Happiness, or; Francesca goes all preacy

Warning: this blog post contains opinions that you may disagree with. I've been debating whether or not to publish this for a while, but here we go. It's not about my adventures, but hopefully you'll enjoy reading it. Apparently the best writing provokes a reaction; I just hope your reaction isn't 'oh my god, what a crock of shit'.

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People keep telling me how lucky I am. That good things just seem to happen to me whether they're getting to come to Australia, finding a wonderful flat or finally getting to start my dream career over this summer.

But in my opinion luck has nothing to do with this. I'm a positive person, something that was half a conscious decision, having spent most of my teenage years feeling pretty fucking sad, and half a realisation.

A string of things happening that seemed like bad luck - not getting a job I desperately needed, not getting a role I really wanted in a play, being too poor to hire a care to get to a job interview - resulted in my getting a job in London and consequently moving there. If any of those things that I wanted so badly at the time had happened, I would still in all probability be living in Tamworth; trust me, London is better.

Even hating my old job so much proved to be a blessing - if I had even felt like I liked it even a little bit would I have made the decision to come out here on such short notice? If I'd got the first flat I wanted in London - and I really, really wanted it - I would never have moved into The Manor or Plush Towers and met some of the most amazing people I know, people that I literally can't comprehend not having in my life.

Even in Melbourne - if we'd found a place to live and I'd liked my job there is no way I'd be typing this in my gorgeous little granny flat, getting to spend my 3 month 'rural work' having brilliant fun with three amazing kids a really short drive from my Mum. I'd be looking for a job in desperation, probably ending up picking sweet potatoes and living in a dingy outback backpackers. If my job in Tully hadn't fallen through I wouldn't have ended up living in Mission Beach...the list is endless.

In short, you never know how something that seems crappy right now could result in something brilliant happening further down the line. So stop worrying - if it's happened then it's happened, work through it and move on to the next adventure.

A few weeks ago someone said to me: "Isn't it exhausting being so happy all the time?"

What a stupid, stupid thing to say. What makes you feel more tired in the mornings? Waking up with a smile and deciding to try and be happy, or having the mindset that at some point in the next 16 hours something's going to happen to screw you over or piss you off? Happiness is a self fulfilling prophecy, assume the worst and it's probably going to happen.

I'm not lucky, I just throw myself into things and hope for the best. You don't get your dream job without applying for it, and you won't travel unless you work hard to get wherever it is you want to go. If you concentrate on the good things in your life, and don't worry about the shit ones then you're going to seem pretty lucky too - because you're reinforcing the positives and pretty much ignoring the negatives. Talk about the great things that happen and it's going to look and feel like lady luck is on your side.

And if something is making you miserable but it's within the realms of change then, for god's sake, change it. Don't moan about having a big arse while eating a cake, or hating your job if you can find another. I did exactly this - spending half my life whinging about being poor without ever actually sitting down and sorting out my finances. If I'd bothered to be sensible and bring food to work then would I have spent £3 on breakfast and £7 on lunch every day? Nope. If I'd worked out, and stuck to, a weekly budget would I be left living on £100 for the two weeks until payday? Nope. And would I have been hundreds of pounds better off a month? Yep. I wish I could go back two years and give myself a massive 'stop-fucking-moaning-and-sort-it-out' slap.

Elizabeth Gilbert, being a professional and award winning writer, puts it pretty well here:

"People universally think that happiness is a stroke of luck, something that will maybe descend on you like fine weather if you're fortunate enough. But that's not how happiness works. Happiness is the consequence of personal effort. You fight for it, strive for it, insist upon it...You have to participate relentlessly in the manifestations of your own blessings. And once you have achieved a state of happiness, you must never become lax about maintaining it. You must make a mighty effort to keep swimming upward into that happiness forever, to stay afloat on top of it."

I'm sorry if this is annoying you, but I wanted to share my thoughts on my new motto. It might not work for everyone, but it works for me; having experienced a lot of irritating negativity lately I sincerely felt the need to vent on this subject. Trust me, misery is just as infectious as laughter.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not floating around on a little cloud, all serene and content. Things piss me off, and lord knows I love a good moan - who doesn't? But don't let the crap dictate your mood and life, decide to shrug it off and keep on smiling. If you can't change something then have a good rant and move on.

Someone once said/I read somewhere/it was quoted on QI that life is a mirror and it reflects back at you. It's up to you to decide whether or not to frown or smile.

In conclusion:

Perhaps I'm being young and naive (read: definitely) but it works for me. And I've been a lot happier since I actively decided to be a lot happier. I imagine that when I'm back inside the bubble of 'real life' it'll be a more difficult philosophy to remember, which is partly why I'm writing this. It's way easier to smile on beach in the sun than it is at 8am crammed into a tube carriage.

Hopefully I won't forget to take my own advice; feel free to remind me of this at a later date. I'm sure you'll all take pleasure in doing so :)

Peace x

FAQ Part 2

So yeah, I'm coming back. I think it’s time for another FAQ, don’t you?

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Hang on, so you’re going back to the UK?

Indeed, and it makes me wish for a Ryanair trans continent equivalent. Man, it’s expensive.

How long are you back for?

Just under eight weeks. I'll be escaping the cold (cough cough) Australian winter.

Whyyyy? Don’t you like Australia?

I do. And even though I’ve been way more homesick than I thought I’d be (sometimes I literally feel winded by happy memories) I am having a brilliant time. Seriously. Clearly I thrive in an environment where I have almost no responsibility. Shocking.

So…whyyyy?

Well, as you all know I wasn’t exactly happy in my job back home. And as much as I’d love to work in theatre I couldn’t cope with being 30 and only on a pitiful wage. God knows if I’ll ever want kids, but I’d hate to not be able to afford one. Or a deposit on a house. Or nice food and be forced to subsist on only pesto pasta until I become part basil, part pine nut.

Those of you who know me are aware that I have what my old teacher called ‘the gift of the gab’, I can turn a phrase quite nicely on occasion and I honed my powers of persuasion on friends at uni who tried to study when I wanted to drink. Basically I'd like to combine (what are I hope are) my natural skills with my passions, and that's lead me to entertainment PR.

I'm going to be working for my lovely friend Flick Morris at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, helping her look after a client base. One of the great things about this is that I was a huge fan of most of the acts beforehand anyway, and have probably forced some of you to see them after I'd enjoyed their performances. It's a natural progression really.

I'll use my time at the Fringe to get experience and network, hopefully leading to me doing something similar with the rest of my time in Australia. It'll also mean there's something on my CV for when I get back. The fear of starting from complete scratch will be gone.

When are you back?

I land at Gatwick on the 19th July (I’m expecting banners, ballons, confetti etc ready for my arrival) and leave from Heathrow on the 11th September.

What's the plan, Stan?

I land late on the Thursday so I'll sleep and force myself to wake up at a reasonable time. I'm hoping that Friday will consist of being reunited with my favourite London people and places. That gives me the weekend to get over my jet lag ready to work on the Monday. I'll head to Tamworth the following weekend then hop on a train to Edinburgh around the 29th. Obviously August will be spent in Scotland, then I'll have a few days in Tamworth, a few more in London, a weekend on the Isle of Wight (Oh yes, Bestival. Who's in?) then back to Aus. Eight weeks, seems a lot; isn't really.

Hurrah! I get to see your face!

Hurrah! You do! And my face will be tanned!

Disclaimer: I will be busy, so please book in advance

A Tale of Two Cities

One again, I've been neglectful. Moving cities, job and flat hunting and having to write my column have taken up time. But here we go, I'm utilizing my lunch break well. I'm blogging.

Basically I've spent the last few weeks in two different cities. Rather than give you a run down of my daily activities, I'm going to reflect on how I feel about them. There's a huge rivalry between Sydney and Melbourne; I've definitely chosen my side.

Sydney

Now this is a strange one. To explain I’ll take you back to 2006 when I was an excited A Level student doing the round of Uni open days.

I was utterly convinced that I wanted a city University, more specifically that I wanted Sheffield. Having gorged myself on their promotional material, heard stories from friends and relatives studying there, and done a fair bit of research myself I just knew that Sheffield University was where I wanted to be. Two of the six spots on my UCAS form were for courses there; I hardly bothered wondering about the others. Lancaster was number six, after a family friend recommended the place.

Pah, thought I, what need of other options when my heart belongs to the Steel City?

Hmm. That taught me to have opinions of a place before I visited. Mum and I (because of course I need my Mum’s input) stayed for little over an hour. From the moment we arrived I just didn’t…well, feel it I guess. Rather than feeling like I was coming home (as I later did when visiting Lancaster), I felt like a visitor. Someone staying for a day, not three years.

Fast forward to last summer, me planning my trip to Australia. It was a given that I would like Sydney, how could I not? It’s a city with a beach for God’s sake. With absolute certainty, a good chunk of my time would be spent there. Sydney would be my new home, the mistress to my London wife.

However, when it came to it, Sydney just didn’t do it for me. No offence to the city and its inhabitants (I get incensed when people slag off London) but, much like Sheffield seven years previously (seven? Christ.), I just didn’t ‘feel’ it. I felt like I could be anywhere, that there was no uniqueness about the place. It lacked soul. Yes, it has some nice buildings and a pretty awesome bridge, but it lacked the magic of other cities that I love. It’s hard to properly articulate something that feels intuitive, but Sydney and I just didn’t click.

That’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy my time there, I had two great nights out and loved being a tourist. Who doesn’t get a thrill seeing a famous landmark in the flesh for the first time? I swear my spine still shivers at the view from Waterloo Bridge. But as for spending a considerable amount of time there? I don’t know if I could. Even the beaches didn’t draw me in. I’ve obviously been spoiled by the natural splendour of Cornwall; I hate sharing my waves with others and crossing concrete before I hit sand.

Verdict: Sydney is a great city, but I've been to better. A 'weekend away' location, not a home.

Melbourne

As for Melbourne? Pah, why would I go there? It’s the coldest place in Australia, and does it have a giant bridge and iconic Opera house? No, it doesn’t. When I heard about people staying there for months on end I shook my head and wondered.

I've really got to stop passing judgement places before I visit, because once again I've got it wrong.

By all rights I should hate Melbourne. Other than a few days the weather has been terrible, and the novelty of needing a jumper wore off after, ooo, about an hour. We've also had a nightmare finding accommodation; our plans of finding a flat to rent were given up on after seeing dump after dump, all with huge deposits. However hostel living hasn't been easy thanks to a combination of festivals, a bank holiday and the grand prix. Everywhere is booked up, even the huge seven floor hostels. So far we've stayed in Discovery (seven nights, one room move), Nomads (two nights, both in different rooms), Flinders Station backpackers (two nights, didn't have a record of our booking when we checked in) and Habitat HQ (require payment up front, meaning we either live on $70 for this week or risk being homeless/moving again after Sunday). The city is also unbelievably expensive, and I've torn through the last of my Mission Beach savings at an unbelievable rate.

Basically I'm in an abusive relationship with Melbourne. It's taken my money, rained on me and threatened me with living on the streets yet I want to stay here - I love this city. I really do.

There is culture hiding everywhere, bands busking on street corners and moving sculptures in squares. Tiny cafes serving beautiful coffee adorn every street and entire areas are filled with incredible 'uncommissioned art'. People smile, there is a sunken library in the street with no explanation whatsoever and you can go to a pub quiz and meet Karl Kennedy. Sure, St Kilda beach probably has more needles in it than is strictly healthy, but every night after dark you can walk to the end of the pier and watch the world's smallest penguins come home from a hard days fishing in the bay.

I have a sales job working for Pearson Education; even though I hate being back in a corporate environment the fact that today I got off the bus a few stops early to walk along the Esplanade in the pleasantly warm sun made everything better.

Melbourne is basically a miniature London with beaches; while I can't quite give my heart away (it will always belong to the UK capital) it's certainly softening the withdrawal symptoms.

Perhaps I'll feel differently in a week. If the weather turns worse and the office blues kick in I might like it a bit less. But right now? I can't wait to get paid and start exploring properly.

Verdict: The beginnings of a beautiful friendship.