Peachy and Magpie: Life heroes.

Sunday, 1:30pm. Facebook conversation between Peachy and Magpie.

Peachy: Sometimes, I kind of wish I had fur. Is that weird?

Magpie: Nah, I’ve been there.

Peachy: It would be SO CUDDLY.

Magpie: So soft, and so nice. It would multiply the niceness of cuddling up in a blanket by a factor of like, a million.

Peachy: EXACTLY. You wouldn’t even need a blanket. You would be a blanket, and you could bury your face in YOURSELF, and exist as the purest form of cuddles. You wouldn’t even need a bed.

Magpie: The potential for comfort here is infinite. Every surface would be comfortable. You could curl up and nap, anywhere, anytime, because you would be a living cushion.

Peachy: Pavement? Not anymore: potential nap place. Desk? Pfft. Nap place.

Magpie: Naps, everywhere.

Peachy: I wish I was furry. Evolution can be so cruel.

Magpie: We’ll just have to content ourselves with the fact that clearly, our souls are furry.

Peachy: Yeah, cold and black and twisted and cuddly and furry.

Magpie: We’re complicated human beings.

Can you believe that neither of us is a philosophy major? I sure can.


Touching the Sky(whale)

Where has the year gone, amiright? Almost five months ago, co-blogger Shon wrote this article about The Skywhale, a monstrous multi-mammaried beast in the form of a hot air balloon. As the article explained, the balloon was designed by Patricia Piccinini and commissioned by the ACT government to celebrate Canberra’s 100th Birthday.

Without this becoming a rehash of Shon’s article, which I will link you to once again because it was awesome, behold the beast:


“I have zero desire to kill you in your sleep”

Long story short, late last week, Shon and I MET THE SKYWHALE. IN REAL LIFE.

It was dark, because we were attending Floriade’s Nightfest (a spring festival in Canberra). But Skywhale made an appearance, and we were most irrationally excited. Here are a few eerie dark pics that we managed to snap. Image Image Image Image

While art criticism is more Shon’s area of expertise, I’m gonna throw my two cents in and declare that the Skywhale is damn awesome. It is gloriously conflicting, teetering on the borders of hideous and majestic.  Disgusting and adorable. It’s like a horror movie you can’t look away from. Polarising and brilliant, the Skywhale has become somewhat of a celebrity around these parts.

Lucy: It’s like my dreams and my nightmares are colliding.

So all in all, I think the Skywhale has been a pretty good mascot for the centenary, k(r)illing (haha) any stereotype that paints Canberra as a boring city. A waste of money? Absolutely. Irrelevant to Canberra and its history (though not necessarily its history of terrible public art)? Oh yes. Yet having gazed at her boob-like appendages with our own somewhat widened eyes, we can attest that this enormous, flying monstrosity is anything but dull. Lucy x

Magpie Season.

It’s that time of year again, folks. The time when grown-ass men and women cower on street corners at the mercy of a monochromatic avian terror. It’s magpie season, bitches. In honor of this fact I have decided to share with you my origin story, because the two things are related, believe it or not. Australian magpies are a special kind of crazy. If you come within two kilometres of a nest, you are a threat, and threats get dive bombed, scratched and slashed. They don’t pause to politely ask your intent. Oh no. They swoop first and ask questions later, by which time they have your scalp as a hostage, and you can’t answer their questions because your mouth is full of your own blood. Magpie season directly correlates with a spike in the number of stitches administered in Emergency Departments, as well as a surge in toupee sales. But I digress. Continue reading

My Favourite Place…

In the four wonderful months since Guide to Nothing burst from the womb of intellectual friendship*, I don’t think i’ve done a nice informal blog. I had originally planned this one for a calm Friday night, but alas life has been busy, work has been constant, and my poor prose has been somewhat neglected.

So today, as I sat feeling like a cat-in-a-bath with the amount of things I had to do that I didn’t want to do, I thought “no. I will procrastinate with some good old fashioned blogging.” And I thought “let’s pretend i’m somewhere else, somewhere far away from responsibility and a mammoth stack of inevitable tasks.”

“When is the best time to write a blog post?
When you have a million other things you really ought to be doing.” – GTN

A lot of people have a favourite place. Whether it’s a corner of a cafe or your very own bed, a beach in the Bahamas or a house from your childhood. In general I think there’s a difference between liking somewhere, appreciating its beauty and its significance, and feeling a sort of raw ownership of a place that is ‘yours’. Anyway, I just thought it was an interesting thing to think about because as a migrant, I often feel a conflict between favourite places. Recently I visited the village I grew up in. A lot of places are beautiful. A lot make you feel safe and happy. But there is a raw affinity I feel with two corners of this very big world.

Photographs are the property of and were taken by my very talented sister.

998940_10151779743960295_1524199447_n    1097973_10151779746210295_335480015_n
The first is a river that my sister and I used to play in as kids. The stone of the bridge is covered in lichen and moss, and the hills surrounding are an old rich green. It has a close familiarity. It’s as beautiful in the winter as it is in summer. It reminds me of being young and entirely bare to the sensations of living, the vivid contrast of summer warmth and the gasping relief of sharp, icy water.

The second is an anonymous stream in the elbow of two hills. It’s sheltered by alder trees and if you follow it all the way up, it leads to a small waterfall and then a derelict hut. This place is something out of a fantasy book, but has a modesty that could only belong to its very real surrounds. We once followed it for hours and stumbled upon a farmer with a gun, the very last time we went that far! Nevertheless, it’s one of those places of nostalgia where you feel an exhale of the soul.

I would love it if people would share with me their own favourite places. As i’ve said, it can as modest as your own bed on a rainy night. We share this beautiful world, but some places just feel like your own.

“Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.” -Terry Pratchett

Peachy x

*womb of mutual weirdness etc

A thrilling peek into the lives of Peachy and Magpie, blog extraordinaires.

Text message conversation between Peachy and Magpie, at around the midday mark.

Peachy: I just went back into a lecture theatre to look for my glasses. They were on my face. Any plans for today?

Magpie: Nice. I was going to go to the gym with JimBob,* but I’m really not feeling it.

Peachy: You sure? I thought I saw a flying pig earlier.

Magpie: Pics, or it didn’t happen. My only plan for the day right now is to get me some breakfast. You?

Peachy: I’m going into town later, if you want some fresh air. Going to Centrelink though, so it might be boring.

Magpie: Ew, Centrelink. I dunno, I’ve got four hours of lectures to watch… I’m in.



*Not her real name

How to be Unpopular On An Airplane

As the magnificent Magpie explained, I was unable to fulfill my Monday blog commitments this week because I was “in the air (inside of a plane)”. I have since survived – pause for Peachy Is Back celebration dance – and used part of the not-at-all soul destroying 28 hour journey to conjure a mini rant.

If you’re reading this, the chances are that you’ve flown or will fly at some point in your life. On average, i’ve flown twice a year since I was 14 months old. Why? My parents like to travel. Some kids had the latest gadgets, gizmos and trends, we had budget family holidays that came with priceless memories. But as i’ve grown older, i’ve not only inherited their love of travel but come to hate the shit out of flying. As an antisocial, uncoordinated, and graceless kind of creature, any prolonged period of time spent in a confined space with smelly strangers is pure torture.

Yet i’d like to think that i’m a pretty respectful, efficient and practical passenger, so am constantly baffled by the people who take it upon themselves to poo on everyone elses day. Is it me or do they give the impression of having done research? Is there a list titled “How to Be Unpopular On An Airplane” that a close network of underground life ruiners swear by on the third moon of the harvest before taking to the skies?

I’ve decided to reinvent that list, based on my unfortunate experiences with fellow passengers, with some comedic imaginings thrown in. This could backfire and I will have created a whole flock of people to plague my plane journeys. (Masochist. Was masochist in my list of attributes, too?) But nevertheless, here is a list of fifteen things to do if you want to be extremely hated on your next flight. Who wouldn’t want that? :

Continue reading

You want how many balloons?

Me again, guys. It’s Magpie. Peachy is in the air (inside of a plane) between Wales and the lovely land of Aus. This means two things: I get to do Music Monday two weeks in a row- and you are, by extension, stuck with my eclectic and dubious musical tastes until next week.

So, in consideration of you all, I’ve decided to change how I’m interpreting the “To Die For” theme, to bring you something a little different. Continue reading