Into Every Friendship a Little Rain Must Fall

As I sat on the terrace reading, occasionally idly contemplating the stars and listening to some spectacularly named - Lochlan, Tallullah and Ruby - local children play as their parents ate at the table next to me, I turned the page of my book, took a sip of my red wine and, with gruesome predictability, tipped the remains of the wine down my front. This isn't the first time this has happened: when I say I have a drinking problem, it has nothing to do with any issues with alcohol, simply that very often, getting the contents of the cup or glass down my throat with no detours is an insurmountable challenge. Just moments before typing this, I cheerfully knocked a glass of cranberry juice (with a loaf of bread) all down my pyjamas and over most of my kitchen. I don't even bother to swear when I do it any more, just sigh and reach for the nearest dishcloth.

In this instance, I sighed and headed up to my room to change. I was wearing a white sleeveless top (like a wife beater for girls) which I had just changed in to before going down to eat. I have two identical such tops, and briefly considered changing into the other in the hope that no one would notice, but in the end couldn't find it so chucked on another T shirt, went downstairs and ordered another glass of wine. The following morning, at a disgustingly still-dark hour, I rose and sleepily wriggled into my bikini and a pair of shorts. I was headed for the beach and an early kayak tour of the cove. Rummaging around for a t shirt, I came across a white sleeveless one, and chucked it on. It probably won't shock anyone to learn that when I arrived at the beach just as the sun was coming up, I glanced down to see - that yes, I was indeed wearing the red wine stained one.

However, even the pitying looks of my fellow kayakers could not detract from the experience. The first time I ever kayaked, I doubted that anything could top the experience - it was on Lake Tahoe, also early morning, when my then boyfriend and I had almost the entire lake and surrounding snow capped mountains to ourselves. I have kayaked plenty since in English Bay, Deep Cove and Lions Bay in BC; but this -- this was incredible. Surprisingly for the amount of traffic that the Reef and nearby coastline must surely endure, the water is startlingly clear - I could see the sandy sea bed the majority of the time. The highlight however, was the dolphins. A group of them - five, six, maybe - frolicked around us, so close that I almost felt I could reach out and touch them. In the same way that I would describe the kangaroos I saw as giant squirrels, dolphins close up struck me like fish shaped dogs. Their curiosity, the manner of their play, their apparent intelligence and they way they seemed to communicate and check each other out - just dogs that can swim without looking like idiots.

The tour only lasted a couple of hours, so by late morning I was parked on the beach with a book where I remained, turning myself occasionally to ensure even tan and avoid bedsores, until it was too dark to read. I do believe, that had I not woken the following morning to pouring rain and gale force winds, I would never have managed to wrench myself away from the paradise that is 1770. Instead, I pushed on towards Brisbane and swiftly discovered that Queenslanders drive in the rain the way that British Colombians drive in the snow: by pretending that it isn't happening and being surprised and a little confused when their car ends up in a ditch. Despite the driving rain bouncing off the tarmac and reducing visibility to the car in front (the traffic coming into Brisbane was fairly heavy), everyone - including trucks, in fact, especially trucks - happily shot along at around 110k plus. It reminded me of crossing the road in Vancouver: I was genuinely afraid for my life. I pulled off the highway and sat forlornly at an outdoor kiosk under a tarpaulin listening to the battering rain, occasionally getting splashed, as I moped over a cup of tea and read a bit, attempting to give the impression that I always sat out in the pouring rain for a bit of a read.

It shouldn't be surprising then, that I was very happy to reach Brisbane and - after a slightly hair raising diversion in which I utterly lost my bearings and fancied that I began to see signs for Perth - my friend Anna's flat. They say that blood is thicker than water, and I don't doubt that it is; but this summer I am truly learning that whatever substance exists between friends (Cosmopolitans mostly, in my case... yes I am stuck in the 90s, sue me) is thick enough to be pretty indestructible too. Due in part to my travelling so much, I am lucky enough to have a wide and varied circle of friends dotted around the globe. Currently, my best friends live in Vancouver, Perth (Australia, not Scotland!), Los Angeles, Chicago, Glasgow - and Brisbane. Of course there are down sides: it's all very handy when I need somewhere cheap (read: free) to stay in far flung places, but not much use when I am looking for someone to nip down the pub with in London. In addition to getting to stay in and watch a lot of Big Brother when I am in London, there is also the worry of keeping these oh-so-exoticly-residing friends. How easy is it to sustain a friendship without that day-to-day random phone calls, nipping to the pub, blethering over a cup of tea at the kitchen table aspect? The answer, as I discovered that evening in Brisbane, is: when the friend is true, very. Anna, her boyfriend Jack, and I went out to dinner, and poor Jack could only look on bemusedly as Anna blethered away as though we'd only just paused for breath the last time we saw each other - over three years ago. With military efficiency, we swiftly gossiped about everyone we knew, up dated each other on everything that that happened since 2003 and pronounced the chef edible.

And so to bed in Anna's spare room, ready to be bright eyed and bushy tailed for the following day… and the birthday concert.