The Great Escape

My title is a little cheeky given my home is nothing like a German POW camp, and I’m definitely not Steve McQueen. The fact remains though that living in my house is often like being in a camp (just ask about the food!), my kids behave like prisoners, and we do go to war. That escape is needed is a given. There’s even a motorbike in the carport to speed me on my passage, if I had a clue how to ride a 1000cc piece of metal.

You can see the resemblance, right?

You can see the resemblance, right?

Not so long ago, I did it. Flew the coop, jumped the razor fence, hit the road and got the hell out of dodge. I flew to Brisvegas for the inaugural Convention of the Loungers. In attendance were Rachel the Very Inappropriate Blogess the I, Sarah from Slapdashery (this is something for all of you young folk to aspire to, if, like me, you’ve stepped back in time to watch the hogwashy-twaddle of Mr Selfridge on TV);  and yours truly, Falling all the way north on my Face.

How do you escape? Do you stare down the barrel of a wine bottle, strap on your goggles, and giggle at the idiocy of everyone around you? (It’s not YOU, it’s THEM). Do you lie prone in the grass making cloud shapes into rabbits or hot-torsoed men? Or do you actually get moving, and exercise for escape, or run away to freedom like me, exercising your non-Constitutional right to bear trashy reading material in an airport Lounge?

This is The Lounge. So I’ll tell you the tale of the Lounge Convention. It was … conventional? Let’s stick with ‘Loungey’. And I’ll only recount the tale in part, because we all know the rule. What goes on tour, means I’d have to kill you if you stand next to me while I snore and talk in my sleep.

Worshipping at the altar of Kamahl.

Worshipping at the altar of Kamahl.

What is more conventional is my approach to hotels. Every hotel has its quirks. Every Kim has her quirks. They must be dealt with methodically. The steps (for hotels) are as follows. I’ll leave the management of Kims up to you.

Step 1: Look in all the rooms

Step 2: Look in all the cupboards. Look in the fridge

Step 3: Deposit my vastly superior tea (yes TEA SNOB I AM) near the kettle, stashed in snaplock bags from home. Don’t judge. You’ll be wanting some and I won’t share if you’re mean.

Step 4: Read ‘The Book’. No not the bible. They’re all the same. The hotel one. What if, one day, I stumble into a freakish hotel that has a happy hour or free drinks and I MISS OUT because I didn’t READ THE BOOK?

Step 5: Choose my imaginary dinner from the room service menu

Step 6: Scoff at the mini-bar prices. As if you’d pay THAT much for a Mars Bar.

Step 6: Open mini-bar again and gaze wistfully at the little bottles. Picture myself glugging them with gay abandon on beds like they do in movies. Drink some wine.

Step 7: Drink more wine. Paint toenails. Spill nailpolish. Scream

Step 8: Lie on bed like a starfish. Jump on bed like a starfish.

Step 9: More wine. Buy Mars Bar from minibar. Vow to replace it from 7-11. Forget.

What? Anally-retentive control freak? Pah. I spit on your laissez-faire attitude to dropping your bags and going out for dinner. You could be missing out on a cornered toilet roll.

In any case, Rachel and Sarah soon arrived to relieve me from my relentless pursuit of being me, and we were OFF and running.

 

Hipsters? Oh yes, Brisbane has hipsters. Let us take you on a magical mystery tour…

Hipsters? Oh yes, Brisbane has hipsters. Let us take you on a magical mystery tour…

Girls’ weekends. That’s escape in a nutshell (if a nutshell has beds and a lot of wine inside). It’s possible there was some dinner, a ridiculous amount of hipsters missing from Melbourne, a waitress in a bunker looking like Minnie Mouse who snarled, a dearth of teapots, OPI black polish all over a table, some quilts, a migraine, a few hangovers, a Cooker and a Looker (MWAH Amanda!), a Southbank cider reviver, a tequila (WOW!) a taco (WOW!) and a stupid amount of laughing and FALLING OVER WHILE SOBER. But also, possibly not. Cos, remember, tour rules.

Rachel and Sarah, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. When you first arrived, other than your voices, everything about you felt instantly familiar. You don’t judge. You listen. We understand each others’ brains. Your hearts are enormous. You are both true, wonderful friends. That’s what blogging is for. Friendship, escape.

 

16 thoughts on “The Great Escape

  1. Pingback: The Very Inappropriate Blog

    • Yeah – something about paying $25 for a burger to be eaten in bed doesn’t really do it for me, for some reason… It’s a GREAT source of entertainment though.

    • I KNEW there was something I was looking for! Your jaffle iron. I will find it one day, and send it home. I will even include a bonus cheese and ham sandwich, ready to be-jaffle.

  2. Yes well. I guess I could tell you about the time Viggo Mortensen rolled up to Chez Abs in an open top Mercedes and whisked me up the coast for the weekend…. Cue many a cliched hotel montage….
    mumabulous recently posted…Mall RatMy Profile

  3. I do enjoy Brisneyland, great place to hang out.

    I also really REALLY like that you take your own tea! I do the same thing. I even take my own tea to work. Actually, I get my Mam to send me it over from England whenever I get close to running out because it’s hard to find Yorkshire Tea in Australia! The one time it did appear in the local supermarket I bought it all!
    Alex recently posted…Mini Mad DadMy Profile

    • Alex I’ve done the exact same thing! I have a friend who lives in Yorkshire and she used to send me Yorkshire tea until I found it in my local Woolies. If you get stuck though, try Twinings Assam Bold. It’s the only strong tea I’ve found. It’s not Yorkshire tea, but it’s the only one where two teabags are not required! :)

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