlic Pepper chicken! This man, he cooks!

He told to pour myself a red wine (which I did) and to stop eating the potatoes while he was serving up (which I did not) and together we watched The Breakfast Club. That amazing Mid-80s movie that has a soft spot in the hearts of every 80s teen. I’d forgotten how much I loved it. The ridiculous stereotypes and bad jokes, the toned down (but still scandalous) name calling, the 80s dance moves, and the old school soundtrack. Emilio Estevez. Molly Ringwald. The middle-class teenage angst. I laughed and laughed, I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed this movie.

We stopped mid-movie for dessert. Peanut Butter Gelato. From my favourite peanut butter gelato place. My friend had cycled down on his bike to pick it up before I go there, and it was phenomenal. I was making happy noises till my bowl was empty.

And then, as if it wasn’t a brilliant night already, we watched Empire Records. This movie? This movie was one that I watched a million times over when I was trying my hand at being a hipster teen. I could recite the words before the actors said them, something I know is annoying, so I tried very hard not to. Instead I sang along to the soundtrack. I knew most of the words, and Empire Records has such a brilliant soundtrack. This movie has to be one of my favourite films, I love the quirky characters (like Mark) and the ridiculousness of Rex Manning, and Warren trying to peel quarters from the carpet. I laughed at Lucas’s quirks, and how he winds Joe up. I cheered when Gina sang the second verse of Sugar High, and I was glad it all worked out in the end, with the rooftop + fairy lights happy ending.

So, it wasn’t the usual kind of get super boozed and party hard in a club with strangers break up party, but I think I prefer this version. There’s something amazing about a decent night in with friends who are on the same page you are.

Have any of you had any interesting Break Up parties before?