Goodbye Unilife

My final 48 hours of studying at the University of Melbourne can be summed up in three scenes. First, the false flat of Heidelberg Road up which I cycled as though on stilts, legs not quite long enough to reach the seat of the bike I’d been forced to borrow, breathless, from a taller friend 40 minutes before my exam. Second, emerging from the exam hall to the sight of the Carlton Gardens fountain, water from the mouths of stone platypuses falling golden in the summer sun, my mind brighter, another box ticked. And third, my bedroom at 3am that night: picnic blanket on the floor, final essay three quarters finished, bike-blackened hands typing away until a knock at the door and three cups of tea signalled the sleepy arrival of friends. The next afternoon, I was finished. I have done little but sleep since.

Melbourne Uni has been so different from St Andrews. There’s the same bustle, a similar workload, but the location makes all the difference. My course back home certainly suits me better, and absence has made the fond heart grow fonder as regards the St Andrews Classics department. I love Swallowgate, the old boarding house where all my classes take place back home, where wind rattles the glazing and breakers surge up white from the sea. I miss Alcaeus and Homer and Herodotus - no Greeks for me this semester. But I will miss this city so much when it is finally time to leave.

Yarra is emptying out. Doors stand ajar, white Ikea showrooms scrubbed pristine behind them. Things will be very quiet when I return from my travels. But that’s okay. I have a lot to enjoy in the meantime.

It’s Melbourne Music Week and Queen Victoria Market has been transformed into a concert hall. On Friday night, Architecture in Helsinki took to the stage, supported by the wantonly gyrating, long-johns-clad Total Giovanni. Architecture in Helsinki were formed in Fitzroy, the much cooler suburb just down the road. With bright pink jackets and five albums under their belts, they’re definitely the neighbours whose parties you want to get invited to. And despite their success, they stick to their local roots:

“This song’s about the East-West toll road. It’s a terrible idea. Any Liberal politicians in the audience tonight can fuck right off.”

“Summer’s coming. Time to set Victorian Spider Identifier as my homepage.”

“I don’t want to leave! Can someone please handcuff me to a gum tree?”

“I’ve never prank called 000 [999], but I did force my friend to call 666 once. She’s dead now.”

 “God, jewellery’s so expensive. Who do you think you are, spending that much money in one go? The one percent?!”

[This article has been edited. A previous edition stated that Stephanie Elizabeth Laucks merely persuaded her friend to telephone the devil. Ms Laucks emailed to assert that force was most definitely used.]

The End is Nigh

It’s 6am and I’m woken by the red dawn washing like watercolour behind the silhouette of the eucalypts. Red mingles with gold and blue, birdsong with the hum of cars. In exactly a week, all my assignments will be complete. The past week has been hectic, full of hurdles and turning points, and this one will be, too. But Melbourne is big and blue and busy and as I cycle down Swanston Street into the city I think that, if I must be stressed and worried and tired, there is nowhere I’d rather feel that way than here.

Having completed two classes (!) and treated myself to an early weekend, I am ready to face the library again. Amid the chaos there are many things I am thankful for. Bicycles. Balconies. Green tea and the gibbous moon. My favourite tree, which crouches outside Ormond College in the perfect position for climbing. Carlton Gardens, looking almost European in the sun, rainbows shining through the mist of water droplets kicked up by the fountain.

It’s not all work. The end of October was aca-crammed with performances at a very swanky old folks’ home, a 1920s themed university do, and, finest of all, a small yet sparkly karaoke booth on Bourke Street, to which I caught the train alone in full Halloween costume. I also experienced the joys of Long Room all-you-can-eat tapas, which I heartily recommend. Ten days later, I’m still full. As for the future, travel ideas are becoming realities. It’s almost the end and I’m caught momentarily in the empty space between memories and future plans. But it’s not for long. Time passes so quickly here.

I was warned that Halloween in Australia wasn’t much of a big deal. The warnings were false – at least as far as Yarra was concerned. Polka dot scarf and can-do attitude firmly fixed atop my head, I cavorted and careered around the Games Room, an alien Rosie the Riveter performing some absurd imitation of what I believe they call dancing. Our ersatz attempts to blend in with the human race were documented by the weird yet talented Flash, whose testimony to the evening may be viewed below.

Yarraween from LV Media on Vimeo.

Cheers to a week of PG-rated conversations.

“God, distance is hard. He’s so far away I want to die. But he’s what I live for.” 

“Hmm. Doesn't that just make you kind of neutral?”

 “When Harry Met Sally is so stupid. Of course guys and girls can be friends. Just like brothers and sisters.” 

“Can brothers and sisters just be friends? Game of Thrones begs to differ…”

“Are you okay? You’re awfully quiet this evening.” 

“Actually, I was just thinking about what a wonderful muse Harry Styles has been for Taylor Swift’s new album.” 

 “I can’t study in my room. It’s like a prison cell. God knows how the priest managed to teach Edmond Dantès comprehensive philosophy, history, and ethics in the Chateau d’If.”