The Rose in the Lily Pond

We were six of the most uncomplimentary people ever thrown into a house together. I use the term ’house’ loosely, It was a shoebox that, if mobile, could have been a container of stowaways trying to cross the US border. Six people, three bedrooms, plus the extras - the one night-stands, the boyfriends, the friends. Sometimes there wasn’t even floor space. Sometimes you got home to find someone else sleeping in your bed . Sometimes you didn’t even want to go home in fear of the bombshell you’d walk into. This constant struggle for space did nothing to calm our clashing personalities. We grated and grinded against each other for a very long and cold winter. Yet between the constant tirade of “get fucked” and the “fuck offs” we created a family. I met Clare first. We were bright eyed and bushy tailed as we gushed about the winter to come. Clare was a pro snowboarder compared to me. I was green, and had never even strapped in before but that didn‘t falter my enthusiasm. W

Four Americans walk into a bar. Sounds like the beginning of some bad joke doesn’t it? Well, it may have started out as a joke, but manifested into a few lessons about morals and masculinity with some gun-ho US marines. The first thing that I thought was weird, was that one of the American guys was wearing an Australian rugby jersey, even though the game was the night before, and even though the Wallabies had lost badly.  Lou, being a friendly bartender who knows that in general Americans tip, asked, “Did you go to the rugby last night?” “No” he responded, “We just got in, but I was in Australia for a couple of months.” Ok cool, sweet as, they sat down at a table, had a few beers and watched a repeat of the game. They were pretty chilled out and relaxed. They tried to spark up some conversations with me whenever I walked past, but an American choosing to back Australia instead of New Zealand so close to the Rugby World Cup doesn’t really have a chance. I had them pegged as fo