SYDNEY - Ask Me About Shoes

As I'm sure you are all aware, I am one of the world's greatest experts on all things shoe related. Therefore it was no surprise whatsoever to find myself employed on the front desk of the Australian Shoe Fair this week; my first job in Australia. Actually, the job had very little to do with shoes. Somewhere in the cavernous convention centre behind me I was aware of the presence of this large conference, but my employers were the company dealing with the registration of exhibitors and delegates. That didn't stop people, however, from assuming that because myself and colleagues were the first people they saw on their way into the centre, we were obviously in charge of the whole thing and, indeed, the universe. Here's just a selection of the many shoe related questions I was asked over a three day period:


Behind the desk at the Australian Shoe Fair. Life does not get more exciting!

- How do I find taxis / car parking / ATMs etc?

To be fair, not unreasonable demands. But bonus extra no points for the best request in this particular category How do I find a better cup of coffee than the crap they're serving in there?

- Where do I buy Rob Thomas tickets?

Perhaps not unreasonable given that the Sydney Entertainment Centre is only five minutes away from the Sydney Convention Centre and looks identical. Except for the large 'Sydney Convention Centre' and 'Shoe Fair' signs right in front of everyone's faces, of coruse.

- Do you know anything about [INSERT ANY TYPE OF SHOE/FASHION RELATED QUESTION HERE]?

Do I look like I would? Really? I bought my work shoes from a market stall and the rest of my work clothes from a clearence sale, that's all you need to know about me and fashion.

- Do you know how to get to the Melbourne Exhibition Centre?

What made you think I did? My English accent or the fact I'm working in Sydney?

- Do you speak Portuguese?

Yes, actually, I do. Which was convinient as the person who asked this had brought along a Brazilian associate who didn't speak any English. Understanding that they needed to find a bathroom and directing them there felt like a justification for all my hard learnt Portuguese. That and spending three months in Brazil, obviously.


Check out the black shirts. It's that unique blend of trendyness and facist overtones which makes the fashion industry what it is, I feel.

All in all, it was a fun weekend and it's always a pleasure to deal with my two favourite types of people. The nice, friendly ones who want to give you some helpful insights about living in Australia. And the rude so-and-sos who you can feel free to give all sorts of helpful insights about walking away from your desk. Mostly the great Australian public were the best bunch, seeing as how this was a trade show and they were told they couldn't come in, nobody gave any trouble. The real problem bunch were the (ahem) fashion types who decided they didn't need to bring any ID, or could ignore the little notes on the publicity about bringing children / members of their extended family / half the population of Korea with them.

My favourite: the woman who told me that the no children policy in a fashion industry trade show constituted discrimination. I might have made some point about aboriginals, but we had a long queue to deal with. My least favourite, the ten year old Italian girl who looked crestfallen as her mother went into the show without her and who walked her grandmother too and fro in front of the entry doors with a miserable look on her face for half an hour until she returned. It's experiences like that which remind me why I don't work in the fashion industry. It's a real cut-throat kind of a place.

SYDNEY - The Ashton Kutcher Effect

Much job and new house style excitement to report in this entry, being presented at around 70wpm and several thousand clicks per second. But, first, some film ramblings.

As a reward for getting myself a job I've been treating myself to catching up on some of my missed viewing from the past few weeks. Being Oscar season, that has meant a number of buttock numbing sessions with a mumbling Heath Ledger in Brokeback Mountain and a strangely engaging yet very sweaty Eric Bana in Munich. Both of them good enough viewing and obvious Oscar fare, but the latter is quite clearly the better film. For all its controversy, homosexuality and that darn mumbling, Brokeback is a beautiful episode of soap opera and nothing more. It's not remotely challenging, but features many interesting scenes where we watch animals wander down hills. And, since director Ang Lee was denied Oscars for almost identical scenes in the far superior Sense and Sensibility a decade ago, it's probably some sort justice that he'll get the Best Picture and Director awards this time around (which he will, dear readers.) Probably.

Munich, on the other hand, is a remarkably low key, yet really-quite-glossy thriller from the increasingly morose Steven Spielberg. Not much needs to be said about its take on the Israel/Palestine question since I can't quite see what problem anyone would have with its over-riding principle: killing is not a nice thing to do and doesn't do good things for your health or sanity. It's probably the most violent film I've seen all year, but also the one for which the violence has the most justification to be there, and that's saying something from Mr. ET It's funny that folks are calling this the year of the low-budget, low-key Oscar shortlist. Since most of the films I've seen off it are, although admittedly cheap, filled with the sort of sweeping sweeping shots which Titanic and Return of the King made into a cliche. The difference is that the frames are filled with CGI sheep and seventies Europe, rather than Orcs and Leonardo DiCaprio. That includes the year's best film and the one which the Academy (of course) practically ignored: The Constant Gardener. Make it your mission in life to see it. But it comes with a health warning, since it may well turn you into an activist. So watch out.

In a quiet night in my new house (more on that in a minute) I caught the surprisngly intense Ashton Kutcher drama The Butterfly Effect. Which had the unexpected outcome of making me feel more angry about a film than I ever have before. It's an interesting mix of chaos theory and post-Donnie Darko cod metaphysics but features the most deeply disturbing and nihlistic ending of any film I've ever seen. In fact, as a writer, Christian and, indeed, human being, I found it rather offensive. It would be against the spirit of the thing to spoil it but, I've gotta say, I find it hard to believe any writer or director could truly believe in such a pessimistic view of humanity, let alone glorify it as some sort of heroic ending featuring cinema's answer to the kiss of death, Ashton Kutcher. Yuck. On all levels.


Darling Harbour. Where I shall work for the good of all corporate mankind. Hmmm... As you can see, it's an Epcot-y monorail-y type of a place.

As you can probably tell from the preceeding paragraph, this week in the Phworld hasn't been the usual spate of relentless people watching and sightseeing. Filled, as it has been, with job and house hunting. Never the most interesting of activities, especially on a limited budget in a new country. However, both have slotted nicely into place. I am living in a shared house with twenty five (count em!) other travellers. Which has a few cleanliness issues but is, basically, a good place. And it has a decent kitchen, which is fast becoming my most coverted amenity. I'm obviously not twenty three anymore. It's also conviniently just five minutes away from the exhibition centre where I'll be working some ludicrously long days doing furious typing for various trade shows (hence the typing tests I took this morning). Should be a lot of fun and, having walked up and down hills to jobs and universities for several years, the round the corner aspect of it all will be a decided novelty.

More interesting content next time, I'm sure of it. Unless I watch another relentlessly depressing thriller. Or another Ashton Kutcher film.


The old standby for lack of a pertinent shot - a pretty sunset. Just add a multitude of bat squawks and you could be right here too. Awww.