I hate most things.

I do not like camping

I do not like bugs

I do not like trekking through the mud

I do not like sleeping in a smelly tent

I do not like falling on cement

I do not like waking with water on my skin

From the ground into the tent, the water leaked in.

I do not like non-stop rain and floods

I do not like needing to wear gloves

I do not like tents pitched on a slope

I can smell the hippies smoking dope

I am glad I left, I am glad I fleed

Camping is foul, it is not for me.

I am about to pack everything into my car. My books, ID, money, some clothing, gum-boots (it hasn't stopped raining for a week), my guitar and my favourite CDs, because I am about to hit the road.


There is a Folk Festival at the end of a two hour drive North, one that I shall be spending the next week at, surrounded by old friends and amazing and creative strangers.


Here are some pictures from on the way to Peachester last week.

When the parents are away

There is a low, almost white noise coming from the adjoining room. The laughing of the people, the sound of the television program, the music of the birds in the distance all blend together to create the soundtrack of today.

Today will not be amazing.

This little fact is almost set in stone, as last night, sorry, yesterday in general, was completely tremendous.

I'm currently in a little country town, away from Brisbane, staying with some friends from work. Crystal's parents are away, so the kids came out to play.
Every day has been lovely, but last night was just magical.
We sat around an old table, playing cards on the back porch as the sun sank behind the horizon.

Everything I said was heard, my ideas counted, my jokes were funny.

Then without any warning a thunderstorm broke out. It consumed the atmosphere; everything became a part of this incredible, energising storm. If it were a painting, it would be shades of grey with flecks of the rainbow in the grass, peices of kaleidoscope in the air.

So we burnt candles and watched the rain take over the sky.
Red Socks put his fingers in the melting candlewax and made "weird wax fingertip things" which he thought was hilarious.

I went inside, after a long day of (sleeping.) our stomachs were rumbling and a steaming pot of Dahl was on the menu. I cooked it for people who live on Mi Goreng and microwave meals and... they LIKED the dahl!! Success! Nothing is more important than impressing people with cooking abilities.

The storm died down, we continued playing Frustration, cracking open a bottle of "cheap'n' nasty" (actually. I thought it was really nice) champaigne.

Note to everyone: Next time you crack open the bottle of "cheap'n'nasty" champaigne, add some frozen strawberries and a peice of ice. This will a) make your drink prettier and /almost/ negate the "cheap'n'nasty" element. b) make you appear sophisticated c) create a swell beverage.

The game continued and I spied with my beady eyes the "weird wax fingertip things" on the table. I then decided that the only thing more hilarious than "weird wax fingertip things" is melting things. So you can guess what I did then. I tried to melt one, which was difficult since Red Socks protected them like they were his pride and joy. About half an hour later I saw an opportunity and... I melted one of them. Red Socks didn't seem to care since he said "I don't care! You can put that in your pipe and smoke it!".

After the game finished we played Marco Polo in the dark. The weather had transformed and the air was warm, the water inviting.

It became obvious that the house behind Crystal's needed to be spied on. Lights were moving around, there was possibly a party taking place. The game of Marco Polo was over.
Well, it was time for me to take one for the team. And since I am, in fact, a highly regarded spy, famous actually... in the spy world, I stepped up. But not without trusty Red Socks.

We scrambled over the fence (which I'll admit, was something of a challenge for me since I am barely 5"2 and the Fence was almost 5". But we made it. Landing on enemy turf was just the beginning of the adventures. I am tired. Two nights in a row of 0.00 sleep is tiring.



Last night was a hard act to follow. But now that I think about it, the kiss technically happened this morning. Therefore today is amazing.

The girl who didn't dream of the 'roons

I lied. I am not overcome with thoughts of macarons twenty-four hours a day. I don't wake up and see them floating around my room before my eyes adjust to the light.

In fact, I've only ever had one.

It was at work, the lights were bright, my stomache was rumbling and I had spied the pretty lovelies on the interwebz many a time in the recent history. They were amazing looking. Anyone who ate macarons were magically transported to the pretty world of "Paris-and-NewYork-and-London-in-a-time-that-was-picturesque-and-movielike." This was my favourite place in the world. Flickr knew about this place. So did many of the folk on Blogger. (Eh, eh ; )

So I was determined to eat a macaron and join this magical world.

I was clearing trays of goodies from the tables at work when I laid eyes on the leftover macaron. It was pink. I looked around, all was clear so I ate it.

I wasn't transported to the delightfully filmish world. But here are some pictures other folk have taken of it.

Pretty french sweets

Lately, these little dears have been on my mind....

I hear that I am meant to ask questions... Aparently my lack of doing so is the reason people don't like my blog :) So here is a question, eh?

What has been on your mind, lately? Not macarons, surely!?

Please Stay in the Picture Frame

Lovecats Dance, Boots Prance.

See the boots. I want these boots, in all their fiendish glory. Aren't they just darling? They most certainly are. I realised a new problem today when I was shopping in town with mother. That problem is this one: "Lief can not shop properly unless online".

So, it seems I am overwhelmed by the racks and racks of clothing mixed with the store decor that I just cannot see anything that singularly jumps out at me; it all melds together to form a mass of random.

Online/TV shopping is so much easier than window-shopping. I might see these brillig booties in a shop window and NOT EVEN REALISE THEIR AWESOMENESS. All because of my shopping anxiety issue. Lame, eh?

I think I will buy these boots, as they are my size and I only bought one pair of shoes tonight and those were "for work" and all.

I think I should introduce myself. I'm not really called Lief, (Ly-eff) but that name is of a more "adventure novel" nature than my own unfortunate title. So it shall do.

I'm falling asleep. I'll finish some other time, kids.

Lief does sleep. But her dreams are full of whim.