Good morning, good afternoon and good evening readers,

On Friday I explored some of the city on my own. I went to an art gallery and looked at the European settlers artwork and then the aboriginal pieces. It was all very interesting… but to be honest I got really fucking bored. I decided to go to a Pho noodle place for lunch and I couldn’t have picked a better spot for a humorous lunch time. I went in, the only person who wasn’t Asian. This must be a good place, I thought. I get my Pho and sit down for some grub. Only, I don’t really know how to use chopsticks all that well and the guy at the counter asked me what noodles I wanted, but I couldn’t understand a bloody word he said so I just said, “You choose”. Now I’ve got this greasy lamb pho with thick jelly noodles and I can’t use chopsticks correctly and I’m like a beacon of white illuminous skin. So yeah, that was a laugh.

I aimlessly walked around the city thinking, Man I am fucking bored. Then I spotted a busker who was writing poems on any subject you want, for a small donation. I rush past and acknowledge it as something I’d like to do, but I keep walking. Then as I’m walking I’m like, why am I walking? I have nowhere to be. So I go back to find her. She isn’t there, but her stuff is. So I share a bench with an old Asian lady for 15 minutes. She gets up to leave and says “Goodbye”. How lovely is that? Then the poem lady comes back, and I go over to ask for a poem on “Moving to a New Country”. I give her 5 minutes to crack on with it and what she produced at the end of it was pretty darn good. So to cut to the chase, this is her poem and a photo of her also. Her name is Angelina. I enjoyed it a lot and I hope you do too.

In once-bored kindness,

C x