The game's out there, and it's play or get played (a love letter.. )

Dear The Wire,

I realise we haven't known each other for long, probably a good 6-10 months at best, and I know this may be slightly premature, but I just wanted to put it out there and tell you something that may come as a surprise. It may be foolish, especially as our relationship still has about ten hours to go before we reach our natural end, but I feel the time is right. I have seen enough and know enough about you to reach a forgone conclusion: I love you. A serious statement I know, and one I have mulled over continously on bus rides, over Lupe Fiasco playlists and while having conversations about the state of society, American culture, drugs, gun violence and lots of bad things that happen in the world (granted, the last thing doesn't happen too often these days but I'm almost positive that if I could speak in an intellectual manner while drunk on Jager that these are the subjects I would broach).

And I think that I really mean it.

It is so difficult these days to find somebody like you: somebody that is so thought-provoking, intelligent and somebody that doesn't dumb down for an audience and most importantly, doesn't talk down to us. Somebody that always has something to say, but isn't arrogant or too sure of themselves, too caught up in their own hype and the overbearing compliments that go hand-in-hand with being so totally brilliant. I realised this today, as the thought of us parting becomes so unbearable. I don't even know how long we have left together, 9-10 hours at best. And then it is finished. All that will be left is memories rehashed, old quotes and scenarios that may get played over in my mind. I want to reach the end more than anything, I want to see if you live up to expectations and the overblown compliments you receive. If it truly is this great ending everybody says it is, if everything can duly be wrapped up (if it ever could be, which I know it can't..) if the ending is satisfing enough to know there will be no more. I won't lie to you, I worry.

It is types like you that make me wish I could do something as big of as an achievement as your creation. If I could write scripts and stories, and if I had the adequate resources to go and do painstaking research, I would want to be like yours. If I could characterise so perfectly the flaws and paradoxes of human nature, I would endeavour to be like you. If I could sum up the fragmentation of a broken and corrupt society and the lost fight that people face everyday in a world of drugs and guns and violence, I sure would want to do it like you. If right now I owned you on DVD and could play out the remaining ten hours we have left and then go straight to work and work all night knowing we were all done, all over, I would do it. I can't, but know I would if I could.

Truth is, I've had feelings like this before. Albeit not on the same scale, but I have had a few lustful and longing trysts. Lost will always have a very special place in my heart, one that has been going for years and we still have unfinished business. But don't be jealous, you are on very different scales and you will always trump. Rest assured.

Today, I indulged in some 5.02 with you and you brought me the return of Avon, just for a few precious minutes. I could feel how close we are to the end; you are destroying boundaries and rules: Avon and Marlowe, Bunk and McNulty, the FBI (!)... and I can barely tear my eyes away. In all seriousness, I don't think I have the spunk or the ferocity to go off and try and help in a situation I think is completely redundant. The problems that you highlight in American culture and society are ones I find really fascinating and are ones that I'm sure make other people think I'm a massive sad act and grade A dork. It's why I always wanted to travel North America first: there's something about it that makes my ears prick up and take an interest and that is no mean feat.

I don't know where the rest of our road together will take us, but know this: at this moment in time, in my eyes at least, you are about as flawless as a TV programme can ever be.

Always,
Francesca.






















P.S. The pictures are for pretty-purposes only, and to draw attention to two of the most KICK-ASS moments in the game so far.. dare you to disagree.

Anything to declare? Yeah. Don't go to England.

Boy, do I know how to neglect a blog. It has been approximately 49 days since I last posted something that I like to think was intelligible but possibly nondescript writing and I think it is high time I rectified my quite frankly shocking attempt at updating you home folk on what the fuck is going on in my life.

1. My name has informally been changed to Frankie. It wasn't my choice, it just happened. I remember one sunny day in Cardiff (I may be exaggerating for dramatic purposes) Guy told me I was going to be like one of those Tourism Australia adverts: "She left Fran. She came back Francesca." That has happened. Just my name sounds more like a pet, small child or yappy boxer.

2. I quit work experience. To cut a long story short to spare you, I had been working my arse off in two jobs for two months and I was beginning to blame something I love for how tired I had become. I looked in the mirror and I couldn't even see that I looked like a haggard bitch because I had hollows where my eyes used to be. It was a blessing in diguise, all the more time for Jagermeister.

3. Jagermeister. My new frenemy. This thing happens when I drink it that can only be described as common sense blackouts.

4. I moved house. It's a sweet fucking deal.

5. I have a camera. That's exciting. Except all I do is take photos of us blind drunk instead of photos of the pretty city I live in. Every so often I get a big excitable splurge of energy (one such splurge happened tonight while I was flicking through an Australia book - "Ohmigod, what even is a Chinese Friendship Garden? Wait a second, I haven't even been to the Botanic Gardens yet...hey, you can do a walk from Hyde Park to Circular Quay through them... I am so totally doing that! Next week on my day off, definitely!") where I think I am going to go on fun day trips. I am almost certain this will happen some time soon, when I am not nursing a disgusting hangover of epic proportions and can barely go outside for fear of vomiting over strangers.

6. HEAT. HEAT. HEAT. Christ almighty, I nearly had a heart attack on Melbourne Cup day. Melbourne Cup is the like Grand National, except all the Australians go fucking bonkers and get fucked up. It's dubbed 'The Race that Stops the Nation'. Give me a break. Anyway, I had to start work at 10am and as I am notoriously bad at getting up I set about 1,053,490 alarms. I woke up at some point, panic stricken because it was so hot it felt like it was about 1pm. I consequently flew out of bed in a mad, sleepy haze, scrambling to get ready. I then decided to check the clock. It was 7.30. AM. And it was boiling. And I wasn't impressed. I spent the rest of the day sweating profusely and complaining about the fact my hair was sticking to my head in an unflattering fashion and my face decided to melt off. Since this day, we have had a few days of 41 degree heat. Sometimes I forget this and go out in jumpers and leggings. Needless to say, there is room for adjustment.

7. I am actually genuinely starting to like bartending. There is not even a hint of irony or sarcasm in that statement. It's true. Go figure.

8. I leave Sydney in one month for Perth. It is going to be an approximately 5,442km trip. We have a car and a new buddy joining us. It's actually getting real. I'm still shitting bricks I won't be able to afford it and I'll have to cut it short, but I am prepared to be at one with nature, sleep under the stars and slaughter kangaroos to stay on the road because I can't fucking wait.

9. I think I'm going to come back to Sydney when the six weeks are up. Originally I was going to carry on up WA but I definitely will be out of funds by this point. Which means, new job, new living arrangements, new pals, and another transition period. Not sure I want to do all that again when I quite bum Sydney already. I figure New Zealand will be another big transition so as long as I get to see everywhere I want to see while I'm in Australia then I am all good to come back. It's quite a nice feeling.

10. I've been gone 5 and a half months. 6 and a half in Australia to go. It feels like forever but like two weeks at the same time. I got excited today when we went to Cris' new house because there was a British pound on the floor. That is how removed I feel from the UK. When I spoke to my Mum a few weeks back I said about two words to her and she instantly went "What's happened to your accent?". I have since been extremely self-concious and try and sound more British than normal to over-compensate. I will never say things like 'heaps', and I'm trying not to say 'no worries' or 'pash'. If I come back with even a twinge of an accent, I give somebody, not fussy who, permission to backhand me. Hard.

11. I applied for my NZ visa eligibility and I'm all good to apply. Whey-o. Still figuring I'm going to head over for a ski season when my Australian visa runs out in June. Because, by this point, I should get all my tax back and be rich beyond my wildest dreams. Know why? Because Australia is taxing the absolute SHIT out of me. When I begin to complain I have to remind myself that I GET IT ALL BACK. EVERY CENT. IN YOUR FACE TAXATION OFFICE.

12. Is it wrong that I fancy Matt Damon a little bit?

13. I dyed my hair again. As luck would have it, as soon as I did it I started pining for my light brown, sun-has-made-it-go-retarded locks. As more luck would have it, Australia is pretty fucking sunny about now so I think it's already fading. Way to go, 41 degree heat. I knew you'd be good for something.

14. As the months go by and I realise I've been gone for longer, the more I realise that I can't imagine life at home anymore. And I've come to accept that life goes on for everybody back there, and, as much as I hate to admit it, I've gotten over the fact that it's gotten to the point where nobody even notices you're gone anymore. I've been getting pretty pissy with some people back home who, no matter how hard I try to keep in contact with, just aren't reciprocating. It was, and still is, a bit difficult when people you care about so much are being shithouse. It kinda pangs in the heart a wee bit, know what I'm saying? But I am slowly getting over the hard, cold fact that the world does not revolve around me. And according to Google, I am 10,666 miles away from home. Pretty omnious, hey. Anyway, I suppose what I'm getting at is that (this is as deep as this blog will get, promise) you begin to learn what and who is important while you're gone. I will continue being mad about the lack of effort until one day that anger and frustration will simply no longer exist, and that will be the precise moment I stop giving a shit. I look forward to it. More the fool you.

15. I STILL haven't changed my flight back to London. My current flight leaves on 31st December 2009. Which is about 18 months too early. Whoopsie. Must get on it. I really, really, really don't want to go home. You can't make me BA, I will go kicking and screaming. I can be quite fierce when I set my mind to it so don't test my limits. I reckon I'd have the ability to make a 23hour flight a living hell for everyone on board. Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Bart Simpson, you are my idol.
I realise my fighting talk is somewhat to be desired.

16. There are other things I would love to discuss to provoke lively debate but I am too scared to because I know my Mum reads this blog and although she may be 10,666 miles away, she still managed to evoke fear (Hi, Mum!).

17. I don't have a fucking clue why I did this in numbers. Must be my penchant for lists.

Not a whole lot happening to tell you about travel wise, but that will all change come January 2nd and we hit the Great Ocean Road for our mammoth road trip across SA. Then I will have photos that aren't documenting a night of common sense blackouts and me hanging out with my ex-friend Jager. We actually all managed to do semi-sober dinner and drinks last night, maybe we're all growing up. On second thought, maybe not.