Day 48: Christmas cheers.

This will sound weird to any northern hemispherers, but in Sydney one of the key things that makes people (me) feel Christmassy, is having drinks or boozy lunches in the sunshine, usually by the water, of a working afternoon. It's that whole end of year wind up, festive buzz; the delicious let-go of work responsibility and the keeping of normal hours, made concrete by how many wines or beers you've downed: I couldn't work even if I wanted to! I'm simply too pissed! And it's only three in the afternoon! Sweet. Of course though, the reality of this time of year is that work is as busy and mental as ever, made more so by staff shipping out all over the place. And all the boozy lunching really doesn't help. It is a solid tradition of mine to be working my last day at work before flying out to New Zealand, on a dizzying mudge of a hangover, fielding new jobs that need completing before end of play (HAAAAhahahahaAHahahAHHahAha! Are you caRAZy!!??), and with a silly to completely incomprehensible list of other errands to run before some sparrow's fart check in the next morning. This year, I break with tradition. I still have the ridiculous deadlines, but my brain is in perfect (ish) working order to handle them so no dramas there (at least none that can't be happily handled by flipping the bird in my mind's eye to anyone causing them . My head is a veritable menagerie today.). I still have a tonne of things to do before I hit the airport, but not to the pure stupidness extent of previous years. Having my head together in the lead up weeks has helped me there. And as a result of all this I will not come through the arrivals gate looking like a dehydrated zombie for my adored Dad. So even though it might have been nice to join my sauvignon sipping colleagues and clients this afternoon as we sat betwixt the dual icons of Opera House and Harbour Bridge gazing dreamily across the sparkly water, I am also perfectly happy to have sacrificed some of the festive fuddle for a clear head in the morning. And you know what? Wines or not I'm still feeling Christmassy. So cheers to that.

Day 47: the boy was at the party.

So the dude turned up. A lot of people turned up actually, and they all scrubbed up rather pleasantly. A crowd of well-tended bodies draped in eastern suburbs threads. Faces made up, perfume on, hair styled. It made a change from sweat and gym shorts. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. My yoga studio is in a cool part of Sydney, a stomping ground of the fashionable, rich and creatively inclined. No wonder everyone kitted out well. And as for the boy? Well… he’s hot. And he said hello. He swang into the kitchen to grab a beer about two seconds after me, as I was sorting myself my first grapetiser of the evening, and gave me a very friendly hello (was I imagining it, or was that a look of happy surprise I saw flicker across his eyes? I was probably imagining it.). Naturally I returned his hi, and then scuttled out as coolly as I could. It was a fleeting encounter. And the only word he said to me all night. So should I be discouraged? Well let’s see. He did stand quite close by on a number of occasions (including one prolonged moment in very close proximity (a small room packed with people) where I was given privileged views of his quite breathtaking loosely-white-t-shirted chest, and the opportunity to appreciate his perfect boy form and height. Man, now I sound like a pervert.), and I’m pretty sure I saw him looking at me a few times across the room. But if he didn’t come and talk to me, he’s not interested right? It’s so hard to know. Maybe he’s just shy like I am. Or maybe I’m living in la la land and I’m so not his type. Or maybe he’s in love with one of the teachers (they’re all pretty smokin’) and came to the party to hang with them. None of it matters. All is fine. What will be will be, etcetera, etcetera. I had a really good time at the party, made some new yoga girlfriends (one who also has a music recording project) had fun on the dance floor, and got to check out the hot boy from time to time. What’s not to love? And you never know, maybe I’ll get another hello next time I see him in class.

Day 46: party, no posse.

I have just returned home from a mammoth Christmas shopping effort. I come from a relatively big brood and they take some shopping for. But it’s all done, the sun is shining and now I can concentrate on what I’m going to wear… to the yoga party. In my “meeting boys” entry (Day 41) you may recall I was in somewhat of a quandary as to whether or not I should go. Well I’ve decided it must be done. I need to meet new people right now because of my current friends being tied up, and where the spunky boy is concerned, the one way I’m definitely not going to meet him is by staying home. Speaking of friends being tied up, none of the people I had pencilled in to come to this do with me can now make it. Christ on a bike. It’s like what I was saying yesterday. I don’t think any of my mates genuinely abandoned me on this one. Things just came up (that, and they’re afraid of yoga types). But much like the way squillions of years ago no-one could stop the tectonic plates from shifting and pulling big bits of land apart, right now I can’t seem to control the forces that are pulling me away from a lot of the people I know. I’m going in a certain direction regardless of whether anyone else is coming with. And so I will rock the party on my own. But this should be okay. I’m getting more used to striking up conversations with strangers without the social loosening agent of alcohol, and everyone attending has something in common – a freaky love of the hot room. There’s something to talk about already. What’s more, if any crowd’s going to be inclusive and welcoming, it’s a yoga crowd (I think?!). So fuck it. I have a cool frock and a radical new shade of nail polish. Let’s get this party started.

Day 45: these times they are a-changing.

Things are shifting. I don’t know for sure why or how, but I am changing (or being changed by something). It’s hard to explain. It’s like, whether I like it or not, I am walking to a new drum. It keeps taking me away from things I used to do and people I used to see, and kind of forcing me to try new things. It’s not always comfortable but I have a strange sense of confidence in what I’m being shown and just my own ability to travel whatever path I’m taken on. I feel like I am achieving a new level of honesty about who I am, and that I am realising more and more that if you behave as your true self (no matter how you think others will take you), you can be safe and happy kind of anywhere. Does any of this make sense? Or is it all just excruciatingly obvious? I’m not sure if it’s the not drinking that’s triggered it, or whether the not drinking’s just a symptom of my new/changing state. All I know is, I am riding a wave (with very little choice in the matter) that is taking me somewhere. What’s not clear is who of the people I know now will arrive in the same place. There is every possibility that this lip of moving ocean was designed to deliver only me.

Day 44: booze-free buzz.

I feel kind of woozy/whizzy. We just had family day at work, and the food on offer included chocolate crackles, fairy bread and fruit drink (with 25% fruit juice! Wow!). Having inhaled all three, my sugar buzz/freak out is such that I have a new respect for small children. How do they stomach so much of the stuff? No wonder they act mental. While imbibing the aforesaid sugary num-nums, a fellow chocolate crackle monster alerted me to another buzz involving boozelessness: Godspeed club night, a monthly alcohol-free shindig in London's Kings Cross, DJed by none other than Boy George. According to the article in Grazia magazine and the club night's promoter 'Fat' Tony Gordon, "Binge drinking is on the way out". Well yuh dudes, I could have told you that, like, 44 days ago. At Godspeed they only serve mocktails, Red Bull, water and guarana drinks (watch out though, guarana can leave you feeling nasty - worse than an alco-hang. Yuck.) And they play rad tunes. Sounds like my kinda place! I wonder how a virgin bar would go down in Oz? (Where's Richard Branson when you need him?). Anyway, being sober is so hot right now (just ask Gwyneth Paltrow). But while you're at it, maybe steer clear of chocolate crackles too. Those things are lethal.

Day 43: best party ever.

Prepare for a sod cottage of irony. Not because the party was bad. It was genuinely one of the best Christmas parties I've attended this season. But wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's start from the beginning. Yesterday evening, in part to forget about the fights of the day (see Day 42) and in part to celebrate a pitch win at work, I attended a Christmas party thrown by our local pub The Aussie Youth (a great name for a drinking hole n'est il pas?). Ironic item one: the publicans threw the party to thank their most loyal and dedicated drinkers, of which, up until 43 days ago, I was one. I was rewarded for my significant patronage with free soft drinks (much appreciated) and a new nickname from the almost inconsolable bar manager: Miss Mineral Water. It has to be said though, the party was ace. Firstly, the company was top notch and everyone was in high spirits (even before they'd sunk any). What's more, one of our favourite and usually far flung girls, surprised us all by turning up fresh off the plane from London (Switzerland? France?). Happiness all round. And then there was a raffle. And then I won. Cue ironic item two: I won a book about the Widow Cliquot, the woman who built and ruled over the Veuve Cliquot empire, and my very own Jenga set, one of the best games ever for pissy parties. (Naturally we broke the Jenga out and played several serious rounds, which proved to be alarmingly entertaining for all involved.) So it kind of breaks down like this: newly teetotal girl goes to party thrown by a pub to thank their most dedicated drinkers. Wins book about booze baroness and a drinking game, on account of the fact she's the only one sober enough to keep track of the raffle tickets. Cool aye. And I had the most genuinely fun and relaxed time socially I have yet had sober. Of course, it could be on account of that one Lemon Lime and Bitters I had (apparently bitters is alcoholic*?!). Or maybe (maybe), I'm just starting to get better at this thing.

P.S. It looks like my band mate doesn't in fact hate me, and that most of the things I was pissed off about were misunderstandings. The show may still go on.

*bitters is highly alcoholic (45%), but the amount put in a Lemon Lime and Bitters is so negligible that it does not, according to the rules (contained in my head), constitute a breach of my year off the piss. Cool? Cool. (I knew you'd understand.)

Day 42: trouble in paradise.

It appears I have hit a patch of trouble. My fellow music project participant is pissed off with me, and I am pissed off with him. The unvoiced tension has already delayed progress by a good two weeks. Now the anger is in the open, it might derail the whole thing. My music projects have been plagued with people problems for the last year, and I'm starting to wonder if I should go it alone. Maybe I'm a monster to work with. Maybe we all just need a break. Does making music really have to be this hard? It doesn't help matters that my other band member is also my best mate (or maybe I’ve fucked that now too). A stiff drink wouldn't go astray around about now.