It’s Raspberry Season in Wearne. Which means meandering through the garden and picking the sweet berries as you go. It means pink fingertips and seeds between teeth. It means raspberry and apple crumbles and it means sweet little mouthfuls of goodness. I didn’t know that spring would be as sweet as this.

It also meant that I could make Jam! Something I’d been meaning to do for ages, but never had the chance. So out I went in my pair of gummies, and I spent half an hour in the garden picking and eating raspberries. Making jam is very, very simple. Ridiculously simple. You take a tablespoon of water, one part berries, and an equal part of jam sugar and put them all in a pot. And then you heat it, and leave it. Literally as easy as that.

When you scoop out a bit onto a room temperature plate and you can turn the plate upside down without the jam moving, it’s officially jam! Good for putting in a jar + eating.

Yay! Number 113, done!

So, I’ve done it. I have an NI number, which was easier to wrangle than I thought it would be. I have a job, where I work with people from all around Europe. I have a place, which is cute + cosy and in a very London part of the world. I catch the tube an awful lot (and have been squished and pushed and prodded as more people try squeeze onto the train) and I meet people in bars for cocktails. I’ve learnt to ignore pub food completely, and that any night of the week there is a happy gig happening somewhere to dance around to. I’ve stumbled upon Space Invader pieces and am trying really hard to like baked beans + mushy peas.

I walk the streets often, and past landmarks like Big Ben and the London Eye, like The Gherkin and the British Museum. I don’t use the red phone booths, but I do use occasionally the big red double decker buses. I mock the chav accent because it grates on my ears, in a similar manner to the rough Australian outback accent does. I’ve celebrated Pancake Day (a day in which I ate nothing but pancakes. What a great day!), and I’ll use this amazing city as a hub for more amazing travel (Italy! France!) and when the Royal Wedding happens I’m more than keen to take that day off and raise a toast to the happy couple.

I’ve been caught out on a number occasions for my use of the words pants instead of trousers, or jandals instead of flip flops, and I have worked out which of the laundry degerant I like and which I do not. I’ve learnt not to drink the water straight from the tap, and how to use those weird low-flow water heater shower contraptions. I own an oyster card + can walk through a busy crowd (mostly) unmolested. I’m getting better at understanding different accents, and refraining from throwing myself at boys with Irish ones.

I’ve done it, you guys. I travelled 18800 kilometres away from home, and moved myself to London.

Photo note: This is by far my most favourite London Touristy shot. It’s not even anywhere, really. It was taken outside Somerset House, when The Fourth Quarter + I were trying to walk along the river and got ourselves lost. I do have touristy photos of Big Ben, the London Eye, and St Pauls but none quite capture my London tourist experience like this one.

The List, Number 5 – done!

Last year me and Heidi (from Stress Sponge) had lots and lots of discussions about ink. We agreed that as ‘Get a tattoo’ was on both our lists, we should do it together. It made me a little more brave about getting inked up.

I knew wanted something small, something that felt quite frivolous. I didn’t want there to be this big cliché behind my ink. There wasn’t going to be some big story about how much it meant to me, about how it reminded me to be young or old, or less/more responsible, or about how its dedicated to someone I love. (It’s entirely possible I’ve spent way too much time on Fuck yeah, Tattoos!) I wasn’t going to have any of that melodramatic anything behind my ink. It was something for me.

Originally I found a small little elephant that I liked. A sketch. I promptly put wings on him, printed him out, and put him everywhere. He was on my desk at work, on my bedroom mirror at home, in all the bathrooms I’d ever visited on a regular basis. I carried him around in my wallet, too. And for six months I looked at him. And I looked and I looked. And after a while I just kind of saw through him.

And then I came across John Tenniel’s Mad Hatter. And I fell head over heels, and I completely forgot about my little elephant with wings. My mad hatter just felt right. A few months later (with my ‘Move to London’ flight getting closer and closer) Heidi + I organised a consultation appointment with brilliant Emma from Demographics. A friend of ours had recommended her, and I felt much more comfortable with a recommendation than picking an artist at random.

When I agreed to the consultation, I’d forgotten completely that it would be the day after I had my wisdoms out. This meant I was high as a kite on all sorts of lovely drugs. So when Emma asked if I’d get him done now, right this very minute, I said yes.

And then I got him inked. Right then + there, just above my left ankle.

He’s cute, right? Getting tattooed wasn’t as bad as thought it would be. But then, high as a kite and all that. It was a bit like being scratched over and over.

Heidi got hers a few weeks later, and I made the mad drive over from the shore to be there. A cute little something that suited her wonderfully.

So yes. Number 8 on The List. Done!

I flew into Pisa, and I had two hours before I needed to be Pisa Centrale to catch a crazy long train trip to little Chiusi Chianciano. Which meant that I had just enough time to catch a bus out to Piazza dei Miracoli, otherwise known as the Square of Miracles. It’s pretty brilliant, filled with many amazing buildings (like the Duomo Cathedral, a bell tower (which I think is called Campanil? Campanile?) and a few other amazing buildings which look pretty, but I can’t remember what they are called right at this moment.) There’s also the Leaning Tower of Pisa:

That little green blob is me.

It wasn’t quite as tall as I thought it would be. It’s something like 56 metres tall on the tallest side. Still, it was a pretty amazing place to be. I didn’t go up (I didn’t fancy walking up carrying all my gear) but I did listen in on a few tours at the bottom. Apparently Galileo threw two cannonballs of different sizes from the top, to show that they’d get to the bottom at the same time despite being different sizes. It’s only really confirmed by his secretary, which apparently isn’t credit enough. Still, they have a plaque in his honour, which is quite cool.

Sadly, I was super conscious about what would happen if I’d missed even one of my connections (possibly being stuck an any one of the many little italian towns between me + my destination), so I high tailed it to see the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and the whole time there I was torn between leaving + seeing what I was there to see. Made for some quite anxious viewing. Next time I’d like to have a bit more time. Still, mostly I was glad to see the tower at all!

Number 58 – Done! Yeah!

Today* I went Paragliding. Over the French Alps. And it was PHENOMENAL. Positively one of the best 12 minutes I’ve ever spent. I wish it had been longer.

I rode up the lift (Roche de Mio) to meet a French Man: Phillipe, was his name. He had a lovely french accent, and a brilliant french attitude. I didn’t know what to expect, really. There was alot of talking, but in French. He spread out a gorgeous red, blue and white parachute behind us (which reminded me alot of when I went to watch Rob + John go Kitesurfing). He clipped me into a harness, and then clipped himself on.

We stood on the edge of a cliff, we did. I was nervous, we were up quite high (2739m above sea level). I was shaking a bit, looking over the edge, and I could feel the adrenline kicking in.

And then, quite suddenly, Phillipe told me to run. I wasn’t expecting this, because there was less than a metre between me and the cliff. I guess that was the point, but he did have to tell me twice. I pushed off, put my left foot down on the snow, and then my right foot hit nothing but air. And then we were soaring.

Literally, miles and miles above the world. The people became smaller than ants, the cable cars became thumb size, and oh how we flew!! Around in circles, close to the cliffs, over drops and valleys, with the wind whistling by, freezing my exposed cheeks (till I was clever enough to pull up my mask), fast and cold and brilliant.

All too soon we were over Belle Plagne, swirling around in circles, the same way birds do. And all too soon Phillipe was telling me to run in the air, and before I knew it my feet were back on the snow.

It was phenomenal, a giant rush, and I was on such a high the rest of the day. Brilliant.

Number 108 – Done!

* When I wrote this it was today. When I posted it it was not today.